Croak (27 page)

***

When they finished work that afternoon, Lex and Driggs rounded onto the cobblestones of Slain Lane and headed for the shop labeled Dead Meat. A small bell tinkled when they pushed open the door, though the rest of the store—cold, dark, and pervaded with an overwhelming stench—did not seem nearly as welcoming. Lex felt as if she had just entered a tomb.

Driggs stepped up to the counter. “Anyone here?”

“Be right out!” a voice rang from the back. Seconds later a harried-looking Zara emerged wearing a bloody apron. “Oh. It’s you guys.”

“How’s the meat business?” Driggs asked.

Zara scowled. “I can’t
wait
until this internship is over. I had to swipe into the foulest, most disgusting meatpacking plants on earth for that stupid party last night, and every single day I come home stinking of blood and guts and pig remains. I hate it!” she shrieked, a small globule of goo quivering in her silver hair.

“Wow, sorry,” said Lex, who couldn’t help but take a small amount of pleasure in Zara’s distress. “That really sucks.”

Zara glared at her. “Yeah, it does. And the nerves from last night aren’t helping.” She wiped her forehead. “Anyway, what can I get you guys?”

While Driggs placed the order, Lex glanced out the window. A pair of Senior Grims were walking down the street and looking around apprehensively, as if expecting an attack from behind or above. They were met by another pair of Grims who spoke with them in low tones. Before the group disbanded, they hugged.

Lex grimaced as she tried to imagine what it must be like for Grims who had been here for decades. A whole career of scything to strangers, examining and poking at bodies as if they had never even belonged to live humans, completely isolated within their little town. No wonder they had become blind to the real terrors lurking in the world. Death was old hat to Grims, a punch line to a joke told at lunch over the Morgue’s greasy hamburgers. But gnarly fireworks accidents and missing fingers didn’t seem so funny anymore. Now the threat was here, seemingly dropping in from the sky, and no amount of professionalism could stop Lex or anyone else from incessantly glancing over their shoulders in fear.

“I don’t know,” Driggs was saying to Zara. “Mort’s not telling us much, but I think they’re both okay.”

“I hope so,” Zara said, placing the sausages on the scale.

As she moved her arm away, however, the sleeve of her butcher’s jacket got caught and rode up to her elbow. Lex took one look at Zara’s exposed arm and gasped. “Oh my God,” she said. “What happened to you?”

Several large clusters of red blotches ran the length of Zara’s pale arm. The skin underneath was crumpled, scarred beyond recognition, while deep gashes crisscrossed like train tracks.

Zara’s mortified eyes flew to her sleeve. “None of your business!” she snapped, yanking it down.

Lex was stunned into silence. Like everyone else in Croak, Zara wore the long-sleeved black hoodie most of the time, even in the heat of the summer; Lex realized she’d never seen Zara’s bare arms until today. “I—sorry,” she sputtered, now vastly confused.

“Just forget it,” Zara said, giving Driggs a significant look.

His returned glance was one of apology. “Thanks, Zara,” he said gently, taking the package and handing it to Lex. “Have a good afternoon, okay?”

Zara was shaking as they left. “Yeah, okay.”

***

Driggs said nothing the whole way home.

As they neared the driveway, Lex couldn’t take it anymore. “Okay, are you gonna tell me or not?”

“Tell you what?”

“What the hell was that all about? Why did Zara look about ready to claw my heart right out of my chest and wrap it up along with the rest of our order?”

Driggs remained silent. He jammed his hands into his pockets and headed for the porch.

“Hey,” she said, following him. “I asked you a—”

“Lex, stop.”

The edge of fury in his voice made her flinch. “What’s wrong?”

Slowly, hesitantly, he rolled up the bottom of his hoodie until his chest was exposed. “You don’t know what these are, do you?” he said in a low voice, looking away.

Lex examined his skin, which was mottled with about twenty dark, pill-size dots. “No,” she said, squinting in the fading light. “I don’t.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t.” He glanced at the setting sun. “They’re cigarette burns. My father got a real kick out of using his only son as an ashtray.”

Lex recoiled, a short breath escaping her lips.

Driggs’s gaze was lost, foreign. “These aren’t even the worst of it. But the point is, Zara and I aren’t the only ones. Everyone here—except for you—came from their own personal hells, and most have the literal scars to prove it.” He stuffed his shirt back down and glared at her. “So if you could manage to remember that every once in a while, we’d all greatly appreciate it.”

Lex took a breath to say something, but nothing came out. Just then, the door sprang open to reveal a jubilant Uncle Mort.

“Grab your top hats and monocles, kids,” he said, waving a wad of money. “I’m taking you out to dinner.”

***

Fifteen minutes later the three of them sat at a table in a darkened corner of the fanciest and “most zoologically eclectic” restaurant in Croak, according to its sign. “The kangaroo is good here,” Uncle Mort said while perusing the drink specials. Lex glanced at Driggs from behind her menu, but he was apparently too engrossed in the appetizer offerings to look her way.

“Wellllcommme to Asssshhes.” A lofty voice floated over their heads as a tall, pale woman materialized at their table. Her long dark hair reached past her waist, while the train of her black dress trailed at least five feet behind her.

“Thank you,” Uncle Mort said in a saucy tone. “A terrifying pleasure, as always.”

“May I brrrrring you anythinnnng to drrrrink?” she asked, running a slender hand through his hair.

“I—mmm . . .” He moaned blissfully, closing his eyes. “I’ll have an Essence of Newt. Straight up, no ice, with extra pulp . . . pulpy . . .” Lex kicked him under the table. His eyes sprang open. “What?”

“Annnnd for you twooooo?”

“Water,” they quickly said in unison.

“Cominnnng right uuuup,” she replied, drifting away.

Uncle Mort stood. “I need to, um, use the facilities,” he said, wandering off.

Driggs watched him leave, then distractedly ran his fingers over the candle flame.

Lex mentally prepared herself. She had never been any good at apologies, and she doubted this one would be the breakthrough she had been waiting for. “Hey,” she said. “I’m sorry about before.”

“It’s okay.” His lips barely moved as he watched the yellow flickers. “You didn’t know.”

Lex nodded for a moment. “Do you want to talk about—”

“Nope.”

“Okay. Um, if you ever want to, I’m always—”

“Yeah. Got it.”

Lex nodded her head yet again, certain that it would soon detach. She opened her mouth, then closed it. She picked up the menu and looked at it. She put it down.

“Okay, clearly, I am terrible at this,” she confessed. “What do you want me to say?”

He scratched at his neck. “It’s not really something I like to talk about. It was a long time ago.” He gave her a weak smile. “I ran away to Croak for very good reasons, just like everyone else.”

Lex shrank. “Except for me.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve got a reason,” he said, indicating her blistered finger. “A better one than the rest of us, I’ll bet, since you were plucked from such obscurity.”

“Obscurity?” She grinned. “You mean a warm, loving home?”

Driggs finally cracked a smile and laughed. “Yeah. That’s the official definition.”

The waitress brought a basket of muffins as Uncle Mort returned to the table and picked up a menu. “I could really go for some badger gizzards,” he said excitedly.

“Why are you in such a good mood?” Lex asked. “And what are we doing here? Why the sudden splurge?”

He chuckled guiltily. “Ah, I may have fined a nice Canadian couple for jaywalking.”

Driggs gave him a wry look. “Was that before or after Kilda destroyed their camera?”

“After. But they were leaving anyway, due to the impending gas explosion—”

“Boys,” Lex interrupted, “let’s curb the A.D.D. for a little while, shall we? Are Kloo and Ayjay okay?”

“Shaken up, but otherwise fine,” Uncle Mort said. “Afraid the eye is busted for good, though.”

Driggs sank. “That sucks.”

Uncle Mort thoughtfully stroked his own scar. “He’ll get used to it.”

“What did Necropolis say about last night?” Lex asked.

Uncle Mort lit up. “They’re furious!” he said with glee. “Practically ready to string me up because I gave out so many details.”

“To the town, you mean?” Driggs asked.

“Yeah. And to
The Obituary.
”

Lex inhaled sharply. “You told the press?”

“Yep. Cat’s out of the bag,” he said proudly. “Trust me, media coverage will help. One Senior team has already reported an Elixir death today, and more will follow. This bastard can’t stay hidden for long with the entire Grimsphere on the lookout.”

Lex picked at a muffin. “I liked it better when it was just us.”

“Speaking of which,” Uncle Mort said, shooting her a cryptic look, “let’s not tell anyone about that, okay? If people find out that you were the first one to see them—”

“What?” Lex asked, determined to get to the bottom of this. “Are you embarrassed by me or something?”

His face clouded over. “Lex, I swear on the working cold fusion device in the basement that I couldn’t be prouder of you. But not everyone . . .” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “You just have to realize that some people don’t approve of you. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be here,” he added as she began to argue. “Because you absolutely do. But not everyone sees it that way.”

“Like Norwood and Heloise.”

“Yes.”

“Why, though?” she asked. “Because I’m your niece?”

“Something like that,” he murmured. “Listen, don’t worry about it. As long as I’ve got your back, you don’t need to give a rat’s ass what anyone else thinks.”

Lex, irritated, smeared a blueberry across the table.

He smirked. “Not that you ever do.”

The next day, DeMyse’s director of Ether Traffic Control dropped dead in the middle of his shift. The day after that, a Culler in Necropolis slumped headfirst into her bowl of breakfast cereal. By the end of the week, every team in Croak had witnessed at least one Elixir murder firsthand during their shifts. And morale was at an all-time low.

Everything had changed. The citizens of Croak were shuffling through their lives like soulless wraiths. Their nerves were fried from constantly flinching at the smallest rustle, cowering each time a cloud passed in front of the sun, fearing sudden death at every turn. There had not been any more attacks on Croak, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time. And since the source of the stolen Elixir was still unknown, Corpp’s had been closed until further notice, leaving the populace with no way to ease the crushing dread.

So Uncle Mort called a meeting one stormy evening to discuss the sightings, address the Grimsphere attacks, and allow the populace to vent. Lex and Driggs agreed to meet Ferbus and Elysia after work and head over together.

Lex stood in the office, examining the vault door. “You know,” she said to Ferbus, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

Not in the mood for his antics, Lex grabbed a pair of scissors and brandished them in his face. “I really suggest you rid your workspace of sharp objects, Carrot Top. We wouldn’t want any unfortunate castrations, now would we?”

“Driggs!” Ferbus yelled into the spidery Lair, where Driggs had wandered to get away from their constant squabbling. “Your partner is threatening to neuter me!”

“Yeah, she does that,” Driggs said from within.

“You know, intimidating people with knifelike implements isn’t really the best way to clear your name,” Ferbus said as Lex lowered the scissors.

“Clear my what now?”

He leaned in. “I’ve heard what the Seniors are saying. They think you’re connected to these murders.”

Lex gaped at him. “What? Why me?”

“Think about it. None of this even started until you showed up, and now you’re terrorizing poor innocent townsfolk with pointy weapons.” He shrugged and went back to his wizard battle. “Just doesn’t look that great, is all.”

“Well, neither does your face.”

Now troubled, she hopped off the desk and let herself in through the vault to the Afterlife, where Elysia stood over a pile of wood, plastic, and Wright brothers.

“Clean that up,” Elysia scolded them as she returned to her desk. “They think they can make anything fly,” she told Lex. “A table, a microwave, a subway car. It doesn’t matter. If it doesn’t have wings, it’s an experiment waiting to happen.”

Lex barely heard her. She looked back at the vault door and scowled.

“What’s wrong?” Elysia asked, concerned. “Is it the fact that the very foundation of our world is crumbling all around us and we’re barreling forth into a hellish vision of uncertainty and terror the likes of which have never been seen?”

“Sounds wonderful to me,” Edgar said, drifting by.

Lex turned to Elysia. “Did you know that people think I’m connected to all this?”

Elysia’s eyes fluttered guiltily. “Um . . . yes. I’ve heard some talk. But it’s probably only because you’re new.” A sad look passed over her face. “No one wants to believe that someone we’ve known and loved for years could do something like this.”

Lex scowled. “Well, they can all suck it once I go home and it keeps happening.”

But the thought of leaving made her feel even worse. The summer was nearing a close, and she still hadn’t been able to think of a way to stay in Croak. Meanwhile, Cordy had redoubled her emailing efforts, and though this time around Lex had actually replied to a few of them, she always made sure to conveniently leave out the part about a crazed murderer on the loose.

Elysia frowned. “You still think your parents won’t let you stay?”