One of the reasons I like taking the underground railroad station is because the tickets there are pretty cheap. The conductors also don't mind using your monster hunting license as a train pass — just as long as you renew them before you get your butt in your seat.

Although taking a trip on an underwater train is fun, you can quickly get deported or arrested in this place.

You see, while Giuliani is cleaning up New York with his bullshit propaganda, Clinton's trying to crack down on immigration for God knows how long.

The bill he signed, the Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act, makes it a massive problem for underground railroad stations because they welcome illegal immigrants, demon hunters, and creatures to the States. Sometimes, the cops and ICE would stop a train to find immigrants; other times, they dragged the passengers out of the stations like animals.

Now, the higher-ups in my community don't care very much about Clinton and his policies, but I think they made up some deal with him because all the secret train stations in the States have been shut down except for the one I'm in. I don't know what kind of loopholes the higher-ups went through, but I guess they like Poseidon Express as much as anyone.

It was built by this extremely wealthy inventor, Martin Bright; the train is designed to withstand extreme temperatures, go thirty-thousand miles, and enter a body of water without any obstacles.

Blackish-green obsidian touched the cold ceiling and the floor I was standing on. Sea salt emerges from the silver train tracks, while dank rocks and grounded sand are littered with wet garbage. Standing on the metal train tracks is a silver steam engine caravan. Black vapor pours from long chimneys, causing everyone to shield their noses with elbows and hats.

Odors of fresh seawater grow stronger. Homeless people sit in the corner of the train station, dodging the smell, while rowdy teenagers spray paint on the moist, gray brick walls. The public flourishes from every side of the building, yet humans and magical creatures avoid each other like oil and water.

I see the train conductor standing near the magical transport, tapping his golden pocket watch.

"THE POSEIDON EXPRESS WILL LEAVE IN FIVE MINUTES!" he announces.

Dozens of passengers climb aboard, prompting me and Ichabod to do the same. Shoes fondle the beautiful red carpet as passengers settle in lavish pearl-white chairs.

Several are well-dressed socialites, while some look like they just graduated from some fancy Ivy League school.

I lift my backpack and move to the left corner of the pearl-white chairs until Ichabod and I find a vacant one near the window. My cat hops on the empty table and makes himself comfortable while I toss my bag above my chair and sit in front of him.

The old conductor reaches his hand into his large pocket, whips out his thin, silver-gray whistle, and blows on it so hard that it almost deafens the children's ears.

Giving attention to the piercing noise, two burly trolls in dirty overalls get up from the wet floor, scramble towards the enormous, rusty valve, and twist it open so they can enter.

"Holy shit!" Ichabod exclaims.

He anxiously jumps into my lap and opens wide to see a tsunami of indignant tides storming toward the silver train. But instead of tearing it apart, the water swallows the steam caravan in one gulp.

Some passengers deepen their nails into the pearly white seats while others, like me, watch the excitement through the thick window. Sea glass and basalt fly right past the Poseidon Express. They clink against each other and then grow apart like old friends.

I watch for a second until the spirit of an old lady permits herself into the first car, pushing around a cart of plastic-wrapped sandwiches, chips, Dunkaroos, candies, and every variety of Jolt Cola and Surge.

Interested, I take out two five-dollar bills from my bag and buy a sandwich, soda, and a fish-scented cat treat for Ichabod. But when I try to give it to my cat, he looks at me as if horns are growing on my head.

"Hate to sound like an asshole," said Ichabod, rolling on his back. "But when am I going to get some real food? You know, beer, pizza, chicken-"

"Jesus Christ, Crane," I whisper, handing the treat to Ichabod. "You do know you're a fucking cat, right?"

Ichabod snarls, snatches his treat out of my hand, devours it in three bites, and muffles, "And you're a college dropout with serious family issues.

"Do you want me to turn you into a frog again?"

"Can you turn me into a bird so I can fly away from this stupid conversation?"

Rolling my eyes to the ceiling, I think about throwing my cat out of the train when I spot Marvin, the conductor, moving down the soft-red aisle.

Minutes after the conductor moves to the following table, I look at him. Besides his dark eyes, the train conductor sports a dark brown perm that died in the 80s. He is adorned in a navy blue jacket, black slacks, and shoes chewed by what appeared to be dog bite marks. One by one, he pockets the tickets and hands the cards back to every man, woman, and child onboard the train.

"Shit," I grumble.

As Marvin advances towards me, I search inside my small handbag first, then push around the items until I retrieve my monster hunting card. It's a good thing I renewed it last month, or else I wouldn't be on this train.

"Hello, Theresa." he greets. "How are you doing today?"

"I'm doing good, Marvin," I answer, handing him my card. "I'm just heading to Louisiana."

"Are you going there on an assignment or vacation?" Marvin inquires slowly. "Because if you're going on vacation, I'm afraid you need to leave this car and purchase a train ticket."

I shake my head firmly. "I'm on an assignment."

His black eyes glimmer at my face, then glares at Ichabod. "Is he your familiar?"

"Yes, sir," I answer. "But don't worry, he's well-trained."

Marvin sighs, then turns his attention to my ID, gives it to me, and insists that I buckle up and enjoy the ride. Ichabod and I watch him as Marvin opens the silver door and leaves the car.

"Okay, seriously?" Ichabod asks me. "How are we going to buckle up when there aren't any-"

Entrances are fastened shut. Malicious bubbles and toxic smoke start rising from the silvery-gray chimney as the train shifts. Glass chandeliers rock from side to side. Porcelain teacups jiggle on white tablecloths, prompting the passengers to hold onto their drinks.

Things take an exciting turn when the caravan lets itself pass through the metal passageway.

Pressing my hands against the cold glass, I admire the vibrant seaweed, colorful sea animals, and mythical beasts flocking close to the train and seeing it change direction.

Underneath the wheels are train tracks running across the splintered ocean floor. I recognize a tremendous leviathan sleeping on the ocean floor. Its body is as large as a pirate ship; the leviathan's skin matches the color of azure green, while its malformed tentacles look like the monster had gotten into a nasty fight.

Luckily, no one had the intention of waking it up, especially the two newborn seals who were floating above the glossy red corals.

"Aw," I croon, gaping at the fat seal puppies.

I press my hand against the glass and stare at the seal puppies in total wonder. They do these adorable somersaults and squeak at each other when the seals spot a mermaid getting her salmon pink tail caught in plastic six-pack rings. Her wreathing dark red hair conceals her frustrated face.

The moment the men catch a glimpse of the mermaid's nipples, a few of them start whistling and hounding the pained siren to flash her tits while the other passengers read The Daily Oracle or eat their snacks.

The frantic mermaid's lips scowl, revealing her sharp, white fangs. She covers her breasts with her scaly arms until I snap my fingers twice, causing the six-pack rings to break apart. It gives the redhead enough time to break free and disappear into the seaweed while her devastated "fans" break their necks trying to find her.

Once the train speeds off, I open my Jolt Cola, pick up my grilled ham and cheese sandwich, and eat it throughout the trip to Massachusetts. White crumbs scatter on the table, but I retrieve them with a plastic wrapper, crush them into a ball, and watch the green flames shoot up from my hand and devour them.

When the train reaches its fifth stop, a few passengers finish their desserts and get up from their chairs. They shuffle past me and Ichabod until they leave the car in time for the seventh time.

Speaking of Ichabod, he lets out a tiny yawn and makes me scratch his stomach. His black, fuzzy tail tickles my kneecap, prompting me to pinch his right ear playfully.

"Ouch!" Crane grunts. "Quit it!"

"You quit it, you fucking dumbass," I scoff, messing him a little.

I tickle Crane's stomach and neck when I see con artist Hugo Greene walking over to my table.

He wears an oversized, yet torn, dark red flannel. His bluish-brown sweater covers half of his distressed jeans, but I can see the collar of his knitted gray polo sticking out. His brown boots look a little big for his feet, but the guy doesn't seem to care because it's probably his only pair.

Believe it or not, I met the prick when I was in Chinatown helping the Yakuza retrieve their ill-gotten gains. He was stashing the loot in an abandoned opium warehouse when I caught him the act and threatened him to surrender. Hugo tried to flirt with me, but when that didn't work, he framed me for his crimes and got away scot-free. Thanks to him, the Yakuza didn't pay me for my services.

"Is it just me, or do these sandwiches taste stale?" Hugo asks, tousling his dark red hair. "Don't get me wrong. I love riding in style, but if they want a five-star rating from me, they gotta update their food service."

"What's a fucking grifter like you doing here, Hugo?" I snap.

Hugo lifts his lips into a teasing smile, then sits before me without my permission.

"What can I say?" he chuckles. "I'm a people person."

Leaning his head close to me, Hugo then adds, "You know, I never did get to thank the hottie for sending me to that hellhole. I thought she liked money more than I do."

"If I was interested in making more money," I whisper. "I would've let those assholes dice you up like a sushi a long time ago."

"Damn, you're cold."

Noticing a golden chain around Hugo's neck, I lift it with my finger until I see the Aztec gold coin connected to it.

"Speaking of being a people person, did you get this from a pawn shop?" I question. "Or did you steal it from one of your random hook-ups?"

Hugo smiles and then tucks the necklace back into his shirt. "Let's not talk about the past, okay? How about we eat these shitty sandwiches and talk about our plans for Halloween?"

"Wow," I remark. "And you say I'm hard to read."

"HEY!" the train conductor shouts. "EVERYONE, SETTLE IN YOUR SEATS! THE TRAIN IS NOW HEADING TO NEW ORLEANS!"

The water suddenly becomes darker. I can barely see the fish floating in the water. Wiping the sticky brown liquid with my hand, I see Hugo staring at the older woman's snack cart. He reaches his hand in his pocket, tilts his head to the side, and retrieves an expensive black leather wallet he must've stolen from some loser in this car.

Hopping onto my seat, Ichabod pokes my right shoulder with his black paw.

"Hey, Teddy," he whispers, staring at Hugo. "Are you sure we can trust this guy? I mean, he's pretty sketchy."

"No shit," I tell him. "I still don't get why he got out."

Ichabod twitches his tail but doesn't say anything. He lowers his paw and gives me a look of understanding.

"Just be careful around him," he warns. "I'm not sure if this Hugo guy is packing."

Hugo's ears heighten as he chuckles at Ichabod's accusation. "Sorry to disappoint you, hairball, but if I had a gun, the conductor would've thrown me to the sharks three hours ago."

"Aw, lucky you," Ichabod snarls. "Why the hell are you here?"

"I want to buy expensive paintings for my apartment," Hugo murmurs. "I want to try oysters with sauvignon blanc, and I want to have an insightful conversation with a pretty girl sitting right in front of me."

I let out a chortle. "In your fucking dreams."

"Oh, I'm planning on it," Hugo promises with a wink and a smile.

I try to say something sarcastic, but his unbreakable gaze forces me to clamp my mouth shut and stare at the Angler Fish swimming by my window. Its eyes are as pale as the moon. A slimy tentacle shimmies from its red, scaly forehead, producing a light brighter than any star in the galaxy.

In the meantime, Hugo finishes his snacks and opens his Surge can. Vanilla frosting and sprinkles dance around his lips, but he ignores them and then takes a long sip of his soda.

Twisting my face, I take my Walkman from my bag, don my black headphones, and listen to R.E.M.'s "Fall On Me." Picking up Ichabod, I scratch behind his ears and kiss him on the head until he squirms from my embrace. He lands on his seat, circles the cushion three times, and sleeps soundly.

Hugo burps loudly, waking up half of the passengers.

He flashes me an apologetic smile, but I turn up the volume and ignore him. Pushing my hair out of my eyes, I listen to Michael Stipe's voice until the damn tape begins to skip. I try to rewind it and press PLAY, but the tape keeps being a total asshole.

Sighing, I push the STOP button with a thumb, yank my headphones off my ears, and groan when Damon Albarn 2.0 asks me what's wrong.

"It's nothing," I tell him.

"Are you sure?" Hugo presses in a wary tone. "Cause you look like you could use a friend right now."

I laugh in disbelief when he holds up his hand to silence me.

"Louisiana's a big state," he continues. "And judging by the look on your face, you don't seem thrilled to return to your neighborhood."

"A year ago, you tried to make me look like an ass in front of my clients, and now you want to be my friend?"

"I'm willing to let bygones be bygones. If you help me with—"

"Fuck off."

Hugo flashes me a coy smirk. He presses his boot on the edge of his pearly white chair and drapes his arm on his left kneecap.

"You're cute when you're suspicious," he compliments flirtatiously. "Sure, I was taught to be more 'realistic' than other monster hunters, but it's only because I want what's mine. How about you, Nancy Drew? Do you have any other goals besides spying on cheating husbands?"

"Oh, you mean like stealing from bank executives?" I inquire. "Sorry, that's your job."

"Relax, I'm retired, now," Hugo replies, grinning. "I've learned the error of my ways and I'm ready to rejoin society."

I give him a quizzical frown. "Why are you here?"

"To see the sights," Hugo answers playfully. "Meet new people—"

"You hate people." I remind him.

Hugo swivels his eyes to the rumbling ceiling and huffs, "Alright, fine. I'm heading to this dive bar at the French Quarter to meet a friend."

"A friend?" I press. "Last I checked, you said you didn't have any friends."

"This coming from a girl who was talking to a cat a minute ago?"

As soon as the train whistle goes off, I get up from my seat and fetch Ichabod, who hisses at Hugo's face.

"Well, as much as I love to stay and chat," I begin. "I have a vacation to plan and old classmates to avoid."

Hugo shrugs his shoulders. "Alright, but if you feel pretty lonely—"

"I'd rather lick rust." I snort. "See you around."

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