As Driggs and Elysia headed up to the counter to buy some milkshakes to go, Lex hurried out the door. Unfortunately, Zara was outside waiting for her.
“You did something stupid again, didn’t you?” she said in a quiet voice. “Nice job, rookie.”
Lex simmered irritably, but said nothing. Zara’s attempt to mark her territory was so obvious, Lex wouldn’t be surprised if she had peed all over the Ghost Gum tree.
“Onion ring?” Zara said, handing her a leftover carton.
As everyone knows, the offer of an onion ring is not to be taken lightly. Onion rings are far more valuable than their throwaway side dish counterparts—french fries and potato chips —and, as such, have brought about numerous reconciliations throughout history.
So Lex was torn. Zara wasn’t exactly a friend, as evidenced by her snooty attitude and incessant dirty looks. But neither was she an enemy, really, and this certain brand of gray area was foreign to Lex, who had previously categorized people into two groups: those to be pummeled, and those to be pummeled harder.
Cautiously, Lex took a greasy ring from the carton and placed it in her mouth. “What’s your problem, Zara?”
“Oh, come on. You’re the new kid. I’m allowed to have a little fun with you.”
“Yeah, except no one else seems to have gotten the hazing memo, so you’re the only one coming off as a major bitch.”
“Hey,” Zara said with a sudden ferocity. “Golden child. Let’s get one thing straight. You can swoop in here on your uncle’s coattails, and you can win the hearts and minds of all these hopeless ignoramuses, but the one thing you are not allowed to do is talk back to me.”
Lex felt her knuckles instinctively tighten. “I can talk back to anyone I want.”
“Wrong,” Zara said, her eyes flashing. “And here’s why. You know that feeling you get when you Kill people? That lightning-grade shock?”
Lex’s mouth fell open. She thought back to her first day of training, to that look on Zara’s face after her first Kill. So much for keeping the shocks a secret.
Zara held up her hand to reveal a matching red finger. “Well, I get it too, when I Cull,” she said, softening. “So we need to stick together, because the thing is . . .” Her voice dropped even lower. “We’re the only ones.”
Lex was stunned. She’d been so wrapped up in her own shocks that day that she hadn’t even noticed Zara’s. She opened her mouth, but Elysia and Driggs were now exiting the Morgue, milkshakes in hand. Zara shot one last glance at Lex. “We’ll talk later,” she mouthed, taking off down the street.
Lex became lost in her thoughts as she and Driggs walked back to the Bank with Elysia, who talked the whole way. “This week is destroying me,” she said, taking a sip of her milkshake. “Ford won’t shut up about his stupid assembly line, Emily’s weeping all over the place, Grant and Lee are at it again—oh, and Dewey will not stop poking Truman in the eye. He keeps saying it’s an accident, but I know better.” She sighed. “I wish for once they’d act as dead as they are.”
They parted ways once they arrived at the Bank. “Bye, Lex!” Elysia said, heading up the stairs to the Afterlife. “See you tonight!”
“What? Why?” Lex turned to Driggs. “Huh?”
“You’ll see,” he said.
She crossed her arms. “You do realize that stringing me along across all these little mysteries is one day going to come back to bite you in the ass, right?”
“I fail to see how that could possibly stop me from continuing.”
***
In the hub, Lex grumpily found herself sitting in front of a desk adorned with several pictures of dolphins, a collection of Hello Kitty toys, and a pink iPod. Sofi sat in the middle of it all, beaming at Driggs.
“Now that you’ve been here for a week,” Driggs told Lex, “we don’t have to check in with Norwood or Heloise anymore.” He plugged his scythe into the Smack and sat on the desk. “We can pick whoever we want.”
“And I’m your favorite, right, Driggs?” Sofi said.
“That’s right.”
Lex watched this little exchange with something resembling unbridled vexation. Sofi’s relentless reapplying of her lip gloss and fluffing of her hair and smoothing of her skirt (which Lex estimated to be about two sizes too tight) were just too much. She plugged in her own scythe, then looked over at the jellyfish to distract herself. One of them had its tentacles raised in a friendly wave.
“Lex?” Driggs said moments later, in a way that suggested he had already repeated himself several times. “Care to join us?”
“Hmm?” she said. “Oh, sorry. Did I miss your fascinating conversation?”
Driggs and Sofi exchanged mystified glances. “Sofi’s looking up the toilet woman from this morning.”
Sofi pounded at the Smack’s incomprehensible keys. “Susan Karliak,” she read off the screen. “Ten twenty-seven a.m., Richmond, Virginia.” She let out an alarmed squeal. “Cause of death: unknown.”
Driggs went pale. “What?”
Their faces were so flabbergasted, Lex almost burst out laughing. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve never seen an unknown before,” Sofi said in awe.
“Me neither. I didn’t think they existed,” said Driggs. “Look up the baseball guy from the other day.”
“What’s the big deal?” Lex said as Sofi typed. “People die of unknown causes all the time.”
“Unknown to medical examiners,” Driggs said. “Not to the Smacks.”
“Arnold Scadden,” Sofi read off the screen. “Eleven fifty-four a.m., Boston, Massachusetts. Cause of death: unknown.”
Driggs looked across the hub. “I wonder if Norwood and Heloise know about this.”
“Doubtful,” said Sofi. “Causes of death are just listed as a formality, Etceteras never look at them. Up until now, there hasn’t been a reason to.”
Driggs thought for a moment. “Is there any way to route these kinds of targets out to just us Juniors?”
Sofi twisted her mouth. “I’m not supposed to do special requests, but—” Driggs gave her a pleading look. “Fine. You’re lucky I like you.” Her fingers danced around the keyboard. “Okay, I created a filter,” she said proudly.
“Genius,” Lex said in a flat voice. She stood up, yanked their scythes out of the Smack, and looked at Driggs. “Let’s go.”
Sofi pouted her watermelon-flavored lips in a hurt expression. But her smile reappeared when Driggs jumped off the desk, whispered, “See you tonight!” and patted her on the head. Giggling, she tried to swipe back but missed by inches.
Lex, suppressing the urge to throw up, turned wordlessly and headed for the door.
Driggs followed her, stopping only to dump a salt packet into Norwood’s unattended cup of coffee. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked once they were in the hall.
“Nothing,” she said. “I guess I just don’t like that . . . place,” she finished unsurely. But the truth was, Lex was just as bewildered. Sofi had been nothing but nice since they met, yet Lex couldn’t stop picturing her head mounted on some sort of trophy wall.
As they walked out onto Dead End, they spotted Uncle Mort, who stood lecturing a trio of behatted women clutching matching binoculars. “Yeah, fifty-dollar bird-watching tax,” he said. The ladies exchanged puzzled glances as they handed over the money. “Hands tied, it’s the damned government. What can you do?” He shrugged innocently, sneaking a wink at Lex.
After a chorus of thanks, the women hurried to their car. Uncle Mort waved them off, then counted the money. “With a little left over for inebriation.” He grinned, stuffing it into his pocket. “Hey, one week, huh, Lex?” he said, tossing her a Cuff. “Here’s your graduation gift.”
“Sweet.” She slid it onto her wrist. It felt cool, with a slight vibration to it. “Thanks.”
“So, you feel all trained up? Driggs teach you everything he knows?”
“Yes. I’m now fully qualified to operate a can opener.”
Driggs let
out a sigh. “What a lovable scamp you’ve bestowed upon our fair town, Mort.”
“My pleasure,” he said to Driggs. “You make the stuff yet?”
“After work,” Driggs said out of the corner of his mouth.
“Great.” He hopped onto his motorcycle. “Come straight home after your shift, okay? Especially you, Lex,” he said, rubbing his hands together in a diabolical manner.
She watched him leave. “That doesn’t bode well.”
***
It didn’t bode well at all. As soon as she and Driggs set foot in the driveway later that afternoon, Uncle Mort bounded out the front door. “Into the house, Lex.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so. And because Driggs is wildly gesturing for me to get rid of you.”
Lex whipped around. Driggs stopped whatever form of exaggerated sign language he had been attempting and gave her an innocent wave as he headed for the backyard.
“Come on, kiddo,” Uncle Mort said, holding the door open.
Lex reluctantly allowed herself to be dragged into the kitchen and seated at the table. “What’s going on?”
“You’ve got a date with the telephone.”
He slammed an avocado-colored chunk of plastic down in front of her. She eyed him, apprehension slowly icing through her body. “Excuse me?”
“Call your parents.”
Lex froze. The inevitable had arrived. All her plans of isolation—which had been working so nicely up until now—were about to come crashing down into a giant pile of remorse and useless apologies.
It wasn’t that she didn’t miss her parents. She really did. She’d never gone so long without speaking to them, and the guilt was eating her alive. She knew how much they missed her and loved her—and how hard it had been for them to let her go. But now that she’d gotten a taste of where she truly belonged, her old life might as well have been situated on another planet. She couldn’t bear to hear the hurt in their voices when it became obvious that she was so much happier here than she’d ever been at home.
“I . . . can’t,” she sputtered.
“Malarkey,” Uncle Mort said. “Don’t go into detail, just let them know you’re okay.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Too bad.”
“But I don’t even know how to work this thing. Where are the buttons?”
“It’s a rotary phone, Lex.”
“A what?”
“LEX! Call your damn family!” He dialed the number and shoved the receiver into her hand. “And don’t forget to lie your ass off.”
Lex covered the mouthpiece. “What am I supposed to talk about?”
“I don’t know. The weather?”
She was about to shoot him a vulgar gesture when a voice trilled on the other end of the line. “Hello? Hello?”
Lex sighed. “Hi, Mom.”
“Sweetheart! Are you okay? How was the trip? Did you get there safe?”
Another click announced her father’s arrival. “Lexy, how’s it going? How’s Mort?”
“Are you eating well? Why haven’t you called?”
“What have you been up to?”
“Did you pack enough underwear?”
“Mom!” Lex shrieked in embarrassment.
“I have to ask. I’m your mother.”
“Yes,” she said, getting flustered. “Yes to all of your questions. Everything’s fine.”
Her uncle leaned in with a devilish look. “Tell them how many people you Killed today.”
“Uncle Mort says hi.” She shoved him away. “Look, I can’t talk long. I’ve got lots of, uh . . . hay to pitchfork.”
“He’s not making you shovel cow poop, is he?” her mother screeched.
“Sure he is,” her father said. “It’s part of the job.”
“But that’s disgusting!”
“How’s she ever gonna learn to behave unless she gets knee-deep in manure?”
“Hey, guys?” Lex interrupted desperately. “I gotta go. The goats are getting restless. And the cock is crowing—or something. I’ll call again soon, okay?”
A lengthy goodbye ensued, ending with a fervent promise to never get within ten yards of a functioning wheat thresher, as Mom had seen a special on Dateline and had grown Concerned.
“Okay, bye!” As her parents clicked off, Lex exhaled for the first time in minutes. She had been evasive, she had been robotic, and she had somehow managed not to spout out a full-blown profession of her love for Croak. “That was—”
“Painful,” a voice sounded through the phone.
Lex nearly dropped the receiver. “Cordy! What are you doing?”
“Eavesdropping. And having quite the chuckle at your attempts at lying.”
“I’m—” Lex snuck a glimpse at her uncle. “Doing no such thing.”
“Yeah, right. Why aren’t you answering your phone? I’ve called like a hundred times.”
“There’s no reception here. But—”
“What’s Uncle Mort got you doing up there? Forced labor? Drugs?”
“Yes, Cordy. Plus a lobotomy just for fun.”
“What else would explain your sudden enthusiasm for agriculture?”
Lex glanced out the window at the yard, where Driggs was aiming a hose at something on the ground. “Cordy, listen. Just—trust me, okay? I’m fine. Everyone here is nice and not on drugs and extremely normal.” The hose had gotten away from Driggs and was now prancing around the yard, soaking him. Uncle Mort, meanwhile, was rooting around in the toaster with a fork. “Or close enough.”
“Oh please, Lex. How dumb do you think I am?”
Lex hesitated. For a moment she thought about telling her everything, spilling each and every forbidden bean right there in front of Uncle Mort. She couldn’t keep lying to her sister, especially since Cordy was the one person it never, ever worked on.
But Cordy would easily detect the excitement in her voice. She’d realize that Lex liked it there, even preferred it to being stuck at home all summer. Cordy already felt miserable for getting ditched; how would she take the news that Lex was having the time of her life?
She wouldn’t take it well, that was for sure. “I really can’t talk,” Lex said, deciding to postpone the confessions for another day. “I’ll call soon, okay? Eat gobs of ice cream for me.”
“But—”
“Bye,” Lex said, slamming the phone into the receiver.
From the counter, her uncle let out a snort. “So how’s the fam?”
She glared at him. “You truly suck.”
***
That night, after a paltry supper of Chef Boyardee’s finest, Lex tore herself away from the online news about the airplane explosion (apparently caused by faulty wiring) and banged on Driggs’s bedroom door. He didn’t answer.
“Hey!” she yelled. “Wake up!”
Nothing.
She knocked again, glancing down the basement stairs to Uncle Mort’s lab. Through the smoke she could just make out a series of marked-up maps tacked on the walls. “If you’ve lapsed into an Oreo-induced coma, I’m not reviving you.”
Still nothing.
She walked into the kitchen and noticed that the front door was slightly open. Furtively, she pushed it open to find Driggs sitting on the front steps of the porch between two covered buckets, his head bowed.
She snuck up behind him and noticed that he was smiling down at something. The closer she got, the more distinctly she could make out an item in his hands: a photo of someone . . . a girl . . .
“Who’s that?”
Driggs practically jumped into another time zone. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he yelped, crumpling the picture in his hand.
“Who is it?” she repeated, her voice rising. “Your girlfriend?”
His cheeks turned a lovely shade of crimson. “No,” he said, scowling. “It’s no one. Forget it. Shut up.”
He shoved the photo into his pocket. Lex frowned. She’d never get to it now. Then again, why did she even care?
“Isn’t it time for us to go to this mystery thing?” she said testily.
“Yes, it is,” he said, picking up the buckets.
“If you can tear yourself away from your betrothed, that is.”
Driggs gritted his teeth. “What are the odds of you dropping this completely?”
“Slim to none.”
“Great.” He glowered for a moment. “Unless . . .”
“Yes?”
“Can you be bribed?”
Lex raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”
“Are you a fan of intoxication?”
“What self-respecting sixteen-year-old isn’t?”
He took out a wad of dollar bills and fanned them in front of her face. “Then how about I just buy you some drinks and we forget this whole thing ever happened?”
Lex stifled a laugh. “Don’t you mean steal some drinks and chug them behind a Seven-Eleven? Last time I checked, we’re still underage.”
Driggs threw an arm around her shoulder. “Not in Croak.”
13
As Driggs led her into town, Lex became convinced that all his claims of bars and drinking were complete fabrications. Lying, after all, is what eighteen-year-old boys do best.
“You’re gonna love this place,” Driggs told her, stopping just past the Morgue at an unmarked wooden door and turning its knob. “Corpp’s is the best pub in the Grimsphere. It won an award.”
“For what? Invisibility?”
Her skepticism turned to confusion as they stepped into what appeared to be the unholy union of an old-fashioned Irish pub and a schizophrenic art gallery. Every single surface was coated in varying shades of thick, goopy paint. A gigantic mural—depicting what Lex could only guess was the ether, as it featured a whirlpool of colors, shapes, people, and hundreds of other abstract designs—stretched across the canopy of the vaulted ceiling. The walls ranged in design from vast patches of color to long, winding stripes, from speckled flecks to swirling spirals. A Starry Night motif seemed to be forming in one corner, whereas the scribbled beginnings of a novel sprawled across the floor of another. A warm, sweet smell pervaded the tavern, which just so happened to be incredibly welcoming and packed with laughing patrons.