Scorch

by Gina Damico

  Elysia looked at Ferbus. He flashed her an obnoxious grin, then honked. “Ugh,” she said, disgusted.

  Pip and Bang did an elaborate celebratory handshake, then eagerly handed over their scythes to the girl. “Wait,” Lex said, stopping them. She looked at Uncle Mort. “If we check in, Norwood and Heloise will see our scythes show up on their Smacks. They’ll know where we are.”

  LeRoy laughed. “Worry not, young Grims. DeMyse shall provide.” He opened the metallic briefcase.

  Lex swallowed a gasp. Lining the case were six gleaming, razor-sharp glass scythes, each identical to the one Zara possessed.

  The other Juniors realized it too. Lex could feel their anxiety, their desire to protest, but the harsh look on Uncle Mort’s face silenced them all. Driggs, who could read Uncle Mort better than anyone, gave him a slight nod.

  “Thank you, LeRoy,” Uncle Mort said in an overly polite voice. “Go ahead, kids. Take them.”

  Pip and Bang picked scythes out of the case and handed them to the director. She stuck them into the Smack, still talking into her headset as she checked them in. She did the same for Ferbus and Elysia, then Driggs and Lex, glancing at Lex for just a second longer than the others.

  Once they were all checked in, LeRoy ushered them back out to the plaza. He clapped twice. “Work begins now!”

  Unsure, the Juniors clutched their strange glass scythes and stared at one another, then at Uncle Mort.

  “You heard the man!” he shouted in an uncharacteristically jubilant voice. “Go reap some souls—you know you want to! Group hug!”

  He gathered them up into a tight, almost crushing embrace. “Not a word out loud about this until I say so,” he hissed. “Or I will Damn you myself.”

  He let them go and waved. “Have fun, champs!”

  ***

  The deaths in DeMyse’s jurisdiction weren’t all that different from the ones back in Croak. Granted, some were a little odder—like the stuntman who died in a freak accident on a movie set or the woman shot down after stealing a few million dollars’ worth of casino chips from Caesars Palace—but all in all, it was just another routine Field shift.

  Except that it involved illegal glass scythes.

  Fearing Uncle Mort’s wrath, the Juniors said nothing about it, not even when they met up again in the Bank after their shifts. After unloading their Vessels into the tunnel, they stood back and took in the vault door, a metallic behemoth that was at least twice as large as Croak’s.

  Lex’s stomach turned. Time to find out if Corpp still had a soul.

  Driggs must have been thinking the same thing. “Moment of truth,” he said. He took a step toward the vault. “If he’s in there—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said a small, snippy man jumping in front of them. “No tourists.”

  Driggs put on a friendly smile. “Actually, we’re not tourists. We’re visiting Juniors from—”

  “I don’t care who you are. DeMysian Seniors only. Off you go.”

  So off they went, grumbling the whole way. The director of Ether Traffic Control still stood at her desk, still yelling into her headset. The Juniors watched her as they passed, Lex catching her eye once again.

  “What’s the matter?” Driggs asked her once they’d exited the Bank into the plaza. “You’ve got the weirdest look on your face.”

  “I could be wrong,” Lex said, “but I could have sworn that somewhere in that girl’s string of instructions I heard her say ‘Meet me at the Dungeon, Lex, seven tonight.’”

  ***

  “Now this is more like it,” said Ferbus.

  The Juniors stepped down a narrow flight of stairs hewn from cold gray stone. It spat them out into a dark tavern filled with what were clearly the more unsavory denizens of DeMyse. In a small corner booth a man with one eye sat sharpening his scythe. At another table, two mostly toothless women took turns gulping down a cup of brackish liquid. Various other degenerates sat at the bar, which was made from a single gigantic wooden log that had started to rot.

  “We’re going to die here,” said Elysia.

  “The skeleton was cool, at least,” Driggs said, referring to the figure that sat guarding the entrance like a long-deceased bouncer. They’d pulled on its arm, and the door had opened.

  “Which is more than we can say for my rotten uncle,” Lex added. She was dying to hear more about the glass scythes, but Uncle Mort hadn’t been at the hotel when they’d returned from work, and they hadn’t been able to find him before they left for the Dungeon.

  A loud cry rang out. None of the patrons seemed to notice or care, but the Juniors stirred and looked for its source. Standing next to a grungy booth was the director of Ether Traffic Control herself, who gestured for them to come closer.

  “G’day!” she yelled, sweeping them all into the booth with her trunklike arms. “Sorry about earlier, mates. Couldn’t risk talking to you directly—too many wandering ears about.”

  “Huh?” said Lex.

  “The name’s Broomie.” The girl smiled. “As in, brew me!” she shouted at the bartender, who threw her a bottle of something. She yanked the cap off with her teeth, then spit it onto the floor and took a long swig. “Don’t worry, yours’ll be along shortly,” she said, noticing the shocked looks on their faces.

  As Broomie continued to chug, Driggs turned to Lex. “What is happening right now?”

  “Couldn’t tell you,” said Lex, equally confused.

  “I’ll tell you what’s happening,” Broomie said, slamming her bottle down on the table. “That rotten-ass bastard LeRoy and his blind-ass puppets running this town like a stupid-ass carnival, that’s what.”

  She looked at the Juniors as if she expected them to have the capacity to respond. But there they sat, like a pile of open-mouthed dead fish.

  “I’m sorry,” Driggs said politely, folding his hands up under his chin, “but I’m going to have to ask you to rewind a little here.”

  “Rewind? Sure. Twenty years ago, China. Middle of a monsoon. My mother’s water had just broken, and my massive noggin showed no signs of slowing—”

  “Okay, fast forward,” Driggs jumped in. Pip looked ill.

  “Orphaned and shipped off to Australia?” Broomie suggested, as if offering chapter options from her autobiography. “Arrested after stealing half a million dollars’ worth of pearls? Freed by LeRoy and brought to DeMyse? Promoted to the second-highest office in the city?”

  “Okay, right there,” said Driggs. “Go.”

  She gave him a wide grin. “A couple of months ago, when that Zara bitch knocked off our director, there opened up a talent vacuum in the Etcetera department. I’ve always been a bit advanced, and even though I was still a Junior, I was the best candidate for the job. At least that’s what I told LeRoy. Idiot bought it.”

  She finished off her drink in one huge gulp as they stared. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said, chucking the empty bottle back at the bartender. “Drunk Australian, real shocker. But keep in mind, I’m a six-foot-five Asian who can hold my liquor, so I’m already doing my part to shatter stereotypes, right?”

  A large tray of bottled Yoricks danced its way toward their table. Riqo popped his head out from behind the drinks. “Hola,” he sang, handing them out and taking a seat next to Broomie.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Elysia said to him, flustered. “I thought you were part of that uppity Junior clique. You too,” she said to Broomie. “We saw you with them at the club.”

  Broomie wrapped a massive hand around another bottle and rolled her eyes. “I know,” she said. “Riqo and I only hang out with those vapids so that no one’ll get suspicious. Truth is, we’ve been against LeRoy’s policies for years.” She took a gulp. “All the censorship and isolation bullshit—it’s not right. I think deep down he’s a decent man and is just trying to protect us, but he’s doing it all wrong. This city has become nothing but a brainless playground for the Grimsphere’s elite, and we’re sick of it.”

  “But you’re t
he director of Ether Traffic Control,” said Lex, now even more surprised. “You’re one of those elite.”

  “Makes it easier to keep an eye on the guy,” she replied. “I’ve learned a hell of a lot about the intricacies of DeMyse’s government, and that’s worth having to put up with all his rubbish.”

  Driggs stole a glance at Lex, then looked back at Broomie. “What does any of this have to do with us?”

  Broomie let out a hearty laugh. “You don’t have to be cagey with me, mate. I know who you guys are. Especially you, Queen of the Damned.”

  Lex bristled. “Whatever you’ve heard about me—”

  “Is true,” said Broomie. “Listen, it’s fine. We’re on your side, and Mort’s. We’ve been following all this since the beginning—underground channels, obviously—and we hate the way you blokes are being treated over there with that Norwood wanker in charge.”

  “We know there are bad things going on,” said Riqo. “And we do not want to be in the dark any longer.”

  “We want to help,” said Broomie. “We want to matter.”

  Lex broke into a smile. She couldn’t help it. The Seniors in Croak had been so hostile to her for so long now, she hadn’t thought that anyone might still be on her side. She could have kissed them.

  Instead, in her elated stupor, she knocked her drink over.

  “You’ll have to excuse my partner,” said Driggs. “She loses a few brain cells every time someone pays her a compliment. Fortunately, it doesn’t happen too often.” He reached across the table to shake Broomie’s hand. “I think what she would say, if she weren’t in shock, is thank you. And welcome aboard the crazy train.”

  “Yeah, yeah, happy to have you,” said Ferbus, grabbing a drink. “Now, on to more important matters—what is up with these bottled Yoricks?”

  ***

  They stayed out late, even later than the night before. The Juniors filled Broomie and Riqo in on what had gone down in Croak, what Norwood and Heloise were up to, and the latest developments with Zara. The mysteries surrounding the Wrong Book, the key, and the symbols on the obelisk were of particular fascination; both Broomie and Riqo were eager to help figure out how to get past the protective field, excitedly insisting on a trip to the DeMyse library.

  Pip and Bang left sometime around midnight, while Ferbus and Elysia lasted until three, leaving with Riqo as he showed them some photos from his hometown in Mexico. But for Lex and Driggs, the evening stretched on to the staggering hour of six in the morning. Broomie and her alphabet-belching abilities were just too much fun, and their gabfest had continued until long after they’d reached their three-Yorick maximum.

  “Maybe you can help us out with something else,” Lex heard herself say at one point.

  “Mort’s gonna kill you,” Driggs reminded her under his breath.

  Lex ignored him. “Those glass scythes that LeRoy gave us—where did they come from?”

  Broomie frowned. “Don’t know, I just thought they were substitutes. Never seen them before. Why, are they special?”

  “Not special, exactly,” said Lex. “It’s just that Zara has the same kind.”

  “You’re kidding,” Broomie said, her eyes widening. She thought for a moment. “Nope, don’t know where they might have come from. LeRoy’s never mentioned anything to me.” She frowned. “Which is odd.”

  They traded theories for a little while longer, until they realized that the sun was rising. “Bugh,” Lex moaned as they stumbled outside. “This was probably a bad idea.”

  “Get used to it, mate,” said Broomie. “DeMyse is all about the nightlife.”

  “Yes, I’m becoming increasingly aware of its—hey!” She pointed across the street. “There’s Uncle Mort!”

  The deposed mayor was indeed walking down the sidewalk, and at a very hurried pace. In fact, he was almost running. And glancing over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

  “Let’s follow him,” said Lex.

  “Can’t,” Broomie said, looking disappointed. “I’ve gotta be at the Bank or people will get suspicious. But you guys go. Fill me in later.”

  Lex and Driggs said goodbye and snuck across the street, making sure to stay out of Uncle Mort’s field of vision as they tailed him. He wound through narrow streets and hidden alleys, hurrying all the way to the outskirts of town before disappearing around a corner.

  Lex and Driggs looked up. They’d stopped in front of a pair of gilded gates, behind which sat a long driveway leading to a gigantic white estate. “That’s the Mayor’s Mansion,” said Driggs.

  “Yes, I gathered that,” said Lex, pointing at the large golden sign above the gate that read MAYOR’S MANSION.

  Driggs gave her a Look.

  “What are you doing here?”

  They whipped around to find Uncle Mort standing behind them. He looked mildly panicked.

  “How did you do that?” Lex sputtered.

  “Catlike stealth. I repeat, what are you doing here?”

  Driggs tried to appear squirrelly. “We . . . could ask you the very same question.”

  Uncle Mort rolled his eyes. “Nice try, Mr. Bond.” He glared at Lex. “I bet you’ve been gabbing about the glass scythes, too.” When Lex made a guilty face, he sighed. “I swear, it’s like talking to a wall.”

  “Are you here to see LeRoy?” Lex asked. “Can we come with you?”

  “No. Go back to the hotel and don’t leave until I—”

  “Hello?” a voice crackled. “Mort?”

  Uncle Mort walked up to the gate and punched a button on its intercom. “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “And you’ve brought your Juniors! Excellent! Enter!”

  The gate clicked open. Uncle Mort glared at the camera above his head, then at Lex’s and Driggs’s grinning faces. “Get in,” he said gruffly, pushing them through. “I should really put some bells on you two.”

  They approached the front door, its gold-plated surface blinding in the rising sun. LeRoy opened it to greet them. “Welcome!” he shouted at a volume not suitable for the early hours of the morning. “Come in, come in. Can I get you some fresh-brewed Indonesian kopi luwak? Most expensive coffee in the world —made from beans that have passed through the digestive tract of a monkey! Or perhaps some oolong tea, straight from the Chinese province of—”

  He never finished, as Uncle Mort’s forearm had flown up and pinned his neck to the polished mahogany wall.

  19

  “Driggs, Lex, don’t move,” Uncle Mort barked.

  They weren’t planning on it. They just stood and watched him, their faces incredulous.

  “Why’d you do it?” Uncle Mort demanded.

  LeRoy’s eyes were bulging. “I don’t know what you’re—”

  Uncle Mort pushed harder on his windpipe. LeRoy was starting to make little choking noises. “Tell me what happened,” Uncle Mort said, his voice not wavering. “Or better yet, show me. Show me everything, or I’m going to the press.”

  LeRoy broke free from his grasp. “All right,” he rasped, his bravado gone. “This way.”

  Looking like a cowed puppy, he led them to a widened atrium. At its center sat a large nude sculpture of LeRoy in the pose of The Thinker.

  “Tasteful,” Uncle Mort deadpanned.

  “Thank you,” LeRoy said sincerely, missing the slight. He grasped the head of the sculpture and tilted it back on a hinge to reveal a small button within. When he pushed it, a previously invisible door opened up in the wall behind them.

  “After you,” Uncle Mort told him.

  LeRoy nodded timidly and disappeared into the darkness. Uncle Mort followed, then turned back to face Lex and Driggs. “You’d better stay here.”

  Lex stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He gave her an exasperated look. “Apparently, I am.”

  Exchanging nervous glances, Lex and Driggs followed him through the door and emerged into a poorly lit low-ceilinged room.

  A room full of weapons.

&nbs
p; Guns of every size and shape dotted the far wall. All manner of knives, swords, grenades, crossbows, and other horrific devices gleamed threateningly to their left. And on the right, lined up in a bulletproof case, were dozens of glass scythes.

  Uncle Mort scanned the wall and spoke quietly. “Dammit, LeRoy.”

  “She threatened to burn my city to the ground! She said if I didn’t give her one, she’d Damn me and find someone else on the black market who would!”

  “Which we both know is a lie. She wouldn’t dream of Damning you—you’re the only one in North America who could have given her what she needed. With no scythe, no identification, and no way of flying overseas, you were her only option.”

  LeRoy set his jaw. “I had no choice.”

  Uncle Mort looked as though he didn’t believe that. “Did she come straight here after Damning her stepfather?”

  “Yes. Apparently someone had advised her to do so, said I’d be a pushover.” He cleared his throat in distaste. “She hitchhiked to the edge of the valley, then hiked through the desert on foot. Walked right up to my front door and demanded a replacement. The nerve of that girl!” He made a bitter face. “So, yes, I cut a deal with her. She’d leave DeMyse alone, as long as I gave her the scythe and kept quiet about it.”

  Uncle Mort glared at him. “While still giving her free reign to Damn the rest of the country.”

  LeRoy straightened up a little. “I’m not proud of what I did. But it has kept my city safe. I’d already lost one good man, I wasn’t prepared to lose any more.” He almost looked sad. “I wish there had been another way, Mort. You know that.”

  Uncle Mort turned away from him. “Was the scythe all she took?”

  “Yes,” LeRoy said, eager to please. “Once I gave it to her, she Crashed out and that was the last I ever saw of her. I swear.” He glanced at Lex and Driggs. “Though now that I’ve provided safe haven for you and your Juniors . . . I don’t know. If Zara finds out, our deal will almost certainly become null and void.”

  For the first time, LeRoy appeared truly worried.

  “Destroy the scythes. All of them.” Uncle Mort headed for the door, then turned back. “I won’t go to the press. But now you owe me. Remember that.”