Texting the Underworld (11 page)

“Pass the what?” Glennie said.

“Kai-lyu'gh,” Grump said. “Spelled
C-a-i-l-l-e-a-c-h.
”

“You can't do all that, Grump,” Conor said.

“What's your suggestion, kiddo?” Grump said. “We wait and see? What if it's you that dies? What if it's Glennie?”

He keeps saying that. I don't want it to be anybody
. Conor thought of Grump flying over an icy sea, dying, maybe, cold and alone. The thought was more than he could bear.

“Let's try it now, Davey O'Neill,” Ashling said. “See if I can lift you up.”

“I can't. I got all these tubes and things.”

Ashling blew air out of her mouth. “Then how in the name of Mother Maeve do you expect to fly over the ocean with me, old man?”

“Good point. Help me get on my feet, kiddos. If we have to, we'll disconnect some stuff.” He took out his oxygen prongs and swung his pale legs over the side of the bed. Conor tried to help him up by holding on to his good arm, but he couldn't get a grip because of the tube in it. He tried putting his arm around Grump's back, but that made Grump yelp because of the broken ribs.

Grump's feet didn't seem to function as feet anymore—it was like they weren't wide enough, or they were too soft or too sideways or something. He finally struggled upright, his hospital johnny open in the back. “Grump, your bum's showing,” Glennie said, disgusted.

Grump fell back on the bed, swearing under his breath. The beeps on his heart monitor were twice as fast as before. “Shoot. That'll bring a nurse.”

Sure enough, Conor had barely gotten him back up on his feet when a sturdy woman in blue flowered scrubs slammed through the door. Ashling captured the last of her floating clumps of hair and grabbed her Mississippi magnolia quarter.

“Mr. O'Neill! What
are
you doing?”

Grump sank down on the bed, panting. “Had to pee. Didn't want to bother nobody.”

“Don't be silly. We're here to be bothered. Kids, wait outside, please.”

Out in the hall, Ashling said, “Dude, this is crazy. I will drop him into the sea.”

“But you'll make him light and floaty,” Glennie said.

“Yes, but the wind will buffet us and he'll be freezing cold, and if we lose our grip for even a second he won't be light anymore.”

The nurse came out. Her nametag said
ANGELA TIMULTY
,
RN
. “Don't you let him do that again, kids.” She sounded friendly, but you could see she meant it. “He's getting better faster than I would have imagined, but he's had a rough day and we don't want to disturb that IV drip for another few hours.”

Grump was back in bed and living up to his nickname. “Never in my whole life have I not been there when my family needed me.”

“That's not true,” Glennie said.

“Glennie!” Conor whacked her on the arm.

“Mom says he wasn't even at Dad's graduation.”

“I was in Ireland,” Grump protested. “Finding out stuff. Like about them Birds, which could save somebody's life if I wasn't such a weak-kneed old poop.”

“Grump, you'll get better,” Conor said. “You have to give it time.”

“We don't
have
time. The Lady doesn't send a banshee weeks before the Death. It could happen any time now.”

Grump's jaw was quivering. He was on the verge of crying. Grump, crying! Glennie, contrite, handed the old man a red jelly bean.

Somebody with a voice exactly like Conor's—using his tongue and vocal cords, in fact—took a deep breath and said something totally nuts. “Let
me
go.”

Everybody stared at him. Nobody could believe he'd said that. Which was insulting, when you thought about it.

“
You
can't go.” Glennie popped a green jelly bean into her mouth. “You'll get scared and mess up. I'll go.”

Ashling scowled at Glennie. “How dare you say such a thing! He is a hero.”

Glennie said in singsong, “
Conor
has a
girl
friend.”

Conor's ears were burning but he ignored them. “I'm going,” his vocal cords told Glennie, “because I'm older and I'm bigger and you'll think it's all a ginormous joke.” That was true, but he didn't want to believe it. What he wanted was to be talked out of this.

“I'm better than you at puzzles,” Glennie said. Which also was true. “And I lie better. You go dweebing along telling the truth all the time. What use is that?”

“She's got a point,” Grump said.

Grump thinks I'm a dweeb?
To his horror, Conor's eyes teared up.

“Conor, kiddo,” Grump said, “you got more good qualities than anyone I know, up to and including the O'Neill Spark. I also think you need an adventure. But Glennie's as much of a con artist as I am.” He pondered the sky outside his window. “Maybe we should all go.”

“We have to
float
over the
sea
.” Ashling finished her braid and flung it behind her back. “If I'm going to take anyone, I am quite sure I have to hold your hand or touch you or something. I cannot take three of you. I only have two hands.”

Conor's pocket buzzed. He checked his phone and to his immense surprise found he had a text from Javier.

yr czin flots
, it said.

huh?
he texted back.

“There's that small computer,” Ashling said. “And now you are reading it.”

“Texting,” Grump said. “A plague on modern society.”

“Oooo. Let me see.” Ashling reached for the phone. Conor evaded her, because Javier had texted:
saw yr czin flot. u ok?

Spelling had never been Javier's strong suit, and text-speak didn't help.

He texted back:
M ok. wut is flot?

He waited. Grump held forth on the many ways life had been better without electronics. Conor and Glennie each ate a chicken sandwich. At last, Javier texted:
flowt. fly. u ok?

He meant
float.

“Ashling,” Conor said, “have you been outside floating around?”

Ashling drew herself up straight. “No, of course not!” They all eyed her, waiting. “Oh, all right, a little. This morning, when I awoke and was alone, I needed to think so I went to your roof for air. No one could see me.”

“Javier saw you.”

“Ach
.”

Conor waved the cell phone at Grump. “What do I do now?”

Grump shrugged. “Hey, the more the merrier. We got a technical problem. Javier's got a technical brain. Tell him to get over here.”

So Conor texted:
At hsptl w grmp. rm 533. cn u cm ovr?

It seemed like forever before Javier texted back:
b rite thr
.

“Dude, I'm not taking
four
humans,” Ashling said. “The Cailleach will eat you and then me.”

“Javier will be our consultant,” Grump said. “Now, what are our transportation options, Miss Banshee?”

“The Cailleach will eat us?” Conor said.

“Figure of speech, kiddo,” Grump said.

Ashling gave a grim smile.

“I bet you can fly with three people, Ashling,” Glennie said. “What if two of us hold your hands and one holds on to your ankles?”

“I don't know if I can extend my lightness to so many.” Ashling hopped off the window shelf. “Let's see.” She held out a hand to Glennie.

Grump flung the covers off his legs. “Help me up.”

“Grump,” Conor said, “stay there. We'll test it with Glennie and me, and when Javier gets here he'll join us. We'll figure out if it's even possible.” Grump lay back, Arctic White as ever.

Standing at the foot of Grump's bed, Conor and Glennie each took one of Ashling's hands. Ashling closed her eyes, took a deep breath, let it out.

Conor's arm felt funny. It buzzed like a bee in a bottle, then all the muscles relaxed. The feeling passed on to his shoulders, his neck, the other arm, his head. He might have been drifting in a pool. He closed his eyes. It felt wonderful.

His internal organs lifted—that sensation wasn't so pleasant, and he thought he might puke. He tried to recapture the good feeling, willing that chicken sandwich to stay in his stomach.

“Cool,” Glennie said. “Cool, cool, cool.” She burped.

Conor opened his eyes as the top of his head brushed the ceiling. His feet were dangling four feet above the floor. Grump watched him, grinning, monitor
beep-beep-beep
ing.

Glennie let out a long belch. “Coooooool.” She reached out to touch the ceiling as if it might not be real.

Conor swallowed the rising contents of his stomach and closed his eyes again. “Don't let go of me.”

“Dude, do you think I would?”

“No. But . . . don't.”

“Open your eyes. You'll get used to it. Totally.”

He didn't want to get used to it. But Ashling was the boss, so he opened his eyes.

“Whoa.” Javier was standing in the doorway, bike helmet in hand.

“Hey,” Glennie said, “Javier rode his bike all the way here.
His
parents are awesome.” She did a scissor kick to see what happened. Her head dislodged a ceiling tile.

“In point of fact,” Javier said in his precise way, “my mother would kill me. I'm not supposed to go over the West Fourth Street Bridge.”

“Shut the door, boy,” Grump said. “Oh, and arrivederci.”

“That's good-bye,” Javier said. “In Italian.”

“Sorry. I get confused because it has
arrive
in it,” Grump said. Conor was pretty sure he was kidding.

Ashling, Conor, and Glennie drifted down to the floor again.

“Javier,” Glennie said, “we need you to grab Ashling's ankles to find out if she can carry three of us.”

“I'm not grabbing anyone's ankles.” Javier's mouth went firm and grim, the way it did when he hogged a video game.

“She can't get high enough in here to get an ankle-grabbing person off the floor anyways,” Conor said. “But maybe it's like an electrical current—maybe it passes through one person to another. Let's see what happens if you hold Javier's hand, Glennie.”

Glennie went beet red. So did Javier.

“You hold his hand, Conor-boy.” Ashling tugged on her braid, which was floating. “The little girl is embarrassed.”

“I'm not a little girl,” Glennie said.

“Boys don't hold hands in this country,” Javier said.

Ashling blinked. “Why not?”

“Unless they're gay,” Javier added, seeking precision. “And I don't think I am.”

“Oh, for cripes' sake,” Grump said. “Grab the boy's hand, Conor.”

“I'm not holding anybody's hand until I know how she goes up in the air like that.” Javier sat down on Grump's roommate's bed.

They explained about Ashling being a banshee and what that meant, and how Grump wanted the Death to be him but nobody else did.

“That's very interesting,” Javier said, “but it's not what I asked.
How
do you go up in the air like that?”

“I think it and it happens.” Ashling frowned, concentrating. “If I want to take someone up with me, I have to think extra-hard, sort of push the . . . the lightness out to the other person.”

“It feels fizzy,” Glennie said.

“Like floating in a pool,” Conor said.

Javier settled himself more comfortably on the bed. “So is there a gas involved? Or maybe—”

“Javier.” Conor held out his hand. “Just come over here and we'll try this, okay?”

But it didn't work. Ashling, Glennie, and Conor rose into the air. Javier's feet stayed planted on the vinyl floor tiles. Conor was floating sideways, one hand in Ashling's, the other held down by Javier.

“Let go, boys,” Ashling said. “Or I'll drop Conor.” Javier, disappointed, released Conor's hand and went back to sit on the roommate's bed.

“Two is all I'll take.” Ashling returned to her window shelf. “I'll not have anyone hanging from my ankles.”

“You'll take me.” Grump's jaw jutted out. “Glennie and Conor can flip a coin to see who the second person is.”

“I can't let Glennie go without me. Mom'll kill me.” But in his heart, Conor knew, he was hoping Glennie would win the coin toss. Nobody would blame him for losing a coin toss, right?

“Why don't you want somebody hanging on to your ankles?” Javier asked Ashling.

“Because it will be cold flying across the ocean. The person's hands would freeze and wouldn't grip anymore.”

“But the person would be lighter than air, right? We could lash the person's arms to your legs so they'd stay in contact.” Javier jiggled his foot, excited. “I know how to do it from Adventure Boys. You use clove hitches.”

Ashling shook her head. “I cannot have Worldcraft touching me, not if I wish to float or . . . or do anything a banshee would.”

“You sure you can take us?” Conor asked. “We're from the World, aren't we?”

Ashling pondered. “All Nergal said was ‘no Worldcraft,' and you are not craft. I think. Anyway, I floated you, so it must be all right.”

“We could use your belt.” Javier hesitated, licking his lips. “And we could . . . rip a strip or two from your cloak.” Ashling folded her arms and floated with an attitude up to the ceiling.

“What if we fly all the way across the ocean and then we can't get in?” Conor said.
Somebody talk me out of this.

“I told you it would be risky,” Ashling said.

Conor had an even more horrifying thought. “What if the Death happens when we're over the ocean?”

“I'll turn into a wraith and you will fall.” Ashling lost altitude and thumped back down on her shelf—an unnecessary demonstration, Conor thought.

Even Glennie blinked hard at that. But then she said, “What are the chances of that happening? Stop fretting, Pixie.”

“Okay, fine, but we still don't know if she can lift three people.”

“We'll find out tonight,” Grump said. “When you spring me from this hellhole.”

“When we what?” Conor didn't like the set of Grump's jaw, not one little bit.

“You heard me. You're getting me out of here. Ashling'll float you over, you'll bring me some warm clothes, and off we'll go.”

“Grump, you can't even stand up. The nurse said you need that IV and stuff. Your ribs are broken. Your
arm's
broken.”

“Baloney. Come over at ten o'clock. The nurses will think I'm asleep by then.”

“How are we getting out of the house at ten o'clock on a Saturday night?”
It's movie night,
Conor thought.

“Hmm. Maybe later would work better. When your parents are in bed.”

“But we're not allowed—”

Grump put his head back and laughed at the ceiling. “Allowed?” He was getting some color back in his face. “Conor, kiddo, we're going up against death, the stubbornest rule in the universe. Time to stop worrying about what's ‘allowed.'”

“But . . . visiting hours will be over.”

“Conor,” Grump said patiently. “What do you see out the window?”

“A roof.”

“You land on the roof and knock on my window. I'll let you in.”

The window was solid glass—the only way to let air in was to open narrow vents at either side, too small even for Glennie to slip through.
He's totally losing it.
“How're you gonna do that, Grump?”

“Kiddo, in a place like this, where there's a roof I promise you there's a door to get out on it. You knock, I'll go let you in.”

“But you've got all these tubes and wires and things.”

“You're going to leave soon, and I'll sleep all afternoon. That'll set me right up, I promise. I bet I can make 'em unhook all these things tonight.”

“Won't they keep coming in and checking on you? They'll see you're gone and call Dad. And then they'll find out we're gone, too. Mom and Dad will freak.”

“I thought about that already.” Grump cocked an eyebrow at Javier.

Javier grinned. “I'll be you.”

“Yep. We'll put you in this bed instead of me. And I'll tell my doc the hospital's making me nuts and I need a sleeping pill and a good night's sleep. He'll tell them to leave me alone tonight. I know he'll do it for me—his dad and I go way back.”

“But . . . if you take a sleeping pill . . .” Conor was being stupid but he couldn't stop.

Glennie half smirked. “He won't really take it, dork.”

The door to the roof turned out to be down a little side corridor around the corner from Grump's room. Finding it gave Conor time to think up one more argument against this insanity.

“We can't do this,” he said, back in Grump's room. “Even if the real Death doesn't happen, what if somebody else dies when we come back to the hospital? Ashling can't keep the coin on her because she'll need to fly. She'll keen and kill us all.”

He could see he'd finally stumped his grandfather. But then Grump gave him a doggylike grin, the kind that spelled trouble. “Well, kiddo, that's just a chance we'll have to take. So, midnight?”

Conor knew when he was beaten.

“Midnight,” he said. “I guess.”

• • •

Ashling thought herself back to the game cupboard. Javier hightailed it home before anyone saw him on the wrong side of the West Fourth Street Bridge.

Conor and Glennie went down to the lobby to head off their parents when they arrived. “Where's your girlfriend?” Dad elbowed Conor in the ribs.

“Stop it, Brian.” Mom was trying to hold back a smile. “Don't tease him.”

That afternoon, Javier taught Conor and Glennie how to do Adventure Boys round lashing with clove hitches. By suppertime, Conor could lash Glennie's arms to Ashling's legs in two minutes, using Ashling's belt. Equally important, he knew to leave a tail he could pull in order to undo the knots. “You never know,” Javier said. “You might need to disconnect in a hurry.”

Conor shuddered. Glennie tried to smirk and did not succeed. She downed a three-ounce pack of Fruity Foolers in two bites.

Ashling grudgingly allowed them to rip one strip from the bottom of her cloak, which they cut into two halves so Conor could lash himself and Grump to her arms. There still wasn't room to test whether Ashling could lift all three of them.

“We should have a real trial,” Javier said, brow furrowed. “But it's still daylight out. Somebody will see.”

“It'll be fine.” Glennie danced a step or two. “Ooo, I can't wait.” She looked at Conor and snorted. “Hey, Pixie, your eyebrows—”

“Shut up.”

After Javier went home for supper, Conor got out a topographical map of the Atlantic Ocean and tried to get Ashling to show him where the entrance to the Other Land was. “There's the Bermuda Rise,” he said, pointing to a ridge off the east coast of the United States. “Think it could be there? Or over here, the Mid-Atlantic Ridge?”

He hoped not. The Mid-Atlantic Ridge was almost three thousand miles away—so far that Conor didn't have an exact distance, which he found unsettling.

“I don't see how there could be a rock poking up in the middle of the ocean,” Glennie said.

“A bunch of islands are part of that ridge,” Conor said. “See, there's the Azores, and here's St. Helena.”

Ashling barely glanced at the map. “Conor-boy, I don't know where it is in that picture. The Other Land is where it is. That's all.”

“I'm not going unless I see it on a map.”

“Told you he'd wimp out,” Glennie said.

“I told
you,
he is a hero. He will not wimp out.” Ashling turned around so she could peer into Conor's eyes—into his brain, it felt like. “Conor-boy, I must talk with you. I . . . There is a thing I've remembered.”

“Oooo.” Glennie settled down on Conor's bed. “There's
always
a thing.”