Rapacia: The Second Circle of Heck (14 page)

22 · HUNG UP AND
ON THE LiNE

“IT’S THE OPPORTUNITY
we’ve been looking for,” Bea “Elsa” Bubb whispered into her new No-Fee Hi-Fi Faux Phone, basically two tarnished thimbles—one each on the thumb and pinky of her claw—that she held to her ear and mouth.

The congested, snooty voice of Lilith Couture echoed down the hall.

“Of course, Luci,” she giggled sharply into her own No-Fee Hi-Fi Faux Phone (a far more stylish model built into her beautifully manicured nails). “I miss you, too. But you’re the one that sent me to this nauseating nursery school in the first place, silly.”

Bea “Elsa” Bubb could feel an itchy rash creeping up her neck and around her ears like an invasive vine.

“I know you’re still there, because I can hear you breathing,” Damian said flatly over the phone. “Either that, or a donkey is trying to inhale your phone with a rusty tuba.”

“Shh …,” Bea “Elsa” Bubb admonished as she ducked around the corner, down the hallway from her not-so-secret lair.

Lilith clopped languidly down the hallway on her imported hooves. Her erratic steps brought to mind a horse happily under the influence of a tranquilizer.

“Oh, Luci. You are terrible!” she cooed. “But don’t you dare stop!” Lilith rested her sharp, protruding shoulder blades against the wall and wilted girlishly, pouting with her whole body. “Fine, I suppose we
must
mix a little business with our pleasure,” she scolded playfully. “So, I just received the itinerary for the transfer of the Hopeless Diamonds to Sadia. Two diamonds, two stagecoaches. Brilliant, as always.”

Bea “Elsa” Bubb thrust her curled claw around the corner so that Damian could better hear the conversation.

“And the timing is impeccable,” Lilith continued. “The Grabbit suddenly announcing some big ceremony in Mallvana on the very same day. How did that freaky bunny thing get the Powers That Be to allow it to use Mallvana as a venue? Well, I guess it doesn’t matter as long as it diverts attention from the main event in Sadia …
oh, that’s brilliant:
the chairman of the Netherworld
Soul Exchange himself, using the ceremony as a platform to announce the successful transfer of the diamonds, thus stabilizing the underworld economy in one fell swoop!”

Principal Bubb crab-walked away from the corner and whispered into the phone. “Did you get all that?” she wheezed.

“Yeah. I heard her,” Damian replied. “She sounds like a babe.”

The principal scowled and gritted her fangs.

“Something about two stagecoaches to Sadia,” Damian continued, “and the Grabbit hosting a big ceremony the same day. Got it. Now what does all this have to do with me?”

Principal Bubb rubbed her throbbing temples. Good help was so hard to come by down here.

“What it means is that I made a call to a friend of mine in Rapacia—Poker Alice,” the principal explained in hushed tones. “She was more than willing to work with us if it meant the undoing of Marlo Fauster and her brother. You’ll be Rapacia’s newest teacher’s aide, keeping one eye on Ms. Fauster and the other on this strange ceremony of the Grabbit’s. Its behavior has been erratic as of late, and—like everyone in the underworld—it
must
have some kind of agenda. You got all that?”

“All except the part where anyone who isn’t legally blind believes that I’m a little girl, much less a helpful one,” Damian replied.

Principal Bubb grinned, exposing yellow fangs that had never felt the bristles of a toothbrush.

“Considering that nearly every cosmetic surgeon who has ever lived is down here, I think we’ll have no problem drawing out your feminine side.”

An intoxicating cloud of Lilith’s perfume wafted by The mist of clove, vanilla, exotic spice, and musk tickled Bea “Elsa” Bubb’s snout.

“Okay, I get it,” Lilith said. “I’ll be seeing you tonight, then. Hugs.”

Lilith grinned a sleepy grin, as if she were a kitten that just woke up from a nice nap. Then, with a brusque tug on her dress, her soft and peaceful expression evaporated, leaving behind the usual pattern of severe angles and sharp features that made up Lilith’s “work” face.

“Principal Blob!” she barked. Her voice ricocheted down the hallway like a sniper’s bullet searching for its target. Bea “Elsa” Bubb recoiled as Damian laughed heartily on the other end of the line.

“Blob!” he
chortled. “That’s priceless!”

The principal seethed. Her thumb thimble beeped, alerting her to another call. “Excuse me, Mr. Ruffino, but while I
so
enjoy the sound of Heck’s poster bully laughing at me, I have another call to take.”

“I’m sure if they’re calling
you
, then it’s a wrong numb—”

Bea “Elsa” Bubb hung up on Damian with a flick of her claw. She answered the other line.

“Hell—”

She glanced down at the caller ID on her pinky thimble and started: 1-666-666-DEVL.

“—oh!”

“Principal Bubb,” the voice—as smooth and dangerous as an electric eel—crooned on the other end. “This is—”

“I know who this is, Luci—” Though no actual rebuff was uttered through the receiver, Bea “Elsa” Bubb could sense one nonetheless.
“—-fer,”
she stumbled.
“Lucifer
. And might I say what a pleasure it is to talk with you…”

“You might,” the Big Guy Downstairs replied coolly “And you just did.”

Bea “Elsa” Bubb laughed with more gusto than the devil’s bon mot deserved.

“Principal Bubb,”
the Big Guy Downstairs continued, “let’s cut to the chase.”

Bea “Elsa” Bubb nodded, though, of course, there was no way for the devil to know that. “Firstly,” he said calmly, “your job is very much on the line. This should come as no surprise to you. What may come as a surprise is that I have faith in your ability to turn this around.”

Bea “Elsa” Bubb blushed inside, outside, and everywhere in between.

“Why, thank you, sir,” she stammered.

“Your bungled handling of the Milton Fauster Incident has heaped a lot of attention upon Heck. But when the afterlife serves you lemons, you make something, something …”

“Lemony?” Principal Bubb suggested.

“Don’t interrupt me,” the Big Guy Downstairs snapped, his voice cracking like a whip. “The transfer of the Hopeless Diamonds to a circle of Heck is the first major event to occur down here since … since the
last
major event to occur down here. Only this time, all will go according to plan. Heck will be held up as a symbol of sinister security, a sweet beacon of hopelessness. And nothing is going to interfere with this.

Capiche?”

“Bless you.”

“Do you understand?!”
the devil roared.

“Yes … of course,” the principal replied, flustered.

“Good,” the Big Guy Downstairs continued. “So you’ll need to step back and let Lilith handle the dual shipments to Sadia.” He paused, and Bea “Elsa” Bubb could hear his face crack into a leer. “It takes one treasure to handle another, I suppose.”

Bea “Elsa” Bubb’s face cracked as well, splintering into a jagged grimace.

“I need you, Bubb, to keep tabs on one of your vice principals,” Lucifer continued, “who I fear may be turning madder than a March hare, if you catch my drift.”

“Drift caught,” Principal Bubb murmured. “Already on it like an Easter bonnet.”

There was a sharp pause.

“Really?” the Big Guy Downstairs said with admiration. “Excellent. You may turn this around yet, Principal.”

Bea “Elsa” Bubb nearly swooned.

“The Grabbit has always been eccentric,” Lucifer added. “But now it’s positively erratic. I guess that’s what we get for putting a cursed object that we never fully understood to begin with in a management position. But, still, that bunny just keeps going and going… Tremendous work ethic. Its recent predilection for rhyme and limericks, though. Quite disturbing. Just keep an eye on it during its little to-do.”

“You can count on me, Master of the Flies, Father of Lies and Deceit, Old Scratch—”

“Yes, yes,” Lucifer said wearily, “a devil by any other name still smells of heat. Now, don’t trip over yourself getting up off the ground. Got me?”

“I wish,” the principal whispered dreamily.

“What was that?”

Bea “Elsa” Bubb cleared her throat demurely. “I said, ‘I wish you’d stop worrying and trust that I will do thy bidding,’ ” she replied.

“Hmm,” the devil said dubiously. “It seemed so much shorter the first time. Oh well. I guess the devil’s due for a hearing test. You’ll lead an assembly in Rapacia
to assure that everything goes down as smoothly as Courvoisier. I’ll make the arrangements. Goodbye, Bubb. Mark well my words.”

The Big Guy Downstairs hung up the phone.

Bea “Elsa” Bubb leaned against the wall as if she were about to faint.

Though her chat with the Big Guy Downstairs was meant to be a dressing-down of sorts, it only served to prop up the principal’s resolve. She was determined to get in his good-for-nothing graces, but she realized that she would need to take an alternate route. Bea “Elsa” Bubb wouldn’t earn his respect through fawning, prostrating, or kowtowing. She had to prove her mettle, and meddle she would.

23 · UP THE RiVER

MILTON FELT LIKE
a salmon swimming upstream, thrashing against a strong current in hopes of returning to—against all odds—the creek in which he was born. Only instead of a desperate run to his ancestral spawning grounds, Milton was just trying to make it to his locker before shop class with Mr. Nelson “Nine Fingers” Cos-grove.

The hallway was teeming with children, each seemingly going in the opposite direction from Milton. But it wasn’t just the physical flow that was wrong. It was everything. Milton’s life seemed to be coursing conversely to everyone around him.

Then, with a sudden slam to the shoulder, Milton and his handful of textbooks tumbled to the concrete floor. As he scooped up his books, a boot stomped hard on his copy of
Calculus: Early Transcendentals
. Milton’s
eyes traveled up a thick denim-clad leg, across an un-tucked flannel shirt, and settled on the peach-fuzz-topped snarl of Tristan Parker.

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep in your crypt, freak?” Tristan rumbled.

Milton tried to tug his book free. Just as he nearly had it, Tristan abruptly lifted his foot, sending Milton tumbling backward. He fell onto his back, with his backpack both easing his fall and holding him fast to the cold concrete floor. Tristan laughed, high-fiving several of his fellow ruffians as he walked away down the hall.

Milton felt like a tortoise that had been flipped over onto its shell, left struggling and prone as predator birds crowded around it.

This scene—the aftermath of a humiliating bully episode—was not uncommon to him. Neither was the fact that nobody had tried to help. But the looks in the eyes of the children gawking down on him weren’t filled with the usual detached amusement and relief that it wasn’t
them
on the cold floor of the hallway. Their eyes were full of fear. The kids looked down at him as if he had a deadly, highly contagious disease, which terrified them.

As Milton struggled to right himself, a dark, bony arm thrust from the crowd and reached out to him. Not having a lot of rescue options at this point, Milton took the hand, which hoisted him up with surprising strength.

“Thank you,” he said as he stood and stared into the grinning, just-shy-of-crazy face of Necia Alvarado.

She kept smiling at him, expectantly. It freaked Milton out. It made him think that they were having a conversation that he wasn’t aware of.

“Well,” Milton said to end the near-painful awkwardness, “I’ve got to get to class. Thanks again.”

He turned toward his locker, which had been only a few yards away all along. It was like someone drowning while a life preserver floated, unnoticed, just out of reach. Milton’s locker was hard to miss, though, considering it was the only one that had the words zombie boy spray-painted on it.

The hairs on the back of Milton’s neck stood on end. He turned. There Necia Alvarado stood, still smiling, still staring, still wanting …
something
.

“What?” Milton asked.

Necia was wearing her usual black wool overcoat, white stockings, and white leather flats. It was her uniform, though no school uniform policy had ever been instituted at Generica Middle School. Her plain, consistent dress had something to do with her weird religion. But Milton noticed a bright splash of color peeking out from the collar of her drab coat. A jumper with red and white stripes. And the glint of a name badge pinned to her breast:
N. ALVARADO.
Necia was a candy striper, a volunteer for the local hospital. The realization gave
Milton an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu. Finally, her thin lips stopped their empty grinning.

“I don’t want anything,” she said with her ruffled, mousy squeak. “But I
do
happen to have something you want.”

Milton’s stomach rolled around like an old dog attempting a new trick. He wasn’t sure what Necia had in mind, but there was a dark confidence about her that he found unsettling. It was as if they were playing a game that she knew she had already won.

“Look,” Milton replied cautiously as he dialed the combination to his locker. “I appreciate you helping me and not being an evil dork like everybody else here, but if this has anything to do with your religion—you know, like, ‘I’ve got something you want: peace, faith, and eternal happiness … blah blah blah’—I’m not interested. I respect your beliefs and all, whatever they are, but I just—”

“I’ve got the package you left at the hospital,” she interjected. “The gift from your mother.”

Milton stopped cold. He suddenly forgot how to breathe. The old dog that was his stomach had been put down.

Necia resumed her grinning. “Want to keep playing?” she continued.
“Fine
. The package you left in Damian’s room at the very moment he passed away. Does that ring any bells?”

Milton traded his scuffed textbooks for some others
in his locker. He tried to act nonchalant but couldn’t stop shaking.

“Cat got your tongue?” Necia teased. “Well, if curiosity gets the best of your cat, come by my ‘weird church’—the Knights of the Omniversalist Order Kinship. In the basement of the Barry M. Deepe Funeral Parlor on Jordan Avenue. I’ll be there tonight, at eight o’clock, after my shift at the hospital.”

She turned and walked away, whistling. Milton stared at her scrawny, sharply outlined form as the throng of chattering children slowly absorbed her.

Milton leaned against his locker, slamming the door shut with his back before sliding slowly to the ground. His head throbbed. His fate was indeed in Necia’s bony hands. Getting himself arrested wouldn’t help his sister or best friend, Virgil, down in Heck.

The warning bell rang.

Great
, Milton thought,
and I’ll be tardy to boot
.

Just then, Milton was seized by a wave of nervous, crackling sensory overload. The hallway was slick with sharp smells and noises.
Lucky must be awake
, Milton thought. When he was asleep—which was about eighteen hours a day—Milton’s eerie, psychic connection with his pet was severed. But when Lucky was alert, Milton experienced temporary bouts of keen animal consciousness.

His nostrils flared, and he could sense dark, twisting fumes that became a taste in the back of his mouth. His
freaky hearing could discern a complex path winding through the crowd of kids rushing through the hallway to their next class. Echolocation: navigation through sound waves.

Milton bolted up and dashed through the pathway that only he could sense, snaking through the sea of students like a greased eel.

He plopped himself in his seat at the back of Mr. Nelson “Nine Fingers” Cosgrove’s shop class just as the final bell rang. Students and teacher alike gawked as Milton made it to his seat with an athletic grace the likes of which they had never seen.

At least Milton had managed to dodge another in a seemingly endless string of personal humiliations. His stomach growled loudly. What he wouldn’t give for a live mouse right about now, he thought as he coughed up an imaginary hairball.