Sirenz Back in Fashion (6 page)

I wailed. Great heaving, loud, wet sobs.

Hades jumped back as though I had swung a knife at him.

“I want Meg! I can't do this!” I cried.

Hades actually looked shocked that instead of making a flip remark, I was bawling loud enough for the denizens on Mt. Olympus to hear.

“Sharisse!
Mon coeur
! Don't cry!” He seemed at a loss for anything other than insipid platitudes.

I cried harder, until I was hiccupping and in danger of hyperventilating.

All the people around us were frozen. Hades grabbed my hand from the inanimate technician and held it gently in his.

“You have to fulfill the contract. It's written and even I can't undo it!”

“I d-d-don't c-c-care about the c-c-contract! I wanna see Meg!” I could barely catch my breath. My head began to swim and my sight grew fuzzy.

“Don't faint! Breathe!”

Not wanting to be vulnerable to Hades-knew-what, I gulped in air as fast as I could.

“Slow down, easy!” he whispered. It almost sounded like he cared.

He has a motive for everything he does. Don't make him out to be compassionate!
Even so, I followed his soft instructions and got my breathing, heart rate, and pulse to gradually calm down a bit, even though my emotions were as turbulent as a hurricane.

“Rest just a moment.”

I nodded weakly and closed my eyes. As I was wondering what would happen next, I heard a whistling sound. Opening one eye, I saw dark, looming cliffs. The imported marble floor was gone, and I stood on crumbling black rock. Swiveling my head around, I thought I could make out white furniture … a little round table and three chairs.

Made of bones.

We were back across the River Styx, and a black missile was heading for me.

It smacked me right in the face.

Stumbling, I managed to catch it, and myself. It was a garment bag.

“What the—”

That's when I saw Meg standing there.

Meg

To Hell and Back

We screamed in unison.

“Shar!”

“Meg!”

Shar was holding the fleece, but dropped it on the ground and ran into my waiting arms. I hugged her tightly.

“Are you okay?” I whispered into her shoulder.

She nodded vigorously and swiped at her face. She
had
been crying hard; her eyes were puffy and her cheeks were streaked with tears. “Yes. Are you?”

I tried to find my voice but couldn't speak. Breathing took a great effort, and my chest heaved like it was filled with rocks. The whisper of a shriek came out and I choked.

“He … he … took you away!” I babbled, the tears starting to flow. “He took all your stuff … n-n-no one remembers you! It's like you don't exist!”

“I'm here, I'm here!” Shar stroked my hair, trying to calm me down, but I could see what I'd said disturbed her. She led me a few paces away, toward a small table and chairs that stood nearby. Together we staggered over the uneven, gravelly ground.

“He's such a creep!” she continued in a whisper. “Even though I'm glad I have it, my
underwear
is here! He touched them! Now I'll have to buy all new ones!”

I knew she was trying to make light of all this, and I felt my sobs lessen just a bit. I wasn't insane. Shar hadn't been erased—we were here, together. I ran a finger over the surface of the table; it was weird, ridgey. I stared at it and the matching chairs, trying to focus and calm myself. The legs were slender, elegant, and white, like
… bones!

I jerked my hand back, and through my tears, I saw Hades off to the side. His eyes crinkled.
This whole situation amuses him
,
I thought.
We're just his puppets
. That made me start bawling again, even harder this time.

“Meg, Meg,” Shar soothed gently, but I heard her voice cracking. She grabbed both my hands in hers and bowed her head over our intertwined fingers. Then she cried too.

“Margaret! Sharisse! Stop!” Hades said sternly after a few minutes.

I didn't want to hear his voice; it only made everything worse. I laid my head on the table next to Shar's and together we howled.

“Sharisse!
Mon amour
, come now, don't start crying again,” he pleaded, stepping up to her and putting a hand on her bare arm.

Violently she shook him off, shot him an evil albeit wet glance, then turned back to me and cried some more.

Hades paced around us, his expression quickly morphing from annoyed to alarmed. He had to know there was no end in sight; once started, the hysterics had to run their course.

Finally he threw up his hands, pulled over one of the bony chairs, and threw himself into it, tapping his foot while leaning his elbows on his knees.

“All right, all right,” he groused. “What if there was a way for you two to talk on a regular basis?”

We looked up, mistrustful, but it brought the wailing to a halt. Seeing that he'd made an impression, he rushed on.

“Being the magnanimous god that I am, I will allow you to communicate. Once a week. For five minutes.”

“Once a week? Five minutes!” Shar whined, “Is that all?”

“It's something,” I said, feeling a tiny tad like myself again and pathetically grateful for even this small concession. Just the thought of being able to talk to Shar made me feel better. She let go of me to wipe her face with the back of her hand.

I did the same. “Where exactly are we?” I asked.

“You are on the brink, Margaret.” Hades flashed his perfect smile at me and pointed into the darkness, where I could now make out some body of water. “That is the Styx. Cross that and you'll enter my realm.”

“No thanks.” I shook my head.

“Well, if you fail … ” He raised his hands in an open-palmed shrug. “Then this will be permanent. But then, you'll both be in Tartarus, and I'm sure Sharisse will tell you that it's not all that bad.”

“I beg to differ,” Shar sniffed.

Hades wiped a tear from her mutinous face. “
Cara mia
, always playing devil's advocate! It makes you so … alluring.”

He glanced at her with a lascivious look and we both shivered. There was no way either of us was going to stay here permanently; we had enough incentive to get our jobs done.

“How will Shar be able to talk to me?” I asked.

A bejeweled box, about the size of a milk crate and bound with iron clasps and hinges, appeared on the bone table. Hades eyed Shar intently. “Sharisse, this will be waiting for you in my throne room, but be careful. Pandora will have a fit if you damage it.”

“Pandora?” Shar interrupted. “You mean this is … ?”

“Pandora's Box—exactly,
mon amour
!”

Shar cocked her head. “Can you please stop calling me that?”

“If that's Pandora's Box, don't open it, Shar,” I warned. “All the troubles of the world are in there!”

Hades yawned. “The box is empty.” He lifted the lid and we both flinched as the hinges squealed. Nothing happened. No monsters, disasters, or plagues descended upon us.

“See?” Hades said. “I told you the truth.”

“But then why would Pandora keep it?” I asked.

“Souvenir?” Hades shrugged. “Because of its history, it has become a window on the world. Open the lid, and if Margaret is at the designated place at the appointed time, you'll be able to see and talk to each other.”

“But how will I know when she's going to be there?” Shar asked. “Couldn't we just use our cell phones? You can do that, right?”

“Questions! Questions!” Hades tutted, handing Shar a delicate gold-link bracelet with a watch face. “This will help you keep mortal time in my domain. It will chime three times: once as a five-minute warning to get to the throne room, once when the five minutes commences, and lastly when the five minutes are up. Ben Franklin designed and created it. Useful man to have around. I must see if I can renew his contract.” Hades gave us a wicked smile.

“Ben Franklin?” I asked. “As in
Benjamin Franklin?”

Shar nodded.

“But—” I started.

“I'll explain later,” she said, taking the watch and fastening it around her wrist. “Let's just say he's the Underworld's major-domo.”

“Got it.” I turned to Hades. “Do I get a box too?”

“Of course not!” he scoffed. “There's only one Pandora's Box, and it's not going back to the mortal plane even if it
is
empty. Every Tuesday, between, say, 6:55 and 7:00 p.m., go here.” He flicked his wrist and a thick, cream-colored business card appeared between his buffed fingernails. When he handed it to me, I could see that it was shaped like a tiny cake covered in curlicue writing.

Pandora's Box
1118 57th Street

“Pandora's Box, the
store
?”
I eyed him warily. “What do they sell there?”

A dry chuckle escaped his lips. “Take your mind out of the gutter. It's a gourmet confectioner. To die for.” He bit his bottom lip. “And some have. Just be in front of Pandora's by 6:55 tomorrow evening and you'll be able to talk to Sharisse to your heart's content.”

“For five minutes,” I snapped.

He pointed at me and I felt a pinch on my arm. There was a popping sound and a feather floated to the floor.

“You said—”

“Don't push me, Margaret. Go to the window at the designated day and time and if Sharisse is inclined to speak with you, you'll see her in the window of Pandora's. Now, this little reunion has gone on long enough.
Mi coraz
ó
n
.” He nodded at Shar and she vanished. He and I were standing in my dorm room, the fleece hovering at his elbow.

“Where's Shar?” I demanded. “There were things I wanted to say. Things I had to ask … ” I looked around helplessly.

“You'll have an opportunity to talk to Sharisse tomorrow. Hopefully my generosity will be an incentive for you to perform. And by the way”—he glared at me—“never, NEVER do that to the fleece again.”

I watched as the closet door slid open by itself. The crowded hangers parted, making a more-than-ample space for the fleece. The garment bag floated in and settled gently on the rod.

“It needs quiet time,” Hades said, walking over to the closet and smoothing out the bag before closing the door by hand and vanishing.

I flung myself onto my bed and curled up, staring at Shar's half of the room. It looked as barren, desolate, and empty as I felt. At least I'd be able to talk to her tomorrow—
if
Hades kept his promise, which I wasn't about to bank on.

There was a bang on the door.

“Go away,” I said, more to the pillow than to whomever was out there—probably Alana and company come to torment me about imaginary roommates. Then the door handle shook, as if someone was putting a key into the lock. I pushed myself up on the bed and watched the knob quickly turn.

The door was thrust open and two men in dark suits, black shades, and earpieces came in, carting several Louis Vuitton trunks on wheeled carriers.

“In here?” one of them said to someone out in the hall.

“My paper says Room 29. Doesn't it say Room 29? Just move so I can get out of this hallway!” a voice grated from just outside.

The men quickly pushed the luggage farther into the room and stepped aside, letting in a tall, solid-looking girl dressed in a loose, spangled navy top; beat-up, leathery looking pants; and pansy-yellow flats. A gray scarf with little silver horses embroidered into it was tied around her neck, and feathery sable hair stuck out the back of the trucker hat perched on her head.

She surveyed the room quickly, not bothering to take off the huge, dark bug-eye glasses perched on her nose. When she caught sight of me, sitting on my bed and clutching my pillow, she stared for a moment, then let out a breathy sigh that seemed to catch in her throat. Was she disappointed to find me here?

“Derek!” she grunted at one of the men. He rushed over to her and the two of them conversed in hushed voices, she growling and he apologetic.

“I guess this will have to do for now!” She waved a hand, dismissing them. Hopping to her command, they scurried out the door, closing it behind them.

The girl paced up and down, her heels clicking against the smooth linoleum tiles on the floor. She went over to the window and looked out, then rushed back to the door, opened it a crack, and peered out before slamming it shut again.

“Why isn't there a deadbolt on this?” she said, looking the door up and down. “Or at least a slide lock with a chain?”

“Dunno,” I said, getting up and finally realizing what had just happened—I'd gotten a new roommate.

The girl leaned back against the door and slumped. “Not exactly what I expected.”

“You mean having to room with someone?” I offered, not kindly. I didn't know if she didn't like the idea of me as a roomie, or roomies in general, but I wasn't too keen on her. Too pushy, obviously too high maintenance, and I didn't want anyone taking Shar's place.

She didn't answer, but threw up her large hands before tucking them in her front pockets. She looked around the room over the top of her glasses, her glance resting on the posters on the walls. She tilted her head. “This is promising.”

Excuse me?

“I'm Meg,” I said, planting myself defensively in my half of the room.

“Nice taste in tunes, Meg,” said the gangly girl. Her eyes, still hidden behind her shades, seemed to be fixed on the wall, her head moving up and down in a fluid motion as if she was keeping time to unheard music. She was checking out the photo of Matt Davey, the lead guitarist for Elysian Fields. “I'm Paulina.”

“Oh,” I replied, keeping my voice even. Of course my new roommate was Paulina Swanson. Like last time, Hades had given us—or rather, me—an in.

There was another pounding on the door. For the next four hours, Paulina's suited, secret-service-type goons moved her in
à
la
Design Star
—when they were done, it looked like she, not Shar, had been my roommate for the last seven months. The room had morphed from goth/Barbie to half empty to EMO-den, although it didn't take Paulina long to turn Derek's OCD for organization into a whirlwind of disarray. He would unpack a case only for her to go sifting through a drawer or bin, leaving clothes hanging over edges and scattering CDs like birdseed. Shar had complained that I was a walking havoc-wreaker; was I this bad? Well, even if Paulina's posters, semi-slovenliness, and sartorial expression seemed to match mine, it didn't matter—she just pushed in and took over. Only Shar had license to be that way with me, and while Hades may have put Poo-lina in Shar's place, I wanted none of it.

At least, until Derek started unloading her sound system—an industrial mosh of equipment that looked like it belonged to a professional DJ. Floor-to-ceiling speakers, CD changer for I don't know how many CDs, laptop, iHome, surround sound; if she set the volume to two, it would probably knock down the walls. I fought to put this into perspective as the entire Elysian Fields catalog—including rare, live, and early performances—were loaded and started playing en circuit.

Think of Shar, think of Shar, think of Shar!
A silent mantra played in my head like a loop until I felt like I could hear Shar's voice speaking, like a little angel on my shoulder:
Think of the kind of deal Paulina must have made with Hades for all this!

As if on cue, the voice of my own conscience joined in.
Paulina's awful! But look at her. How old could she be? 17? 18? 19 at most? Kids don't make deals with the Lord of the Underworld.