Rogue

  Poor Ayjay. He’d erased his memory of Croak, all to spare himself the pain of losing Kloo, and for what? This? He’d have been better off with the grief.

  “At least he’s trying to straighten up,” Uncle Mort said, as if he’d heard Lex’s thoughts. He nodded toward the textbooks. “He’s smart. He’ll make it out of here.”

  “If he doesn’t get himself killed first.”

  Uncle Mort didn’t respond to that. A moment later Ayjay reappeared with a handful of supplies. “Should we be expecting company anytime soon?” Uncle Mort asked him.

  “Doubt it,” Ayjay said. “This is mainly my place. They only come here when something, uh, goes wrong.”

  He paused in the doorway, taking in the strange company he was hosting. Three teenage girls, one possibly crying behind all that hair. An adult who knew all about him. And a kid whose hand had been halfway blown off by something much worse than fireworks.

  Lex inwardly cringed. Ayjay didn’t know who they were; he had no reason to help them.

  But he did. He sat down beside Ferbus on the couch and lifted his maimed arm. The blood had congealed into a black mess, with small shards of bone poking out. “How did this happen?” Ayjay asked, wincing.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Uncle Mort said. “What can you do for him?”

  Ayjay furrowed his brow. “I can’t fix this. I can only do damage control.” He inspected the makeshift belt tourniquet. “Danger of infection, gangrene—” He looked at Uncle Mort. “It’s gotta come off.”

  Ferbus jumped, somehow wrenching himself up to the surface of consciousness. “No,” he slurred, weakly thrashing. Uncle Mort held him down. “Don’t!”

  Uncle Mort nodded. “Do it.”

  “But—” Ayjay leaned in and tried to speak in a hushed tone. “I don’t have the surgical instruments for this.”

  Uncle Mort didn’t falter. “You got a toolbox?”

  Ferbus’s eyes bulged.

  Then he started screaming, and Elysia began to cry, and somehow Lex’s synapses connected enough to realize that this would be a good time to grab Elysia by the shoulders and pull her away. “Shh, it’s better this way,” she heard herself say. She’d gone on autopilot; she had no earthly idea if it was better this way.

  “Don’t,” Ferbus choked, grabbing Ayjay with his good hand and indicating his eye patch. “You know what it’s like.”

  “Sorry, dude.”

  Ferbus could see that he was losing, so he stopped to stare at Ayjay, breathing heavily. “How’d you lose your eye?”

  Ayjay’s hardened face cracked just for a moment, and a well-worn confusion poured out. “I . . . don’t know.”

  “I do.” With his last bit of remaining strength Ferbus tightened his grip. “Stop this and I’ll tell you.”

  Ayjay hesitated. But Uncle Mort shook his head. “He’s delirious. He’s lost too much blood.”

  The doubt remained on Ayjay’s face, but only for a few seconds more. “Knock him out,” he told Uncle Mort, getting up and tossing him a rattling pill bottle.

  Ferbus watched with wide, petrified eyes, knowing what was about to happen, but also knowing that he was far too weak to stop it.

  Ayjay pounded back up the stairs. “I’ll get the saw.”

  ***

  Lex stared at the empty pizza boxes.

  That’s where it all started.

  She’d accidentally set a pizza box on fire back at the Crypt in Croak—Damned it, though she hadn’t known at the time that that’s what she was doing. She’d done it right in front of Zara, too, confirming that she possessed the powers that Zara so desperately wanted to steal. It had snowballed from there, and months later, here they were. In some drug dealer’s house, waiting for her friend to wake up to a freshly amputated hand, wondering if her parents were still alive, and preparing for the battle that would finally finish what she’d started.

  She glanced at the bloody gauze covering Ferbus’s stump, then back at the pizza boxes.

  It couldn’t come fast enough.

  A clang came from the bathroom, where Ayjay was cleaning his tools. Uncle Mort had run to the store to buy some more painkillers, Elysia was curled up asleep next to Ferbus, and Bang was back in her fetal position on the floor next to the couch, also conked out.

  Ferbus stirred in his sleep. He opened one eye, looked at Lex, then closed it again. “You did this,” he slurred before drifting back to sleep.

  Lex fought a wave of nausea. She didn’t blow him up herself, but it was her fault he’d even been in Necropolis to begin with.

  “I’ll fix it,” she said, robotic.

  Ayjay appeared in the doorway and flicked on a light switch, startling Lex. She hadn’t even realized it had gotten dark out.

  She couldn’t help herself. “So what made you decide to become a doctor?”

  He regarded her carefully. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I don’t remember liking science as a kid, but when I woke up from my accident, it was like . . . I don’t know, there was this little voice telling me I had to do it. Like it was my calling or something.” He shrugged. “So I listened.”

  The little voice’s name is Kloo, Lex thought. FYI.

  As if regretting that he’d opened up so much about himself, Ayjay cleared his throat and went on the defensive. “Listen, who are you guys? Really?”

  “We told you—”

  “You think I’m stupid?” Ayjay nodded at Uncle Mort. “He’s no social worker.”

  Lex was a good liar, but not this good. There were too many cracks in their story. “No, he’s not.”

  “Then what? Did you know me before my accident? Do you know what happened to me?” His eyes were troubled as he looked at Ferbus. “He said he knew.”

  You were injected with Elixir and almost murdered by a homicidal maniac. That’s how you lost your eye. Then said maniac went on to blow up our town. Your girlfriend was killed. You erased your own memory, which had previously held several years worth of rather good memories—of being rescued from your crappy home life, taken to Croak, trained as a Grim, making friends, and falling in love. You were happy. Once.

  “Sorry.” Lex’s gaze returned to the pizza box. “I don’t know.”

  Frustrated, Ayjay ran his hand through his hair. The blond streak in his fauxhawk had long since faded. He got up from the couch, faced the wall, then turned back around. “You know, I—” His eyes went wide. “What the hell is that?”

  Lex whipped around to find Driggs hovering behind her. “Ayjay?” His voice was astonished, as if he were the one looking at a ghost instead of the other way around.

  Ayjay, meanwhile, was freaking the hell out. “Get it out of here!”

  Driggs looked stung. “I’m not an ‘it.’”

  “He doesn’t know who we are, remember?” Lex whispered to Driggs.

  But Driggs wasn’t listening. He was just staring at Ayjay’s disgusted face, his own melting into a mess of humiliation. “Sorry. I’ll go.”

  “Wait!” Lex jumped up. “What about my parents?”

  “They’re still in jail under the Bank. There was no way I could break them out without getting caught, but they’re okay for now. Guards are under strict orders not to hurt them. Probably because Norwood plans to use them as a bargaining tool, as usual.”

  Lex wanted to scream with relief, but instead she frowned. Driggs was acting very weird, even for him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  Ayjay was still going ballistic. “What the hell is that?”

  “Trick of the light,” Lex said irritably. “Driggs—”

  “Get it out!” Ayjay yelled.

  “I’m going!” Driggs exploded, his face so unbearably sad that Lex skipped a breath. “I’m going.”

  He started to fade away, but she reached out to stop him. “Come outside,” she said. “Please. Let’s talk, away from him.”

  Driggs paused but then nodded, disappearing through the wall.

  “Stay here,” Lex instructed Ayjay??
?but he’d already fled upstairs.

  She went out the back door and found herself in the most depressing backyard in existence. Rusted swing set: check. Empty sandbox: check. Old car with its wheels missing, propped up on cinder blocks, featuring several bullet holes: check, check, and check.

  Driggs was hovering over one of the swings, pretending to sit on it. Lex sank into the one next to him. “Are you okay?”

  “I can’t live like this,” he said, staring ahead, his eyes glassy. “I’m not even human.”

  “You are,” Lex insisted. “Sort of.”

  “I’m not.” He raised his arms, then dropped them in a hopeless shrug. “Humans can touch things. Humans can feed themselves Oreos. Humans can drum.”

  His voice cracked on that last word, and Lex finally caught on. He must have visited his room back in Uncle Mort’s house, tried to pound away some of his frustration, and failed to even be able to do that.

  So here were his miseries at last, all piling out at once: everything he’d been dealing with since they left Croak, all the little deaths he’d been dying every day. Lex knew they were in there somewhere, knew that he was devastated. But he’d hidden it so well.

  “Humans can walk into a room without being shrieked at and scared of. Humans can kiss their fucking girlfriends.” His words were angry, but his voice just sounded sad. “I can’t do any of those things. I can’t do anything.”

  Lex desperately wanted to say something that would make him feel better, but she couldn’t come up with a thing. And even if she could, whatever it was would probably be so lame that she’d want to punch herself in the face.

  “I can’t live this way,” he said again. “One foot in the world of the living, one foot in the world of the dead. I can’t. It needs to be one or the other.”

  “Well, that’s what the reset is for, right? When I Annihilate Grotton”—Lex’s voice quivered a little on that part—“you’ll either be restored to your human form, or . . .”

  “Or I’ll be dead. In the Afterlife, at least—but dead.” He shrugged. “Grotton told me it has something to do with percentages, that it all depends on how much of my soul escaped. If it was less than half, I’ll live. If it was more than half, I’ll die.”

  Lex took a few measured breaths, digging up every ounce of strength to refrain from crying. “I’ll fix it,” she said for the billionth time. “I’ll send him to the Dark, I swear.”

  “But what if it doesn’t work?” He looked so worried. “I’ve barely been able to live this way for a week; how am I going to do it for eternity?”

  “It will work,” she said, this time with more force. “Are you seriously calling into question my ability to kill things? Me?” She grinned and switched to a demonic voice, raising her arms like claws. “THE MOST POWERFUL GRIM IN THE WORLD?”

  Driggs stared at her. Then he laughed.

  And that happened to be Lex’s favorite sound on the planet. “Driggs?”

  “Yes?”

  “You can still try to make yourself solid, right?”

  “Yeah. If Norwood does anything to your parents, I’ll—”

  “My parents can handle themselves. Dad’s a big, burly guy and Mom was a former Grim, for shit’s sake. If this really is your last night on earth, we’re going to make it a good one.” She got up from the swing, walked across the moonlit yard to the junk car, and patted its door. “Hop in.”

  Driggs eyed the bullet hole inches from her hand. “Hop in . . . to the Cracktastic Deathmobile?”

  Lex tapped the frame impatiently. “I was thinking Hump Buggy, but sure. Whatever you want.”

  The smile that broke through Driggs’s face lit up the yard.

  He flew in through the nonexistent driver’s side window while Lex ran around to the passenger side and opened the door—which came off in her hand and fell to the ground.

  “Um—oh.” She looked at the rusty debris that rubbed off on her fingers, then at Driggs. “I broke the door.”

  “Further adding to the already swanky ambiance,” he said, gesturing at the ripped car seats, the torn-off side mirrors and cracked windshield.

  She jumped in. “So. It’s rustic.”

  “Cozy.”

  “Spiderwebby.”

  “Filled with rodent feces.”

  “Correction,” Lex said, sniffing at the pile at her feet. “Highly fragrant rodent feces.” She winced. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

  “Hey.” He looked serious. “Lex, I need you to know something, and I’m only going to say it once: Not even the tallest mountain of raccoon droppings could ever get in the way of my love for you.”

  “That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “It’s Shakespeare. One of the sonnets.”

  They were silent for a moment.

  Lex eyed the floor. “So . . . how do we do this?”

  Driggs squirmed. “I’m not sure. Let me just, um, get a body here.”

  He started to strain, then stopped and looked at her, slightly panicked. “And just for the record, before this whole ghost thing I could last until the cows came home. Until the cows came home, the barn door locked behind them, and milk poured forth from their swollen—”

  “Manhood duly noted, chief,” she said, holding up her hand. “No need to paint me a picture.”

  “Good. Because I’ve never done this before, and I’m not really sure what picture I should be painting.”

  “Well, neither have I, so . . .” She waved her hand. “Just keep going.”

  But whatever he was doing wasn’t working. He closed his eyes, his voice worried. “Shit.”

  “Hey, I have an idea,” Lex said. “Give me a sec.”

  He kept trying. “Idea as in ‘good idea,’ or idea as in ‘let’s take the Ferris wheel, everyone, I’m sure it’ll be a carefree ride of thrills and delights and whimsy’—”

  “Does this help?”

  Driggs opened his eyes and, in the space of a yoctosecond, popped right into a solid body. Lex half expected to hear a wacky boing sound effect.

  She grabbed his arm to keep him that way, while he kept on staring at her bare chest. “So,” he said, swallowing, “good idea, then.”

  “Thank you.”

  He pulled her close and gave her a kiss. “And thank you for sparing me your devil corset.”

  She held it up and waved it in his face. “It’s a standard bra, Driggs. From, like, Target.”

  “Satan employs many disguises.”

  “Like you’re from the Land of Superior Underwear. Let’s see what sort of designer boxers you’ve chosen to grace my presence with today.” She unzipped his pants and looked. “Dude. Penguins?”

  “Um, penguins are officially recognized as the most adorable bird on the planet,” he said, a hint of anxiety creeping into his voice. “What’s wrong with penguins?”

  “Nothing—”

  “And igloos. See their little igloos?”

  “Yes—”

  “The Santa hats are a bit much, I’ll give you that, but they were a Christmas present, okay? And if I’d known that I was going to die while wearing them and be forever doomed to their Arctic quirkiness—and of hypothermia, too, how’s that for irony—”

  “Driggs,” she interrupted, grabbing his chin and boring her eyes into his. “I thought we were on a tight time frame here.”

  “Right.” He scratched his head. “I think that perhaps, since I’m talking way too much, there is the slightest chance that I might be a tiny bit nervous.”

  Lex smirked. “Relax, spaz.”

  “Oh, no way. You do not get to use that against me. I just—” He scratched his head. “I want this to be perfect.”

  “I’m not sure we’re capable of perfect. Would you be willing to settle for cracktastic?”

  Driggs thought about this, then nodded. “I would.”

  With that, they started making out so heavily that Lex was sure the gas tank would explode and send them both to a firebally g
rave. They stopped only once so that Driggs could point at the fogged windshield and say, “Remember that scene from Titanic—”

  “Yes, Driggs. Everyone remembers that scene from Titanic.”

  “See? Classic cinema.”

  “Just please don’t start shouting that you’re the king of the world, or I swear, I will not hesitate for one second to cut off your—ow!”

  “What?”

  “Gearshift. Stabbing me. In the back.”

  “Okay, maybe if I lift you this way—”

  Her elbow knocked into something. The windshield wipers sprang to life.

  “Oh, this is fun,” she said. “Now all we need is some whipped cream and a video camera.”

  Driggs laughed and squeezed her tighter. “Lex?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re ridiculous. I love you.”

  She felt a lump rise in her throat, but she pushed it back down. Not now. She ran her hands through his still-wet hair and looked into his blue-brown eyes. “I love you too.”

  He ran his hand down her cheek. “And Lex?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a bug in your hair.”

  “Even better.”

  She gave him another quick peck, then looked in the mirror to investigate her hair. “Shit,” she said, her eyes opening wide. “Don’t move.”

  “Why, are you sticking to the leather seat? Because I am all kinds of sticking to the leather seat, in places that I didn’t even know about—”

  “No. Slightly bigger problem,” she said, still frozen. “Uncle Mort: staring. Us: very naked.”

  “Crap.” Driggs tried to wipe his face clean of saliva, though there was a sizable amount. “Think he can see us?”

  “He’s not a dinosaur, Driggs. His vision doesn’t depend solely on movement.”

  “Okay, you really need to stop basing your entire knowledge of dinosaurs on what you learned in Jurassic Park.”

  Lex shushed him again, poked her head up over the headrest, and made eye contact with her frowning uncle.

  Cringing, she held her breath and waited for the yelling and separating and lifelong grounding to commence, complete with a sideshow of exposed body parts flapping whimsically in the night breeze—