So, morphine doesn’t keep the spooks away, only doojee, and only barely. Curious.
Miss Little had gone back to her desk and was now drawing.
“What are you drawing?”
“Oh, it’s something for my friend. What do you think?” She held up the sheet of paper and smiled at me. “I know I’m no Da Vinci, but I think it catches his self-confidence, his air of . . . intelligence? What do you think? Don’t leave me hanging.”
I sat up on my elbows and gawked. In the pencil drawing a short white-haired boy was standing in front of the White House, holding up what I assumed to be a framed Degree. “Is that . . . Ash?”
“Oh good, you can tell it’s him,” she turned back to her desk to finish it. “I wasn’t sure if I got the eyes right.”
“Your friend is Ash?”
Speaking of the devil, Ash walked into the station, having knocked on the door before entering. Galahad was in the waiting room beyond, holding something half-concealed behind Ash’s smidge form.
“Hello Kimmy,” Ash said to Miss Little. “How are you?”
They traded dum-dum pleasantries while I lay banged up and shackled to a cot. At last Ash honored me with his attention. “I heard our friend Mister Dodds paid you a visit. Mind if I see the results of that visit?”
We stared each other down for a few ticks. I nodded at the nurse. She pulled the sheet off, revealing my network of wounds. I braved a peep down; snaky welts all wrapped in red. There was hardly a patch of skin free from some degree of nastiness. I imagined my back looked much the same, just a day or two more vintage.
Ash whistled. “Cover him up, please, Kimmy.”
His ‘friend’ obeyed. So, I was officially in the Twilight Zone, only it was called Philicity High.
Ash paced, tapping his chin with his right index finger. “I wonder if you would help me with a small project I’m working on.”
“Help you? In case it’s escaped your wondrous attention, Malfoy,” I snapped, “I am shackled to a cot and can barely move without rubbing two wounds together.”
He nodded, turned to his friend. “Do you think you could supply him with some painkillers so he can help us?” He was gazing into Nurse Little’s peepers, but I wasn’t sure if he was pulling a Mesmer. She nodded and removed a bottle of pills from a locked drawer. She set the bottle—which sported a red warning label—on the metal bedside stand.
“No more than one pill every six hours,” she spoke slowly, as if to a dum-dum. “I mean it.”
Ash clapped once while I tried not to cry tears of joy for the bottle of drugs he’d just procured for me. “Excellent,” he said. Nurse Little handed him her drawing, her peepers averting shyly. “Kimmy,” he said, “this is dynamite. A real work of art. Thank you.”
She smiled and went to check on Gareth. “Now,” Ash leaned in close, pouring his peepers into mine, “you’re tight with Damien Frigg and his gang, right?” He posed it as a question, but you could tell he knew the answer. Ash was usually playing at something, and by the arrangement of his facial features, this time was no exception.
Chapter 19
“Am I tight with him?” Where was he picking up this slang? “I know the guy, a little. What’s it to you?”
Ash circled my cot. I was sure it was just to prove how free he was and what a sucker I was. “Tomorrow, after school, there’s going to be a teacher-parent conference.” Ash stopped trying to make me dizzy, and settled on a spot near the foot of my bed. “There’s going to be some special individuals at this conference, individuals that I need to speak with. But . . .”
“There’s always a butt,” I cracked.
Ash gave me a withering glare. “But, the Iconocops have decided that they need to chaperon this conference, even though they’re banishing us to Camelot for the evening.”
I shrugged. “So, have your boy Sanson distract them. Aren’t you ‘tight’ with him?”
He peeped down at the incredibly presumptuous drawing of himself. “Sanson has been a megabomb help. But for this I need brute force.”
I’d have suggested using his boys Lamorak, Gawaine and Agravaine, the biggest Morai, but the Morai have fragile bodies. I was one to speak. “So, you want to use Damien and his gang to hold down the Iconocops long enough for you to Mesmerize them, yes?”
Ash shrugged. “It’s that or we let those I-cops get away with beating on you.”
I sat up. My shackles jangled. “Don’t pretend this is some kind of retribution for me.” I sighed. Whatever his reasons, I too wanted to see Wes pay.
“Fine,” I said. “But I’m pretty sure there are only three dudes in Damien’s gang.”
“That’s bully,” Ash declared, depositing the drawing in his pack. “There will be only one I-cop supervising the conference. Thank you.” He smiled and made for the door. “Oh, and don’t worry about those cuffs, I’ll speak with Kimmy. She’ll make Mentkowski take them off for you.”
“Hey,” I called to him as he was disappearing through the door. “Why didn’t you just Mesmerize Damien and his boys? And don’t even try denying you pull that crap on people.”
Looking over his narrow shoulder at me, Ash said, “Actually, I did try. Damien and his boys have proven immune to my gifts. I think it has something to do with all the drugs they take.”
‘Why would he confess that?’ Castor wondered. ‘It gives you a weapon against his ability. What a dumbass mistake. He was going so strong, too. Damn. Well,’ he smirked at me with that crooked scarred face, ‘probably doesn’t matter. An astounding moron like yourself won’t be able to exploit his little faux-paux anyhow. Isn’t that right, moron?’
“Piss off, vapor-dick.”
Fifteen minutes later Kimmy came through and the Iconocop Mentkowski unshackled me. Without a word he walked out. A few ticks later Galahad came in. He’d recovered my father’s cane. “Mister Dodds did not want to give it back,” Galahad explained. “He kept going on about how he recognized it, and how it finally confirmed his suspicions. I had to go to Nurse Little for help, make her convince Mister Dodds that you needed the cane. Eventually the principal and the other Iconocops convinced him that ‘denying an injured ward of the state a standard of care would have serious legal repercussions, especially if the Zoners found out’.”
Wow. Apparently this cane had a reputation. Cool.
We were walking (Galahad was walking, I was limping) back to Camelot through a congested hall when he asked, “So what the flip happened to you? I thought when you left you’d be gone for a day to . . . you know, check out that Dex kook. When you didn’t show up in class I was afraid you’d gotten yourself eternally buggered.”
At the stairway to Camelot, I leaned down to Galahad and whispered, “I met a couple of Mythicons who knew my father. They said he was the one who ended the War.”
“What? Your father? Really? What did they say about—” the bell cut him off. Poor Galahad had school to get to. I had three manuscripts (Galahad had managed to recover these before Wes could confiscate them) waiting for me, and a bottle of drugs I was gung-ho about downing.
“You better go. Thanks for everything. And G, stay away from Ash.”
Chapter 20
Sanson: One Day Earlier
My second talk with Lexi went loads better than the first, probably because I prefaced this one with a gift of a home tattoo kit, complete with three colors of ink. I thought she was going to kiss me. Her excitement gave me an opening to explain my condition was not contagious.
Now satisfied that she wouldn’t contract ‘zombism’, I was able to explain about Ash wanting to meet her father. “Okay but, I don’t understand exactly why,” she said when I was done.
“Well,” I stammered, “Ash just wants to . . . meet the father of the girl he wants to go with.” The words just blurted themselves out. I was getting ready to yank my foot out of my mouth when Lexi screeched and jumped forward, embracing me. She smelled like strawberries.
She stepped back, clapped, twirled. WTF?<
br />
“Really? He wants to go with me? Seriously?”
“Yes, yes and yes,” I answered. “He’s just old fashioned, you know. I don’t think the Morai were raised like the rest of us. So, will you bring your dad here after school sometime? He’ll have to come inside. Ash can’t leave the building.”
She slumped and I was sure the Goth girl was reconsidering her frenzy, but instead she took my hand and led me over to the fountain outside the gym, where it was less crowded. “I would ask my dad to come, I would, but he’s always like, so busy.” She lowered her head and seemed depressed. But a few seconds later she jerked her head up, sending her black hair flipping around. “Hey, I bet he would come to a parent-teacher conference. He’s such a Grinch, always saying he doesn’t trust me when I tell him my teachers love me and stuff.”
“A parent-teacher conference?” I asked. Just then her girlfriends showed up, taking wide detours in the hall to avoid rubbing shoulders with me. They’d apparently been giggling about something, but when they saw that Lexi’s proximity to me was no accident, their smiles fled and they shut up quickly.
“What’s he want?” Misty or Missy or Mindy asked. Before Lexi could answer, two of the girls (one of them was Joe, I was sure of that much) started babbling about some new flavor lipstick or some crap like that. I tried to get a word in, but girls babble louder than a crowd of Wall Street traders. And anyway, they were dragging her away, beyond the gym doors.
“I’ll talk to my dad, but it’ll be a no, I’m sure,” Lexi called back.
So; not a success, but not exactly a disaster either. I checked my thermal, which was becoming a habit, and wandered up to Chemistry class on the third floor. Mr. Wanksman (yeah, he catches a lot of flak for his name) was resetting his screens for a new class. After downing half a bottle of Nanex, I took my seat in the back corner by the window where a light breeze was blowing. I didn’t feel the breeze but I could see it playing through the Willow out front.
Why did I take the back seat when I couldn’t even enjoy the breeze? Because I wanted to, and besides, the breeze would help regulate my body temp.
Yahoos started pouring in, warring for the remaining window seats. I was enjoying the spectacle of sweating girls, moisture glistening on their exposed flesh, when Murphy’s Law asserted itself and Ash waltzed in. I gawked. Chemistry was one of five subjects blissfully Ash-free. What was he doing here?
The little Morai sauntered up to me, his hands held before him as usual. We traded looks and then he turned to face the yahoo in the seat to my right. The yahoos name was Jewel Macklemore and despite having attended this school for only a couple of weeks, Ash knew this.
“Excuse me, Jewel, is it?”
Jewel nodded and Ash continued. “You look lovely today, that blouse really brings out your eyes. Stunning is the word I should have used. You look comfortable, like you could just conk out right here and now—which, I suppose, wouldn’t be difficult, considering Mr. Wanksman’s dry monotone.” They shared a laugh that made me incredibly uncomfortable. I shifted in my seat.
Ash was leaning over her desk now, locking eyes with her. I couldn’t watch but I also couldn’t help but overhear the rest of Ash’s spiel.
“The thing is, Jewel, we Morai tend to overheat, and since you were obviously smart enough to wear the proper attire, I am completely at your mercy. Think you can help me out, just this once? I’ll dance at your prom and make you laugh, I promise.”
Oh come on. What kind of a fool would possibly fall for—
“Of course,” Jewel got up and smiled at Ash before heading for a seat away from the windows. As she sat in this blighted chair, she dabbed sweat from her face, smiling the whole time.
Ash followed her, whispered something in her ear and then wandered back over to take his freshly repossessed seat beside me. I gave him a ‘what the heck’ look. “Oh,” he beamed, “she’s going to make me a drawing. If you’re wondering why I’m here, I had our schedules rearranged.” He whipped out a class schedule and handed it to me. “I had to change two of your classes as well. Sorry, but it really is better this way.”
“Why? What’s better?”
“Because you and I have work to do.” He nodded at Mr. Wanksman, who clicked on the screen and started class. When Ash spoke to me again, he didn’t even bother lowering his voice. He was in charge and what was anyone going to say? Shoot, he’d mesmerized the teacher and half the yahoos in here. “How’d you do with Lexi?”
I laid it out for him, expecting a sigh or perhaps a long groan.
He was silent for a while, then nodded. I could almost see brilliant, sinister ideas formulating inside his bobble-head. He leaned over to me. “It seems we have more work to do than I thought.”
Ash looked ready to continue, but I happened to raise my eyes just then and nearly jerked back in surprise. The Iconocop Mentkowski was standing in the doorway, his chem-shades aimed at us. Ash turned around to see what had spooked me. He slumped in his seat and sighed. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”
Mentkowski’s head cocked. Now his chem-shades were directed at Jewel. He knocked on the door and entered. “Mr. Wanksman, I need to borrow Ash.”
Our teacher lowered his right hand, which he had been using to control the remote, and faced the Iconocop. “What do you need him for?”
Mentkowski paused, ground his teeth and then stepped up to Mr. Wanksman. Mentkowski was a beefy black man, short but built like a fridge, making our teacher look like a stick figure. “I’m going to pretend I don’t know that you’ve been Mesmerized. Because if I do know that you’ve been Mesmerized, I’ll have to fill out the appropriate paperwork, send it down to my bosses in DC, who’ll have to send it up the bureaucratic ladder, and that’s just a big ole pain in my ass. So,” he clapped Mentkowski on his shoulder, “here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to take that little freaky albino out of your classroom and you’re not going to say boo.”
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Wanksman was shaking, as if he were resisting some impulse (which he probably was). “I can’t let you do that.”
Mentkowski lurched at our teacher, raising a fist.
“It’s all right, Peter,” Ash stood up. “I’ll go with Mr. Mentkowski. He just wants to talk. Isn’t that right, Mr. Mentkowski?” But as he crossed to the front of the room, the Iconocop did not agree or even nod.
Iconocop and Morai walked out of the classroom.
Ash didn’t show for the next three classes. Assuming he was being honest about rearranging our schedules to match, this was disconcerting news.
Eighth period Politics was dragging on, Mrs. Philby driveling about the United House of Representatives, when Ash knocked on the door and stumbled in. He limped over to the seat behind me. His hands were folded before him as usual, but he was obviously in pain. His little half-step hitches reminded me of an old flick showing a chain-gang shuffling along to their cells.
“What happened, what did he do to you?” I whispered.
A pause, and then Ash said: “As much as he could.”
Through the remainder of Politics class I tried not to imagine what Mentkowski may or may not have done to Ash. The way he’d limped into class, it could’ve been anything from a paddle-spanking to fudge-packing. The desire to placate him by doing whatever he wanted me to do was strengthened by these nasty imaginings.
Which made me wonder: Was that his plan? Maybe he was manipulating me. Maybe he’d been playing it up since we first spoke. Who knew what the Morai were capable of?
After class he hobbled after me to my locker. “You want to hit pause on the whole ‘let’s-set-up-a-conference’ thing?” I asked. Seeing him leaning against the locker beside mine, I added, “Give you some time to rest? You look like a ghost, man.”
“No,” he said, peering in my eyes as usual. “In fact, we need to speed things up. Start today.”
“What? Why, what’s the rush?”
He looked around like he was afraid we were being overheard. I exchanged my
Politics text for Theorics, waiting for Ash. I was ready to turn and leave when Lamorak and Agravaine appeared behind him. “You okay?” Lamorak asked Ash.
“Yeah,” Ash made an effort to stand straight—and groaned. “Mentkowski’s bark is bigger than his bite. A smidge bit anyway.” Quiet Morai titters followed. “You have them?”
Agravaine, the largest of the Morai and the only one who doesn’t look like he’s courting anorexia, handed Ash a sheaf of papers. Forms of some kind by the glimpse I got of them.
“Dynamite.” He looked up at me, and so did the other two Morai. Once again I felt the urge to thank someone that I was immune to their mesmerizing eyes. “Lamorak and Agravaine are going to help me convince the teachers to sign these.”
“Forms to organize a parent-teacher conference?”
“Exactly,” he nodded. “After ninth period Lamorak will find you, hand these to you, all signed, and then you will take them to Principal Steck and convince him to sign off on them.” He paused to grimace. “Once he does, you’ll meet Nimrod outside, by the work shed. He’ll give you—”
“Whoa, hold up,” I interrupted. We all waited as George the Iconocop walked by, giving us all a long look. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his chem-shades, but I was pretty sure they were scrunched. “What makes you think Principal Steck will listen to me?” I continued. “Why don’t you just pull your Jedi mind tricks on him?”
“One of the Iconocops’ rules,” Agravaine growled. I almost stepped back when I heard his deep voice, so different from the rest of the Morai. “They won’t let us alone with the Principal.”
“Exactly,” Ash said. “But you can skim some time with him, whiz-bang like. No problem.”
“Yeah, maybe. But what the flip am I supposed to say?”
While Lamorak scowled at me, Ash smiled. “Tell him you heard that a number of parents have been considering removing their kids from school, away from us kooky Morai.”
I stepped back. “Huhn. Principal Steck might actually believe that. Shoot, it’s probably true.” All three pairs of eyes focused on something behind me. Ash reached up to my shoulder, plucked something from my shirt.
Orphan of Mythcorp Page 14