Authors: Gina Damico
Wax (35 page)
Jesus laughed. “Like I'd get far! I'm high as shit!”
Principal Lincoln took a few more steps toward Jesus, then looked back at Mr. Crawford. “Preston. Get up here and help me.”
“I really don't thinkââ”
“Preston.”
Mr. Crawford walked up the steps, cowering slightly behind Principal Lincolnâââuntil Principal Lincoln stopped abruptly. “What's going on here?” he asked, studying Jesus.
“Hmm?”
“Why don't you care that you're being arrested?”
Jesus gave a lazy shrug. “I guess I just ain't all that worried. I got a lot of dirt on you two. Lots of information that could be traded, say, to the Bursaws. To make a deal and whatnot.”
Principal Lincoln let out a loud, booming laugh. It echoed through the empty auditorium. “You've got dirt?”
“Yeah, all that wax shit. You're imposters. That's why I tried to melt you, bro.”
Principal Lincoln shook his head, chuckling as he stood over Jesus. “You're such an idiot.” He knelt down to eye level, pulling Mr. Crawford with him. “I've got some unfortunate news for you,
bro,
” he said, relishing every second. He leaned in, as if to tell a secret, whispering,
“The Bursaws are wax too.”
Jesus held his gaze. “Is that right.”
Principal Lincoln kept on smiling, but his nose began to twitch. “What's that smell?” he asked, picking up a bag of the weed. “Is that oregano?”
“Nah.” Jesus grinned and stood up, opening the trapdoor in the stage. “It's flame-broiled principal.”
âââââ
“This is
such
a waste of time,” Miss Bea grumbled, the big blue tarp crumpling noisily as they removed it from the swimming pool.
“Seriously,” Blake added. “I was having a lovely morning snooping through these people's tax files until you got home. I know we need to keep up appearances, but to get
this
involvedââ”
“Would you give it a rest?” said Big Bob. “For ten minutes of work, we keep the police out of our backyard, we get to seize the drugs and become local heroes, and the gutbags follow us more blindly than they already do. Where is the downside in this?”
He descended the steps into the shallow end and skidded down the slope into the deep end, where several taped-up packages sat in neat little piles. Blake sidled up behind him, followed by Miss Bea. “That doesn't smell like pot,” she said.
“That's . . . because it's not,” said Blake, sniffing at a package. “What theââ”
“Ahem,” said someone behind them.
All three Bursaws turned around and looked up. At the edge of the pool stood a very tall girl and a very short girl inexplicably brandishing a pair of enormous paintball guns.
“Happy belated Paraffin Day!” Banks and Louisa sang.
âââââ
The wheels of Colt's sports car left the ground. Connor was driving faster than he ever had in his life, his cape flapping out the window, singing,
“The Phaaaaantom of the Opera is heeeeeere. . . . to meeeelt your faaaaace.”
He screeched to a stop in front of Jill's house and reached for his flamethrower, grinning.
âââââ
Poppy tapped her Sharpie on her knee. It was almost time.
Impatient, she got up and walked across the roof of Tank #2. It had been an ideal place for her and Dud to hide out for the duration of The Planâââit was out of the way, so none of the Hollows would spot them or grow suspicious, and at the same time it was so close to the bad-guy headquarters that none of the Hollows would suspect them of hiding there.
She looked across the way at Tank #1.
Please be alive, Jill,
she thought.
Please be alive.
She noted with relief that the flame had still not been litâââwhich meant that no new victims had been lured in. The ten Hollows the Giddy Committee had destroyed over the course of the morning were the only ones out there.
As for inanimate Hollows, hundreds of them still sat below her feet. Poppy looked through the lightning-made hole at the inventory inside, shuddering. The look on Mrs. Goodwin's face as Poppy had barged into her bedroom that morning with a flamethrower was not one she would soon be forgetting. Though her kindly neighbor insisted on her innocence, Poppy forced herself to press on, knowing the woman was lying. The wax puddle that remained was all the proof she needed, but emotionally speaking, it was still harrowing.
Logistically speaking, it was way too easy.
“You'd think the Chandlers would have gotten a little more intelligent over all their years on earth,” Poppy whispered to Dud. “You'd think they'd maybe set the alarm system if they didn't want to get burned up in their sleep. You've only been alive for a week, and I feel like you're smarter than both of them, with all their years combined.”
“I have a good teacher,” said Dud.
“Why, thank you.”
“Oh. I meant Dr. Steve, butâââyou're good too.”
Poppy glanced at Connor's next task in The Plan, flinching at its words:
. Then she looked at Blake's watch again, wishing for the millionth time that her phone still worked. If something went wrong, there was no way for anyone on the Giddy Committee to contact her.
And immediately upon having this thought, she knew that something
had
gone wrong. She'd developed a sixth sense about these momentsâââevery time failure was imminent, the hairs on the back of her neck twitched.
“Uh-oh,” said Dud, all but confirming it.
Poppy whipped around. How the intruder had climbed the metal stairs without either of them hearing, she didn't know.
But there she was: Wax Jill, grinning like a monster.
24
ANY SENSE OF RELIEF OR SUCCESS THAT HAD BUILT UP OVER
the course of The Plan vaporized in an instant.
She needs to be in the tank!
Poppy's mind was screaming.
Or The Plan won't work!
“What are you doing here, Jill?” she asked instead, trying to keep her voice even.
“Oh, drop the act,” Jill said, advancing on her. “One of the Bursaws texted me about the pot thing. Tipped me off that something was upâââeven some idiot pothead wouldn't do something
that
moronic. This was a pretty terrible plan from the start, if you want my opinion. Melting us one at a time without giving us a chance to warn one another? I mean, it's
fine,
I
guess,
but only if every one of us suddenly forgot how to use our phones. What'd you do, Tackety Wax the
OUT
door to trap the Hollows in the tank?” she said, laughing as she saw the tube of wax at Poppy's feet. “Pathetic.”
“Shut up, Anitaââ”
Before Poppy could make a move to escape, Jill pinned her arms to her sides with an impossible amount of strength for her size. She picked Poppy up with no effort at all and walked to the edge of the tank's roof, dangling her over a hundred feet of nothing.
She was squeezing Poppy too tight for her to scream. Why wasn't Dud jumping in to help? Poppy closed her eyes and wriggled, panic flooding her brain so fast, she almost didn't hear the voice.
“Oh, put her down, my doll.”
She felt Jill's hands get tighter, but not intentionallyâââmore in a surprised, flinching way. Jill backed up from the edge and set Poppy down on the roof, still restraining her as she glared at the source of the voice. “What's going on?”
Dud took a few steps toward Jill and gave her a pitying look. “Dear me, Anita. And here I thought you were the smart one,” he said.
Or rather,
she
said. Though the voice was Dud's, the inflection was unmistakably Madame Grosholtz'sâââthat musical, lilting pitch that anyone who'd heard her speak would recognize in a flash.
The stern look remained on Jill's face, but her eyes were questioning. “Tussaud? That you?”
“Indeed it is.”
Poppy's body went ice-cold. Instantly she flashed back to Jill/Anita accusing Dud of being one of them, speaking those words that Poppy had refused to hear.
Snake.
Dud coyly shook his head. “I know, I know, you tried to get rid of me,” he said. “And it was a good plan, yes, it was! It worked for a little while. But you should know by now that I am not so easily discarded.”
Jill released Poppy. Poppy rubbed her arms but remained silent, and she didn't make a move to run away. Jill was captivated; Poppy didn't want to break the spell.
Plus, Poppy hadn't the first inkling of what was going on. Madame Grosholtz had said in her message candle that she had set the fire on her own. Was it all a lie? Had the Chandlers tried to get rid of her themselves?
Jill studied Dud, trying to look calm. But Poppy could tell it was an act. Jill was scared. “I didn't try to kill you,” Jill said. “I didn't set that fire.”
“Of course you didn't,” said Dud. “Preston did.”
Jill's face went slack.
“What?”
“He said . . . Oh, what did he say . . . ?” Dud said, remembering. “He said that our interests did not align, and he decided that if you two were to continue to live on, to go ahead with your plan, the only thing standing in your way was me. And so I had to go.”
“
Preston
said all of that?”
“Oh, and he said it wasn't personal.” Dud gave his hand a flighty little waveâââit looked funny on him, but it was dead-on, just as Madame Grosholtz would have done. “I beg to differ, of course,” he said with a chuckle. “In fact, I wish . . .”
He looked out over the town. Jill waited for an answer but grew impatient. “Wish what?”
“I only wish,” said Dud, “that you had consulted with me first. Before burning me up. Did it not occur to you that perhaps our interests were aligned after all?”
Jill stared at Dud. “What do you mean?”
“Your continued existence has been impressive,” Dud said, pacing slowly. “I admit that. But as you know, there were two of you, and there was only one of me. As you can see, I am still here, and I have done well for myself. So why, then, would I not want to keep living? Do you think you are the first ones to desire to overtake a town in order to secure a full population as backups? Why do you think I went along with your plan all these years?”
Jill frowned. “Wait.
You
were going toââ”
“Yes!” Dud laughedâââor, rather, Madame Grosholtz laughed, that beautifully weird tinkling of glass. “Of course I was. I only wish you'd consulted me first. We could have avoided this entire mess.”
Poppy practically heard herself hit rock bottom. She'd been duped. The stone candle was nothing but fiction. Probably planted by the Chandlers. And Dudâââ
He shook his head, amused. “Ah, well. We are here now, and it is not too late. As long as we do things my way, of course.”
Jill got suspicious all over again. “Your way?”
“Well,” Dud said, teasing, “you must admit that your way is quite foolish. Killing the girl and continuing on as you have, slowly taking over, two at a time? Poppycock.”
“You got a better idea?”
“Of course I have a better idea.
Blitzkrieg.
I am German, remember?”
“What?”
“We overrun them all at once. In one fell swoop.
Schwoop!
” Dud clapped twice, with the utmost efficiency. “One and done.”
Jill scratched her head. “But how? Weââ”
“Tell me,” Dud interrupted. “Below us, in this tank, is a duplicate of every person in town, no?”
“Yeah. Multiple duplicates for most.”
“So why not inhabit all of them, right nowâââand
invade?
”
Jill looked flabbergasted. “We can't,” she sputtered. “We need to replace them slowly enough to hide the bodies, we needââ”
“You need
me,
” said Dud, “and nothing else.”
Jill stared at her, hungry. “How?”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Dud said, wagging his finger. “I will not be making that mistake again. You agree to partner with me firstâââ
then
I will show you how. No more stabbing in the back. No more betrayals.”
Jill thought about this, working her jaw. “An invasion . . .” The fire in her eyes grew brighter. “They wouldn't be able to stop us . . .”
Dud blew a raspberry. “Those gutbags? Of course they could not. Any resistance they could scrounge together would be useless; we could overpower them in no time.”
Jill was nodding, but she still looked hesitant. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe . . .”
“Oh, no âmaybe' about it,” Dud said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It will work. Don't you remember who I am? I
made
you.” His voice became choked with emotion. “Youâââweâââhave survived all these years, in bodies that were pure works of art. That is something to be proud of. Why would I want to destroy my most glorious creations?”
Jill took a deep breath and gave a final, decisive nod.
“Okay. Let's do it.”
Dud grinned. “Excellent!” Again, the double clap of efficiency. “Into the tank, my doll, into the tank. We have work to do.”
The look Jill gave Poppy was infuriatingâââsmug, taunting, and vindictive all at once. “Told you not to trust him,” she whispered.
Tears welled up in Poppy's eyes.