The Indigo Thief

by Budgett, Jay

  Here, alone, she’d had a lot of time to think the past few days. She thought mostly about her home and the other kids back at H.E.A.L.

  Claire’s front tooth had been loose for a week the morning she left with Kai. “I’m sellin’ this for a grapefruit,” Claire had declared, flicking the tooth between two fingers. Charlie tried to explain you couldn’t sell a tooth for grapefruit, but Claire didn’t listen. She said her mom told her lemons were pieces of the sun, and that if you ate one, it warmed you from the inside out. Charlie asked why she’d wanted a grapefruit, then.

  Claire shook her head. “If lemons are pieces of the sun,” she said, “then I think, maybe, grapefruit are pieces of the sun’s heart. They’re yellow, too. And bigger. And pink on the inside.” Claire said that if she had a piece of the sun’s heart, she could give it back to him—and in exchange, he could give her a piece of her own heart back.

  Charlie asked which piece, and Claire said her mom.

  Charlie remembered the days when she’d wished for her own mom—actually, she still did. But time had smoothed the gaping hole left by her mother’s euthanization.

  She thought about Kai, too. The boy who could hold his breath for nearly three minutes yet still insisted on wearing a pair of cheeseburger socks to feel brave. She missed his caramel brown eyes, warm like cocoa, not the cold Indigo blue irises of adults. She missed the way he played with her chopsticks, and his hands got sweaty when he talked to her. The way he tried to wipe them off on his pants and probably thought she didn’t notice. The way he looked at her and listened, like everything she said was important. Most people just couldn’t listen like that.

  There was a hard rap on the door, and Charlie shut her eyes tight, wondering if she should let her tongue hang out. She’d never seen a corpse before, and thought their tongues might hang out.

  The slot slid open.

  “Bed checks!” Sage called. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Bed checks!” she called again. Charlie stood silent. It was all part of the plan. The door swung open with a screech, and Sage walked over to her bed. You okay? she mouthed.

  “I’m fine,” Charlie whispered.

  “I NEED A BODY BAG FOR CELL SIXTEEN,” Sage shouted. “WE’VE GOT A PRISONER HANGING FROM THE RAFTERS.”

  Heavy footsteps echoed in the hall, and Sage’s arms wrapped around Charlie’s legs. “I’ve gotcha,” she whispered, and Charlie stepped off the bed as the rope’s pressure tightened on her throat, held off only by Sage’s arms lifting her slightly from below.

  It had to be done this way. Her face had to look a bit purple. The guards wouldn’t believe it otherwise. Eddie, a guard with a bad knee and a birthmark on his face shaped like a turtle, wheezed outside the doorway. He held his knee in one hand, and a body bag in the other. “Jesus,” he said, cracking it open. “Already? I thought this one had more fight in her.”

  Sage shook her head. “The pretty ones always go fastest. Like flowers, the bigger the blossom, the sooner it wilts… You got the scissors, Ed?”

  He shook his head, and Charlie heard his footsteps trudge slowly down the hall. What was the rush, after all? She was already dead, and he was paid by the hour. She made a sputtering sound, and Sage lifted her a bit higher in the air. Sage was stronger than Charlie would’ve guessed.

  The drag of Eddie’s footsteps echoed in the hall as he returned. Charlie heard him fiddle with the rope above her. It snapped when he cut it, and she fell onto Sage, knocking them both to the floor. She bit her lip to keep from panting, but her lungs screamed for more oxygen.

  Sage stood quickly, grabbed the body bag, and threw it over her. “To the furnace?” she asked Eddie.

  “Nah, computer says this one goes to the mortician.”

  “Right, then. I’ll bag her and bring her down there.”

  Eddie moved toward Charlie. “I’ll help,” he said. “Nothin’ better to do, ’cept maybe get my yogurt from the fridge. The missus made it for me.”

  Sage wrapped Charlie’s torso in the bag. “Really, I’ve got it,” she said. “I can drag her down just fine on my own. Besides, I heard Rhonda’s been eating other people’s stuff from the fridge. Might wanna check on your yogurt.” Eddie hurried down the hall.

  “You okay?” Sage whispered to Charlie.

  “F-fine.” Charlie sucked in a series of breaths. “Th-throat just hurts. Hard to breathe.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “W-where do we head now?”

  Sage pointed to the bag. “Lay down here, and I’ll drag you.”

  “You’re taking me to the mortician?

  “No, the garbage chute. There’s a column that runs along the edge of the building. It’ll take us to the first floor. Then we’ll get out.”

  Sage wrapped Charlie up in the bag, then dragged the bag down the hall, past the desk, and into the corridor. She hurried across the tiled floors before reaching the room with the chute. After exchanging a few words with a custodian dumping bags of trash, she was left alone with Charlie and the body bag.

  Charlie peeled herself from the bag, and Sage pointed to the chute. “You go first,” she said, tearing the bag into two pieces. “Take one of these. It’ll help break your fall.”

  “Uh… how, exactly?”

  “It’s a straight drop. If you hold the bag above your head, it’ll flutter and help slow your fall.”

  Charlie peered down the black chute. “Is it high enough for that to matter?”

  “Dunno,” said Sage, shrugging. “Didn’t take physics. Just sounds like something they might do on TV.”

  Charlie took one of the strips and peered into the chute’s black abyss once again. “Should I aim or something? Maybe try and move once I land?”

  “Good idea,” said Sage, nodding. “Probably wouldn’t work out so well if I hit you when I fell.”

  Charlie stuck her feet into the chute’s opening and straddled the edge for a second. She breathed deeply and grabbed the edge of Sage’s torn bag.

  It was now or never.

  She leaned forward and plunged into the darkness. After a surprisingly short fall, she bounced off of a cloth net, out of the chute, and onto another floor, where she landed on top of three bags of trash. She was in a room identical to the one she’d just left, but perhaps one floor down. Sage, too, bounced off the net and landed next to her with a thud.

  Charlie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “That was some kind of dumpster?”

  Sage’s face had gone white. “There wasn’t supposed to be a net. Someone knew we were coming.”

  Marching feet thundered in the hall, and Sage grabbed Charlie’s hand, yanked open the door, and ran.

  Charlie’s legs felt wobbly beneath her, and she realized for the first time just how weak the lack of food had made her. “What’s going on, Sage?”

  The marching grew louder as Charlie’s own feet slammed against the wooden floors. Her lungs clenched in her chest, begging her to slow down even as her legs sped up. Paneled cherry wood lined the walls, and Sage pointed down the corridor.

  “I know where we are. There’s a door up there on the left. Hide in there,” she panted. “The chancellor’s chambers will be empty at this time of day, and you’ll be safe. They won’t think to look for you there.” The stomping grew louder behind them. “I’ll lose these guys, create a diversion, and find you in there after.”

  Charlie nodded. Sage must have realized she was too weak to keep running. “Good luck, Sage,” she said, before running toward the door. She ran a hand through her tangled hair, wishing she still had a pair of her chopsticks, and turned. “You’re a great friend!” she yelled, and the girl beamed.

  The chamber’s doors creaked as she opened them, and she quickly slipped inside and shut them behind her. She stuck her ear to the door, and held her breath—muttering a quick prayer for Sage as the stomping thundered past. She’d escaped. Well, sort of. She’d been lucky the door was unlocked. She figured she could probably hide in the s
hadows of the chancellor’s chambers for a while, and eventually, Sage would return and find her.

  Charlie looked around the chambers, but the room was dark, and she didn’t dare turn on a light. The only thing she could see was a lone object: a glowing green orb on the corner of the chancellor’s desk. Swirls danced in its depths. Charlie had never seen anything like it.

  Entranced, Charlie stroked her fingers across the orb. It felt like glass, and was surprisingly warm to the touch. She pressed her palm against it and felt something that reminded her of a pulse. Energy. Like a beating heart.

  Her eyes were gradually adjusting to the dim light, and now she could see that a thick cord stretched from the orb’s side, running across the floor and underneath the frame of a black door in the corner. A coat closet, perhaps?

  Charlie twisted its handle.

  Locked.

  She gently tugged on the thick, rope-like cord. The cord glowed faintly green, and a surge of electricity ran from her fingers to her chest. Burning. Pain. Her heart skipped briefly in her chest, and she released the cord. It had shocked her.

  There was a noise from the hallway just outside; someone was fumbling with the door. With nowhere else to hide, Charlie quickly ducked under the room’s desk, curling her legs beneath her. She had to hold her knees with her hands to keep them from shaking.

  “We’ve got it back,” called a voice she recognized as the chancellor’s. “The Indigo Report. And Neevlor’s dead.”

  A woman’s voice responded. It sounded like she was right next to Charlie. “Excellent,” the woman said. It was a soothing voice, the way a lemon menthol drop felt on a sore throat.

  Charlie’s heart pounded. The woman was clearly standing right next to the desk. Someone else had been in the room the whole time. And Charlie had missed her. How had she missed her? She heard the quiet crack of lips as the woman’s mouth spread into a smile.

  “Someone’s here to see you, Hackner,” said the woman, in her soothing voice. “She’s under the desk. You were right about them using the chute. The net worked like a charm.” The woman paused, then laughed. “Come on out, Charlie Minos. We promise we won’t bite.”

  Charlie’s heart rose and fell in her chest. She peeked her head out only to see the chancellor charging at her from across the room. He wrapped his hands around her throat.

  “Should I kill her?” he asked someone.

  Charlie’s vision disappeared in specks, then in patches. Finally it faded into a dull black. This is how Sage sees, she thought.

  “That won’t be necessary,” said the woman. “The people will do it.”

  “And how’s that?” asked Hackner.

  Charlie felt her body fall limply to the floor. Her vision came back slowly, in cross-hatched patches.

  Across from where she lay, a woman in a blue suit had sprawled herself across a chaise lounge. Their eyes met, and Charlie felt she could almost see a chill run down the woman’s spine.

  “Oh, oh god,” the woman said.

  The chancellor stepped toward her. “What is it, Miranda?”

  Miranda shook her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing, you idiot. Forget I said anything. But tell me, Hackner,” Charlie felt Miranda’s eyes bore into her soul. “How’s her hair?”

  Hackner roughly yanked at Charlie’s hair. It came out in clumps.

  Miranda clucked her lips. “I’m afraid the blond just won’t do. And it’s already so thin. If only it were black…” She paused. “I suppose, actually, that bald might work better for our purposes. Yes, I think bald will be all right.”

  The chancellor looked confused. “What are you talking about, Miranda?”

  “Without her hair, a girl’s hardly recognizable. We’ll have her head shaved this evening, Hackner. The press will be drawn to her bald, glowing head like flies to a light bulb.”

  Miranda crossed the room and knelt next to Charlie, then whispered softly in her ear. “Ah, my darling, have we got plans for you…”

  Chapter 26

  The Skelewick district’s wrought-iron streetlamps threw their hauntingly familiar yellow glow across the streets. I pulled my cheeseburger socks halfway up my calves. Kindred had washed them, and insisted I wear them.

  “Put on your cheeseburger socks,” she’d said with a smile. “For good luck, dear.”

  Or perhaps for my funeral.

  For some reason, I wished she’d come with us. Sparky, too, with Tim lazily napping on his back. But it was just me, Mila, and Phoenix. Phoenix had called us the “recon” team. I suppose Bugsy had once been a part of it too.

  I wondered if the others knew what would happen to me after the mission. Did they know I was going to die, and that Phoenix would kill me? I guessed they didn’t. Kindred, especially, seemed too soft for that sort of thing. Phoenix would probably tell them it was an accident. Blame it on the Feds, like he’d done with Bugsy.

  I wondered if Bugsy’s death had been an accident too, or if Mila had killed him. She seemed like the type who might. Didn’t show her emotions. Wasn’t visibly upset when he died. Might be a sociopath.

  She sharpened her blade against the light pole, smiling slightly when it screeched loudly.

  Definitely a sociopath.

  The denizens of Skelewick didn’t seem to mind the noise. They wandered the streets in their trance-like state: pupils dilated, mouths half open. Zombies beholden only to the light.

  I remembered the man hawking watches on the corner. For the lost souls, he’d said mysteriously, as he pointed at his wares. But all the souls in this district seemed lost. Probably why he stocked so many watches.

  Phoenix yanked Mila from the light pole. “Let’s go,” he said, muscles rippling as he walked.

  I glanced at my own biceps. They belonged to a girl scout selling Thin Mints.

  We hurried toward the Morier Mansion’s gates, dressed in all black, our faces covered by gray scarves like gypsies. No one in the city had looked twice at our disguises. We were fortunate Newla was such a bizarre place.

  Two days ago, the other Lost Boys had shot down the Feds in copters using Bertha’s weapons. They’d spent the next day scanning Federal waters, and then Phoenix had insisted we return to Madam Revleon’s before launching the raid. He said he had a few things he needed to discuss with her.

  Of course now, more than ever, I refused to believe a word he said. The truth might as well have been a dead language to him—like French, not spoken in a hundred years.

  Bertha busied herself by preparing another set of Wet Pockets. She’d gotten to use her rocket launcher during the Feds’ attack, so she was in an extraordinarily good mood, not even saying a word when I insulted her last batch of Pockets.

  We’d come across an abandoned speedboat earlier in the day. Phoenix guessed Federal ships had killed its owners on their way to raid the Caravan, but I doubted this, and guessed instead that it was Phoenix himself who’d killed them. It seemed too convenient that a boat would magically appear the very day we needed a lift to Newla. But there it was, and we used it. Kindred sewed us the gray scarves, and we’d arrived at the city by nightfall.

  A crow screamed from the banyan tree’s gnarled branches as Phoenix rattled the mansion’s gate. He’d radioed Revleon before we left and told her we were coming—the gate was supposed to have been unlocked. This wasn’t a good sign.

  Phoenix continued rattling the gate as I threw a leg over the fence. Mila sharpened her knife against the iron rods one final time, and then she and Phoenix followed me.

  Phoenix rapped the mansion’s brass rings hard against the massive door. There was no response. He slammed them again. Nothing. Mila pounded the door with closed fists, and the crow called from the tree. Madam Revleon was clearly not home. I walked the mansion’s perimeter.

  “Where are you going?” asked Mila. I shrugged and kept walking. A shutter on the manor’s left wing swung back and forth on rusted hinges in the cool night breeze. I lifted my face to the window’s edge. The screen had been torn open, and
its mesh covering ripped to shreds, made transparent like a spider’s cobweb in the moonlight, framed by fragmented glass.

  Someone had broken in.

  I pulled myself onto the ledge, ducking past the shattered glass before rolling into the room. A coffee table sat sprawled on its side like a fallen soldier, a casualty in a war it didn’t know it was fighting. I could hear the brass ring clang against the door. If someone were here, they’d have run by now. I wondered again where Madam Revleon was.

  The rest of the mansion was in similar disarray. Pictures were knocked from walls and glass cabinets lay shattered on the ground. There’d been a fight—that much was clear—but who’d won? I wasn’t even sure who I was rooting for. I twisted the front door’s lock and opened the door.

  Phoenix stood in the doorway, confused. “How did you—?”

  “Window was open.” I pointed down the hall. “Left wing.”

  “Shit,” Mila muttered, eyeing the glass shards that littered the floor. “What the hell happened here?”

  The foyer’s chandelier hung lopsided and rocked back and forth like a metronome. Tapestries had been torn from the walls, and lay sprawled across the steps of the grand staircase.

  Phoenix held his head in his hands. “Have you seen her?”

  I shook my head no.

  “Probably hiding.” He pointed to the stairs. “Library.”

  We hurried up the steps. Mila got there first, and stopped in the library’s doorway. “Oh my god.” She was hyperventilating. It was the most disturbed I’d ever seen her. I pushed past her.

  Madam Revleon’s corpse lay bleeding in the room’s center. Blood pooled on either side of her limp body, and fallen bookshelves lined her torso, flanked by books spread on their spines. I felt sick to my stomach. I pulled my cheeseburger socks high on my calves and tried to slow my breathing. Be brave, I reminded myself.

  Phoenix kneeled next to Madam Revleon’s body. It looked like the intruder, or intruders, had buried bullets in her chest. Her eyes were frozen wide, relics capturing her final moments of terror. The killers must have followed her into the room after a scuffle, maybe even forced her in here.