Anne Ursu - The Shadow Thieves

All up to Charlotte.

She had to do something. She couldn't just walk away from this. It was time for Charlotte to act, time for her to take charge. Time for Charlotte to save the world. Once upon a time there was a girl named Charlotte who was not good for anything, until she saved the world.

But how?

And then she realized: Philonecron had told her exactly what to do. In his evil speech. "You'll go scampering off to Hades and warn him," he had said. Charlotte almost laughed out loud. Really, people should stop making evil speeches, because they always give themselves away.

And he had. He had given himself away, for that was exactly what Charlotte needed to do. She couldn't fight off Philonecron, but Hades certainly could. He was a god. One of the biggies. One of the Big Twelve-really, the Big Three! And he surely had, you know, monsters working for him. Centaurs and Minotaurs and Gorgons (oh, my!). And stuff. All she'd have to do was make her way through the Underworld, find Hades, and convince him he was in danger. And that she could do, for she was Charlotte Mielswetzski, and she could talk.

But first she had to get free, as she was about to be in some very hot water-and she meant that quite literally.

The Footman was walking along slowly, stiffly, bearing her like a prize. As they went along and she didn't fight back, he seemed to relax his grip on her a little, as if he'd forgotten she was animate, and Charlotte closed her eyes and tried to figure out how to get out of this. They really hadn't covered this one in their self-defense unit in gym.

It was hard to think calmly. She did not want to die. Not ever, really, but not now, not here. She had to save the world. And then she had to go back and take care of Mew and write Caitlin and be nice to her mom and maybe try out for the gymnastics team again.

And then the Footman stopped suddenly. Charlotte felt a great heat near her, and her eyes popped open. They were on the banks of the Styx now, and the Footman was studying the river, as if to determine the proper trajectory in which to throw her. Charlotte's heart raced, and she had to bite back the fear that was threatening to overwhelm her.

Come on, Charlotte. It's now or never. This is your chance. You are a heroine, and it is time to start acting like it. What does a heroine do?

The Footman stepped forward and death was before Charlotte, and something surged through her veins. She exploded into action. Quick as she could, she leaned over, bit the Footman on the shoulder (gross), kneed him in the stomach (payback), and elbowed him in the neck (for good measure). With a soundless cry of surprise the Footman dropped her. She felt steam hit her face-she was looking over the river now; one wrong move and she'd be in, but there was no time to think about that, she had to fight-and she sprang up, back toward the bank, scrambling up against the loose rocks. She looked around frantically- she could run, but where? She needed to get across the river, and she needed to stop the Footman from killing her. Actually, the latter was more pressing. The Footman had righted himself, and he bowed his head and smiled at her, then made a grab for her. Instinctively she ducked out of the way. She was small but quick; he was big but slow, and he tumbled forward. And there Charlotte saw her chance. She lunged behind him, and with a great breath she pushed, with all her might she pushed, his feet slipped on the rocks, and the Footman went headlong into the Styx.

Splash! The river roiled. The current began to carry him off, even as he bobbed up and tried to claw his way back to shore. The steam seemed to come up to him, it surrounded him, and before Charlotte's eyes his face began to melt. Clay dripped and rolled, splashing into the bubbling water, until there was nothing left but a very tall, very narrow tuxedo floating off into the distance.

She had done it. She beat the Footman. She had lived. Better, she had survived.

But instead of feeling elated, she felt spent. Charlotte collapsed on the bank. Closing her eyes, she put her head in her hands and began to cry.

She cried for Mr. Metos, getting his liver pecked out. She cried for her gentlemanly cousin, who had punched her in the stomach, who thought he was saving her and was now in very great trouble. She cried for all the children who had lost their shadows. And, most of all, she cried for herself and what she had already done and how much she still had left to do.

That was enough bravery, enough heroism for one day. She had stopped the Footman from killing her. Charlotte Mielswetzski had acted, had seized life, had become everything everyone wanted her to be. Wasn't that enough?

It wasn't. She knew it wasn't. She wasn't done yet.

So then Charlotte Mielswetzski did the bravest thing she had ever done. She wiped her tears away and began to get up.

"That was impressive," a nasal voice said.

Charlotte looked around. A few feet upstream was a small, thin, very old, and rather skuzzy-looking man sitting on a small wooden boat, chewing his cuticles. On the bank next to the boat was a great line of Dead. The line, formed by a vast network of velvet ropes and giant brass pedestals, wound and stretched as far as

Charlotte could see. The man didn't seem interested in the line at all. She turned back toward him.

"Thanks for your help," she muttered, nodding to the spot where the Footman had fallen.

"Philonecron will be mad about the tux, though," he continued. "A shame." He smiled, revealing a toothless mouth, and climbed out of the boat onto the shore. "I won't tell him who did it… if you make it worth my while."

"You must be Charon," Charlotte said.

"Yup," said Charon. Charlotte eyed him. Boy, he was gross. His clothes were ragged and filthy, he was streaked with dirt, and he had a little greasy, gray, stringy beard. He made the creepy man on the bus look like a movie star. And after the events of the day, Charon-eternal Ferryman of the Underworld-looked like just another creepy man on a bus.

She sighed, got up, brushed herself off, and approached him. "Can you take me across?"

He frowned and sniffed her, then shook his head emphatically. "I don't take living mortals over. Big trouble. It's always trouble."

"I can pay." Charlotte reached into her backpack and pulled out her allowance. "You can use the money to buy a new shirt," she added.

Ignoring the last remark, Charon grabbed the money from her and counted it.

"Not enough," he said. "What else you got?"

"Well…" Biting her lip, she reached into her backpack. "I have Fruit Roll-Ups…" She took out the box-as Charon watched carefully-opened it, grabbed a package, unwrapped it, and began to unroll. "They're grape," she said, peeling off a piece from the wax paper backing. "They're really, really good!" She smiled brightly and tried to look convincing. Charon took the piece from her hands and licked it, then grabbed the whole Roll-Up and ate it, wax paper and all.

"Delicious!" he said, and grabbed the box. "So fruity! And so portable!… Okay, I'll take you"-he squinted at her-"For the whole box."

Charlotte sighed as if this were a great sacrifice. "All right, you win. But"- Charlotte turned to look at the lines of Dead-"what about them?"

"They have all the time in the world," he smiled greasily. "Shall we?"

And Charlotte stepped carefully into the boat, and he began to row across the great river, through to the Land of the Dead.

ZEE WANTED TO KILL PHILONECRON. NOT LIKE WHEN you're really angry at someone and you say, "I'm gonna kill that guy," but you don't really mean kill kill. Zee meant kill kill. Zee meant a long, slow, painful death for Philonecron, effected by him, Zachary John Miller.