Croak Page 14

  Lex stood gawking in awe. This was not at all how she had imagined the only bar in a town full of executioners.

  “Evenin’, Driggs,” said the dark-skinned elderly man behind the bar as they approached. “Evenin’, Lex.”

  “How do you know my name?” she asked.

  “Pandora’s my wife. I get all the gossip, whether I want it or not,” he said, his freckles dancing. He pushed a bowl of peanuts toward them. “Plus, your uncle never stops jabbering about you.”

  “This is Corpp,” Driggs told Lex. “Bartender extraordinaire for fifty years and counting.”

  “Hi,” Lex said shyly. Something about the man’s face was very kind. She liked him immediately.

  Driggs heaved one of the buckets onto the counter. “For safekeeping.”

  Corpp grabbed it with a knowing smile and stored it behind the bar. “Ah, yes. Been here a week already?” he said to Lex.

  She raised an eyebrow as Driggs lifted the second bucket. “What’s in there?” she asked him.

  “A human head.”

  “You’re delightful, you know that?”

  “What can I get for you kids?” Corpp asked after putting away the buckets, wiping his gnarled hands on a dishrag.

  “Two Yoricks.” Driggs pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket and began to thumb through it. “Here’s your paycheck,” he said, handing Lex a few twenties. “One hundred dollars for Juniors, three hundred dollars for Seniors.”

  “One hundred dollars for a billion-hour workweek? What are we, slave labor?”

  “Pretty much. But Grims aren’t really in it for the money. Plus, libations are cheap.”

  “Here we go.” Corpp set down two enormous mugs that looked like hollowed-out skulls.

  Lex recoiled from the thick brown swill within. “Uh, I’m more of a beer fan.”

  Driggs made a loud gagging noise. “Beer is disgusting. Trust me, once you’ve had a Yorick, you’ll never touch any of that piss again.” He handed her one of the bulbous skulls and then grabbed his own. “Cheers,” he said, clinking his mug with hers and downing a gigantic gulp.

  Lex did not follow. She gazed into the muddy goop, wishing that she had not prefaced this evening with the ever-perilous combination of milk and SpaghettiOs.

  “It’s not a real skull,” Driggs reassured her, a frothy mustache now on his upper lip. “And even if it is, I’m sure Corpp gave it a thorough cleaning.”

  They glanced at the venerable bartender. He waved, a peanut shell ensconced within his bushy eyebrow.

  Lex eyed her mug. “This is weird and gross.”

  “As are you. A winning combination.”

  “Lex, Driggs!” A chipper voice rang out from across the room. “Over here!”

  Lex made her way through the crowd to find a smiling Elysia and an unsurprisingly dour Ferbus nursing their own Yoricks. Kloo and Ayjay were making out behind them, while Zara and Sofi played a drinking game called Skulls, Driggs informed her.

  Lex stared quizzically at Zara, yet said nothing. She was dying to know more about what Zara had said earlier, about the shocks, but bringing it up in the middle of a crowded pub probably wasn’t the best way to keep her dirty little secret under wraps.

  “Congratulations on your first week!” Elysia said with spirited jazz hands, her fingernails painted a festive purple. “And welcome to Corpp’s!”

  “Thanks,” said Lex. “Is this what you guys were whispering about all day?”

  “Uh . . . sure. Hey, guess what?” She whacked Ayjay on the elbow, despite his obvious focus on other things. “Ayjay, tell them!”

  Ayjay wiped a fleck of spittle from his lips. “We saw one of those white-eye death things.”

  “I did too, actually,” said Zara, looking up from her game with Sofi. “I subbed in for a shift this morning.”

  “My filter worked!” Sofi said, nudging Driggs.

  “So this is officially a thing,” Driggs said. “Which means—” He gestured for them to come in closer. “Which means that whoever’s murdering these people is a Grim,” he finished, his face serious. “I told you!”

  “Hang on a sec,” said Ferbus, still skeptical. “What filter, Sofi?”

  Sofi told them how she had rerouted the white-eye deaths to Juniors only. “But you know what’s really wackadoodle?” she said in a scandalized voice. “The causes of death for all of them have been listed as unknown.”

  A buzz of confusion arose from the group. “That’s impossible,” said Elysia.

  “Sure as hell looked unknown to me,” said Ayjay. “Driggs was right—no sign of injury, disease, foul play.”

  “It’s like they just stop living,” said Kloo. “Whatever’s killing these people is doing it instantly—even though that’s medically impossible.”

  “Not to mention incredibly disturbing,” said Zara.

  Elysia shivered. “Yeah.”

  “Now do you believe me?” Driggs asked the group. “It’s gotta be an inside job. Who other than Grims could sneak in and out in the space of a yoctosecond?”

  “Shit. I think he’s right,” said Ferbus, looking disappointed. And worried. “But come on, Driggs, you really think we’re dealing with an honest-to-God Crasher?”

  Lex put her hand up. “Again I ask, what is a Crasher?”

  Ferbus looked around, then lowered his voice. “A Grim who’s found one of the Loopholes.”

  “A Loophole is an ancient, obscure document,” Elysia told Lex. “Only a few were made, and they were scattered all over the world, so they’re really hard to find, only popping up about once a century. Probably because no one is sure what they look like—could be books or charts, or who knows what.”

  “Whatever they are,” Driggs said, “each Loophole is an identical set of instructions for a secret procedure that, when followed exactly, will give a Grim the ability to Crash the system, to scythe outside of the Etceteras’ jurisdiction and off the radar, not just to programmed targets.”

  Lex looked around the circle. “Why is that a big deal?”

  “Why?” Ferbus looked scandalized. “That’s like—like—”

  “Think of it this way,” Kloo said. “When we’re working a shift, it’s like we’re riding a one-way train. And the targets that the Etceteras assign us to are the different stations we stop at. But Crashers are able to jump around to other stations, onto other tracks, even to places where there are no tracks.”

  “The thing is,” said Elysia, “Crashers aren’t able to control where they scythe to. So a Grim can search his entire life for the Loophole, find it, and become a Crasher, only to end up scything randomly and wildly and getting himself killed by Crashing into the middle of a pack of hungry wolves or something.”

  “Which is what makes this case so special,” Driggs said. “This is directed Crashing.”

  “Sounds a lot like—” Ferbus broke off as he gave the others a meaningful look. Apparently he wasn’t alone in his thinking; soon everyone was looking at one another with such terrified expressions that a wave of goose bumps rushed over Lex’s skin.

  “What?” Lex asked. “What am I missing?”

  “It’s nothing.” Driggs looked a bit embarrassed. “Just an old legend, really. Supposedly in the fourteenth century there was this psychopath named Grotton who went down in history as the only Grim ever to figure out how to Crash to specific places—and specific people.”

  “Interesting. What did he do once he got there?”

  “Killed them,” said Ayjay. “Snuck them some poison, stabbed them with his scythe, blew their heads off with a crossbow—”

  “We get it, hon,” said Kloo.

  “Why didn’t he just touch them?” Lex asked, a nameless craving stirring inside of her.

  Zara let out a snort. “It’s not like you can walk through the streets and zap anyone you want,” she said. “Killers can only release souls from bodies that are already dead. They can’t cause death—at least not by touch alone.”

  “So let me get this str
aight,” Lex said. “This Grotton dude would scythe to the village washer wench who had pissed him off earlier that morning, smash her head in with a rock, and scythe back out, all before the Grim team got there to Kill and Cull the poor thing?”

  “Exactly,” said Driggs. “Directed Crashing allowed him to instantly murder whoever he wanted, whenever and wherever he wanted, all while escaping detection. The most efficient homicidal maniac of all time.”

  Silence fell upon the circle.

  “Unless—” Lex started. They eyed her. “I mean, how do you know for sure that he was so evil?”

  Ferbus bristled. “Did you not hear what we just said?”

  “I mean, maybe the ones he was killing were bad people, or . . .” She trailed off at the sight of the disgusted faces surrounding her.

  “They weren’t,” Ferbus said curtly.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because—” Elysia looked around, then whispered, “Because a bunch of them were Grims.”

  Lex’s eyebrows shot straight up. “He went after his own people?”

  “Eventually, yeah.”

  Lex looked around the bar at the individuals who could now be described as her own people. Uncle Mort had arrived and was already lighting someone’s drink on fire, much to the merriment of those gathered around him. She also couldn’t help but notice the curious stares coming from some of the Senior Grims; a few of them even pointed at her, mouthing “Mort’s niece.” Most seemed friendly. A few, predominantly gathered around Norwood and Heloise, did not.

  “Well,” Lex said slowly, “Grims could just as easily be bad people. Doesn’t Grotton’s very existence prove that?”

  “It doesn’t matter whether they were good or bad,” Driggs said. “What matters is that he ruthlessly slaughtered a shitload of people using a power that humans were never meant to possess.”

  Lex was quiet for a moment. “No offense,” she said, “but all this sounds pretty far-fetched.”

  “Duh,” said Sofi. “That’s why it’s called a legend.”

  “But what are you saying here? That these targets are being murdered by an allegorical bogeyman?”

  Driggs gave her a disparaging look. “Come on, Lex. Grotton’s been gone for centuries, if he ever existed at all. But the myths live on, and they still scare the crap out of Grims to this day. The thought of someone learning how to Crash with direction—it’s pretty unsettling, don’t you think?”

  “But Crash in to do what?” Lex said. “There weren’t any crossbows sticking out of these people’s heads.”

  Driggs looked thoughtful. “Grotton wasn’t exactly a paragon of subtlety. There are a lot more modern ways to murder people now, better ways of covering your tracks—though I don’t know of anything that can end a life instantly. Or white out someone’s eyes.”

  “Neither do the Smacks,” Sofi said.

  After a moment of contemplative silence Driggs shrugged. “Just keep looking out for them, I guess. Not much else we can do.”

  “Except get shitfaced,” Ayjay said.

  And just like that, the shadow lifted. Zara left for the bar to get more drinks, and Kloo and Ayjay dove right back into each other’s tonsils.

  Lex took Elysia aside. “Seriously, Lys,” she said. “Is this Grotton thing really true?”

  “Oh, yes,” Elysia said with wide eyes. “He’s like the Grimsphere equivalent of Hitler.”

  Lex really liked Elysia, so she tried very hard not to laugh at that. “But why?” she asked. “I mean, I can see why he was a threat to people in the outside world, but aren’t Grims protected by the ether?” After the plane crash Driggs had explained that the reason they didn’t lose consciousness at thirty-five thousand feet or get wet in water or burned in a fire was that every time they scythed, their bodies became surrounded by a thin layer of ether that shielded them from the elements.

  Elysia cocked her head. “Not from everything, Lex.”

  “So—wait, we’re not bulletproof?”

  “No,” Elysia replied. “We can die just as easily as anyone else.”

  A sliver of fear darted through Lex’s body. She wasn’t sure why she had assumed that Grims were invincible, but the sudden realization that they weren’t hit her like an icy splash of water. “Which means,” she said, “that if this murderer ever decides to stop targeting baseball enthusiasts and drunken cougars and go after Grims like Grotton did . . . we’re completely defenseless?”

  Elysia nodded.

  Rattled, Lex glanced at her beverage. A large, grimy bubble had erupted onto the surface.

  “Why aren’t you drinking?” Ferbus piped up. “That’s a waste of a perfectly good Yorick.”

  “I don’t know, I guess I’m just not in the mood for raw sewage.”

  “Shhh,” Driggs said worriedly, putting his hand over the brim of her drink. “It’ll hear you.”

  Lex could see no reason not to fling all the contents of the mug directly into his face.

  Driggs sensed this. “What I mean is, you must respect the Yorick,” he said. “Come on, Lex, you’re sixteen and you’re at a bar. Drink already.”

  It was hard to argue with this logic. And so she drank already.

  The first thing to bombard her senses was the taste—a rich, creamy, delectable sweetness that was so deeply satisfying it felt like it flowed through every vein in her body, right down to her toes. Like a chocolate-vanilla-malty-caramel-honey-cocoa- ecstasy milkshake, the buttery potion lingered on her tongue long after it had cascaded down her throat. A sumptuous aroma filled her nostrils, stinging her lungs with its potent decadence, blazing hot and icily cool at the same time.

  But that wasn’t all. Lex realized that in addition to the liquid-candy flavor, she was physically tasting the feeling of elation. All her troubles melted away; indeed, it was hard to imagine that she had ever had any troubles at all. A soft glow settled around the edges of her vision as her friends laughed at her stupor. She didn’t even care. She loved them. She loved them so much . . .

  “Whoa,” yelled Driggs, grabbing her shoulders and giving them a hard shake.

  “Yummm,” she gushed.

  Ferbus and Elysia laughed. Driggs finished off his own mug and flashed a silly grin. “Be right back,” he said, stumbling to the bar.

  “What’s in this stuff?” Lex sucked down another gulp, not wanting to waste a precious second with frivolous talking.

  “Elixir,” Elysia said. “It’s made from the white fluff in the atrium. There, it’s in its rawest form—strictly functional and architectural. But when you remove it from the Afterlife, it condenses down into a liquid state and gives you the most amazing feeling in the world. All Corpp does is mix it with his special blend.”

  “Of what, crack?”

  “Who knows?” Elysia smiled. “Yoricks are different wherever you go in the Grimsphere. The ones in DeMyse have a fruity taste, and in Necropolis they’re much more bitter. Each place has its own secret recipe, but I personally loooove ours. It’s like dessert.”

  “Like a rainbow,” mumbled Ferbus.

  The girls stared at him.

  “Anyway,” Elysia continued, “they’re popular wherever you go. The Grims’ international drink of choice. And the best part is—”

  “No hangover!” Driggs returned with another round. “It doesn’t stay in your system as long as alcohol, it’ll never make you puke, and the next day you’ll wake up feeling like you just won all of the Olympics.”

  Lex slurped down the rest of her mug and reached for another. “It can’t be that easy,” she said. “If this got out into the public, it would be outlawed in seconds.”

  “Actually, there is a three-drink maximum.” Elysia pointed to a sign hanging over the bar. “And that’s strictly enforced. But that’s all you need. It’s potent stuff. Whatever’s in Elixir isn’t really meant for this world. A few pure drops could drop you in a flash. That’s why it’s diluted so heavily for drinking purposes, and that’s why there’s a cutoff. Drink any mo
re than that, and you tend to stop breathing,” she said brightly.

  “But Grims have been pounding this stuff for centuries,” Driggs said, “so we’ve gotten pretty good at it. The only way you could get hurt under its influence would be if you went to hug a coat rack and poked your eye out.”

  “It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye,” Ferbus said too loudly. “Then it’s one-eyed fun.”

  Elysia put a napkin over his head. “That’s why there’s no drinking age here. You can hardly outlaw something that cheers people up, especially with the line of work that we’re in.”

  Lex pointed at the walls. “Is the décor supposed to cheer us up, too?”

  “Yep! Corpp used to be an artist,” Elysia said. “So when he retired from Culling and opened up this bar, he couldn’t help himself. He repaints it every few days.” She took another gulp. “See, Corpp always wanted this to be a place for Grims to come and just have fun. You know, let off some steam from the morbid work we do and hang out in one big, unifying, satisfying, creative, artistic masterpiece.”

  As Elysia drunkenly giggled into her drink, Lex glanced at the old man behind the bar. He smiled at her. She smiled back. And as the night wore on, she continued to smile so often and so hard that by the time last call rolled around, she feared her face would be stuck that way forever.

  She even cracked up when Ferbus spilled his drink all over her shirt.

  “You frickin’ klutz!” Elysia screeched.

  “Hey!” he said. “I’m the victim here! That was my last drink!”

  Laughing despite her wretched state, Lex made her way to the bathroom to clean up. She held her shirt under the hand dryer until it was mostly dry, then stole a glance at the mirror. The face that looked back was almost unrecognizable.

  It was happy.

  The giddiness waned, however, as she exited the bathroom to find only an empty corner where the Juniors had been. “Where’d everyone go?”

  Driggs, the only one left, shrugged. “The Crypt has a curfew. If they don’t get back by midnight, it locks them out, so they had to run.”

  “Without saying goodbye?” Lex asked warily. She tried in vain to catch his eyes, but they seemed to be unwaveringly fixed on her sodden chest.