She reached into her bag. The Lifeglass slipped into her hand immediately. She glanced at it for a split second but looked away before it could show her any images.
She picked Bang out of the crowd. Bang was watching Lex intently, for once her eyes completely visible.
Lex tossed her the Lifeglass, followed by the photo of her mother as a Grim.
“Tell them,” Lex said.
Uncle Mort, wild and fearless, picking her up on his motorcycle and driving her to Croak for the first time.
And the way he patted her head after Cordy had died, after Lex had transferred her Damning power to Zara and started all this.
“You’re a good kid,” he’d said. “You really are.”
***
Ferbus was different. He, too, realized what was happening, right around the same time as Elysia and Driggs, and his eyes bulged as well. But when he looked at Lex, she was looking right back at him.
He would never forgive her for what she let happen to Driggs. Since the minute he’d found out, he had kept a reserve of residual hate, and it had only grown over time. So he’d be the only one strong enough.
Lex nodded at him.
He nodded back.
And threw up his arms to block Driggs and Elysia, restraining them.
***
Driggs. The drumming, the Oreos, that devastatingly adorable blue eye. The way he made her feel like she was the best person in the world, even when nothing could be further from the truth. The way he’d wormed his way into parts of her heart that were dark and raw, and made them bright. That smirky smile.
She couldn’t let him wander the earth alone forever.
She couldn’t.
Lex wrapped both of her hands around the scythe. She took one last look around—at Norwood, who was completely unaware of what she was about to do; at the townspeople, battered but victorious; at a miserable, confused Grotton; at Ferbus, Elysia, and Bang, who were crying; and at Driggs, who looked as though his soul were being shredded by shrapnel, one gash at a time.
She’d never see any of them again. Nor Uncle Mort, nor Cordy, nor her parents. But at least this way, she’d ensure that they got to see one another.
At that thought, Lex felt lighter. She’d certainly been no angel in her life; maybe she deserved this, maybe she didn’t. But someone had to do it. And pride swelled within her when she realized she could be the one.
So she grinned at her friends, raised her scythe high above her head—
“LEX!” Driggs cried, his face consumed with misery. “What are you doing?”
Be good. “Fixing it,” she whispered, closing her eyes.
She plunged the scythe straight into her chest—
And everything went Dark.
21
Driggs’s hair was dry.
He kept running his hands through it as he lay flat on the ground, staring up at the black branches of the Ghost Gum tree. Like everyone else within the town limits of Croak, he’d been knocked to the ground the moment Lex had done . . . what she’d done. A fierce wind had swept through the Field—some later claimed they saw the faces of Damned and ghosted souls in the breeze—along with an otherworldly moan that sounded like a contented sigh.
Driggs felt dizzy, sick, as if he were underwater. Everything was blurred. Sounds came to his ears in the form of muffled, mashed-up noise—Elysia sobbing, the townspeople shouting, Norwood yelling at them to shut up—
Norwood.
Driggs sat up and looked around. The Ghost Gum tree’s pure white bark had turned black—starting first at the trunk, then stretching out to the ends of every branch, like a shadow passing in front of the sun and shading it permanently. Beneath it, where Lex had stood a second earlier, was nothing.
And Norwood was still yelling.
Driggs scrambled to his feet. He stalked across the Field and without a second’s hesitation grabbed Norwood, looked him in the eye, and punched him in the face.
Norwood’s fiery hands instantly returned to normal. The punch had been hard, but it was the shock wave emanating from Driggs’s fist that knocked Norwood back down to the ground.
“What happened?” Norwood asked, patting himself. “I feel—like I’m—”
“Not a Grim anymore,” Driggs rasped. “You son of a bitch.”
Norwood’s screams of anguish faded into the background as Driggs turned around, took a moment to collect himself, then walked toward the townspeople. He had to do this now, or he never would. “Line up,” he told them, his voice shaky. “And put your hands out.”
He explained as best he could what he was doing, why the Grimsphere had to be undone. Predictably, they were hesitant. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he reassured them. “But this has to be done. You want an Afterlife, you want all this to be worth it, you want Lex—” His throat caught, and he turned his back to them, unable to breathe.
After staring at the tree for a moment, at the spot where he’d last seen her, he found his voice again. “I know it’s a lot to ask,” he said, turning back around, “but—”
He stopped, shocked. Every single one of them had lined up in a crooked row facing him, palms out.
Dazed, Driggs walked up to Kilda, the first person in line. He was about to place his hand atop hers, but at the last minute he turned it sideways and shook it instead.
“Thank you,” he told her, meeting her eyes as the shock wave blew her hair back.
He did that all the way down the line, shaking hands, unGrimming them, and thanking them—even Trumbull and Riley, who didn’t bother to make eye contact. Ferbus and Bang were the last to go, and them, he hugged.
When it was all over, he returned to Lex’s parents. Elysia had untied them, sat them up, and was now petting their hands, as was her way. “Are you okay?” he asked them.
“What’s going on?” Lex’s mother cried, clinging to her husband. She looked at the tree, then back to the spot where her daughter had disappeared. “Where did Lex go?”
“She stabbed herself!” Mr. Bartleby was shaking uncontrollably. “What did she do that for?”
Driggs wanted to console them, but their tears broke him. A thousand swirling emotions all fought for space in his newly restored body—pride in what Lex had done, awe at her courage, gratitude for her sacrifice, guilt that she’d done it for him, anger that it had come to this—but a suffocating grief eclipsed them all. He crumpled to the ground, fighting to catch his breath, wondering how in the hell Mort would have handled this.
As if in answer, something hard in his pocket bruised up against his leg.
He pulled out the vial of Amnesia. Lex’s parents didn’t need this memory; there was no reason for them to live with this pain. They’d never fully understand what she’d died for anyway, or why. It would only torture them, and he was pretty sure he’d be tortured enough for the rest of his life for all of them.
He uncorked the vial and leaned in—
But a hand fell on his arm.
He turned and looked at Bang, whose eyes bore into his. She clutched Lex’s Lifeglass, her mouth opening to speak.
“Don’t.”
Post Mortem
“Think you can do it one more time?”
“If you brought what I asked for.”
Grotton’s guest emptied the requested items onto the table. They clinked and bounced, producing a sound like wind chimes. “Here.”
Grotton leaned forward, his face aglow in the light of the burning candle. “Then I believe we have a deal.”
He removed his scythe from his pocket, but Driggs couldn’t tear his eyes away from the table. “What do you want them for, anyway?”
“For curiosity’s sake,” Grotton said. “I’m a scientist too, if you’ll recall.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
Grotton gave him an amused look. “What did it feel like?” he said, leaning in. “To spend a year traveling the world over, meeting every Grim on the planet, only to suck the powers right out of them? To watch their faces as you m
ade their lives go up in a puff of smoke? How did it feel?”
Driggs stared at him. “Necessary.”
Grotton folded his hands under his chin. “I heard a rumor,” he said, “that if you’d just touched the obelisk in every Grim town—the one that all Senior Grims touch to be inducted—that would have done the trick just as easily. And yet you chose to shake every citizen’s hand instead.” He stared him down, then let out a harsh laugh. “Think that makes you noble?”
Driggs exhaled wearily. “No,” he said. “I think it made my wrist hurt.”
Grotton pursed his lips, disappointed. “But now you’re back. Seeking my services.”
Driggs held his gaze. “And to remind you of your promise.”
“Just as well,” Grotton said with a sneer. “I can’t stand it here any longer. The tourists. The happiness. The—” He suppressed a gag. “The children.”
“Grims are a fertile bunch. Who knew?” Driggs rubbed his eyes. “Kilda says they’re finally going to clear away the ruins of the Bank and erect a memorial playground in its place. For the kids.”
“Sounds terrible. Lex would have hated it.”
Driggs clenched his fists at the idea of Grotton assuming to know anything at all about Lex, but he let it go. “Yeah. She would have.”
“At least the orange-haired one’s mini golf course is doing well.”
Driggs stood up. He hadn’t come here to reminisce. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”
Grotton kept watching him. “How can you be so sure I’ll keep my word?”
Driggs sighed. “I can’t. I just have to believe that there is a tiny shred of humanity left in you somewhere. Lex was able to see it. I trust her.”
Grotton twisted his mouth. “Well, I still might not do it. And even if I do, I’m not sure which method I’ll choose. Stabbing, drowning, asphyxiation. There are so many lovely ways to go.”
“I really don’t care how you do it,” Driggs said. “Just do it. And soon. You’re the only one left, and until you’re gone—”
“There are still Grimming powers left on earth, yes, yes,” Grotton said, waving him away. “I’ll go, you have my word. Assuming, of course, that there is an Afterlife to go to. We still don’t know for sure that it worked, do we?”
“Guess you’ll just have to find out when you get there. Be sure to send a postcard.”
Grotton smiled wickedly. “Then again, the Dark is uncharted territory. Curiosity may get the best of me. This proposed experiment of yours is a good one, I have to admit, and requires no small amount of bravery. Perhaps I can muster enough of that for myself after all.”
Driggs glared at him. “Don’t you dare.”
They were silent for a moment.
Grotton abruptly stood. “Very well, Last,” he said, a shadow forming around his hand. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
For the first time since the day Lex ceased to exist, Driggs smiled—and not the fake, reassuring smile he’d given to the hesitant citizens of the Grimsphere, nor even to the other Juniors when they often asked how he was doing, always with that aching sadness in their eyes.
A real smile. Although, really, it was more of a smirk.
“I hope so too,” he said, raising his head up as Grotton brought the scythe down.
Grotton did not keep his word.
Well, he was forced to, eventually, but many, many years later than he’d promised Driggs. The reset had returned him to his human form, and so death did one day come for him, despite his best efforts to escape it. But he did uphold his end of the bargain in spirit—in all of his extra decades on earth, he never exercised his Grimming powers again, never Damned anyone for fun, never committed any violations. He lived out the rest of his life as a normal human being, and so it was almost as if Driggs had unGrimmed him. Almost.
In fact, if anyone had bothered to visit his cabin in the last days of his mortal life, they might not have suspected that he had ever been a Grim at all . . . if it weren’t for his collection of those strange little glass bulbs.
Cordy’s, Pip’s, and Uncle Mort’s, glowing just as brightly as they had when Driggs emptied them out onto the table. Elysia’s and Ferbus’s, which had both burst into steady balls of light a few years before, within mere days of each other. Bang’s, whose embers still bounced around, still set off fireworks—though they probably wouldn’t for much longer.
And then there were the Sparks of Lex and Driggs—empty, dark. The same as they’d been ever since they disappeared, all those years ago.
***
Except.
Except in the dead of night, when Grotton would cover all the others up. Ever the scientist, he’d blow out his candles and make the cabin as dark as he could. Only then could he see them. Even with those old eyes, he could see them—one in the center of each of their Sparks—specks so faint they were virtually invisible, like pinpricks—
He knew he was being foolish. He knew that where they’d gone was nothing but emptiness, nonexistence, Annihilation. He knew that it was absurd to believe that somewhere in the vacuum of nothingness, their souls had found a way to exist—or, even more absurd, found each other. As a man of science, he knew better than to entertain such notions.
And yet he did.
Because right down to his final moments, Grotton could have sworn that something deep inside those Sparks was glowing.
And getting brighter.
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About the Author
GINA DAMICO is the author of the young adult novels Croak, Scorch, and Rogue. She received a degree in theater and sociology from Boston College, where she was active with the Committee for Creative Enactments, a murder mystery improv comedy troupe, which may or may not have sparked an interest in wildly improbable bloodshed. She has since worked as a tour guide, transcriptionist, theater house manager, scenic artist, movie extra, office troll, retail monkey, yarn hawker and breadmonger.She lives outside of Boston with her husband, two cats, one dog, and a closet full of black hoodies.
www.ginadami.co.
Gina Damico, Rogue
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