“There’s no one down there but me,” she replied. By the way she said it, Lucas knew that her solitude was even worse somehow than torture.
“You’ve been injured.” He reached out across the few feet separating them and briefly ran a finger across her wrist, tracing the shape of the fading bruises he had seen there.
Her face was closed. “I don’t have my powers in the Underworld. But I heal when I wake up.”
“Talk to me,” he coaxed. “You know you can tell me anything.”
“I know I can, but if I do, I’ll pay for it later,” she groaned, but with a touch of humor. Lucas pressed on, sensing her lightening mood, and wanting so much to see her smile once more.
“What? Just tell me!” he said with a grin. “How painful could it be to talk to me about it?”
Her laugher died and she looked up at him, her mouth parting slightly, just enough so Lucas could see the glassy inner rim of her lower lip. He remembered the feel of it when he kissed her and he tensed—stopping himself before he dipped his head down to feel it again.
“Excruciating,” she whispered.
“Helen! How long does it take to use the powder—” Cassandra cut off abruptly when she saw Lucas’s back moving away down the hall, and Helen blushing furiously as she darted toward the library.
Helen hurried through the room with the peeling petunia wallpaper, avoiding the rotted floorboards by the soggy, mold-infested couch. It seemed to glare at her as she ran past. She’d already come this way a dozen times, maybe more. Instead of taking the door on the right or the door on the left, both of which she knew led nowhere, she decided she had nothing to lose and went into the closet.
A mossy wool overcoat loomed in the corner. There was dandruff on the collar and it smelled like a sick old man. It crowded her, like it was trying to shoo her out of its lair. Helen ignored the cantankerous coat and searched until she found another door, hidden in one of the side panels of the closet. The opening was only tall enough to permit a small child to pass through. She knelt down, suddenly creeped out by the wool coat that seemed to watch her bend over, like it was trying to peek down her shirt, and hurried through the child-sized door.
The next room was a dusty boudoir, caked with centuries of heavy perfume, yellow stains, and disappointment. But at least there was a window. Helen hurried to it, hoping to jump out and free herself from this terrible trap. She pushed the lurid peach taffeta curtains aside with something approaching hope.
The window was bricked up. She hit the bricks with her fists, just jabs at first, but with increasing anger until her knuckles were raw. Everything was rotted and crumbling in this labyrinth of rooms—everything except the exits. Those were as solid as Fort Knox.
Helen had been trapped for what felt to her like days. She’d become so desperate she’d even closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep, hoping to wake up in her bed. It didn’t work. Helen still hadn’t figured out how to control her entrances and exits from the Underworld without half killing herself. She was frightened that she was actually going to die this time, and didn’t want to think about what she would have to do to herself to get out.
White spots crowded her vision, and several times now she had almost passed out from thirst and fatigue. She hadn’t had any water in so long that even the sluggish goo that spattered reluctantly out of the taps in this hell-house was starting to look appealing.
The strange thing was that Helen was more frightened in this part of the Underworld than she had ever been, even though she wasn’t in any imminent danger. She wasn’t hanging from a ledge, or trapped in the trunk of a tree, or chained by the wrists to a boulder that was dragging her down a hill and toward a cliff.
She was just in a house, an endless house with no exits.
These visits to the parts of the Underworld where she was in no immediate danger lasted the longest and ended up being the hardest in the long run. Thirst, hunger, and the crushing loneliness she suffered—these were the worst kind of punishment. Hell didn’t need lakes of fire to torment. Time and solitude were enough.
Helen sat down under the bricked-up window, thinking about having to spend the rest of her life in a House where she wasn’t welcome.
It started pouring rain right in the middle of football practice, and then everything went sideways. All the guys started throwing each other around, sliding in the mud, really tearing up the turf. Coach Brant finally gave up and sent everyone home. Lucas watched Coach as they all packed it in, and could tell he wasn’t really into the practice to begin with. His son, Zach, had quit the team the day before. From what everyone said, Coach hadn’t taken it well, and Lucas wondered how bad the fight had gotten. Zach hadn’t been in school that day.
Lucas sympathized with Zach. He knew what it was like to have a father who was disappointed in you.
“Luke! Let’s go! I’m freezing,” Jason hollered. He was already stripping off his gear on his way to the locker room, and Lucas ran to catch up.
They rushed to get home, both of them hungry and wet, and walked right into the kitchen. Helen and Claire were in there with Lucas’s mom. The girls’ track uniforms were soaked through, and they hovered expectantly by Noel with excited looks on their faces while they dabbed at themselves with towels. At first, all Lucas could see was Helen. Her hair was tangled and her long, bare legs glistened with rain.
Then he heard a whispering in his ear, and a flare of hate flashed through him. His mother was on the phone. The voice on the other end was Hector’s.
“No, Lucas. Don’t,” Helen said in a quavering voice. “Noel, hang up!”
Lucas and Jason rushed toward the source of the Outcast’s voice, compelled by the Furies. Helen stepped in front of Noel. All she did was hold out her hands in a “stop” gesture, and the cousins ran into her hands like they were running into a solid wall. They were thrown back onto the floor, gasping for air. Helen didn’t budge an inch.
“I’m so sorry!” Helen said, crouching over them with an anxious look on her face. “But I couldn’t let you tackle Noel.”
“Don’t apologize,” Lucas groaned, rubbing his chest. He had no idea Helen was that strong, but he couldn’t ha
ve been happier that she was. His mother had a shocked look on her face, but both she and Claire were fine. That was all that mattered.
“Uuuhh,” Jason added, agreeing with Lucas. Claire crouched down next to him and patted him sympathetically while he rolled around, trying to get his breath back.