by Gina Damico
“See,” he said, looking up, “that’s exactly the kind of arrogant thinking they loathe.”
She grimaced and gazed into her cereal. Yet Uncle Mort kept staring at her, as if the solution to some overly complicated puzzle lay in the contours of her troubled young face. “Lex,” he said at last, slowly running his finger along his scar. “How’d you like to help me catch this bastard?”
Her mouth fell open. “What? How?”
He got up and paced across the room, coming to a stop at the sink. “I have an idea. It’s dangerous and comes with a high probability of failure. I assume you’re in.”
“Obviously!”
He walked into the living room, beckoning her to follow him. He waded through the accumulated junk on the floor to a small, dusty closet and opened the door. Lex squinted down at the familiar boxy object within.
She looked at him, stupefied. “Is that what I think it is?”
He nodded.
They headed back to the kitchen table, where Uncle Mort spent the next several minutes carefully outlining his plan. He made Lex repeat the details back to him three times, then instructed her not to proceed until he gave her the go-ahead.
“And lastly,” he said, “the million-dollar question. Can I trust you with all of this?”
“Of course! How can you even ask me that?” She shrank slightly. “I mean—look, I’m really sorry about Zara. But she was the only one I told, I swear.”
“You swear?” Uncle Mort’s entire demeanor changed so quickly, Lex actually recoiled. “Don’t play games with me, Lex,” he growled. “You think I don’t know about your little blabfest with Cordy?”
She went cold.
“You think all this surveillance equipment is just for decoration?” He gestured at the satellite dishes sticking out of the window, then leaned in and grabbed Lex by the elbow. “The only reason you are sitting at this table right now is because I’ve chosen to ignore a very large number of very serious Terms regarding Grimsphere disclosure. If you weren’t my niece, you’d have gotten kicked out of here so fast you wouldn’t even remember your own name, let alone where you’ve been all summer. What you did is inexcusable. You put Croak in danger, you put yourself in danger, and worst of all, you put Cordy in danger.”
He let go of her arm, but his gaze did not soften. “So yes, I need to ask for your trust. I need your word that everything we’ve just talked about stays between us,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “No more second chances, Lex. I can’t protect you anymore. If you screw this one up, you’re outta here. For good.”
Lex stared back at him, floored. “Okay—” she stammered. “I mean, yes. Yes, you can trust me. I won’t tell anyone.”
He crossed his arms and watched her for a moment, then finally relaxed his gaze. “Except for Driggs, right?”
“No! I won’t!”
“You should.”
“What? But you just said—”
“He’s your partner. It would be cruel to keep him in the dark. And isn’t that what he’s so pissed off about right now? Something you neglected to tell him?”
A furious series of cymbal crashes issued forth from Driggs’s room, as if to confirm this.
Lex scowled. “I’ll think about it. But he’s going to freak out. He freaks out over everything I do.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
She clapped her hands over her ears as the din got even louder. “Why did you ever let him get those in the first place?”
He winked. “Stress relief.”
22
“Another geezer, huh?” Lex said to Driggs a few days later, over a man attempting to blow out each and every one of his eighty-eight birthday candles. “Nothing left to live for, you think? Bingo night get canceled?”
Driggs ignored her, much as he had since the meeting.
“Come on, Driggs, I said I was sorry,” Lex said, Killing the man with the tip of her elbow. The shocks were getting to be too much for her poor hands to handle; she had begun shifting the duties to other parts of her body. “When are you going to start talking to me again?”
Driggs said nothing as he Culled.
Lex watched him, her stomach knotted. He’d been giving her the cold shoulder for almost a week now, and it didn’t feel good. At all. The extra silence was giving her far too much time alone with her thoughts, all of which inevitably swirled right back to Zara and the fire incident, a once-shelved issue that, ever since the meeting, had festered and swelled until she could think of little else. Something had to give.
“I set a pizza box on fire,” she blurted.
Driggs blinked. “What?”
As soon as they scythed back to the Ghost Gum, Lex told him everything—how she and Zara shared the same shocks, why she had told her about the criminal pattern, and, finally, what had happened in the kitchen. “I’ve been trying not to think about it, trying to tell myself that there’s a perfectly logical explanation, which I’m ninety-nine percent sure there is—but what if there isn’t?” She looked at him with worried eyes. “What if I really did it?”
Driggs, his irritation toward her evaporating more with every worried confession, sighed and gave her a smile. “Then I’d say it’s time to crack open your uncle’s head and feast on the sweet, sweet knowledge within.”
***
That night Lex and Driggs microwaved some ramen noodles and entered the living room. The venerable mayor stood atop a ladder, looming over the jellyfish tank. Affixed to his head was some sort of binocular-goggle headpiece, the lenses of which were submerged beneath the water’s surface. “Routine checkup,” he told them as he inspected the tank. “What’s up?”
Lex looked at Driggs. They’d agreed there was no way to go about this without being painfully blunt. “Uncle Mort,” she said, “how did Grotton set people on fire?”
Uncle Mort’s head snapped to attention, the binoculars splashing out of the tank and spraying the room with water, his eyes gigantic in the lenses. “Beg pardon?”
“Grotton,” said Driggs, slurping up a noodle. “Fire.”
Uncle Mort stared at them, then let out a short laugh. “I see you kids have been telling ghost stories again.” He removed the binoculars, stepped down from the ladder, and sank into the couch.
Lex plopped down next to her uncle and put her face close to his. “Come on, Uncle Mort. Spill. We know you know, and in case it’s unclear, we’re going to be as irritating as possible until you tell us.”
“Oh, it’s quite clear.” He rubbed his eyes, then sighed. “I’ll tell you, but only because you sound so damned ignorant. You really think he set people on fire?” he said in a mocking tone.
“I hope not,” she said, looking at Driggs.
Uncle Mort shook his head. “What I’m guessing you’re referring to is something completely different. Something far more sinister, a power so disturbing that even the most comprehensive Grimsphere history books don’t mention it, and so rare that Grotton is the only person we know of who’s ever been born with it.”
Lex swallowed. “What is it?” she asked, almost in a whisper.
“The power to Damn souls.” Uncle Mort looked at his hands. “With a single touch, Grotton was able to destroy people instantly, without releasing the Gamma. It was different from being trapped or ghosted—instead of souls being confined to the body or lost into the world, they became infected. They withered and rotted, but never died. No Afterlife, no everlasting peace—only a grand prize of inconceivable pain and torment for all eternity.”
His words hung in the air as Lex and Driggs tried to make sense of them. “That’s . . . the scariest thing I’ve ever heard,” said Driggs.
“Which is why we don’t exactly make it part of the curriculum,” said Uncle Mort. “Damning is a very archaic, malevolent ability, and the number of Grims on earth who know about it can probably be counted on no more than two hands. Plus, details are extremely scarce. No one knows how it worked or what it looked like. Burned bodies were found, and t
hat’s about the only hard evidence we’ve got.”
“And no one other than Grotton has done it?” Lex asked.
“Well, they’ve tried. You think our little Elixir murderer here is the first to play God?” Uncle Mort said with a snicker. “I hate to break it to you kids, but when humans are entrusted with the power of death, there are bound to be a few crackpots thrown in along the way who think they can thwart the system and mess around with the framework of the universe. It’s happened before, and it’ll happen again. Why else do you think some Grims waste half their lives trying to find those goddamned Loopholes?”
Something about the way he said that—almost with a hint of frustration—made Lex think of the maps she had seen in his lab. She glanced at the basement door.
Uncle Mort caught her. “Don’t worry,” he said with a slight smirk. “If I ever find one, you’ll be the first to know.”
“But why was Grotton the only one who could Damn?” Driggs asked.
Uncle Mort shrugged. “Well, I suppose it’s possible that there were others before him, but the history books only go back so far. In any case, there hasn’t been anyone since. Like I said, the ability to Damn is something you have to be born with. And as if those odds weren’t bad enough, anyone trying to emulate Grotton would also have to find the Loophole. And learn how to Crash with direction. Trust me, the guy was a perfect storm, and he knew it—that’s why he was able to exploit his abilities in ways that no one ever had before.”
“Maybe he couldn’t help it,” Lex said quietly. She looked down at her blistered hands, remembering that the last time she’d heard Uncle Mort mention innate talent and raw power, he’d been talking about her.
Uncle Mort studied his niece, seeming almost to read her mind. “You’re missing the point,” he said. “Grotton wasn’t forced to use his power. He chose to. His victims could have gone on to live perfectly fulfilling lives if he hadn’t taken it upon himself to mutilate their souls.” He stopped and gave them both a suspicious look, as if realizing he’d said too much. “Out of curiosity, why do you ask?”
Driggs looked at Lex. “Tell him,” he said.
When she finished, Uncle Mort looked more amused than he had in quite some time. “But it was on a stove, right?”
“Yeah,” said Lex. “So I guess I could have turned it on accidentally, and I just didn’t notice in all the confusion.”
“You think?” Uncle Mort gave her a sympathetic smile. “Lex, history is full of Grims who thought they developed special powers, that they were going to be the next Grotton. But has there ever been another Grotton? No. No one’s been able to Damn since him. And if you’re seriously entertaining the thought that you can, then I’m sorry to inform you that you’ve lost your impressionable young mind.”
Lex and Driggs had nothing to say to that.
“Satisfied?” Uncle Mort said, standing up. “Good. We’ve got more pressing issues to deal with at the moment.” He grabbed a printout from the computer. “Look.”
Driggs skimmed it. “The birthday cake geezer was a senator?”
“And beloved grandfather of twelve,” Uncle Mort added. “And under investigation for corruption. The FBI’s all over this thing now, not to mention the media. Mystery deaths are the new black.”
“But they couldn’t possibly know what’s really going on, right?” Lex asked.
“No. And they never will, if we can stop it in time.” He gave her a conspiratorial nod, then strapped the binoculars on and got back to the jellyfish. Not wanting to tip Driggs off, Lex quickly arose and headed toward the kitchen.
“Hey, Lex?” Uncle Mort called after her.
“What?” she said sharply, dipping her head into the living room.
He held up a beaker of tank water and jiggled it excitedly. “We’re a go for Friday.”
“Great.” She ducked back out again, desperately trying to get back to the kitchen before Driggs caught wind of anything. She wasn’t ready to tell him yet.
“What happens on Friday?” he asked as she crossed to the sink.
“Nothing. Drop it.”
“You know very well I wouldn’t dream of dropping it.”
***
Twenty minutes later Driggs had wrestled Lex into his bedroom, padlocked the door, and vigorously launched into a nonstop drum solo. Lex was curled up in a fetal position on the floor, jamming a pillow into her ears.
“STOP!”
His frenetic hands halted. “What happens on Friday?” he asked, spinning the sticks.
“I undergo surgery to regain my hearing!”
Driggs resumed banging. Lex screamed into the pillow.
***
An hour after that, they ended up on the roof. Lex had distracted Driggs just long enough to escape through his window, but he followed so swiftly that she panicked and scaled the ladder.
“Really? The roof is your getaway plan?” he said teasingly, balancing on the shingles. “Don’t you watch horror movies?” He turned around and kicked the ladder away. It fell to the ground with a soft thwump.
Lex watched it fall. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“Tell me what happens on Friday.”
Lex threw up her hands. “Okay, fine. But I am not responsible for the cerebral aneurysm you’re about to have.” She picked at her lip. “Uncle Mort has a plan. I’m going to try to track the murderer.”
Driggs stared at her in silence. For all of two seconds.
“WHAT?”
“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you’d flip out and do something lame like try to protect me.”
Driggs gave her a serious look, his lopsided blue gaze popping in the moonlight. “Lex, in the space of two months, you’ve punched me in the face, kicked me in the nuts, and permanently demolished my kidneys. You really think I believe you need protection?”
Lex shifted. “No.”
Driggs lay down and put his hands over his eyes. She sat beside him.
“How dangerous is this?” he asked.
“Dangerous is such a relative term . . .”
“Lex. On a scale of one to ten.”
She winced. “Twelve?”
“TWELVE?” he shouted, bolting upright.
“Listen, Uncle Mort has it all figured out. As long as we do our jobs, we’ll be fine,” she said, placing her hand on his knee.
He stared at it. She removed it.
“I can’t help but notice the change in pronoun there,” he said.
“Well, yeah, you’d have to help too,” she admitted. “I assume you’re okay with that.”
“Lex, the things you wrongly assume could fill a silo.” He looked up, then exhaled. “What’s the plan?”
“Okay,” she began excitedly. “You know how the Croak population sign changes whenever a Grim exits or enters? That’s because all of Croak is on a grid that Uncle Mort monitors, which means that he can tell if someone leaves town.”
“I know that,” said Driggs. “But Grims disappear and reappear all the time during their shifts. How’s he going to zero in on only one person?”
“Precisely because it’s only one person. All other Grims work in teams. If he can detect that a single Grim has vanished from Croak, he’ll know that’s our murderer.”
“But the grid system only crunches numbers. It can’t identify specific people.”
“Right. Which is why Uncle Mort is going to use his own personal Smack to hack into the Etceteras’ system while we’re out on our shift. Using the advance knowledge that a single Grim has left Croak and that the next death will likely be an Elixir death, he’ll hijack our trajectory and program our scythes to take us to that location faster than the Etceteras would be able to. So if we’re quick enough, we can catch the murderer before they can scythe back out again.”
“And then what?”
“We’d scythe back to Croak and tell Uncle Mort who it is.”
“If they don’t kill us first.”
“ . . . Right.”
>
Driggs lay back down again. “This is pure lunacy.”
“But it really could work! Plus, it’s Uncle Mort’s plan, not mine.”
“Then why can’t he be the one to do it?”
“Because I—” She paused.
He eyed her. “You what?”
She picked at a shingle. “He said I can scythe even faster than he can.”
Driggs finally hesitated. “Mort said that?”
“Yes.”
Driggs thought about this for a moment, then shook his head. “Lex, have you ever stopped to think that you might be playing right into the Crasher’s hands?”
“What do you mean?”
“We already know this prick has a flair for the dramatic, right? Taking down Croak’s youngest and most talented Killer in the line of duty—doesn’t get more tragic than that.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I’m sure the town would love it.” She stood up and watched the lights below. “They’d throw a ticker tape parade.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Ferbus said a lot of people think I’m in on all this.” She spun around. “Were you ever going to tell me that? Or do you just plan to grab a pitchfork along with everyone else once the angry mob begins to form?”
“You don’t get it, do you, Lex?” He got up. “This is a town that has operated flawlessly for hundreds of years. And then you show up and everything goes haywire. I mean, what are people supposed to think? You became the best Killer here in less than a week, you strut around like you own the place, and you haven’t exactly made it a secret that you despise the Terms of Execution. So no, I’m sorry, but I really don’t blame them for suspecting you.”
“Then you’re an idiot,” she said. “And so are they, for thinking a rookie could pull off something that ambitious.”
He let out a short, harsh laugh. “Ambitious, huh? That’s not the word Mort used.”
“So?”
“You admire this psycho, don’t you?”
Lex’s nostrils flared. “I have a certain appreciation for the amount of skill and ingenuity that such a rampage has required, yes,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Appreciation? Come on, Lex. Don’t tell me that the thought of systematically eliminating criminals doesn’t send you into a fit of joy.”
