This may surprise you, but the sewer system of a burg with eight million people is even less delightful than you might imagine. We climbed down the manhole one by one and ended up standing on a grimy tiled ledge maybe two feet wide. Above us, the tunnel curved around, some fourteen feet across, and below our ledge was a swiftly moving current of filthy wastewater.
“Bleah,” said Nudge. “This is so gross. When we get out of here, I want someone to spray me with, like, disinfectant.”
Angel stuffed Celeste up under her shirt.
“Max?” said the Gasman. “Are those, um, rats?”
Lovely. “Yes, those do appear to be either rats or mice on steroids,” I said briskly, trying not to shriek and climb the walls like a girly-girl.
“Jeez,” said Iggy with disgust. “You’d think they’d want to live in a park or something.”
Ahead of us was a four-way intersection of tunnels, like a big cross. I hesitated, then turned left. Several minutes later, I stopped, completely and utterly without a clue.
Hello, Voice? I thought. A little help here, please.
I had no hope that the Voice would respond, but if it did, it would probably say something like, If a tree falls in a forest, does it still—
I looked down, then sucked in my breath so fast I almost choked. I was standing on a translucent platform suspended high over the sewer system. I wanted to scream, feeling off-balance and scared. Below me I could see another Max, looking like a deer caught in headlights, and the rest of the flock staring at me. Fang reached out and took the other Max’s arm, and I felt it, but no one was with me.
When are you going to trust me, Max? said the Voice. When are you going to trust yourself?
“Maybe when I don’t feel completely bonkers,” I snarled.
I swallowed hard and tried to get a grip. Tentatively, I glanced down again at the translucent surface. As I watched, faint lines of light tracked the path behind us, where we’d already been. Then the lines continued through the tunnels, like a neon This Way sign.
Quickly, I glanced up but saw only the yucky yellow-tiled arch covered with mold—no glass ceiling. Fang was still holding my arm, looking at me intently.
I gave him an embarrassed smile. “You must be so sick of looking at me with concern.”
“It is getting stale,” he said. “What happened? This time, I mean.”
“I don’t even want to explain,” I said, wiping clammy sweat off my forehead. “You’d have me committed to a madhouse.”
I stepped carefully around him and led the others forward. Some sections of the tunnel were lit dimly from open grates high above us, other parts were dark and dismal. But I was never lost, never uncertain, and after what felt like miles, I stopped again because it felt like it was time to. ’Cause, like, the feng shui was right, you know? Ugh.
As we stood staring around ourselves in the darkness, avoiding our chittering little rat friends, I saw why we were there.
Set into one cruddy, disgusting sewer wall was an almost completely hidden gray metal door.
“We’re here, gang. We made it.”
123
Don’t get too excited. The door was locked, of course.
“Okay, guys,” I said softly. “Can any of us open locks with our minds? Speak up now.”
No one could.
“Iggy, then.” I moved out of the way and pulled him gently to the door. His sensitive fingers reached out and skimmed the door, feeling its almost indistinguishable edges, hovering around the keyhole. Like someone was going to come down here with a key.
“Okay,” Iggy muttered. He pulled his little lock-picking kit out of his pocket, as I knew he would. Even though I had confiscated it for forever only two months ago, after he picked the lock on my closet at home.
Home. Don’t even think about it. You no longer have a home. You’re home-less.
Carefully, Iggy selected a too
l, changed his mind, took out another one. Angel shifted from foot to foot, looking nervously at the rats, who were growing creepily curious about us.