“Wait, what?” I cry after him, running down the dock. “What Demon Patrols?” But it’s too late, he’s already disappeared. I bite my lower lip, looking up and down the street, searching for anything remotely demonic.
“Come on,” Jareth says, pointing to an approaching bus. “Let’s get a move on.”
We board the bus and it takes off down the dreary streets, puffing nasty-smelling smoke from its exhaust. I peer out from the greasy windows, watching all the souls we pass, hoping to see Sunny. I know it’s like a needle in a haystack, but what else do I have to do?
The bus pulls up outside a wrought-iron gate, covered with black pearls. Above it reads: ABANDON HOPE, ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE. Guess this is the place. We scramble off the bus, locating a little guard shack, to the right of the gate. As we start to approach, we’re suddenly cut off by a dog, straight out of Harry Potter—with three heads’ worth of dripping fangs and a tail lined with spikes.
I look over at Race and Jareth. “Cerberus,” I whisper, recognizing the infamous guard dog from Hell. They nod, both looking more than a little worried.
“Who goes there?” demands the dog’s left head, snapping its teeth. As if he wasn’t scary enough without making threatening mouth movements in our direction.
“Um, hey, Cerberus,” I try, wishing I’d brought some dog biscuits with me. “My name’s Rayne. And this is Jareth and Race. We’re here to meet with Hades. Do you know if he’s in, by any chance?” I feel a little ridiculous, addressing a dog, but when in the Underworld…
The beast’s third head rolls its eyes. “Living,” it snorts derisively. “I don’t know how you got past Charon, but I can assure you that you won’t get past us.”
“At least not without the proper authorization,” adds Head #1. Head #2 growls in apparent agreement.
“Proper authorization?”
The first and third head look at one another, sigh deeply, then turn back to us. “If you want an audience with His Majesty, you must submit your request in triplicate to the Ministry of Audience,” explains Head #1. “There, the request will be heard by six committees. If all of the committees approve your request, then it gets sent up to the main office, where the master himself will consider it.”
Ugh. “And how long will that take?” I ask worriedly. After all, we need to talk to him before Sunny gets judged and becomes a permanent resident. We have no time for bureaucracy.
Head #3 does some quick mental calculations. “On a good day? Maybe a month? But if any of the six committees finds an error on your application, which, let’s face it, sixty-six percent of the time, they do, you’ll have to wait another six hundred and sixty-six days to reapply.”
Head #1 gives us a smug look. “Our best guess in your case?” it says, giving us a critical once-over. “You’re probably in for a three-year wait at the very least.”
“Three years?” I cry. “That’s crazy!”
“If Hades decides to grant your request at all,” adds Head #3.
Head #2 utters a self-satisfied growl that almost sounds like it’s laughing at me. I give it a dirty look.
“It’s better than the alternative,” Head #1 reminds us. “Which is an eternity.”
Okay, this is not good. Time for some creative problem solving here.
“Listen, Dude… Dudes?” It’s hard to know whether I should be speaking in plural to the three-headed beast. “We’re all adults here. Let’s talk about what we need to do to make everyone happy. Maybe I could swing by the butcher and grab you some meat? A nice, big juicy steak perhaps? Or maybe three? Would that help… speed along my application?”
All three heads give me a horrified look. Head #2 growls menancingly.
“A steak?” cries Head #1. “Are you kidding me?”
“Don’t you know we’ve been vegan since 1994?”
“Are you trying to mess with our cholesterol?”
I sigh. “A head of lettuce maybe?” This is not going well.
“Tsk, tsk,” scolds Head #3. “Attempting to bribe an officer of the court. Just for that, your application will be denied.”
“What? But I haven’t even submitted one yet!”
“Well, then you’d better get on that, don’t you think? Time’s a wasting.”
“Why you little—” I make a threatening move toward the beast, but Jareth and Race grab me and hold me back. Probably a good idea, in hindsight. Those sharp teeth may be vegan, but I have no doubt they’d be happy to tear me apart then spit me out, given half the chance.
“Come on, Rayne,” Jareth says firmly, dragging me away from the dog house. “Let’s go find the office and fill out the application.”
“What, so these guys can play fetch with it?”
“Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out.”
22
After some wandering, we do manage to find the application building, but, of course, it’s closed for the weekend and a bored-looking attendant suggests we come back Monday. Discouraged and exhausted, we head back down the street wondering what to do next. Jareth suggests perhaps finding a motel room where we can crash and then regroup. (Three motel rooms, he clarifies after Race starts asking about who’s sharing what bed.) Luckily, unlike the ferryman, many of these establishments advertise taking American Express. So we agree and head through the parking lot, and enter the first place we see. It’s not five-star, by any means. Heck, if it got one star, I’d be shocked. But at this point none of us feel particularly picky.