We walk into the lobby, which is just as dreary and sad as the rest of the Way Station. The air is overwhelmingly musty and the furniture is ancient and filled with holes. There are cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and even the plastic plants seem wilted. The old clerk behind the counter is fast asleep. We walk up and ring the bell and he grunts as he wakes and looks up at us.
“No room,” he mutters, looking only half conscious.
“What? What do you mean, no room?” I ask.
“Last flash flood flooded the place,” he says with a big yawn. “We’re all booked up for months while people wait for judgment. You’ll find the same everywhere you look. The Way Station is bursting at the seams right now.”
Jareth frowns. “Surely you have something,” he presses, after noting my dismayed face. “We’ve come a long way. And this poor girl is about to drop with exhaustion.”
I nod, doing my best to look pathetic, which isn’t hard considering I haven’t slept in days. “Please, good sir,” I beg. “Maybe even a broom closet?”
The innkeeper frowns, straightening up and adjusting his tie. “Even if I did, you’d be last in line to get it,” he huffs after giving us a critical once-over. “I run a proper establishment here. Dead only.” He points to a sign on the wall, as if to prove his point. Sure enough, it reads: LIVING NEED NOT APPLY.
“Isn’t that a little racist?” Race demands indignantly. “After all, it’s hardly our fault we haven’t been properly staked yet.”
But the innkeeper has already plopped his head back down on the desk and only snores in response. Reluctantly, we give up and head back outside and continue on down the street, looking for some place that might take us in. Unfortunately, each establishment seems to have the same policy, with signs ranging from DEAD or DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT to NO SHOES, NO GLOW, NO SERVICE to even NO LIVING ALLOWED— YES, HERCULES, THIS MEANS YOU!
“What are we going to do?” I ask the boys, dismay knotting in my stomach. “I mean, no one’s going to take us in. But if we stay out in the open, we run the risk of running into one of those Demon Patrols Charon was talking about. And while I’m desperate for a bed, I do not want to sleep in a Hades jail cell, thank you very much.”
Jareth nods, rubbing his chin with his hand. “I think we best keep moving,” he says, looking up and down the desolate street. “If we stay in one place too long, we’re bound to be noticed.”
So we keep trudging forward, through the darkened streets, looking for some kind of shelter. I’m so exhausted and discouraged at this point, I can barely stand and I manage to trip over my feet twice. Luckily, both times Jareth catches me and helps me back upright.
“Thanks,” I murmur, giving him a grateful glance.
But he only grunts in response, looking at me with sad eyes, then turning away. I know what he’s thinking: If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t be here. I’d be safe in my bedroom playing Vampires vs. Zombies. I wish there was some way to convince him that I don’t blame him for what happened and that I’d rather be here with him than anywhere on Earth alone.
“What was I thinking?” Race grumbles on my other side. “I should have never come. This place sucks. There’s not even any groupies around to—”
“OH MY GOD—RACE JAMESON? IS THAT YOU?”
Seemingly out of nowhere, a blond, buxom vampire leaps into our path, her glowy purple eyes dancing with excitement. She throws herself at the vampire rock star and hugs him tight. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re here! You’re really here! I wrote to your record company at least fifty times, trying to get you to come down here for a gig. But I never heard back! I’d been ready to give up hope!” She burrows her face in Race’s chest. “I’m Amanda. Your biggest fan. When did you die? I checked your Hellbook status this morning and it said you were still living. What happened? Blood OD? Pyrotechnics gone bad?”
“Whoa, whoa!” Race says, trying to pry her off of his body. “I’m not dead. I’m just down here visiting with some friends.”
She looks him up and down. “Oh right. Of course. I should have known. You don’t have that new soul glow, do you? Sorry, I was just so excited to see you. I mean, I’ve been waiting for you to die forEVER so we can get some of your music down here. There’s, like, no one at the Way Station that’s half as good as you.”
“Well, thank you. That’s very… flattering. But I think I still have quite a long life—”
“What’s a HellBook?” I interrupt curiously. “Is that like Facebook in Hades?”
Amanda turns and glares at me suspiciously. “Who are you?”
“She’s with me, luv,” Race reassures her. “I mean, not with me, with me,” he adds quickly as the girl’s eyes narrow. “She’s just a friend.”
“Oh!” The groupie’s face clears. “Okay!” she cries. “Any friend of Race’s is a friend of mine.” She pulls out a glowy purple iPhone from her pocket. “Here, check it out. It’s pretty cool.” She loads up the app and then hands me the phone. Sure enough, it appears to be a social media site for the dead, go figure. Mark Zuckerberg sure has a long reach.
“Wow, that’s pretty cool,” I say, scrolling through her profile. Evidently she’s been dead for twelve months, waiting for judgment. Her blood mate is still alive on Earth and her latest status says she’s pissed because she believes he’s hooking up with another living chick.