Wes had turned his attention to Ash now. Leaning down to meet the Morai face to face, he scowled. “What’s going on here? And don’t lie.”
“Nothing sir,” Ash sounded innocent as always. “Just clearing something up for Damien.”
With maybe 60-70 people around us, and with the Iconocop staring down the Morai, I was glad for once that I couldn’t sense heat. It must’ve been 85 degrees.
Ash staring down Wes. Something had to give. I was packing up my hypo-gun when it gave.
“Drop your eyes, Morai.” Wes’s lips barely moved as he spoke. “Drop them now. You will not pull your voodoo on me.”
Ash looked away, his gift no doubt blocked by Wes’s shades. But he also made the mistake of saying, “I would not presume, Mister Dodds.” Ash barely had time to finish his lie before the Iconocop grabbed his shoulders, wrenched him around and started dragging him through the crowd of yahoos.
“Don’t you all have classes to get to?” he growled, sending everyone skittering away.
In Theorics class the next day Ash’s usually ashen cheeks sported a rosy color. He was silent and so I didn’t ask about it. The answer was kind of obvious anyway. Those Iconocops meant business. Mr. Pribeck was blathering on about the Third Law of Theorics, proclaiming the wisdom in questioning every act of a dictator. According to the Third Law, a dictator remains in power only so long as the people allow him to; dictatorships only ever exist because the people permit them to.
That’s Theorics, politics according to Psychiatrists.
Every so often Mr. Pribeck glanced back towards Ash; whether to seek approval or because he thought Ash might have something to add, I couldn’t tell.
The little munchkin looked so dang gloomy. I had to do something. Couldn’t just leave him like this, he might never complete his plans, which meant I’d never get my curse lifted. I leaned towards him, just knowing I’d regret it. “Hey Ash, hey, why did you want those blueprints so badly?”
He perked up. Even the dash of rose on his cheek seemed to lighten to its usual ghostly pallor. “I need them to help me find a way inside.” He lowered his voice so only I could hear him. “There is something inside Mythcorp that will help me lift your curse.” He could have gone on, but he must’ve known he had me.
We both leaned back in our chairs. Metal groaned. The Goths were taking notes, following Mr. Pribeck’s every word, just as Ash had told them to. I am not Mesmerized, I told myself, this is just the way to get my curse lifted. I am doing this because I choose to.
The Morai were going to make us all paranoid.
I leaned over and whispered, “All right, I’m in. But I’ve never broken in anywhere before, and no one has ever broken into Mythcorp.”
His pencil-thin lips curled upward. “That’s okay. Just be there at the city records building at eleven o’clock tomorrow night. You’ll have help.”
“If someone’s going to break in for me, why do I got to be there?”
“You can come and go as you please,” Ash answered. “I cannot, and the one who is going to help you break in, can’t enter the school.” He turned his head to look at me with those terrible eyes. “Thank you.”
My thermo-watch read 63 degrees; I couldn’t feel it, but I’d just gotten a chill.
Chapter 8
“What’s going on now?” Seventh period had just ended and Ava was walking beside me down the hall toward Camelot. Camelot sounds a lot better than ‘the former dead-people-apartment.’
“No idea,” I answered. “But I bet it’s got something to do with Ash.”
Ava snorted. Even a Porky-Pig noise sounds alluring when it comes from her. “You know, you’ve developed a very immature attitude when it comes to Ash,” she said.
“Nah-uh,” I mocked as we neared the edge of the growing crowd. “Okay, maybe I have, but I will bet you two-hundred dollars Ash is smack in the middle of whatever’s going down here.” I had to stop and walk in a circle, as Marie had popped into existence before me. I could’ve just ghosted right through her, sure, but my flesh tingles and the air takes on a decidedly Antarctic feel whenever I spook-walk.
“You’re on,” Ava smirked.
She was standing on her tippy-toes, trying to see over a few dozen heads. So cute. I thought about suggesting that she climb on my shoulders, but since Marie was currently haunting me, I had a better—though less pleasurable—idea.
“Marie, go sneak up there and see what this is all about.”
Ava followed my eyes carefully, as she always does whenever she knows one of my spooks is around, as if she hopes to catch a glimpse. I wondered if she’d enjoy a gander at Naked Charlie.
Marie, twirling through the students, made her way to the lockers. A few ticks later Wes the Iconocop came marching down the hall, heading my way. I hobbled to the left, guiding Ava with me. Wes shoved his way into the grouping just as Marie was hopping out. She danced her way straight through Wes, who paused as though chilled, before continuing like a man on a mission.
“Oh man,” Galahad appeared beside us. “Looks like a tussle, huh?”
“Yeah, and I’m about to make two-hundred bucks,” I boasted.
Ava smacked my shoulder. “I didn’t say I’d pay up if you were right.”
“Oh.” Just then Marie glided up to me. She hopped around like she was performing the Swan, but did not tell me what was going on. “Hey, Marie, what’s the 411?”
‘Hmm?’
“Who’s causing the ruckus?”
‘What ruckus?’ her hands flying through Kant’s head. Kant sneezed and shivered.
“Marie,” I snapped my fingers in her face. “Focus. What was . . . no, stop flickering. Don’t you dare pop away . . . and you popped away.” I turned to Ava. “Spook spies are so unreliable. Hey, there’s that muscle head—what was his name?”
“Damien,” Ava said. She was running her fingers through her hair. Unlike the other Morai, Ava often lets her white locks roam free, no ponytails, rubber bands or scrunchies. It’s like watching an angel. “Damien Frigg, I think.” She dropped her hands and looked at me. “What?”
Damien reached the edge of the crowd. I shifted to the left, blocking his path and risking a black eye. “Move.” He made me feel short. I didn’t like that one bit.
“What’s going on?”
He considered me, letting his brown pupils roam over my gaunt form. I felt as naked as Charles. “That Ash guy,” he nodded back towards Wes, “he’s spouting some stuff about how shoddily Mythcorp was run. Oh, and the zombie was shooting up.” He paused, smiled. “His medicine gun thing is righteous. Wish I had me one of those.”
Damien headed for the bathroom. I noticed his hand flittering inside his pocket. Just like mine does whenever I’m looking for a fix. I set my hand on Ava’s shoulder. “I got to split. By the way, you owe me two Benjamin’s.”
Damien was lighting up by the time I shoved on the squeaky door and entered the bathroom. “Can I bum one?”
The behemoth scrutinized me again. But he drew the pack from his pocket and tapped out a stick. He mated it with his own and when it was lit handed it to me. “What’s your deal? You a . . .” he pointed at me up and down with his cigarillo “. . . are you like them? The Morai, I mean. You screw with people’s heads?”
“Only if they’re not smart enough to do what I want of their own free will,” puff-drag-drag-puff. A few tense ticks. Then he laughed. It was a full-throated roar, the sort you read about but only ever hear from psychotic Santa Clauses. I hadn’t expected him to get my joke. Big and clever. I’d have to watch myself around this one.
“Your folks do something with Mythcorp too?”
I shrugged. The cig no longer tasted good. “I don’t know. What was Sanson doing with Ash?”
“Don’t know.” He flicked his butt into the toilet, passing it over the stall door with magical ease. And then this addict pulled a small book out of his pocket. Go figure. He noticed me staring. “Want it?”
“What is it?”
<
br /> “A Gideon Bible.”
I shrugged.
“You ain’t never heard of a Gideon Bible?” Damien’s usual bass voice approached alto-range. “Ever heard of a Bible?” He got another shrug out of me. “Dang, man. What they teach you at that orphanage? Here,” handing me the little black book. “Check it out. You might like it. It’s about war and death.”
I took it, flipped through it. The chapters were a bunch of weird old people names, and words I’d never heard. “What’s a Deuteronomy?”
“No clue, man. Listen, I got to split. Keep it righteous.”
“Hold up,” I grabbed his arm at the door. I let go and stood back, holding my hands up as if he had a gun pressed to my head. “Would you know how to lace candy with doojee?” I sported my very best choir boy smile. But still, you can’t ask what I did with a completely straight face.
Damien glowered at me. I understood how Jack the Rippers victims must’ve felt right before Jack ripped them up. And, sense I was now feeling tense as all krit, Castor showed up.
‘What’s going on here? Oh, is the little baby going to piddle his diapers? Come on, give us a good doody, you little bastard. Come on. Come on, there you go—‘
“Shut up!”
Oh crap.
The old stare-em-down game. Certain that the next move Damien made would be to stretch my neck the hard way, I flinched. Instead he just bent at the waist and cracked up. “You one buggered up mofo, you know that.” The behemoth clapped me on my shoulder. “But I like you. You got any paper for this smack-candy you want me to make?”
I pulled a wad of twenties out of my pocket, still shaking with relief. Mr. Monmouth, back at the home, used to give us all an allowance, but since we were never allowed out to spend it (other than on deals with Mr. Bors), the dough had accumulated.
Damien nodded, grabbed the wad and shoved on the door. “Give me a week, stretch.”
Castor was tearing it up in the stall, laughing his spook-ass off. “Thanks a lot, Cas. You know you almost got me beat up back there.”
‘Ah, you would’ve enjoyed it, you little fairy orphan.’
“Go screw yourself. If it’s long enough.” With that I walked out of the bathroom—and slammed right into Lamorak.
“Whoa, where’s the fire?”
I grappled for my cripple-stick, which had clattered a couple yards away when I slammed into him. Once I had it, Lamorak offered his hand and helped me up. He looked down at my cripple-stick and smirked. “Did you draw marker flames on it?” He tittered. Real snarky like, his trio of ponytails flapping as his head bobbed. “What for?”
“Obviously, they make me look like I’m going faster.” We were gawking at each other now. Something in his peepers. They almost had that dang knowing gleam, like Ash’s.
“Well, keep it righteous.” Great, I was cribbing lines from the straights now. Who was I pretending to be anyway? I hobbled away. The one good thing about being a quasi-cripple is all the teachers give you extra time to make it to their classes. I was tempted to stretch this leniency, to see just how much time they’d forgive me.
That night, while lying on our cots in Camelot, I whispered over to Ava who was lying in the cot next to mine. “Why do you think Ash is hanging around that zombie guy? What’s he up to?”
“He’s just trying to make friends,” Ava groaned. “Drop it already. He’s not up to anything. You’re just being paranoid—and stupid.”
Camelot still smelled of dust and that freshly dead stench, making me want to sneeze—which made me think of Marie. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” I whispered to Ava. “I need to walk it off, sure as sure.”
The floorboards did not squeak as I crossed to the door. And the door was silent as well. It was almost as if the school wanted me to do this. I eased it shut and crept down the stairs. The hall was a ghost town, no Iconocop in sight. But that didn’t mean Wes wasn’t lurking around the next corner. The dude was sneaky as a spook and just as irritating.
I glanced at the boarded-up exit before making my way to the gym without any major disasters. The doors were not locked; obviously another sign I was destined to do this. I shoved the doors closed behind and hobbled to the center of the gym. My cane was louder than my footsteps, despite its rubber soled bottom. A true-blue spooky sound I could’ve done without. Alone now in the center of this cavernous place, I stood to collect my thoughts, consider one last time if a really wanted to do this, then opened my mouth . . . and screamed. I hadn’t meant to scream, but I couldn’t help it: a spider had just crawled up my leg.
It was one of them icky spiders, bulbous body and legs so thick you can see the joints.
Grody, I know. Who wouldn’t scream with one of them on their ankle?
I shook it off and backed away. The nasty creepy-crawler sauntered off, strutting its stuff. No doubt it was going to have itself a good old laugh with its eight legged buddy’s.
“Stupid spider.”
There, that’ll teach it.
Once I’d settled down I did what I’d come to do. “Marie? Calling Marie!” While waiting for my spook to show up, I cast glances at the spot I’d flicked the spider off to. He was gone. Great, now I had to watch out for his return. Should’ve squashed the bugger.
Marie appeared to my left, facing me, her opaque eyes for once focused. ‘Wow. You look like him, without the scars.’
“Again, I look like who?” But she was frolicking. I wanted to throttle her. Dang fickle spook. “Listen Marie. Are you listening?” She hummed a yes. “Try to pay attention. This is important. I want you to . . . hey! Look at me!”
Marie ceased her twirling and looked over at me. ‘What’s got your knickers in a twist?’
“I don’t know what knickers are. Focus here.” By now Naked Charlie had arrived, probably summoned by my frustration. I ignored him and so did Marie. “I want you to go to Sanson. I want you to follow him around. See what Ash says to him. And then come back . . . hey,” I snapped my fingers in her face. “And then report back to me. Got it?” Her gaze veered off. “Marie! Have you got it?”
Her attention snapped back. ‘Cheese and crackers, you sound just like him when you yell.”
“Just like who?” I practically shrieked, not expecting an answer.
‘Like Knox.’
With that mysterious declaration, my spook twinkled, flickered and vanished. Off to spy on a dead boy I hoped. “Knox,” I tried out the word. I liked the sound of it.
Chapter 9
I found myself alone in the gym—and feeling suddenly quite the dum-dum.
So I left. The halls were Iconocop-free, and since I didn’t feel like heading back to Camelot to face Ava and her judgmental tude, I limped idly along. Some people might’ve assumed my restlessness had something to do with withdrawal. But that was absurd; I wasn’t an addict. The doojee keeps me sane, makes sure my hauntings don’t make me go all loony-tunes.
I paused to rub my throbbing knee. I also had one mother of a migraine: hopefully Damien would rush my order to the top of his heap. The tapping of my cripple-stick kept me company down the main hall, towards the front doors. At the metal detectors I stopped.
Wind was blowing through the great weeping willow out front, hanging branches waving at me. Peaceful—and depressing. I wasn’t allowed out there, wouldn’t set foot in the outside world again until after graduation, eighteen months away. I sighed, was about to turn and head back, when the clattering of a lock being breached reached my ears.
Light spilled out into the hall. Four ticks later the light dimmed and I heard a door being closed. Acting like the cat that curiosity killed, I sneaked down the hall. Ten feet from the door, I slowed (hobbled at a slightly less interesting pace). ‘What you doing at the library?’ Castor asked. ‘Dum-dum thinking about learning something’? That’ll be the day, huh.’
“Shh!” I hissed.
Oh crap. Movement came from inside the library. I skedaddled away, slunk against the lockers. I probably should have run, but m
y knee didn’t agree.
Two minutes of nothing convinced me that my shushing of Castor had not inspired whoever was inside to come out and beat me up or haul me back to the Home. I hobbled over to the door and peeked in.
“Well, you coming in or are you going to stand out there all night like a lost puppy dog?” a girl’s voice, high and yet commanding.
‘It’s only a girl,’ Castor snickered. ‘What, you afraid of the taco now?’ He broke into laughter, doubling over and floating around me in the darkened hall. Oh how I would’ve loved to smack that smirk off his scarred face and that cig out of his puckering mocking mouth.
“I told you,” Pellinore’s voice came from around the corner, “it wasn’t a bomb. I was trying to trap it. You can’t hide this forever—”
I shoved the door open and slid inside the library, easing the door closed behind me. Ten ticks later the black Iconocop passed by, dragging along Pellinore. So, apparently the Iconocops did sleep and switch shifts here. Poor Pells, his obsession with this imaginary beastie was going to get him sent back to the Home.
“Who was that who gave you the Willies?”
I whipped around. The library looked empty, a lone table lamp glowing to my right. I scanned that table until my eyes landed on her. She’d eluded my scan at first. And now I could see why.
“You’re a . . . a dwarf. Like a real live dwarf.” My mouth might have been gaping slightly.
The dwarf shifted in her seat, and I noticed that she was sitting on a cushion. “My name is Izzy Macawber. I am a little person. You call me anything but Izzy and I’ll punch you in the stones. Got it?” Her tone and failure to blink suggested she was not bluffing.
I stepped towards her. “Punch, because your kick wouldn’t reach my stones?” It was a ballsy move, returning her tit for tat, but I once read somewhere that girls like a smart mouth.
Tension brewed as we stared. My peepers were crying for blinkage when Izzy raised her shortened arm and brushed aside a foot long section of red hair. Tucked it behind her pint-sized ear. Yummy. She shifted again, turning to face me with her entire upper body. She’d developed early, that was for sure. Petite, but perky and full—for someone less than four feet tall.
Orphan of Mythcorp Page 5