Orphan of Mythcorp (7 page)

‘
What ruckus?’ her hands flying through
Kant’s head. Kant sneezed and shivered.

“
Marie,” I snapped my fingers in her
face. “Focus. What was . . . no, stop flickering. Don’t you dare
pop away . . . and you popped away.” I turned to Ava. “Spook spies
are so unreliable. Hey, there’s that muscle head—what was his
name?”

“
Damien,” Ava said. She was running her
fingers through her hair. Unlike the other Morai, Ava often lets
her white locks roam free, no ponytails, rubber bands or
scrunchies. It’s like watching an angel. “Damien Frigg, I think.”
She dropped her hands and looked at me. “What?”

Damien reached the edge of the crowd. I
shifted to the left, blocking his path and risking a black eye.
“Move.” He made me feel short. I didn’t like that one bit.

“
What’s going on?”

He considered me, letting his brown pupils
roam over my gaunt form. I felt as naked as Charles. “That Ash
guy,” he nodded back towards Wes, “he’s spouting some stuff about
how shoddily Mythcorp was run. Oh, and the zombie was shooting up.”
He paused, smiled. “His medicine gun thing is righteous. Wish I had
me one of those.”

Damien headed for the bathroom. I noticed his
hand flittering inside his pocket. Just like mine does whenever I’m
looking for a fix. I set my hand on Ava’s shoulder. “I got to
split. By the way, you owe me two Benjamin’s.”

Damien was lighting up by the time I shoved
on the squeaky door and entered the bathroom. “Can I bum one?”

The behemoth scrutinized me again. But he
drew the pack from his pocket and tapped out a stick. He mated it
with his own and when it was lit handed it to me. “What’s your
deal? You a . . .” he pointed at me up and down with his cigarillo
“. . . are you like them? The Morai, I mean. You screw with
people’s heads?”

“
Only if they’re not smart enough to do
what I want of their own free will,” puff-drag-drag-puff. A few
tense ticks. Then he laughed. It was a full-throated roar, the sort
you read about but only ever hear from psychotic Santa Clauses. I
hadn’t expected him to get my joke. Big
and
clever. I’d have to watch myself around this
one.

“
Your folks do something with Mythcorp
too?”

I shrugged. The cig no longer tasted good. “I
don’t know. What was Sanson doing with Ash?”

“
Don’t know.” He flicked his butt into
the toilet, passing it over the stall door with magical ease. And
then this addict pulled a small book out of his pocket. Go figure.
He noticed me staring. “Want it?”

“
What is it?”

“
A Gideon Bible.”

I shrugged.

“
You ain’t never heard of a Gideon
Bible?” Damien’s usual bass voice approached alto-range. “Ever
heard of a Bible?” He got another shrug out of me. “Dang, man. What
they teach you at that orphanage? Here,” handing me the little
black book. “Check it out. You might like it. It’s about war and
death.”

I took it, flipped through it. The chapters
were a bunch of weird old people names, and words I’d never heard.
“What’s a Deuteronomy?”

“
No clue, man. Listen, I got to split.
Keep it righteous.”

“
Hold up,” I grabbed his arm at the
door. I let go and stood back, holding my hands up as if he had a
gun pressed to my head. “Would you know how to lace candy with
doojee?” I sported my very best choir boy smile. But still, you
can’t ask what I did with a completely straight face.

Damien glowered at me. I understood how Jack
the Rippers victims must’ve felt right before Jack ripped them up.
And, sense I was now feeling tense as all krit, Castor showed
up.

‘
What’s going on here? Oh, is the
little baby going to piddle his diapers? Come on, give us a good
doody, you little bastard. Come on. Come on, there you
go—‘

“
Shut up!”

Oh crap.

The old stare-em-down game. Certain that the
next move Damien made would be to stretch my neck the hard way, I
flinched. Instead he just bent at the waist and cracked up. “You
one buggered up mofo, you know that.” The behemoth clapped me on my
shoulder. “But I like you. You got any paper for this smack-candy
you want me to make?”

I pulled a wad of twenties out of my pocket,
still shaking with relief. Mr. Monmouth, back at the home, used to
give us all an allowance, but since we were never allowed out to
spend it (other than on deals with Mr. Bors), the dough had
accumulated.

Damien nodded, grabbed the wad and shoved on
the door. “Give me a week, stretch.”

Castor was tearing it up in the stall,
laughing his spook-ass off. “Thanks a lot, Cas. You know you almost
got me beat up back there.”

‘
Ah, you would’ve enjoyed it, you
little fairy orphan.’

“
Go screw yourself. If it’s long
enough.” With that I walked out of the bathroom—and slammed right
into Lamorak.

“
Whoa, where’s the fire?”

I grappled for my cripple-stick, which had
clattered a couple yards away when I slammed into him. Once I had
it, Lamorak offered his hand and helped me up. He looked down at my
cripple-stick and smirked. “Did you draw marker flames on it?” He
tittered. Real snarky like, his trio of ponytails flapping as his
head bobbed. “What for?”

“
Obviously, they make me look like I’m
going faster.” We were gawking at each other now. Something in his
peepers. They almost had that dang knowing gleam, like
Ash’s.

“
Well, keep it righteous.” Great, I was
cribbing lines from the straights now. Who was I pretending to be
anyway? I hobbled away. The one good thing about being a
quasi-cripple is all the teachers give you extra time to make it to
their classes. I was tempted to stretch this leniency, to see just
how much time they’d forgive me.

That night, while lying on our cots in
Camelot, I whispered over to Ava who was lying in the cot next to
mine. “Why do you think Ash is hanging around that zombie guy?
What’s he up to?”

“
He’s just trying to make friends,” Ava
groaned. “Drop it already. He’s not
up
to anything. You’re just being paranoid—and
stupid.”

Camelot still smelled of dust and that
freshly dead stench, making me want to sneeze—which made me think
of Marie. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” I whispered to Ava. “I
need to walk it off, sure as sure.”

The floorboards did not squeak as I crossed
to the door. And the door was silent as well. It was almost as if
the school wanted me to do this. I eased it shut and crept down the
stairs. The hall was a ghost town, no Iconocop in sight. But that
didn’t mean Wes wasn’t lurking around the next corner. The dude was
sneaky as a spook and just as irritating.

I glanced at the boarded-up exit before
making my way to the gym without any major disasters. The doors
were not locked; obviously another sign I was destined to do this.
I shoved the doors closed behind and hobbled to the center of the
gym. My cane was louder than my footsteps, despite its rubber soled
bottom. A true-blue spooky sound I could’ve done without. Alone now
in the center of this cavernous place, I stood to collect my
thoughts, consider one last time if a really wanted to do this,
then opened my mouth . . . and screamed. I hadn’t meant to scream,
but I couldn’t help it: a spider had just crawled up my leg.

It was one of them icky spiders, bulbous body
and legs so thick you can see the joints.

Grody, I know. Who
wouldn’t
scream with one of them on their
ankle?

I shook it off and backed away. The nasty
creepy-crawler sauntered off, strutting its stuff. No doubt it was
going to have itself a good old laugh with its eight legged
buddy’s.

“
Stupid spider.”

There, that’ll teach it.

Once I’d settled down I did what I’d come to
do. “Marie? Calling Marie!” While waiting for my spook to show up,
I cast glances at the spot I’d flicked the spider off to. He was
gone. Great, now I had to watch out for his return. Should’ve
squashed the bugger.

Marie appeared to my left, facing me, her
opaque eyes for once focused. ‘Wow. You look like him, without the
scars.’

“
Again, I look like who?” But she was
frolicking. I wanted to throttle her. Dang fickle spook. “Listen
Marie. Are you listening?” She hummed a yes. “Try to pay attention.
This is important. I want you to . . . hey! Look at me!”

Marie ceased her twirling and looked over at
me. ‘What’s got your knickers in a twist?’

“
I don’t know what knickers are. Focus
here.” By now Naked Charlie had arrived, probably summoned by my
frustration. I ignored him and so did Marie. “I want you to go to
Sanson. I want you to follow him around. See what Ash says to him.
And then come back . . . hey,” I snapped my fingers in her face.
“And then report back to me. Got it?” Her gaze veered off. “Marie!
Have you got it?”

Her attention snapped back. ‘Cheese and
crackers, you sound just like him when you yell.”

“
Just like who?” I practically
shrieked, not expecting an answer.

‘
Like Knox.’

With that mysterious declaration, my spook
twinkled, flickered and vanished. Off to spy on a dead boy I hoped.
“Knox,” I tried out the word. I liked the sound of it.

I found myself alone in the gym—and feeling
suddenly quite the dum-dum.

So I left. The halls were Iconocop-free, and
since I didn’t feel like heading back to Camelot to face Ava and
her judgmental tude, I limped idly along. Some people might’ve
assumed my restlessness had something to do with withdrawal. But
that was absurd; I wasn’t an addict. The doojee keeps me sane,
makes sure my hauntings don’t make me go all loony-tunes.

I paused to rub my throbbing knee. I also had
one mother of a migraine: hopefully Damien would rush my order to
the top of his heap. The tapping of my cripple-stick kept me
company down the main hall, towards the front doors. At the metal
detectors I stopped.

Wind was blowing through the great weeping
willow out front, hanging branches waving at me. Peaceful—and
depressing. I wasn’t allowed out there, wouldn’t set foot in the
outside world again until after graduation, eighteen months away. I
sighed, was about to turn and head back, when the clattering of a
lock being breached reached my ears.

Light spilled out into the hall. Four ticks
later the light dimmed and I heard a door being closed. Acting like
the cat that curiosity killed, I sneaked down the hall. Ten feet
from the door, I slowed (hobbled at a slightly less interesting
pace). ‘What you doing at the library?’ Castor asked. ‘Dum-dum
thinking about learning something’? That’ll be the day, huh.’

“
Shh!” I hissed.

Oh crap. Movement came from inside the
library. I skedaddled away, slunk against the lockers. I probably
should have run, but my knee didn’t agree.

Two minutes of nothing convinced me that my
shushing of Castor had not inspired whoever was inside to come out
and beat me up or haul me back to the Home. I hobbled over to the
door and peeked in.

“
Well, you coming in or are you going
to stand out there all night like a lost puppy dog?” a girl’s
voice, high and yet commanding.

‘
It’s only a girl,’ Castor snickered.
‘What, you afraid of the taco now?’ He broke into laughter,
doubling over and floating around me in the darkened hall. Oh how I
would’ve loved to smack that smirk off his scarred face and that
cig out of his puckering mocking mouth.

“
I told you,” Pellinore’s voice came
from around the corner, “it wasn’t a bomb. I was trying to trap it.
You can’t hide this forever—”

I shoved the door open and slid inside the
library, easing the door closed behind me. Ten ticks later the
black Iconocop passed by, dragging along Pellinore. So, apparently
the Iconocops did sleep and switch shifts here. Poor Pells, his
obsession with this imaginary beastie was going to get him sent
back to the Home.

“
Who was that who gave you the
Willies?”

I whipped around. The library looked empty, a
lone table lamp glowing to my right. I scanned that table until my
eyes landed on her. She’d eluded my scan at first. And now I could
see why.

“
You’re a . . . a dwarf. Like a real
live dwarf.” My mouth might have been gaping slightly.

The dwarf shifted in her seat, and I noticed
that she was sitting on a cushion. “My name is Izzy Macawber. I am
a little person. You call me anything but Izzy and I’ll punch you
in the stones. Got it?” Her tone and failure to blink suggested she
was not bluffing.

I stepped towards her. “Punch, because your
kick wouldn’t reach my stones?” It was a ballsy move, returning her
tit for tat, but I once read somewhere that girls like a smart
mouth.

Tension brewed as we stared. My peepers were
crying for blinkage when Izzy raised her shortened arm and brushed
aside a foot long section of red hair. Tucked it behind her
pint-sized ear. Yummy. She shifted again, turning to face me with
her entire upper body. She’d developed early, that was for sure.
Petite, but perky and full—for someone less than four feet
tall.

I sidled another three steps closer, emerging
from the shadows and into the very light that was illuminating her
. . . assets. It was quiet; like, you could hear the school
settling into its foundation.

“
I know you,” Izzy said. “You’re that
new boy, the one came with the Morai. Morgan, right?”