Everwild (25 page)

As they gathered, Nick stood patiently with an impatient Zin. Johnnie-O and Charlie provided security, keeping space between them and the curious crowd.

“If things get out of hand, do I got permission to knock some heads?” Johnnie-O asked.

“Absolutely not,” Nick told him.

“You're no fun,” he grumbled.

When all of Atlanta was there, Isaiah came up to Nick. “Do I introduce you as Nick, Nicholas, or the Chocolate Ogre?”

Nick's instinct was to simply go by Nick, plain and simple—but if Mary was the Sky Witch, how could he
hope to be taken seriously if he was just “Nick”?

“Go with the Ogre,” he told Isaiah. Mary had invented the name as a smear tactic. Well, it was time he used it to his advantage.

Isaiah raised his hand to get everyone's attention, and in a few moments the murmuring crowd quieted down. “Hey y'all, everybody,” he said, in an informal, yet commanding voice. “This here is the Chocolate Ogre, as I'm sure you already know. I've checked him out, and he's okay. He wants to talk to you, so listen up—and don't make him mad, or he'll turn you into chocolate chips or something.”

Nick cleared his throat twice. He was nervous, and whenever he was nervous his throat clogged with chocolate.

“Afterlights of Atlanta,” Nick began. “I come in friendship … and to prove it, I would like to present to you Zinnia the Ripper!”

“Zinnia?” said some kid in the crowd. “Like the flower?”

“Shut yer trap!” said Zin.

Nick pushed on. “I know you've all heard bad things about the ripper—just like you've heard bad things about me. Well, I'm here to set you straight. The ripper's not going to rip anyone's guts out—”

“I could if I wanted to,” said Zin, and Kudzu seconded it with a bark and growl.

“Right,” Nick said, throwing her a secret scowl. “But the ripper uses her powers for good.” Nick took a moment to let that sink in, then he continued. “We all know that there aren't many things that cross into Everlost—and when things do cross, they get picked up by finders, who charge
an arm and a leg for everything. Well, forget about finders— because if there's something you want, the ripper can get it for you!”

Nick knew he was sounding like an infomercial, but at least he had their undivided attention. He glanced to Isaiah, whose arms were folded, not yet impressed by the show.

“I need a volunteer!” Nick said.

No one came forward at first, then a young girl was pushed out in front by her friends. She looked terrified. Johnnie-O escorted her the rest of the way, and she stared bug-eyed at his huge hand which was gripping her elbow.

“Don't worry,” Nick said to the girl quietly, “this is a
good
thing.” Then he spoke loudly enough for the crowd to hear. “Tell me something you're longing for. Something you truly feel you deserve, that you've never had here in Everlost.”

The girl looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. “A hot fudge sundae?”

Zin laughed. “Y'already got one! He's standing right in front a' ya!”

Only Charlie and Johnnie-O laughed. Everyone else was waiting for Nick to turn Zin into a pile of chocolate chips. Nick turned to Isaiah. “Where in
living
Atlanta could we find a hot fudge sundae?”

“I know just the place.”

Isaiah led them to the World of Coca-Cola, one of Atlanta's biggest tourist attractions—a veritable cathedral of carbonated caffeination. Inside was a restaurant that featured all things Coca-Cola—such as ice-cream floats made with Coke instead of root beer, and Coke syrup sundaes.

The crowd of Afterlights followed Isaiah, Nick, and Zin
right through the outer wall, and into the café. The place was packed with the living—there was a field trip of students all in neon yellow shirts laying siege to the counter, and ice cream was being dished up by four soda jerks who couldn't move fast enough.

“The ripper will now ecto-rip a sundae right before your very eyes!” said Nick, sounding like a carnival barker, and enjoying it.

The crowd of Afterlights all craned their necks to see, and shifted their feet to keep from sinking. The effect was a weird bobbing of several hundred heads.

Nick zeroed in on a silver bowl that had just been filled with three scoops of strawberry ice cream. The soda-jerk was about to douse it in Coke syrup, proving that some combinations really ought to be illegal.

“Quick,” he said to Zin, “rip it before it's too late.”

Zin shoved her ripping-hand forward into the living world, and the crowd of Afterlights buzzed with excitement. In one smooth move, Zin grabbed the ice-cream bowl, and tugged it out of the living world into Everlost. The soda jerk never saw it happen—and when he emptied his syrup ladle, Coke syrup spilled all over the marble counter. He looked at the counter for a moment in dumb confusion, then he glanced at the other soda jerks and said, “Okay, who's the joker?”

“It just disappeared!” said a living redheaded kid sitting at the counter in front of him. “It disappeared right into thin air! A hand reached out of nowhere and took it!”

“Shut up, Ralphy,” said the kid next to him, and that was that. The soda jerk sighed, and made another sundae,
not caring enough about the mystery to unravel it.

Zin, with the ripped bowl of ice cream in her hands, held it out to the girl, who was already licking her lips.

“No,” said Nick. “Not yet.”

Then he held his hand over the ice cream, squeezed his hand into a fist, and dribbled a hefty amount of chocolate over the ice cream.

“Ew!” shouted several voices in the crowd, sounding both delighted and disgusted at the same time.

“There,” Nick said. “A hot fudge sundae.”

The girl and her friends didn't wait for spoons to be ripped—they devoured it with their hands.

“So,” said Isaiah, “the Chocolate Ogre isn't a monster … he's a thief.”

Nick didn't deny it. He had thought long and hard about what it meant to rip things from the living world, but he ultimately decided that the needs of Everlost outweighed the needs of the living. “Ever hear of Robin Hood?” he said to the crowd, as much as to Isaiah.

“Sure—he robbed from the rich and gave to the poor.”

“Well,” said Nick, “the living are rich, whether they know it or not. The way I see it, we deserve a small share of the world that was stolen from us.”

Isaiah didn't say he agreed, but he didn't disagree, either.

“Okay,” said Nick. “Who's next?”

Almost every hand went up, with shouts of “Me! Me! Me!”

Nick turned to Isaiah. “Get me a list of ten reasonable requests, and we'll see what we can do.”

* * *

Nick counted on Isaiah to weed out the needy from the greedy, and Nick wasn't disappointed.

“About half of them wanted you to rip them a pet,” Isaiah said, when he brought the list of requests to the parlor car. He glanced at Kudzu, who had busied himself licking the chocolate off everything in sight—poison for a living dog, but not a problem for an Afterlight canine.

“I was worried that might happen,” Nick said. “What did you tell them?”

“I told them that ripping dogs and cats right out of their lives wouldn't be right.”

“I only done it once,” Zin told him, glancing at Nick a little sheepishly. “Kudzu here was bein' beaten by his owner. Had to save him from that, and rippin' him was the only way.”

Hearing his name, the dog came over, and rolled onto his back, waiting for a belly rub. Isaiah obliged. “Beatin' a dog! You shoulda ripped his owner's heart clear out while you were at it.”

“I did!” said Zin. Then she waffled. “Well, I almost did. I mean, I woulda done it, but the dog was watchin'. Couldn't let him see that, could I?”

Kudzu purred like a kitten as Isaiah rubbed his belly. “Sure is one funny-lookin' pooch.” Then he stood up and handed Nick the list. “Here you go—ten reasonable requests. Let's see what the girl can do.”

The requests that Isaiah passed along were all well-chosen, and although it took some time, they were doable. A saxophone and a guitar for two kids who hadn't played
since the day they each crossed over. The sixth Harry Potter book, which, for some reason, was the only one that never crossed into Everlost. A Bible—which often did cross—but the request was for one in Portugese. Zin ripped an art set for a girl who had brushes, but no paint, a big sixty-four box of Crayolas for the younger kids, and a pair of glasses for a kid whose eyesight was as bad in Everlost as it was in life. The remaining requests were for desperately needed sports equipment. Nick was surprised that Isaiah didn't pass along any more food orders, but as it turned out, Isaiah had his reasons.

Once all ten requests had been fulfilled, Isaiah called Nick in for a private meeting. Isaiah's quarters were comfortable but modest, behind an unassuming storefront in Underground Atlanta. He lived no better than any of the kids in his care, although he did have a bit more room. There was a bed that was probably just for show, since most Afterlights—especially leaders—didn't sleep. There was a Formica table from the 1950s, an orange leather sofa probably from the seventies, and several fragile-looking round-backed chairs that looked like something Nick's grandmother might have owned. Nick made a mental note to have Zin rip Isaiah a respectable furniture set.

Nick sat on the sofa, figuring it would be the least likely to be left with permanent chocolate stains, and Isaiah sat across from him in one of the grandma chairs.

“I've let you have your fun,” Isaiah said. “Now I want to know what you want from us.”

Nick knew there was a fine line between a gift and a bribe. He could only hope that he was still on the right side
of that line. “I would have ripped all those things for your Afterlights, without getting anything in return,” he told Isaiah. “But you're right—there are a couple of things I'd like to ask you for.”

“You can ask,” said Isaiah, “but it doesn't mean I'm gonna give.”

Nick cleared his throat so that his speech lost that thick chocolatey tone. “First I need information. I need to know about other Afterlights in other towns and cities in the South. I need numbers if you have them, and what those Afterlights are like—are they friends or enemies? Are they easy to deal with, or should they be avoided? You know— that kind of thing.”

“Fine,” said Isaiah. “I'll tell you what I know about the South.” The chair creaked as Isaiah leaned back in it. “But that's not all you want, is it?”

Nick took a moment. This one wouldn't be as easy. He tried to sit up as straight as he could in the low-slung sofa, and looked Isaiah in the eye.

“I'd like fifty of your Afterlights.”

Isaiah's expression became so stony, the features of his face actually seemed changed. “They're not for sale,” he growled.

“No—that's not what I mean.” Nick said. “Mary Hightower is a threat to all of us, and I can guarantee you that she's building an army. Which means I need to build one too. So I'm asking you for fifty volunteers. Only those who want to go—I don't want to force anyone.”

Isaiah took his time to think about it. “I don't like it,” he said. “I don't like it one bit … but I do get the feeling that
living under the Sky Witch would be a whole lot worse.”

Nick leaned forward. “Will you do it, then? Will you ask for volunteers?”

“If I give it my blessing, you'll get your volunteers,” Isaiah said. “But it's gonna take more than ‘ten reasonable requests,' from the Ripper to get my blessing.”

“All right, then—what?”

What Isaiah asked for was a feast. A Christmas feast for his entire vapor, regardless of the fact that it was the summer. Nick supposed that in a timeless world, each day could be whatever day you wanted it to be.

“Everyone knows how hard it is to find food that's crossed over,” Isaiah pointed out. “You saw how they acted when they saw that ice cream. Coulda had a riot if I wasn't there to keep the peace.” Isaiah indicated a little jar in the corner that held just one unbroken fortune cookie. “Mostly we get those damn fortune cookies—and when it's a bad fortune, no one'll even eat the crumbs.”

“So,” asked Nick, who knew more than anyone that every Everlost fortune was true, “was your last fortune a good one, or a bad one?”

Isaiah raised his eyebrows. “At first I thought it was bad, but maybe it's turning halfway decent.”

“What did it say?”

Isaiah gave him the slightest hint of a grin. “It said
‘Embrace the bittersweet'
.”

The feast took some time to arrange, and since all the ripping effort was Zin's, it exhausted her—but she was a trooper.
Nick had her rip a smorgasbord of edible items from dozens upon dozens of restaurants, markets, and homes.

“Why cain't I go to some big ole' banquet hall,” Zin asked, “and rip all the food from there?”

“That would be easier,” Nick admitted, “but it would also be obnoxious. If we have to steal hundreds of meals from the living, we should spread it out—so that no one feels the cost of what they've lost.”

It was obvious that Zin cared little for the living and their loss. The concept of “responsible ripping” was foreign to her. Fortunately, in her many years in Everlost, her designs were never so grand that her ripping created major problems for the living. Unless you count all the missing artillery.

In the end, Zin did what she was told, and asked if this earned her a raise in her military rank. Nick told her a good soldier never asks.

It took three days, working round the clock, to rip enough food to feed the Afterlights of Atlanta, but it was worth the effort. Nick had to admit, when they gathered for the meal, he'd never seen a group of Afterlights so joyful and so content. Whether he got his militia or not, he was glad to have done this.