“From the looks of you, you haven’t drunk in days,” he says. “Take it slowly, so you won’t throw it up.”
I do as he says, though it’s painful. Eventually I manage to drain the glass dry. Setting it down on the table in front of me, I suck in a long, deep breath, trying to regain my senses. Already the blood is doing its magic—warming my insides and soothing my mind.
“Thank you,” I murmur, then cringe as more details of the night start flooding back to me. I can’t believe I let Race see me like that—at my ultimate worst. But then, I remember, he’s been there. He, of all people, should understand.
He waves me off. “Don’t fret about it for a moment,” he says. “You should have seen the scrapes I got myself into before that third trip to rehab. Hell, VH1’s Behind the Music stopped filming me at some point because the producer couldn’t stop throwing up when viewing the daily footage.”
I give him a wan smile, not knowing whether to be relieved or horrified.
“But enough about boring, little old me,” Race says, reaching over to pour another glass of blood. He fills my goblet after his own. “What about you? You always struck me as much more sophisticated than that. What made you go down that long, dark alleyway road? I mean, sure, I know you’re supposed to be the bad twin and all, but still! Doesn’t seem like your style.” He pauses, then adds, “And speaking of your better half, where is she? Where is that delectable fairy tale morsel—that Sunshine of my life?”
At Sunny’s name, I burst into tears.
“What? What did I say?” Race asks, his mocking tone gone and his face full of confusion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make any insinuations about your dear, sweet sister. You know I’d never touch a single blond hair on her pretty little head. Well, not unless she gave me permission, of course.” He grins wickedly. “Then I’d make a vow to touch nothing else, as long as we both shall live.”
I don’t want to tell him. But at the same time I don’t want to keep it inside anymore. I’ve been wandering around for God knows how long, trying to keep from exploding with guilt and grief. Maybe talking about it will help somehow.
And so I tell him the whole story, ending with Jareth pushing me away. “Why is it that every time I try to do something right, it ends up so horribly wrong?” I ask as I finish my sordid tale. “I am such an idiot.”
“No you’re not,” Race scolds, swapping couches to come sit next to me, putting an arm around my shoulder and hugging me close. I know I should pull away—I’ve heard too much about his past with women, after all—but, I find, today his embrace feels nothing more than brotherly. And so I allow myself to collapse a little, leaning in and soaking up the strength he offers me, since I have none left of my own.
“It’s obvious you had the best of intentions,” he soothes, stroking my hair. “You did everything you could to save her.”
“But instead, I killed her.”
“No. Slayer Inc. killed her. Or that dreadful Pyrus,” Race corrects. “And he would have found a way to do so anyway, whether involving you or not.” He frowns. “Trust me, those bloody bastards don’t stop at anything when they’re on a mission. If it wasn’t now, it would be later. And there would have been nothing you could do to stop them.”
“That doesn’t change anything. Sunny’s gone and she’s not coming back. I’ve lost my sister forever.”
Race seems to consider this for a moment, pursing his lips. Then he releases me from his hold and rises to his feet, heading to the back of the tour bus. At first I wonder if he’s just picked a really inopportune time to go to the bathroom. But then I remember vampires don’t have to pee. A moment later he returns, accompanied by a tall, thin older man, dressed in skinny jeans and a leather vest.
“Rayne,” he says, “this is my drummer, the Prim Reaper.”
I look up at the gaunt giant, looming above me. “Don’t you mean the Grim Reaper?” I find myself asking. As if it matters at a time like this.
“No, he means Prim,” the man corrects in a haughty tone. “You’re thinking of my brother. He’s the grim one. I’m actually quite jolly most of the time, I’ll have you know. Well, at least at times when my beauty rest is not being so rudely interrupted by a certain self-centered immortal singer who likes to stay up all night and bug me.”
Race rolls his eyes.
“Oh.” I take in the information. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize there were two of you.”
He sighs dramatically. “No one ever does,” he says, waving a dismissive hand. “That’s why I decided to retire from the whole ‘Death’ gig and fulfill my lifelong dream of joining a band.” He shrugs. “It was getting far too messy anyway.”
“Messy?”
“Have you ever tried to drag someone down to Hell?” He fans his face. “Let me tell you—it’s murder on one’s manicure.” He flashes me a set of perfectly French manicured nails, then shakes his head in disgust.
“Well, it’s… nice to meet you,” I reply, not sure what else to say. I mean, hello? Grieving vampire here? Not really in the mood for the old meet-and-greet.
“Listen, Prim,” Race says to his drummer, his eyes suddenly shining with enthusiasm. “This girl has a twin sister—a fairy twin sister—and she was murdered the other day.”
“You don’t have to sound so freaking excited about it,” I mutter, wishing the two of them would leave me alone with the bottle of blood.
“So?” Prim asks, stifling a yawn. “Should I alert the media?”
“So,” Race continues, ignoring his jab. “Remember that time a few years ago when I hooked up with that Dark Court fae and accidentally drained her dry?” He throws me an apologetic look. “Pre-rehab,” he qualifies before turning back to Prim. “You told me that fairies and other otherworld creatures don’t go to the same Heaven and Hell that mortals do, right?”
I sit up in my seat, suddenly intrigued as to where this is going.
“That’s correct,” Prim replies, still sounding bored and put out. “The souls of the fae and vampires and others are sent to a much more classic Underworld.”
“Classic Underworld? What the hell does that mean?” I demand.
Prim rolls his eyes. “Let me guess: You flunked out of Greek mythology.”
“I got a D-minus, I’ll have you know. Which is a totally passable grade.”
He pats me on the head. “Of course it is, darling. In any case, the Underworld was most accurately described back in the day by the ancient Greeks. It’s run by the god Hades, who’s not such a bad fellow, when it comes down to it all. Certainly more reasonable than that beast, Lucifer, who rules the human Hell. Why, I remember one time I worked forty-eight hours straight after a big shipwreck off the coast of Boston. I’m talking grueling work—icy waters and dragging bloated bodies for miles on end. But did Lucifer give me time and half for my troubles? Even when I agreed to work through Memorial Day weekend? Um, that would be a no.”
Race rolls his eyes. “I know it’s hard, but do try to focus, Prim.”
Prim scowls at him. “ANYWAY,” he continues. “Like I said, Hades is a bit more reasonable. Don’t get me wrong—he’s got an ego the size of a towering inferno. But usually his little wifey is able to knock him down a peg or two.”
“You mean Persephone?” I asked, scrambling to remember what I learned in school.
Prim nods approvingly. “Maybe you did earn that D-minus after all.”
“Nah, she just saw that Percy Jackson movie,” Race butts in.
“So what are you saying?” I ask, rising to my feet, trying not to get too excited, even as hope surges through me.
“That it’s not completely undocumented for a petitioner to head down to Hades and request an audience with his majesty. Talk him into freeing one of the souls he’s got imprisoned,” Prim replies. “In fact, several folks have swung by over the years. Hercules, Odysseus, one of the real housewives of Orange County…”
“So you think he’d let Sunny out if I asked him? Bring her back to l
ife?” I can scarcely believe my ears. Now my stomach’s churning with anticipation.
“I’m not saying he will or he won’t. Or that it would be an easy journey to get there in the first place. But if you can figure out a way to somehow arrive alive and convince the guy that your sister’s death was an unjust one, well, you may have a fighting chance. Of course, you have to do it within a certain amount time—before she faces her final judgment and is sentenced to her eternal punishment or reward. After that, she’s trapped there forever.”
“Oh my God.” I can’t even breathe. “This is great. This is so great!”
“It may not work,” Race cuts in. “And if it doesn’t, you could get stuck there forever yourself.”
“I don’t care.” I square my shoulders. “I would go to the ends of the earth and back if it meant a chance to save my sister’s life.”
“Well, that’s very admirable,” Prim says with a small snort. “But luckily for the rest of us, who evidently wear far more ill-fitting shoes, the entrance isn’t as far as all that.”
“No?”
He shakes his head. “No. Just take the One up to Port Authority and jump on NJ Transit 137. You’ll be at the Seaside Heights shuttle in a couple hours.”
I do a double take. “So wait. You’re telling me the entrance to hell is at the Jersey Shore?”
“Are you really that surprised?”
I laugh. I actually laugh. If you had told me ten minutes ago I’d ever laugh again in my life, I probably would have… well, laughed… at the idea of it even. But now hope is fluttering in my chest. Could I still have a chance to make this right? Could I get my sister back—alive?
Could we actually have a happily ever after, after all?
I have to find Jareth. Now.
16
“He’s still holed up in the same tent,” Cinder informs me as she and I walk through the remains of the refugee camp the next morning. It took me way too long to find this place a second time. I should have dropped bread crumbs or something on my way out. The camp looks nearly vacant—with most of the surviving supplies packed up and ready to move. The vampires who are well enough to walk around are busy pulling down tents and clearing debris, while those still too wounded to move lie around the fire, moaning softly. I wonder how they plan to make their big pilgrimage to the next safe spot with so many still down and out.
“He won’t drink, he won’t sleep. He just lies there, staring up at the ceiling. It’s starting to get on the camp’s nerves,” she confesses. “After all, there are many vampires here who still blame him for the massacre. I try to tell them it wasn’t his fault, but…” She trails off with a shrug. “It’s hard to convince anyone of that, when he, himself, believes it to be true.”
“I understand,” I assure her. “So you’re leaving? Do you know where you’ll go?”
She shakes her head. “There’s supposedly another safe house deep in the wilds of Mexico. But how we’ll manage to get there with so many injured… I don’t know.” She sighs, the weight of the world on her thin shoulders. “If only Drake hadn’t died in the attack. He always knew what to do.”
“Well, maybe this will help a little.” A reach into my heavy sack and pull out the first bag of blood. Cinder’s eyes widen.
“Is it human?”
I nod. “One hundred percent rock star groupie.” Race had been more than willing to part with some of his supply when I told him about the group’s predicament. After all, he never has much of a problem getting fans to part with their bodily fluids. I hand her the sack. “I think there’s ten bags in there—all I could carry. But if you can send someone up to the surface tonight after dark, you can get the rest from his bodyguards.” I hand her a piece of paper with the meet-up address.
“Oh, thank you, Rayne!” she cries, throwing her scrawny arms around me in a huge hug. “Even a few drops of human blood can make all the difference to our wounded. And this is so much more than that! I can’t even begin to tell you what this will mean to us. We’ll be able to leave quicker and get somewhere safe. Maybe even make it all the way down to Mexico.” She pulls away from the hug, eyes shining with blood tears. “Your kindness means the world to me. I only hope I can repay it someday.”
“You already have, by keeping Jareth safe,” I assure her.
She releases me and gestures to the closed-up tent in front of us. “Here he is,” she says. “I hope you’re able to talk to him.”
Me too, I think. I thank her, then pull the worn flap aside, crawling into the darkened tent. “Jareth?” I call out, blinking to get my eyes to adjust to the darkness. The place smells rancid. No wonder it’s setting the other vampires on edge.
I hear a loud sigh from the far side of the tent. “I thought I told you to go away.”
“Well, I thought you knew by now I’m not one to follow orders.”
At first there’s silence. Then, “What do you want?”
“I want you to come with me.”
“There is no place on Earth I want to go right now.”
“Well, that’s no problem actually, considering this particular place is not on Earth.”
Another deep sigh. “Rayne, please stop talking in riddles and tell me what the hell you’re scheming now? I’m really not in the mood.”
I frown, annoyed at his stubbornness. Reminds me too much of my own. “I’ve met up with some people,” I tell him. “And I think we’ve figured out a possible way to bring Sunny back to life.”
In the darkness I see his silhouette shift. Good. He’s interested, despite his best intentions. “That’s impossible,” he says, though I can hear a shred of hope, laced with despair, in his voice. He wants me to tell him he’s wrong. Which is exactly what I came here to do.
So I start my story, telling him about meeting up with Race and Prim. About the entrance to Hades at the Jersey Shore. About bargaining for my sister’s soul. “There are no guarantees, of course,” I finish. “But if there’s even the slightest chance I could convince Hades…”
“You make it sound very simple,” Jareth says slowly. “But Hades is a god, Rayne. You can’t just smile and wink and vampire scent the guy and expect him to send your sister on her merry way. The man in fiercely protective of each and every soul he’s acquired. And even if you can somehow convince him of your good intentions, he’s going to want something pretty big in return for such a favor.”
I wave him off. “Don’t you think I know that?” I ask. “It doesn’t matter what he wants. Because whatever it is, I’ll give it to him.” I look at him pleadingly. “Don’t you understand, Jareth? I have a real chance at rescuing my sister here. I’m going to make the most of it—no matter what it takes.” I pause for a moment, trying to gather up my nerves. “I would think of all people, you would understand.”
Jareth winces, my words hitting home. “And so why did you come to me? You obviously have already made up your mind. And I know you never ask for permission…”
“Because I want you to come with me!” I cry. “This is going to be the toughest thing I’ve ever had to face. And I don’t want to face it alone.” I stop, my voice quavering as I push down the sobs that threaten to burst from my throat. “Please come with me. Please help me. I need you. Sunny needs you.”
Jareth is silent again and for a moment I think he’s going to refuse me. But at last he nods his head. “Very well,” he says in a dull, resigned voice. “I will come with you. I suppose it’s the least I can do, seeing as my bad judgment is responsible for this mess.” He pauses, then adds, “But, Rayne, you must understand, this changes nothing between us. My coming with you does not mean we’re getting back together. I stand by my initial vow—to remain alone from this day forward. I’ll help you find your sister, but whether we succeed or fail, when we are finished with this quest, I will be gone.”
Everything inside of me aches at the pain in his voice—the anguish he’s trying so desperately to hide. Tears well up in my eyes and I’m grateful, suddenly, for the darkn
ess.
“I understand,” I manage to spit out. “I just want your help with Sunny. That’s all.” The lie burns at the back of my throat but I know it’s for the best. It will take time for him to come around. And all I can do is be patient and not force him to accept what he’s not ready to admit.
Because, in the end, he can pretend to be cold and unyielding and cruel all he wants. I know the real Jareth. I know how much he hurts.
Because I hurt that much, too.
But I will be there for him, no matter how long it takes. No matter how hard he tries to push me away. I will never give up on him, just as I won’t give up on my sister. And someday I’ll be able to prove to him that love is worth even the most immense amounts of pain.
Someday…
“Come on,” I say, reaching out to take his hand in mine and pull him from his dark, self-imposed dungeon. “Let’s go get my sister.”
17
During the summer, New Jersey’s Seaside Heights is a bustling beach community, home to a boardwalk, amusement park rides, cheesy clubs, and sometimes an MTV reality show. But in the chill of winter, it’s very much a ghost town, with only a few shady locals wandering down the otherwise empty boardwalk of boarded-up shops and bars. A fittingly gloomy location, I suppose, for the entrance to Hell.
We park outside a small nondescript cottage, like hundreds of others lining the narrow streets, a few blocks away from the beach. Prim exits the limo first, pulling a long, golden key from his pocket. He’s changed from his hipster drummer duds to the more fitting “black gown of death” uniform, complete with requisite giant scythe.
“Right this way, folks,” he says in the low, menacing voice he’s adopted since beginning the tour. “To the gates to Underworld!”
I guess it’s all part of the show, but still, I can’t help it as a small shiver trips down my back. The gates of the Underworld. It sounds so ominous. And the magnitude of what we’re about to do is starting to kick in big time. We’re leaving the world—the Earth as we know it—to purposely travel into the fiery pits of Hell.