Soul Bound (14 page)

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Race raising an amused eyebrow.

“What?” I demand.

He chuckles. “As much as I do admire your willingness to strip down to your birthday suit in order to save your sister, I would feel remiss in failing to mention it’s not entirely necessary in this case.”

I look up, surprised, dropping my shirt back down. “Oh?”

“These are magical waters,” Prim explains. “They won’t drench your clothes.”

“Um, okay. So why are you in your boxers then?” I query, gesturing to the pile of clothes Race left behind on the deck.

“Bad habits die hard, baby.”

I snort. “Oh I see. Rock stars and Jacuzzis. Really, Race, isn’t that a little cliché even for you?”

“Please. If you looked up
cliché
on Wikipedia, you’d find this bloke’s picture,” Prim interjects.

Race frowns. “Only because you uploaded it there and I haven’t a bloody clue how to take it down.”

“Well maybe you should have thought of that before you drained our last webmaster dry.”

Race looks over at me with mock exasperation. “See what I have to put up with, my little Rayne drop?” he asks, shaking his head. “And yet I do it all willingly, for you and your lovely, lovely sister!”

I’m about to reply but a growl erupts behind me. “Why are you even here?”

I whirl around, eyes widening. Jareth is staring at Race with venom in his eyes, his hands clenched into fists.

“Ooh, the brooding one speaks at last!” Race crows. “I was beginning to think you were a mute, mate.”

Jareth scowls at the gleeful rock star, the hatred radiating off his body in waves. “I’m not your mate. And we don’t need you here,” he barks out. “You’re not a part of this. So why don’t you just go home to your groupies and leave us alone?”

Race shrugs. “Because at this hour, all good groupies have gone to bed with other rock stars,” he says impishly. “And I, for one, hate to sleep alone. Besides, I’m little Raynie Day here’s personal rehab sponsor. And she might need some moral support.”

“Since when were
you
able to support anything moral?” I snort, unable to resist.

Race gives me a mock offended look. “You slay me, Slayer.”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

A loud shattering sound interrupts our banter. I turn just in time to see the patio table crash to the ground, glass flying
everywhere. Whoa. Did Jareth do that? A quick glance at his bleeding fist gives me the answer before I can ask.

“Okay, okay!” Prim cries out hastily. “Let’s not muck up my entire security deposit in one night, shall we? Everyone who’s going to Hell, get in the hot tub, pronto. Charon’s Ferry closes at two and I for one do not want to be sitting on the banks of the River Styx all night long, thank you very much.”

“Fine,” Jareth grumbles, wiping his hand on his pants and climbing into the tub. I follow, trying to meet his eyes, but he refuses to look in my direction. I sigh. Race chuckles to himself, observing the scene. A moment later I feel a hand on my knee. I slap it away, giving him an annoyed look. He just laughs again. Jareth shoots him a suspicious stare, at which he grins widely and starts humming the theme song to
The Love Boat
.

I shake my head.
Men!
But secretly I’m pleased. Maybe a little rock star flirtation is exactly what I need to get my boyfriend back.

“That’s better,” Prim says, sliding into the waters behind us. “Now let’s get this baby bubbling.”

F
or those of you who have never experienced travel by way of hot tub (which, I’m assuming, is the majority of you) let me just say now it’s not exactly the most pleasant experience known to mankind. I mean, sure, if someone gave me the choice between, let’s say, a hot tub time machine trip to the Underworld and a kick in the teeth, I might choose to go hot-tubbing. But it’s certainly not as pleasant an experience as eating ice cream or dancing the night away at your favorite Goth club. More like being shoved into a dryer on spin cycle.

Luckily, it doesn’t last too long and soon I find myself hurtling to the ground on the other side, slamming my butt against a piece of brimstone on impact. I suppose I should thank my lucky stars I didn’t break anything in the process, as I’m guessing Hell doesn’t take United Healthcare.

“You know, you might want to consider fine-tuning the trip,” I suggest bitterly as I scramble to my feet, rubbing my sore butt. “It’s a bit bumpy.”

“What did you expect?” Prim replies in a haughty voice. “It’s a trip to Hell, not a Carnival cruise.”

I suppose he’s got a point. And hey, at least we’re here. I look around, taking in my surroundings. We seem to have landed at the bottom of a deep, dark pit. So deep, in fact, that when I try to look back up the shaft, I can barely make out the glimmers of red, green, and purple from the hot tub waters far above us. And there are no convenient ladder or handholds, leading back up to the surface lands.

I swallow, the realization of what we’ve done hitting me hard and fast. I mean, I’ve put myself in some hairy situations before, but nothing like this. We’ve willingly dropped down into the world of the dead. And if I don’t manage to impress the master of this literally godforsaken place, we might find ourselves stuck here forever. I look up longingly at the faint flickers of light far above, wondering if I’ve made a mistake.

At least I have Jareth, I remind myself, stealing a glance over at my ex-boyfriend. I’m not here alone. And no matter how much he tries to act impassive, I know deep inside he’s still committed to my well-being.

“Come on,” Prim instructs impatiently, gesturing for us to follow him down into a narrow, low-ceilinged tunnel that stretches off into total blackness. “We’re running out of time.”

I bite my lower lip, working to gather up my courage. I try to tell myself I’ve done the dark tunnel thing before—hell, just
yesterday I was deep down in the New York City sewers. But something about this particular tunnel scares me to the bone. Maybe it’s the creepy glowing purple tendrils that climb the cavern walls. Or the red-hot blast of heat. Or perhaps it’s the stench of sulfur assaulting my nose.

No, actually it’s probably that piercing scream of pain echoing through the tunnel that has me most worked up.

“It’s okay,” Jareth’s voice whispers in my ear. I startle—I didn’t realize he was standing so close. “I’ll be right behind you,” he assures me.

I look back to give him a grateful smile, but he’s already turned away. Still, I can’t help but feel a little better as I take those first hunched-up steps into the darkness. In the distance my ears pick up more moans and groans from the permanent residents of this establishment. I gulp, picking up the pace, reminding myself that as frightening as this place is for me, my sister is probably ten times as scared right about now. And maybe even in pain—like that screamer. I can’t let my own fear paralyze me from doing what needs to be done.

“No! I can’t do it!”

I shuffle back around to see Race standing at the edge of the tunnel, a panicked look on his face.

“What’s wrong,
rock star
?” Jareth asks, his voice filled with contempt.

Race scowls at him, running a hand through his messy hair. “Nothing. I simply don’t like cramped spaces, okay?” he confesses, his face turning beet red. I can tell the admission of this
little fact is killing him. Especially in front of Jareth. He must be super claustrophobic to say it aloud.

Jareth smiles smugly, looking happier than I’ve seen him all night. “I told you that you didn’t need to come,” he reminds him. “I mean, what did you expect? A yellow brick road?”

“Hey, AC/DC promised us a highway at the very least,” Race mutters. “Not a freaking dirt path clearly built for hobbits.” He sucks in a breath, searching the sky. “Is there a way back up? ’Cause I think I left my curling iron on back at the bus. And I’d hate for the whole thing to burn down, especially seeing as my manager already thinks I’m a closet arsonist and—”

“Sorry.” I snort. “I’m pretty sure this was a one-way ticket. The only way out is to continue on ahead.”

“Don’t worry, rock star,” Jareth adds, “I’ve got your back.”

“Yeah, that’s bloody comforting,” Race mutters. “Just don’t stick a stake in it, will you?”

“No promises.”

“All right, all right!” I interrupt, realizing this could go all night. “Race, come on. I’ll hold your hand, okay? Will that make you feel better?”

He considers this. “It’ll make my hand feel better. What about the rest of me? Maybe if you—”

I roll my eyes. “That’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.”

Race grabs my hand tightly and I drag him through the tunnel, Jareth following close behind. The place is cave-dark and I can’t even see my hand in front of my face, never mind Prim’s movements some ways ahead. But finally, after what seems an eternity,
there’s a pinprick of red light in front of me. I press forward, relieved as the light grows larger and larger and the narrow tunnel eventually opens up into a gigantic red-rock cavern.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I straighten back up and take a look around. The place resembles some kind of demented theme- park attraction, with hundreds of people hanging out at the shores of a bloodred river. A long ferryboat sits at a rickety dock, waiting to take on passengers. It’s manned by a tall, attractive looking older gentleman, dressed in a snappy three-piece suit.

“There he is,” Prim exclaims. “Charon the Ferryman.”

“That’s Charon?” I question, raising an eyebrow. “I thought he was supposed to be a skeleton or something.” I mean, I’m no expert in ancient mythology, but I did totally kick the ferryman’s ass in the God of War video game. “And where’s his oar?”

Prim smirks. “It’s a wonder what they can do with reconstructive surgery these days, isn’t it?” he asks. “A quick wellness retreat to Russia a few years back and he’s good as new.” He pauses, then adds, “And as for the oar, this is the twenty-first century, not ancient Greece. Back in the nineties he retrofitted that ferry with a sweet Marine Tech Navigator. Lazy bastard didn’t like all that rowing.”

Huh. I take another look at the ancient ferryboat. Sure enough, there’s a sleek black motor attached to the back. Well, what do you know?

“Is that the line?” Race interjects, glancing at his watch. “If all those people are ahead of us, there’s no way we’re crossing tonight.”

“Oh, no, no,” Prim says, dismissing the crowd with a wave of his hand. “Those are all the people who can’t pay.” He shakes his head. “It gets worse every year, let me tell you. It’s like no one remembers to bury their loved ones with the appropriate ferry fare anymore.”

I scan the crowd of fairies and vampires and other otherworld creatures, all milling about, looking quite miserable. “So what happens to them?” I ask.

“They hang out on the shores for a hundred years,” Prim explains. “If they can make it that long, then they’re eligible for a free ride.”

“Man, that’s rough. Maybe the guy should consider putting out a Groupon once a decade or something,” I say. “Give people a freaking break.”

We head down the hill, toward the dock. The Ferryman looks over, taking one look at Prim and shaking his head. “Well, well, look what the imp dragged in,” he says in a deep, grating voice. “Slumming it, are we?”

“Great to see you, too, Char,” Prim says stiffly, looking a little offended.

“I expected to see your brother tonight. He e-mailed me about an hour ago, saying he was on his way with a whole boatload of German tourists.”

Prim rolls his eyes. “Well, you know Grim. He’s probably gotten wasted on
Weizenbier
and lost track of time. I’ve told them a hundred times not to assign him to the Berlin borough. He can’t resist the beer and bratwurst.”

“Of course.” Charon groans. “And he’ll show up here drunk and gassy, seconds before I’m ready to close up for the night, as always.”

“Sounds about right.”

“So what are you doing here again?” the ferryman asks. “And who are these people? I thought we had a long talk about giving Hell tours to the living after you showed up last time with that girl you were trying to hook up with.”

“Well, technically we’re not living,” I point out. “We’re undead.”

Charon sniffs. “If you haven’t been staked, burned, or decapitated, then you’re classified as living beings down here. That’s just the way of it.”

“And how do you know we haven’t?”

He gestures to the people at the shore. “No purple haze.”

I follow his finger and take a closer look at the nearby dead. Sure enough, each of them has a weird purplish glow around them and they’re also a bit see-through. Kind of like what you’d imagine for a ghost. I guess he’s right. We don’t exactly blend.

“Okay, okay, admittedly the last time was weak,” Prim protests. “But this time we have serious business with the big guy downstairs. This girl’s sister here was unjustly murdered and she wants to beg for her soul.”

“Yeah, good luck with
that
.” Charon grunts derisively. “But whatever. Not my business anyway. As always, if you’ve got the coin, I’ve got the transport.” He holds out his hand, palm up, in my direction.

Prim turns to me. “Okay, Rayne, pay the guy.”

I stare at him in confusion. “Wait, what?”

“A ride across Styx isn’t free. Pay him.”

“But you didn’t tell me I needed money.” I reach into my pockets, already knowing they’re empty. I spent my last few bucks back in New York.

“Of course I did,” Prim huffs. “Are you saying I don’t know how to do my job?”

“Race? Jareth?” I ask, turning to the other vampires, praying they’re more financially responsible than me.

Jareth gives me a rueful look. “Sorry, Rayne. I would have hit the ATM in Seaside, had I known…”

“And my manager never lets me touch money,” Race adds. “He says I’ll blow it all on strippers and blood.”

“You would,” Prim agrees, looking at us all in dismay. “So not one of you has a dime to your name?”

All three of us shake our heads. “I don’t suppose he takes MetroCards?” I ask.

Charon rolls his eyes. “Does this look like the MTA to you?”