Croak (30 page)

“Why did you just kiss my ear?” Lex asked nervously.

Driggs winced. “Because you turned your head.”

“I thought that tree . . . moved.”

“Oh.”

Another moment of silence.

Driggs bit his lip. “Do you mind if I try again?”

She swallowed. “Okay.”

Then something else happened, and this time both Lex and Driggs would remember exactly what it was.

The next morning, as Driggs and Lex came into the kitchen for breakfast, Uncle Mort took one look at them and began snickering.

“What?” demanded Lex. This only made him chuckle harder. “What??”

When they checked in with Norwood, he looked back and forth between them and grunted, “Oh, for shit’s sake.”

And at lunch Pandora studied them for all of two seconds before declaring to the entire restaurant, “It’s about damned time!”

“Are we broadcasting some sort of signal?” Lex quietly asked Driggs at the lunch booth as the rest of the Juniors unabashedly smiled at them.

“I think they know,” Driggs whispered to her.

“Of course we know,” Elysia loudly affirmed. “It was just a question of when.” She glanced triumphantly around the table. “Pay up, you guys.”

A chorus of grumbling arose as the rest of the Juniors dug into their pockets and threw a mountain of cash onto the table. Elysia greedily swept it into her lap.

“I was off by three weeks,” Ayjay said. “Thanks a lot, jerks.”

***

The last few days of summer were a blur. By the time Friday arrived, Driggs’s attempts to change Lex’s mind had gotten desperate.

“I’ll give you a hundred bucks,” he told her at breakfast. “Come on, that’s a whole week’s pay.”

“Oh, boy! Maybe I can get myself another
Titanic
poster!”

He groaned. “Mort, help me out here.”

“Lex is a big girl,” Uncle Mort said. “She knows the risks. But she’s the best shot we’ve got at this.”

Driggs heaved a frustrated sigh and stormed out of the house.

Lex watched him go, swallowing the sickening dismay that she’d been trying to ignore all week: whether the plan worked or not, she was leaving the next day. There was no getting out of it.

Uncle Mort, seeing her anguished face, revealed a parcel from underneath the table. “Going-away present,” he said. “Little something of my own invention.”

Lex untied the twine and loosened the wrapping, which, upon closer inspection, was actually an old T-shirt. From it she removed a glass structure about ten inches high, held in place by a metal frame with three rods. Small spheres on the bottom served as its feet, and a metallic spider welded from old nuts and bolts perched on top, its ruby eyes shining.

“An hourglass?”

“Wrong,” Uncle Mort said. “A Lifeglass.”

Lex rotated the shape in her hand. It was filled not with sand, but with a viscous ooze that shimmered faintly, all the colors of the spectrum swirling together into one iridescent blob. But the most remarkable thing was that the majority of the substance stubbornly remained in the lower half of the device, and no matter how many times Lex tried to turn it over, not a drop budged.

“It’s broken.”

“Broken, my ass.” Uncle Mort took it from her hands and placed it on the table. “See, most hourglasses drip time away, bit by bit, until nothing remains but an empty bulb. But that, my friend, is no way to measure a life.” He tapped at the glass. “This’ll save and remember the elements of your life that are most important to you. It’s not a countdown; it’s a countup. That’s why it goes backwards.”

“Backwards?” No sooner had the word left her mouth than a small glob emerged from the sludge, rose to the narrow aperture, and wriggled its way through, finally settling quite happily in the valley of the upper bulb.

“There’s one!” he said. “I started on this the moment your father decided you could come to Croak. Every important memory, thought, or emotion you’ve had since then is right here.” He pointed at the upper bulb. Lex peered into the goo, and for a moment she could have sworn she caught a glimpse of herself, gawking for the first time in amazement at her brand-new scythe.

“But what happens when it runs out? I die?”

“It won’t run out. There’s more than enough space in there for an entire lifetime. Cram in as much nostalgia as you can.”

“That’s so cool,” she said, inspecting it from every angle. “Does everyone have one of these? Do you?”

Uncle Mort’s eyes clouded over as he stared into the glass. “I used to,” he said in an odd voice. “But I broke it.”

“On purpose?”

He didn’t answer. His face was hard, lost in a memory he had apparently destroyed. Almost at once, Lex realized how little she really knew about him—who he’d been, what he’d done, or how he even became mayor. For the briefest of moments, this man was a stranger.

Lex studied his stony countenance. “Uncle Mort,” she said, taking a shallow breath, “where’d you get that scar?”

He turned to her with a new, strange expression—a crooked smirk mixed with a fleeting, almost angry sneer.

“You ask too many questions, kiddo.”

Lex didn’t know what to say to this. So she broke the stare, took the Lifeglass into her hands, and got up to leave. “Well, I love it. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Just—” He seemed to want to say something more, but thought better of it. “Just use it well.”

***

Five hours later Lex sat in the Junior booth at the Morgue with a large We’ll Miss You, Lex! banner over her head and a frown on her face.

Pandora plunked down a platter of deep-fried items at their table and squirted ketchup into Lex’s drink. “Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say!” she cackled, determined to torture Lex with as much payback as she could cram into their remaining time together.

Driggs fired a cheese stick at Dora’s head as she hobbled back to the kitchen. Elysia, meanwhile, heaved a wrapped package onto the table next to the Lifeglass, which Lex had brought to show off. “This is for you, Lex,” she said. “We all chipped in.”

“Chipped in, meaning you used the winnings from your little pool?” Lex asked wryly.

“Correct.”

Lex tore off the paper to reveal a sizable wooden picture frame ornately carved with images of Croak. She recognized the homey façade of the Bank, the rickety Dead End signpost, several skulls of Yorick, a cluster of spiders, and a smack of jellyfish, among a host of other things that made the corners of her mouth involuntarily twitch. And centered proudly behind the glass of the frame was the group photo Pandora had taken at the Luminous Twelfth celebration.

Elysia gave Lex a small, sad smile. “Now when you go home, you can take a piece of us with you.”

“Wow,” Lex said softly. She skimmed across the faces in the picture, then raised her head to look at the real ones shining before her. She felt sick all over again. “I love it. Thanks, guys.”

The festivities were broken up by Pandora, who lobbed a scoop of ice cream at Lex that landed on the table with a sticky
sploosh.

“Don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya!” she screeched, jigging back into the kitchen.

***

After storing the presents in Ferbus’s desk for safekeeping, Lex and Driggs headed downstairs to the hub to check in for their afternoon shift. Sofi, who had not attended the party, glanced up at them with a look of disdain. “Hi,” she said in a flat voice.

“Hey,” Lex answered airily. She thought there
might
be a chance that Sofi’s recent coolness had something to do with the fact that she had gotten into major trouble with Norwood and Heloise . . .

. . . but knowing Sofi, she was probably just jealous as hell.

“She is, like, not a fan of us,” Lex mocked as she and Driggs left the Bank.

“Hurry up,” Driggs said, walking more briskly. “The sooner we start our shift, the sooner this dumbass plan will be over with.”

“Would you stop it?” She stalked past him onto the Field, where the Ghost Gum waited, stretching its limbs in an apparent gesture of excitement. She rolled up her sleeve and mumbled “Leaving now” into her Cuff, then turned to her partner. “We’re going to be fine.”

“Your cockeyed optimism has only served to heighten my concern.”

“Driggs, this is my last shift.” Lex pulled her hood up and readied her scythe. “Make it a tolerable one, or you and I are so done.”

He smirked. “Promises, promises.”

***

Five hours, several geezers, three drownings, zero Elixir deaths, and a circus stampede later, the day drew to a close.

“One more to go,” Driggs said, stuffing a Vessel into his pocket and glancing warily at a rogue elephant. “You ready?”

“You mean now that I know what an ostrich mauling looks like?” Lex said, beyond cranky. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Driggs looked at her sullen face. With every scythe to a new location, she had been on her guard, ready to leap at the murderer with the rabid tenacity of a bounty hunter—but nothing had turned up. “I’m sorry the plan didn’t work,” he said sincerely. “I really am. I wanted to catch them too.”

Lex scowled as they jumped into the ether, allowing the churning current to swirl around her—the wind pounding in her ears, her stomach flopping around like a wobbly water balloon, her heart sick at how much she would miss it all. The only way to achieve this kind of effect back at home was via psychotropic substances, and she was fairly certain her parents would prohibit those. Even if she asked nicely, without any punching.

Before long, solid ground materialized beneath her feet. She and Driggs stood on either side of a bed. An old woman with a swollen, bulging neck was sprawled out atop it, her eyes closed.

Lex glanced down at her, then at Driggs’s puzzled face. “What’s wrong?”

“She isn’t dead. She’s not the target,” he said in an odd voice, looking up at Lex. “Who—”

The blood drained out of his face so quickly that Lex nearly looked at the floor, expecting it to be pooling there.

“Lex,” he said very slowly, staring at something behind her. “Listen to me. Do not turn around.”

She swallowed. “Why?”

Fear had crept into Driggs’s voice. “Just don’t,” he said shakily. “Please. Take my hand. I’m scything home.”

Lex extended her arm and stretched it toward his waiting fingertips. Inside, her mind was spinning. What was behind her? Could it really be that bad?

Her curiosity grew exponentially, gnawing harder at her insides with every second that passed. She had to know. Her hand froze an inch away from Driggs’s. She took a breath, held it . . .

And turned.

“NO!” Driggs yelled.

But Lex could barely hear him. She could no longer feel. She could no longer think. All she perceived was coldness, a dark shadow settling over her raised skin.

The target, standing directly in front of her, was Cordy.

***

Amid the darkness, from somewhere deep within the abyss, a lone point of light broke through to the surface of Lex’s consciousness. Rendered incapable of lucid thought, she registered it faintly and watched with something akin to heartsick amusement as it swam across her mind’s eye.

She was sitting in her backyard, plopped askew in the green plastic turtle sandbox. A six-year-old Cordy sat across from her, legs splayed to make room for the elaborate contraption over which the two of them had been laboring for the past hour or so: a Rube Goldbergian sand dispersal device. Cordy examined and adjusted one of the wheel-and-pulley systems. Her tongue stuck out of her mouth, as it did whenever she was inventing. The entire mechanism was of Cordy’s own design, of course, but Lex had contributed an equal amount of work in terms of construction, layout, and overall aesthetic appeal. They made a good team.

Lex watched her sister for a moment. Then, for no good reason at all, she picked up a handful of sand and hurled it at her face. Cordy looked up in shock, large clumps of dirt clinging to her scraggly bangs.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, stop. This work is Very Important.”

They continued what they were doing—Cordy fussing over the pulleys, Lex spreading out the blades of a windmill-shaped rotor—until Lex again dug her hand into the sand and inexplicably threw another gritty ball of dirt.

This time, however, her aim was off. It hit the windmill and exploded in midair, grimy grains of sand ricocheting back onto her dress, her hair, and directly into her right eye.

“Owww!” Lex howled in pain as she jumped to her feet, causing a part of the contraption’s foundation to snap and break. The entire frame lurched perilously.

But Cordy took no notice of her ruined creation. “Are you okay?” She ran to her sister and hugged her around the shoulders. “Are you okay?”

Lex wailed. “It hurts!”

“Don’t be scared,” Cordy said in an attempt at a soothing voice. But her tone, too, was panicked. “Let’s go inside. Mommy will know what to do.”

Arms gripped over the shaking shoulders of her twin, Cordy led Lex inside. And as their mother held her head under the sink, aiming the faucet directly at her daughter’s cornea, Lex’s other, uninjured eye beheld a sight that she would completely forget until this moment: that of her sister standing a few feet away and watching the disastrous scene unfold, sick with worry, her previously Very Important construction project long forgotten.

***

Lex blinked heavily—once, twice. Vaguely aware that the shouting in the background had stopped, she locked on to her sister’s frozen eyes and did not look away.

The longer she stalled, the longer the Elixir would rage through Cordy’s body. Lex was allowed to scythe out and call an emergency Killer to finish the job, but too much time had passed already. She thought back to Ayjay and the pain the Elixir had caused him. She couldn’t let Cordy suffer like that, even if it was only for a fraction of a second.

She swallowed, choking back the fear in her throat. She had to. She had to be the one to do it. Cordy would want it to be her.

From the dark sleeve of her hoodie, Lex shakily extended a bony finger and passed it over her sister’s face, gently touching her on the forehead. A burst of light flooded the room. The usual shock tore through Lex’s body, but this time she didn’t care. It felt good, almost, for her body to be in as much pain as her heart was.