Rogue (22 page)

Lex tried to come up with an argument, but couldn’t. Even though it was easier to feel like the victim, to feel as though she had been lied to and manipulated, the truth was . . . 

She
had
wanted to stay. She
had
wanted to fight.

She looked back at the photograph of her mother—young, smiling, her arm draped over the shoulder of Skyla. She’d given up everything she’d loved—everything that her daughter now loved—in the hope that things would get better in the future, that her sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain.

“It’s funny,” Uncle Mort said. “Once the tank-smashing thing failed, we realized—the old Juniors, my old crew—we realized that our time was up, that the next generation would be the ones to fix it in the end. But I never dreamed we’d get such a strong, loyal, smart group of kids. I hoped for it, sure, but never truly believed they’d live up to my expectations, let alone exceed them like you kids have done.”

He took a deep breath. “I won’t lie to you, Lex: It’s going to get harder. And when it does, you’re the one the others are going to look to. You’re going to have to step up and lead. You’re going to have to make the hard decisions. In short”—he put an arm around her shoulders—“you’re going to have to be awesome.”

She swallowed. “How do I do that?”

“I don’t know.” At this, he finally smiled. “But yelling has done wonders for you so far.”

***

Lex awoke to more gray, the Afterlife outside just as gloomy as it had been the day before. She’d fallen asleep on her stomach, but out of the corner of her eye she saw something resting on her back.

She rolled over. “Oh. Hey.”

A cloud full of Driggs lay atop her. “Hey, yourself.”

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Pretending to be a blanket, are we?”

“Nah. Just wanted to be on top of you.”

She cracked a grin. “I’m not complaining.”

He rolled off, lay down next to her, and put his hands into hers, literally. Lex studied him. “Were you watching me sleep?” she asked.

“Yeah. Is that weird? It’s weird.”

“I don’t know. Maybe that’s what boyfriends do.”

“You just looked so pretty, dreaming like that. Peaceful, happy, not wanting to kill things.”

“I was probably peaceful and happy because I
was
killing things.”

“Good point.” Hod , happy,e tried to squeeze her hand, though of course she couldn’t feel it. “Are you okay? After everything Mort said?”

“You heard?”

“Yeah. Actually, everyone woke up in the commotion and . . .  we all did,” he said guiltily. “We couldn’t help ourselves.”

Lex shrugged. “It’s okay. I would have told you all anyway.”

“I know.” He glanced toward the other end of the museum. “They’re ready to go. They wanted to give you your space, but we’ve got to get moving soon.”

“Okay. Tell them I’ll be right there.”

A few minutes later Uncle Mort raised his eyebrow as Lex walked up to the front desk, tucking a scrap of paper into her back pocket. “If I didn’t know any better,” he said with a sly look, “I’d say that’s the expression of a person who just cut museum property out of its frame.”

“Oh, calm down,” she said, patting him on the cheek as she walked by. “A little vandalism never hurt anyone.”

***

The layout of the Residential section of Necropolis called to Lex’s mind a shopping mall, with apartments instead of stores: the units were situated around the perimeter of the building, with a soaring open-air space in the center. Crisscrossing footbridges spanned the distance, a few single- and double-story staircases were scattered about, and grayish light streamed in through the gigantic window wall.

As the Juniors furtively scooted along one of the wraparound hallways, Lex snuck a glance over the balcony. They’d reached the food court section of her shopping mall metaphor; Necropolis’s famed restaurant district stretched below them, with several dining balconies jutting out into the open space. They were just in time for Saturday-morning brunch too, Lex guessed, judging by the multitude of orange juice flutes and jazz quartets. The district had a loud, festive atmosphere. There was even a Ferris wheel.

Way down at the bottom, many stories below, was a large patch of trees. Little pathways wound through them. “Central Park,” Uncle Mort said. “They don’t get to experience much nature in here, so it’s the best they can do.”

Joining Lex at the railing, the other Juniors gaped at the attractions, each of them no doubt wishing they had more time for sightseeing. Bang’s eyes were bugging out of her glasses at one restaurant that looked like a library, and Pip’s fingers were itching at the sheer heights he could be climbing.

Driggs longingly stared at one of the jazz combo’s drum sets. “I miss my drums,” he said, adding bitterly, “not that I could play them.”

Lex tried to ignore this little pop-up reminder of The Sadness. She was thinking, studying the Ferris wheel.

“Come on,” said Uncle Mort, yanking them away from the railing. “We’re too exposed, and we still need to figure out how to get up to the Executive section. So unless anyone plans on sprouting wings for the next twenty floors, we need to get on that.”

“Should we break into someone else’s apartment?” Elysia asked. “Try to return to the Backways?”

“Screw the Backways,” said Lex, stealing a glance upward and disregarding the jarred looks on everyone’s faces. “I have a better idea.”

Uncle Mort wanted awesome? She’d give him awesome.

She brazenly began walking down the hallway without a thought or care as to whether people might recognize them. Anxious, the Juniors followed.

“Holy titgoblins, Lex!” Ferbus hissed, nervously hurrying to her side. “What are you doing?”

“Getting us up to Executive.” She could feel Uncle Mort preparing to fire away an equally rude comment, so she turned to him and issued a preemptive strike. “You said I need to std Ig us upep up and lead, so I’m doing it. You trust me?”

Uncle Mort hesitated, then nodded. “Lead on, kiddo.”

“Thank you. Now, break up the group a little,” she instructed as they walked. “Little clumps of fugitives will attract less attention than a gaggle of fugitives.”

“Gaggle of fugitives is a good name for a band,” Driggs said.

“See? Look how well this is working out. You got any money?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, but as neither his hands nor his pockets were tangible, it didn’t have much of an effect. “Sorry. Plum out.”

“Okay. Make yourself as transparent as you can,” she told him. “Uncle Mort, money?”

“You haven’t filched any from unsuspecting tourists yet?” he asked, digging into his pocket and sneaking a few bills into her palm. “Have I taught you nothing at all about fiscal responsibility?”

Lex counted the money and folded it into her palm, then reached into her bag and tucked something into her other hand. “Follow me.”

With her head held high, she walked up to the hostess stand she’d been eyeing. Her fairly alarmed crew gathered behind her. “Hi,” she said to the hostess. “Seven, please.”

“Sure!” the girl perked, not looking up from her appointment book as she grabbed a stack of menus. “That’s one whole pod, then.”

A peppering of gasps erupted behind Lex as the Juniors realized which kind of pod she meant: a car on Necropolis’s legendary Ferris wheel café, the Circle of Life.

“This will end poorly,” Uncle Mort whispered to Lex, but she shushed him.

“Would you like—” The hostess finally looked up, dropping the menus once the recognition set in. “Oh no. You’re them.”

Lex donned a mock-apologetic face. “Yeah. Sorry about that. The table, please?”

“No! You’re very dangerous! I have to call my—”

Her eyes crossed as Lex crushed a vial of Amnesia under her nose. The girl blinked a few times, then grabbed some new menus in a daze and staggered to the Ferris wheel, which was moving just slowly enough for people to get on. The pod that the Croakers piled into looked just like a booth at any normal restaurant, except that it was enclosed in a sphere of steel and glass, and the table had an intercom with a large red button set into it.

The hostess now spoke with a flat voice and an absent stare. “How about some Yorick coffees to get you started.”

“Yorick
coffee?
Hells, yes!” Lex exclaimed. This was very exciting, as Lex had had neither a Yorick nor a coffee in quite some time, and never in the same drink, an oversight she could hardly believe she had made thus far. “Yoricks all around!”

The hostess grabbed a pot and sloshed a dark brown liquid into each of their waiting cups, which were nothing like the grungy mugs at Corpp’s back home. They too were shaped like skulls, but instead of consisting of a material that was uncannily similar to the bones of a human head, they were made of delicate, spotless porcelain and were so tiny that one had no choice but to lift a pinky when sipping.

“Ew,” Elysia said, wrinkling her nose after she took a sip. “So bitter.”

“Shhh,” Lex whispered, not wanting to ruin this precious moment with her two most favorite beverages on the planet. The familiar rush of elation shot through her as soon as the Yorick hit her tongue, and she nearly made a very inappropriate moaning noise—

But out of the corner of her eye she caught a barely there Driggs floating alongside the pod, his pale face pressed to the glass, pining for his beloved Yorick. “Yeah, it’s gross,” she said loudly to Elysia, sticking out her tongue in disgust and hoping that Driggs bouhatcoffght it.

“When you’re ready to order,” the hostess said, still in a flat zombie voice, “just push that button and order. At the top a waitress will bring your food and refill your drinks. Now I’d love to take a moment to tell you the specials. We have a triple waffle—”

“Actually, we’re good with just the drinks,” Lex said, pulling the door shut. “Thanks!”

The girl shrugged as the pod continued its ascent. “Aw, man,” Ferbus said, pouting. “Triple waffle something.”

Elysia was looking at Lex in awe. “Unreal. No one will expect us to have been able to board undetected, so no one will look for us in here. A
nd
we can get off at the top!”

“Lex!” Pip cried. “You’re a genius!”

Lex smiled at Uncle Mort. “I’m a genius.”

He rolled his eyes. Why did he look so annoyed? He’d specifically
requested
awesomeness. “Those Amnesia vials only last for fifteen minutes,” he said, “so if she’s struck by the urge to check up on her guests, we’re somewhat hosed. Plus, there’s still the small matter of evading the staff once we get up there, and where we run off to after that.”

“Actually, we’ll be one floor away from Executive,” Lex answered. When Uncle Mort looked displeased, she grinned. “You’re not the only one who can memorize schematics.”

Now he looked even more displeased.

Lex ignored him. She was elated to have some time to themselves, all for the purposes of plotting and scheming. Driggs poked his head in to listen as she grabbed a pen from her bag and drew a crude sketch of Necropolis on her place mat. “This is where we’ll get off. The border between Residential and Executive is right there.”

The intercom in the table crackled to life. Thinking a waiter was about to recite the specials, Lex reached over to switch it off—but a familiar voice came through instead. And it was obvious to everyone in the car that it was speaking through clenched, angry teeth. “
Are—you—on—the—Ferris—wheel?”

“Hey, Skyla!” Lex felt positively giddy, riding high on both the success of her plan and the delectable Yoricks. “We
are
on the Ferris wheel. It’s really nice. Relaxing. Cozy.”

They could hear a loud, measured breath. “I
trust
that no one saw you?”

“No one who’ll remember.”

“Is Mort even there?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” he said. “I sort of gave Lex a little pep talk about leadership. She seems to have really taken it to heart.”

Skyla made a grunting noise. “Well, tell her to be extra careful. I’m still in charge, but my second-in-command has gotten a promotion.”

“Let me guess,” Uncle Mort said. “The big guy we keep hitting over the head.”

“You got it. Norwood seems to have convinced Knell that two teams are better than one, so he recruited Boulder to head up a second squadron. Except that that
I’m
supposed to be Boulder’s commander, not Norwood, so there’s a little spot of mutiny for you.”

“On top of our own mutiny, currently in progress?” Uncle Mort said. “How rude of him.”

“Do any of you remember how Executive is configured?”

“I do!” Uncle Mort said in a teacher’s pet voice, raising his hand. When it became evident that he was the only one, he gave Lex a smug grin.

“Oh, come on,” she shot at him. “Like any of us expected to survive long enough to see the top floor.”

“Give us a refresher, Skyla,” Elysia said.

“In Executive, the main elevator shaft still shoots straight up the center of the building, but whereas Local and Residential are made up of normal, lp o Elayered floors, the Executive sector consists of two distinct halves that twist up around each other, like the red and white stripes of a barber pole. One of those stripes contains the Executive headquarters—just your standard office, with cubicles and water coolers and everything—but the other half is a . . . special case.”

“She’s being modest,” Uncle Mort said. “It actually houses the singular reason Necropolis produces the most skilled Grims in the world—”

“Yorick coffee?” Lex asked.

He looked at her, then rubbed his temples. “No.”

Skyla jumped back in. “It’s a series of simulated situations that are designed to mimic the sort of extreme environments Grims might encounter on their shifts.”

“Kind of like basic training,” Uncle Mort added.

“My team and Boulder’s team are each controlling a different half of Executive,” Skyla said. “And I’m sorry to say that both options are less than ideal. On my side—the government office side—there are cameras not just on every floor, but in every room. And if Boulder and Norwood have their way, I’m sure the training modules will be charged up full blast. Not much I can do to stop that without looking suspicious.”