by Gina Damico
They made a beeline for the ladder and climbed up to their typical hangout spot. Once atop the roof, they stayed silent for a minute or two, straining to hear what was being said beneath them, but all they could make out was a series of intense yet inaudible murmurings.
And Driggs still wasn’t talking.
Lex looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since she had gotten back, focusing especially on his weird eyes. She loved the way the moon reflected off the blue one more than the brown. It made him look like he was constantly winking.
She took a deep breath. Maybe he was mad at her, maybe not. Either way, he deserved to know the full story. He deserved to know what he was getting into with her.
“I have to tell you something.”
“Shoot,” he said in a flat voice.
She swallowed. “Ever since that day I tried to Damn Zara, I’ve sort of . . . changed. A little.”
His face remained the same.
She bit at her lips, too humiliated for words. “Whatever it is that causes the Damning that I can do—it sort of builds up now, like an electrical charge. Sometimes it comes when I get too mad, sometimes it just pops up out of nowhere.”
Driggs’s eyebrow was now slightly raised. Lex knew she was babbling, but she kept going, directing the rest of her spiel to his ratty high-top Chuck Taylors. “So every few days I have to, like, discharge. That’s the only word I can come up with for it. Release the Damning energy that gets pent up, so that I don’t accidentally Damn someone.”
Driggs was getting squirmy. “Release?” he asked. “How?”
Lex’s face burned red. This was so humiliating. “By Damning things, setting them on fire. It doesn’t even hurt or burn my hands anymore,” she said, holding up her unblistered fingers. “Just stupid things, like a box of cereal. Or a newspaper. Nothing living, if I can help it. Except once when we were on the road, it got really bad and we had to pull over, and I did it to a run-over skunk—it was dead already, I think, but—”
“Okay, stop.”
Lex’s mouth went dry. This was it. The breaking point. She was too bizarre, too gross. He was going to dump her right here and now, and there was nothing she could do about it but sit there and look pathetic and try not to blow a snot bubble when she started crying.
“Here’s the thing,” he said, his face strained. “It’s just that I’ve been treading carefully around you and this whole Cordy thing all day, just like Mort told me to. And I had to make sure you saw her and were okay with it and got home safe—again, just like Mort told me to. And as much as I’d love to continue exploring the existential implications of Damning roadkill, the truth is”— he plunged his hands into his hair until it stuck up even more than usual—“you’ve been back here in my presence for two agonizing hours now, and if we don’t properly make out soon, I’m going to hurl myself off the roof.”
Lex blinked.
Then Driggs smushed his lips into hers so quickly that she had to grab the gutter to keep from falling.
After that (many, many minutes after that), everything came spilling out. All the fears and regrets that had been festering in the back of Lex’s mind, all the anger toward Zara and the helplessness Lex felt at the thought of trying to stop her. She told him about the funeral and the subsequent rookie trip, about the shocked yet jubilant looks on the rookies’ faces as Uncle Mort swooped in to rescue them from their miserable lives. Driggs filled her in on what had been going on since she left, including the most recent headlines in The Obituary regarding Zara and the special teams that had been dispatched to track her down.
Whenever they ran out of things to talk about, they kissed some more.
Until an especially loud shout from below snapped them out of it. They paused, rubbing at their raw lips. “Mort is so pissed,” Driggs said after straining to hear more of the conversation. He took out a handful of the Oreos he always kept with him and offered one to Lex.
“Can you blame him?” Lex said, taking a bite. “Norwood and Heloise are trying to convince the townspeople that he’s some kind of a tyrant. When did they grow the balls to call a meeting without him?”
“I know. I mean, Mort’s got a better head on his shoulders than anyone here. That’s why he’s the mayor and has been for years—because he’s just so damn good at it. And no one’s ever complained or demanded a change or even said a word against him. But now . . .” He exhaled with a puff.
“How has he been the mayor for so long?” Lex asked. “He’s so young, he must have been elected when he was—”
“Twenty-three. Youngest mayor ever.”
“Wow.”
“Well, you’re only allowed to run for public office if you’re under thirty-five. The Grimsphere government places a really heavy value on youth and its drive, its fresh ideas. That’s why the whole Junior program was created in the first place.”
Lex frowned. “There weren’t always Juniors?”
“Nope, it only started about thirty years ago. Before that, Grims just came full-on into the Grimsphere as Seniors at the age of twenty-one. Norwood and Heloise were some of the last of those, I think. They never got to be Juniors, which is probably why they hate us so much.”
“Or because they’re getting older and more obsolete,” Lex said. “I mean, let’s face it, I’ve got more power in my little finger than they’ve ever had in their whole bodies. And so does Zara. They feel threatened, so they’re trying to gain some ground back.”
“Yeah, but crossing Mort is the wrong way to do it.”
Lex shifted. “Hey, what was that thing someone yelled out about me—that I could be the Last? What does that mean?”
He rolled his eyes. “It means people are getting panicky and ridiculous. It’s just some lame-ass legend—the Last is supposed to be this single, powerful Grim who triggers a massive shift in the natural laws of the world and ends up destroying the Grimsphere. The Last Grim.”
Lex stifled a laugh. “Destroy the Grimsphere? I don’t even have my driver’s license.”
“Exactly. Those Seniors are out of their tree.”
Three seconds of silence followed, which was way too much time to go without making out, so they dove right back into each other’s faces. But after a minute or so, Lex pushed him away. “Stop.”
“Why?” He looked horrified. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing—”
“Was it that thing I did with my tongue?”
“Um, no. Your tongue and its many talents are perfect. Keep up the good work.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled-up scrap of paper. “I never got a chance to tell you about this before I left. After Zara killed—” She swallowed. “When Uncle Mort was addressing the townspeople and I was alone in the library, I started looking through the Grotton section, and this was written in one of the books at the bottom of the page.”
Driggs took it from her, his face questioning as he read.
IF REDEMPTION IS THAT WHICH YOU PRIZE,
DO NOT BELIEVE ALL OF THESE LIES.
THE KEY TO THE DEAD AWAITS OVERHEAD—
ALL YOU NEED DO IS OPEN YOUR EYES.
—BONE, THE SICK SCYTHE BANDIT
Driggs looked up. “I’ve never heard of anyone named Bone.”
“Me neither. But it’s the same handwriting as—” She listened to one of Norwood’s shouts, then lowered her voice. “Every book in the Grotton section has the same thing written in it. They all say ‘wrong book.’”
Driggs’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I think Zara took whatever was the right book, because there was an empty space at the end of the—”
“No, that’s not it,” said Driggs. “‘Wrong book’ isn’t an instruction. It’s a title.”
“What?”
“The Wrong Book,” he said excitedly. “According to legend, it’s the ultimate authority on all the horrible things Grotton did, all the mysteries of the universe that he stumbled upon and exploited for personal gain. Supposedly he wrote i
t himself, sort of as an instruction manual for anyone who might want to wreak havoc the way he did.”
A flutter of nerves swept through Lex. “Where is it now?”
“No one knows. Supposedly it was locked away somewhere safe centuries ago, but everyone who knew where is long dead.”
“Locked away,” Lex said slowly. “With a key?”
They both looked at the note again.
Driggs gave her a dubious look. “You’re not seriously suggesting that this note is going to lead us to a key that’ll unlock the Wrong Book, are you? Because that would make you sound like an insane person. If that is what you are suggesting.”
“It is.” She tucked the note back into her pocket. “And you’re going to help me find it.”
“Oh, really?” he replied with a wry grin. “Why’s that?”
“Because you promised to love me,” she said in a dopey voice. “And, uh . . . honor me . . . and protect . . .”
He snickered. “Shut up, spaz.”
Which led to more canoodling. In fact, the two remained so entwined and so oblivious for so long that by the time they let go, they had completely failed to notice Norwood and Heloise storming out of the house, Uncle Mort scaling the ladder, and the fact that he was now staring at them and had been for several minutes.
“Good grief,” he said. “As if I didn’t have enough to worry about.”
Lex and Driggs jumped apart and wiped the spittle from their mouths. “What’s up?” Driggs said in a terrible attempt at nonchalance.
“Hormone levels, obviously.”
“What happened?” Lex pressed on. “Where are Norwood and Heloise?”
“Oh, they left hours ago,” Uncle Mort joked. “Not that I’d expect you to notice, as busy as you were.”
Lex smoothed out her hoodie. “Seriously, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. We were just having a discussion.”
“A discussion?”
“Okay, a heated discussion, but it didn’t come to anything more than that. Let’s drop it for now, okay? It doesn’t concern you.”
“It does concern me!” Lex said. “I heard that meeting—half the stuff they were saying was about me! How did they find out I gave Zara the power to Damn?”
“Glad to see your piss and vinegar is back,” Uncle Mort said with a smile.
“Yes. Your brilliant plan for me to visit Cordy in the Afterlife worked,” Lex said flatly. “Your Nobel Prize is in the mail. Now answer my question.”
“Well, that was my bad. I told Heloise about it, believing I could trust her to keep it to herself. I was wrong.”
“You think?”
“We all make mistakes, Lex,” he said pointedly.
She made a face. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t explain why everyone keeps on insisting that I shouldn’t be here.”
“Lex, you’re my niece. Charges of favoritism and special treatment are unavoidable. On top of that, you’re a Junior. And judging by today’s events, I think we can safely assume that that’s another count against you.”
“You’re sure that’s all?”
“That’s all.”
Lex studied him. “I think you’re lying.”
He stared back. “Prove it, kiddo.”
This last statement hovered between them for a few moments, curdling the air.
“So,” said Driggs, hoping to dissipate the tension, “how did you leave it with Norwood and Heloise?”
Uncle Mort looked at Lex for a second more, then turned to Driggs. “I warned them not to do anything stupid. Though that hasn’t stopped them so far.”
“Can’t you invalidate the results of their vote, since neither one of them is the mayor?”
“No,” said Uncle Mort, sounding tired. “They did their homework—traditionally the major runs the induction vote, but there’s nothing in the Terms that says it has to be done that way. They agreed to my two-month trial idea—begrudgingly—but until then, it looks like we’re stuck.” He rubbed his eyes. “And speaking of Terms, we need to set a few ground rules here with . . . this,” he said, clearing his throat and gesturing at the two of them.
“With what?” Lex said.
“That,” Uncle Mort replied, pointing to a suspicious-looking mark on her neck.
Lex’s hand flew to her throat while Driggs shifted, uneasy. “Why?” he asked.
“Don’t ‘why?’ me, Romeo. You know I trust you, but Lex is still my niece. In the absence of her father, it’s up to me to do everything in my power to complicate and interfere with her budding love life.”
Lex frowned. “Hey—”
“Now, you’re still work partners, which means that a large portion of your time together will unfortunately be unsupervised. Complicating matters is the fact that you both live in the same house. So here’s the deal: You will sleep in separate bedrooms. You will leave your doors open at all times. You will keep the public displays of affection to a minimum. You will not attempt to dismantle any of my surveillance equipment, which, I’ll remind you, covers nearly every room of this house. And if I hear any article of clothing being unzipped, unstrapped, unhooked, or unbuckled, you will lose the body part that it corresponds to. Understand?”
Lex and Driggs looked at each other, then nodded, defeated.
“Good. Now, I’m off to chat with the rookies.” Uncle Mort started down the ladder. “Oh, and your roof time has been limited to thirty minutes, max.”
“Hey, unfair!” Driggs shouted. “Why?”
“I was a teenage boy once too, you know,” Uncle Mort said, popping back up. “I know what your brain looks like. It’s a three-ring circus in there.” He looked at his watch. “Five more minutes,” he said, disappearing once more.
Driggs groaned. Lex thought for a moment. “Maybe we can—”
“By the way,” Uncle Mort shouted up at them on his way down, “you know what I love about my roof? How thin it is! Yessir, when it rains, I can hear each and every drop!”
Lex slumped, scowling. Driggs stared off into the distance, then turned to her with a sly look.
“We’ll just have to get creative.”
With their roof time expired and Uncle Mort’s cameras watching them like unblinking robo-hawks, Lex and Driggs had no choice but to flee the house. They made their way to Corpp’s, where the mood was almost celebratory; the Seniors seemed pretty pleased with themselves for having made some headway against the Junior plague.
The atmosphere shifted, however, as Lex entered the pub. She could feel people’s eyes on her, hear every mumbled comment as she and Driggs made their way to the bar.
“Sorry to crash the party,” Driggs told Corpp.
“You hush your mouth. You know full well you’re always welcome here.” Corpp flashed Lex a wide grin and pushed forth two mugs shaped like skulls—Yoricks, Grims’ favorite drink. “On the house, kids.”
“Thanks, Corpp.” Lex smiled back at the friendly bartender, his skin as brown and smooth as the thick liquid swirling within the mugs. She’d always felt safe in his presence, and tonight was no exception. His curly gray hair was comforting in the same way Pandora’s gnarled hands were—these two had been here for decades. They’d seen everything, weathered every storm. If they said everything would turn out all right, who was she to argue with them?
“Where are Kloo and Ayjay?” Driggs asked.
Corpp frowned. “They had a couple of drinks, but I haven’t seen them in a while. They looked rather uncomfortable.”
“Shocking,” said Driggs, glaring at the ogling Seniors. “I’ll go find them.”
Lex sat down on a stool as Driggs plunged into the crowd. “Glad to see you’re feeling better,” Corpp told her.
“Yeah, well, I got to see my sister, so—”
“So you feel whole again.” He nodded as he wiped down the counter. “I can understand that, I suppose.”
Something in his voice made Lex cock her head. “Is that not what you would have done?”
“Well, now, let me se
e,” he said, throwing a dirty dishrag over his shoulder. “I’m not rightly sure what I would do. Don’t get me wrong—I’ve seen plenty of folks pass on in my time, and sure, the temptation’s always been there to head on up into the Bank and get one last look at them, but I suppose I just never thought it was my place to do so. Wouldn’t want to keep reminding them, you know?”
Lex thought about all the stuff Cordy had said about missing life. Maybe he was right. “So if you died, you wouldn’t want anyone to visit you?”
He let out a laugh. “Child, when I die, I’ll be too busy painting up the Afterlife to give two shakes about what the living are doing.” Lex glanced at the brush strokes on the walls, the color splashed across the counter. “Gotta get busy and set up a nice little place for me and the wife to spend eternity, now don’t I?”
“What makes you so sure you’ll die before Pandora?”
Corpp gave her a look. “The woman is a cockroach. She’ll outlive every last one of us, mark my words.” He tapped her mug. “Now, why don’t you take a sip of the ole Yorick, and try to ignore all these blasted fools.”
Lex thanked him again and took a gulp. The sweetness filled her mouth and warmed her gullet, the euphoric properties of the Elixir taking effect almost instantaneously. By the time Driggs returned to the bar, the collective stare fest around her had receded into the background of her mind like white noise.
“Come on,” Driggs said, pulling her through the crowd. “They were hiding out in the bathroom, but I dragged them back in. We shouldn’t have to cower like scared little mice.”
Yet cowering was exactly what Kloo and Ayjay were doing, cramped into the back corner of the pub. The Seniors had given them a wide berth, as if a roll of invisible police tape had been set up around them.
“Hey, you’re human again,” Ayjay said to Lex before anyone could bring up the prickly subject of the vote.
Kloo elbowed him in the ribs, causing his hand to fly up and accidentally knock his eye patch askew. “It’s called tact, Ayjay. Find some.” She smiled sadly at Lex. “You doing okay, hon?”