Rachel purses her lips, thinking back. “She seemed okay,” she says at last. “I mean, a little shell-shocked, like most people are when they first arrive. And she was super worried about Magnus. Wouldn’t stop asking people if they’d seen him. She looked pretty relieved when no one had.”
“Yeah, he’s not dead,” I reply. “At least not yet.”
From beside me, Jareth grunts, and I suddenly realize I’ve said the wrong thing. Before I can clarify, the vampire rises from his seat and walks away from the fire pit, staring intently at one of the nearby rock structures. Ugh. When I am going to learn to keep my big mouth shut?
“Wow, was that Jareth?” Rachel asks, watching him go. “He’s here to help Sunny, too?”
I nod. “Unfortunately, he seems to think he’s responsible for this whole mess,” I reluctantly explain. “That if it wasn’t for him, my sister would still be alive.”
“Well, if it makes him feel any better, I’m pretty sure Sunny wasn’t holding any grudges,” Rachel replies. “In fact, she was pretty cool about the whole thing, all things considered. I think she was mostly looking forward to seeing your dad.”
If I had a beating heart, it would surely skip a beat right about now. I hadn’t even considered the fact that my dad would be down here, too. Would I be able to track him down if we were able to get beyond the river?
“So you’ve been here all this time?” I ask, looking around the decrepit refugee camp. To be honest, it doesn’t look much better than the camp below the streets of New York City. A few patchwork tents, some refrigerator box shacks. Certainly nowhere I’d want to spend the night, never mind a hundred years.
Rachel nods. “It’s really not too bad though,” she says. “There are plenty of cool people to hang out with. And let’s face it, not everyone’s excited to face that final judgment across the river. In fact, some of us might be better off spending the next hundred years here, compared to what we’ll likely get assigned to for eternity. We even have free Wi-Fi now, ever since one of the vampire executives at AT&T Wireless got staked by a slayer who was angry about that whole crappy 3G network thing.”
“But, Rachel, we can’t stay here a hundred years,” I tell her. Even if the idea of free Wi-Fi does make it a bit more palatable. “We’ve got to get across somehow and find Sunny.”
“Right.” Rachel considers this. “Well,” she says, “he’d probably never admit it, but I’ve heard there have been times when Charon has made an exception to the exact change rule. You might want to ask our eldest member, Torrid. He’s been down here the longest. Ninety-nine years, eleven months, seven days. He gets his free ride in just over three weeks. Lucky stiff.” She shakes her head. “He’s seen just about everything. If anyone were to know of a way to get across, he would.”
Half of me wants to mention that if Mr. Torrid really did have a way to get across, perhaps he would have seen fit to use it in the last ninety-nine years. But hey, who knows, maybe he really likes having free Wi-Fi.
“Where is he?”
Rachel points to a small hut at the very edge of the riverbank. It’s nicer than all the others, with real glass windows and an actual door. “As the oldest here, he scores the best digs,” she explains.
“Great.” I thank her and scramble to my feet, gesturing for Race, who’s currently surrounded by purple glowing groupies, to follow me. Together we walk over to where Jareth is pretending with great interest to study a very uninteresting rock. I give them the lowdown on Torrid that I learned from Rachel. “If anyone knows how to get past Charon, he will,” I finish.
“Well, I’m ready to try anything at this point,” Race says. “Before the groupies tear me apart.”
“I continue to be in awe of the rough life you live,” Jareth mutters.
“Hey, it’s not my fault I’m all about winning!” Race protests, in his best Charlie Sheen.
“Come on, boys!” I interrupt. “Let’s go talk to Torrid.”
Somehow I manage to corral them and the three of us head over to the small hut to knock on the front door. At first there’s no answer and I wonder, for a second, if Torrid is off doing errands. Then I remember it’s past one a.m. on the shores of the River Styx. I’m guessing he’s not likely picking up his dry cleaning.
So I knock again, this time a little louder. Finally a deep voice emerges from behind the door. “I guess you’re not going to go away if I simply ignore you.”
“Please, Mr. Torrid!” I beg. “We really need to talk to you!”
Silence and then… “Come in. It’s unlocked.”
I push open the door and step inside the hut. It’s much larger than it appears to be on the outside and actually pretty posh, considering we’re in Hades and all, with beautifully woven Persian rugs on the floor, authentic-looking Ming vases displayed on marble pedestals, and brightly colored tapestries draping the walls. I wonder how he imports all his stuff down here.
A boy, who appears to be about fourteen years old, is sitting with his back to us, at a computer desk, eyes glued to his laptop. My ears pick up the familiar sounds of World of Warcraft coming from the speakers. “Sorry,” he says, not turning around. “We’re in the middle of taking down Fandral Staghelm. State your business please.”
“Wow, you get video games down here, too? Sweet.” Maybe this one hundred years thing isn’t such a bad gig after all. No job, no homework, never-ending gaming sessions?