Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jackson
T he lift pings, its metallic throb ricocheting through the enclosed space. Muzak starts, a painfully chipper melody that makes me feel like someone is pouring treacle into my ears. We stand silently in a row, awkward, uncomfortable, and painfully aware of what's coming. Lucius is clasping and unclasping his hands before him, practically vibrating.
“I don't see why one of you can't do this?” he grumbles, his unhappy voice growing gruffer with every syllable.
Thomas coughs to cover a chuckle.
“We've been through this …” I say, gritting my teeth as I twist my head to look down at his pursed mouth. “Ginny likes you. Ginny will be more distracted by you than me. Plus, if you ask her out, she'll be so distracted that I doubt she'll even remember her own name. She's certainly been waiting long enough.”
“I don't think that's true …”
“Jeez …” Thomas grumbles. “How are we even friends?”
Lucius glares at him.
“And Thomas needs to dose the coffee. If the amount is off …”
“By even a drop.” He nods, suddenly serious.
“It won't work or will work too well.”
Lucius huffs, folding his arms tightly across his chest. More to stop the fidgeting than to halt the tantrum rising behind his flushed, puffed-out cheeks.
“And me, I need to be ready to follow Carmel. It can't look like one of us is following her. She'll suspect it. Trust me, under the colourful knitwear, her mind is a steel trap.”
“But …”
“Mate …” Thomas starts, his face failing to hold back a smirk that has Lucius glowering. “Just talk to the pretty girl you've been gawping at for decades. It was cute in the nineties. Now it's just embarrassing.”
Lucius says nothing, but I hear him huff under his breath. Thomas looks my way, and we're both fighting smiles. The plan was simple, if not exactly foolproof. I needed the Ghouls to select a different death than Millie's—I needed them to choose an alternative. And though it was wrong, though it was tearing up my insides like I'd swallowed a chainsaw, it was what I had to do to save her. The only person, other than Death, whom the Ghouls took commands from was Carmel. Thomas's little dream potion, administered at the right amount, would put Carmel in a suggestive, sleep-like state. From there, I could gently suggest she ask Victor to rewrite the death.
The fact that we needed to distract Ginny so Thomas could slip the potion into Carmel's daily morning latte and force Lucius to talk to her was just a bonus. Even if he seemed more bothered by that than risking Death's wrath …
“I still think …”
The lift jerks to a stop, and then the doors open with a tinny ping. Thomas and I storm out before Lucius can utter another excuse. Grim Grub is just off from the main atrium and already busy as we slip in through the glass doors. If Tim Burton ever designed a coffee shop, it might look a lot like this—all black and white, with peculiar skull wallpaper and mismatched furniture. A small queue of tired-looking office workers are already yawning by the counter. We linger by the food chiller, taking a long time to decide on a breakfast sandwich none of us want. My eyes dart back to the doors.
Now we're here, my stomach lurches with the reality of how badly this could go wrong. What if Thomas is spotted dropping the sand in Carmel's drink? What if he gives the wrong dose and something happens to her? My body is so tense that I feel like I could snap in half. A cold sweat dots across my forehead.
Thomas nudges me and leans down to whisper in my ear. “We've got this.”
I smile weakly up at my friend, swallowing hard. I turn to Lucius, who looks like he might throw up. His eyes fix on Ginny in pure terror. I glance back at the glass doors and then at the large silver clock hanging above the counter. I'd been following her for days, trying from a distance to get to know her routine. And luckily for me, Carmel was a creature of habit. She arrives at the same time every day. There was another thing about Carmel—she was impossible to miss. I watch as she approaches the doors, her colourful clothes gleaming through the glass before she's even walked into the cafe.
I turn to Lucius and Thomas. “You're up.”
Lucius says nothing, just glares at me, and slips into the queue, quickly followed by Thomas and me. Carmel strolls into Grim Grub, taking her place in the queue behind us. She's a burst of sunshine and colour in this monochrome space.
Grim Grub has the same layout as any other generic coffee shop, with a long counter dotted with cakes and pastries. A grand machine sputtering into hot milk and spitting out espressos behind the counter. As usual, Ginny makes the drinks while the other barista serves at the till, carefully placing the coffee at the end of the counter when they're done. After Ginny has made Carmel's latte, Lucius needs to distract her while Thomas, under the guise of picking up his own, slips Hypnos's sand into her latte. My job is to keep Carmel busy and follow her down to the Ghouls under the guise of checking out the training area again. When I think of how many things could go wrong with the timings, my temples throb.
“Jackson!” Carmel taps me on the shoulder.
Shooting her an effortless grin, I spin around. I try to ignore the tension radiating from Lucius as he glances from his feet to Ginny's pretty face. She notices and blushes; steam bursts from the milk she's heating, and she ducks down, turning even redder. These two are made for each other.
“Morning, Jax.” She beams at me. “What are you doing in so early? I don't think I've ever seen you boys before midday?” She peers at me, her face gentle but curious.
“What can I say? I want to stay on Jeanette's good side. Suspension didn't suit me. Figured I'd have another look at the training sphere again.”
She squeals. “You would be so good. Perfect for the newbies. You have that … inspiring energy, just like Death has.”
Her words are meant kindly, but they send a cold wave up my spine, and I take a moment to recover. Her face falls like she's noticed. I laugh loudly, and it seems enough for the curiosity in her eyes to fade. Ahead, Thomas is ordering our coffees, Lucius directly behind him, avoiding Ginny's inquisitive eyes.
“Thanks, Carmel. I'll follow you down. I want to know all about how Jeanette is doing. I’ve been worried about her after how things went down at the emergency meeting.”
“Oh, Jackson. You're such a good friend,” she utters, and I feel like slime.
Carmel moves to the front as Thomas and Lucius head towards the end counter, waiting for their order. She animatedly gives her coffee order to the sleepy-looking girl behind the till, and then together, we move to stand next to my friends. The air is stuffy from the crowd and, damp from steam, and strongly scented with espresso and chocolate. Ginny is handling the onyx and silver machine, which hisses loudly as it bubbles into a jug of milk. She keeps glancing back at Lucius.
“Hi, Carmel,” Thomas says brightly. “You're looking delightful this morning.”
I glare at him. Out of all of us, he seems the least affected and subtle he isn't. Carmel just laughs, her round eyes sparkling. Lucius doesn't acknowledge Carmel; he's now fixed on Ginny with an intensity that's making me think his resolve has replaced the fear.
Carmel talks to us all as we wait, her worries for Jeanette and the state of Scythe. I try to focus, but I'm distracted by everything around us. As time ticks on, the crowd waiting for their drinks thins. I watch Ginny, her nimble fingers making quick work of our drinks, shooting Lucius frequent glimpses, her dark hair tucked behind her ears. Ginny places our drinks down and calls our names. The tips of her ears turn pink when she stammers over Lucius's. Thomas and Lucius head to the counter as I keep talking to a beaming Carmel. They add sugar to my coffee and theirs, and if they're taking a little longer than needed, nobody seems to notice.
Ginny goes to work on another hot drink. The machine splutters as steam fizzes to the ceiling. She moves back to the counter, cup in hand. She glances down at Carmel's name, which is written in bright red ink on the side of the black cup. Her lips part as she's about to call the name, but Lucius, still stirring his coffee, gently touches her wrist.
“Hey, Ginny.” His voice is a little shaky. Moving sideways a little, he gently guides Ginny's eager attention away from Carmel's coffee and towards himself. I see the shift in her body as she focuses on him, leaving the coffee on the counter exposed.
“Hi, Lucius. I haven't … You haven't been here in a while. It's good to see you.” Ginny's bird-song voice quivers, matching Lucius's wavering tones. Carmel glances toward her, knowing her coffee should be the next up, but I move my body to block her view.
“So … how are the Ghouls?”
Carmel's second favourite topic after Jeanette is enough to divert her attention away. I fix a smile on my face, nodding in all the right places, but I'm concentrating on what's happening beside me. Thomas, still standing at the counter, reaches behind his back for the small vial in his pocket. He twists, and it only takes a second for him to scatter the sand into Carmel's latte and stir—Ginny's attention still on Lucius, Carmel's on me. Thomas picks up our coffees and is away in a flash.
Ginny is staring hard at Lucius's face, the expression of longing clear as daylight until the miserable barista on the till grunts loudly, waking her from the spell. Ginny flinches and peers down at the cup a little way from her hand. “Oh, wait … I better … Carmel!”
Carmel is still talking about the Ghouls when she smiles politely and cuts across the room to grab her cup. Thomas hands me my coffee, grinning a little too broadly.
“Smooth as silk,” he mutters as he passes me and then sinks down at a table near the door. I roll my eyes at his arrogance, and he smirks to himself.
“Thanks, Gin,” Carmel calls brightly as she walks back to me. “OK, well, I think I've bored you with enough Ghoul talk. Let's head to the basement, huh?”
Together, we walk out of Grim Grub. Lucius is talking animatedly to a beaming Ginny as the barista at the till glowers. I watch his body language shift as his confidence grows. Ginny laughs at a joke he's made, and his grin is the widest I've ever seen. Thomas is stirring his coffee. He raises the cup slowly in my direction, his eyebrows raised in a look of victory.
Now for the hard part …
Carmel is still talking as I follow her into the Temple, her words echoing off the walls, pillars and glass throughout the vast space. The Ghouls are at their typewriters clacking away. Paper is lining the floor, crunching under our feet. A few turn to look at me, but most don't even notice our arrival.
“Morning, babies!” Carmel calls through the room.
Carmel has a desk near the centre of the room. Kaleidoscopic flowers bloom in a vase, and the sweet scent permeates the air. She walks towards it, and I notice how her body is slowing, her movements awkward. The sudden shift is staggering. She's stumbling more than walking, slurring her words. My chest tenses as I wander forward, following her. The sand is working. She sinks into her chair, and I see her weary face.
“And I thought coffee was supposed to wake you up …” She laughs, but then her face drops. She can sense something is wrong. “Maybe Ginny gave me decaf by mistake again …” Her words drift as she leans forward on the desk, her eyes dropping.
“Are you OK, Carmel?” I move closer. It occurs to me now that I don't really know what's about to happen. Thomas described it as a sleep-like state of suggestibility, but what the hell did that mean?
“I feel … I don't think … Jackson?” She looks at me one more time, her eyes narrow slits, her lips parted in confusion. And then she drops.
I launch forward, my hands catching her head before it smashes into the table. My heart thrashes hard. I glance around, spotting her shawl draped across the back of her chair. I bundle it up with my spare hand and slip it under her head. She groans as she shifts in her chair, instinctively getting comfortable, curling her body tighter. Around us, the Ghouls keep typing, unaware or uncaring about what is happening.
“Carmel?”
“Mmm,” she mumbles, her breathing slowing and growing heavy.
I bend down on my haunches till I'm close to her face. “Carmel? Carmel, I need you to do something for me. I need you to ask Victor to retype a death.”
“Ugh.” Carmel's lips part, and a strange sound emits, but nothing else. Her deep breathing causes the papers on her desk to flutter.
Shit.
“Carmel?”
Nothing. Her breathing deepens until she snores loudly, a noise loud enough to make some of the closest Ghouls glance in our direction.
“Carmel?” I hiss, but nothing. Carmel isn’t in any kind of state. She’s asleep—pure and simple.
Grunting, I stand upright, cursing Thomas under my breath. He'd given too high a dose. All that planning was for nothing. My fists ball at my side, and the aching in my temples returns. I hadn't saved Millie. She was still going to die. Fear was turning into an iron knot in my stomach. Without Carmel, I couldn't do this. Closing my eyes, I run my fingers through my hair, willing my brain to work. To think of a solution.
When I open them, I realise every Ghoul is staring at me. Just like before. The air has changed. It's charged, and that electricity is running through me too. The Ghouls are still typing, but their attention is fixed on me. It's slow, not the same as the ravens, almost as if they're resisting me, but I feel them. I sense the threads of energy grow out of me, travel throughout the room, connecting me and every Ghoul. Their resentful eyes, their dark sockets that reveal nothing and everything, glare into me.
I don't need Carmel. I can command the Ghouls.
I swallow hard, my legs suddenly feeling weak. Controlling the ravens was one thing. The Ghouls are something else altogether. How was this happening? The thought ricochets around my head, but I don't have time to pick at it. I don't know, and right now, it doesn't matter. I ignore my fear, the icy doubt creeping under my skin, and step away from Carmel's desk.
“Victor?” I say his name, and the other Ghouls all turn away from me, their attention back on their typewriters.
Victor, perched at a desk in a deep corner of the room, watches me resentfully. He tilts his head curiously, like a bird. I stride toward him, and he continues to stare. My footsteps and the clacking sound of the typewriters are too loud. My head roars. I stand before him, looking down at his slight frame.
I shouldn't be able to do this. Only Carmel and Death can do this. My heart pounds violently. Fear and uncertainty clash inside me. I try to pull myself back to calm, back to still waters and remember why I'm here. I'm here for her. Even so, everything in me screams.
“Victor? I need your help. I need you to right a wrong …” My words are uttered carefully, and he watches me. Judgment radiates from his bony face. I slip the page from my pocket, Millie's page. “She wasn't supposed to die. I need you to fix this …”
He stares at me, knowing I'm lying, but it doesn't matter. I'm holding him tight. Just like the ravens, he's on an invisible cord, and he has no choice but to follow the way I pull it. He snarls at me but twists in his seat back towards the antique typewriter. His bony fingers hover over the keys, and then he turns to me in questioning. I don't need words to know what he's asking.
If not Millie Nightingale, then who?
I lean over him, my mouth close to his ear, and whisper the name I'd chosen from the list of alternatives. Saying the name out loud is like a punch to the gut, but that's just another sensation to ignore right now. I send the command through the force that tethers us. He pulls and tugs against me, knowing this is wrong, knowing he's ignoring the plan. But he can't let go; he can't resist. It's like the Ghoul is under my skin. It's an unpleasant sensation for us both.
I smile as he types. Feeling victorious, but then my body freezes. I gasp, panting hard, trying and failing to get the air back in my lungs. I'm still leaning over his shoulder, standing close to the Ghoul and his desk. I'm peering into the rusting metal of the typewriter, but it's not my face I see in the reflection. No familiar dark hair, or grey eyes, or human flesh—it's a stripped-of-flesh ivory skull. Through the pale contours and dark crevices, the face of the Grim Reaper reveals itself on the dull metal, staring back at me.