repeatedly taunted and prodded.
“Funny war paint you got,” they said to Jix.
“It’s not paint,” he proudly told them. “I am a son of the jaguar gods.”
“Stop that,” Jill whispered to him. “The ‘jaguar god’ stuff is getting old.”
Jix whispered back, “If only one in five believe me, that’s more than twenty who’ll be afraid to fight me when we try to escape.”
Jix looked around to see if there might be an escape route. There were several other doorways, leading to other rooms, or tunnels. Until he knew where they led, there was no sense trying to run. At the far end of the room, Jix noticed a large object covered by a flowery quilt. It was about four feet high with a rounded top. He couldn’t imagine what it might be.
“We have two coins!” Avalon announced to his warriors, tapping his shirt pocket to make sure they were still there. The Neons cheered. Then Avalon gave Jix and Jill an unpleasant Oreo smile. “If it was up to me, I’d lock you both in the old storeroom and forget about you for a year or two-but it ain’t my decision to make.”
“I thought you were the leader,” Jix said.
Avalon shook his head. “No, I’m the high priest.”
Jill gave him her best diminishing look. “You don’t look like much of a priest.”
Avalon made a sudden move as if to slap her with the back of his hand, but he didn’t do it. He was only trying to make her flinch. Jill, however, never flinched at anything.
Then Jix locked eyes with him and said very calmly, “If you hit her, I will open my mouth wide enough to swallow you whole, force you through my bowels, then out my other end.”
Avalon scowled at him. “You can’t do that.”
“Try me,” Jix said. Avalon backed off, then angrily stormed away, and Jix winked at Jill. “One in five.”
They watched as the rest of the Neons stood at attention and Avalon went toward the blanket-covered object in the front of the room.
“What is it?” Jill whispered.
“An altar, I think,” said Jix. Then Avalon got down on his knees, and the minute he did all the others knelt as well.
“On your knees!” ordered one of the guards, forcing Jix and Jill down.
Then Avalon removed the blanket.
There were many unusual objects in Everlost, with unusual properties. While there were things that had crossed that had made Jix raise an eyebrow, there was nothing as strange as the object beneath the blanket. He wasn’t surprised that it had crossed-what was bizarre was how it was being used.
The object was an old-fashioned jukebox. Jix had seen them before in the restaurants and bars that tourists visited. The old ones used small vinyl records to play music; the new ones had CDs or digital files, but still were made to look old. This was the real thing: a classic round-topped machine built in the 1950s with lots of chrome and neon-red, yellow, and green-the same colors as their war paint.
“Now I’ve seen everything,” said Jill, and one of the guards shook her. “No talking once Wurlitzer is revealed!”
The device, which did bear the company name “Wurlitzer” sat patiently waiting for someone to select a song. But of course, the songs were not free.
“Mighty Wurlitzer, we beseech thee,” chanted Avalon. “Answer us what we ask.”
“Oh, brother,” mumbled Jill, and was shaken again.
Avalon deposited an Everlost coin into the slot. It rattled down into the machine’s mechanism and jangled as it dropped into the coin box. Then he asked his question. “What shall we do with these two prisoners?” Then he pressed a selection button.
Wurlitzer whirred and spun through a number of records.
“How fair is it,” Jix said to his guard, “if he gets to choose the song?”
“Don’t matter what he chooses. Wurlitzer’s got a mind of its own.”
The jukebox finally settled on a song, and through its little window, Jix could see a 45 vinyl record lifted up and dropped on the turntable. The needle moved toward it, the record popped and clicked, and an old crooner’s voice began to sing:
“Please release me, let me go…”
The crowd breathed a singular moan and Avalon turned to them. “Silence!” he shouted, as pompously as he could. “Wurlitzer has spoken.”
The guards immediately removed Jix’s and Jill’s bonds.
“I’m glad Wurlitzer didn’t play ‘Fly Me to the Moon,’” said Jill.
As the song continued, Avalon came up to both of them. “I suppose Wurlitzer doesn’t care about keeping you until we get your stupid bucket of coins,” he said. “You’re not important enough to him.”
“How do you know it’s a ‘he’?” Jill asked snidely.
“Shows how little you know,” Avalon said. “For your information Wurlitzer can be a boy or a girl. It all depends on who’s singing.”
When the song ended, Avalon covered the jukebox and the warriors went about their normal business of entertaining themselves much the way Mary’s children had-but the Neons’ games and conversations were wilder and ruder.
Avalon, resigned to Wurlitzer’s decree, said, “All right then, you’re free to go.”
And to Jill’s absolute horror Jix said, “I prefer to stay.”
“What?!”
“You go if you want,” Jix told her. “I want to learn the way of Wurlitzer.”
“Tell me you’re joking.”
“I don’t joke like that.”
Avalon smiled broadly, exposing what looked like railroad tracks in mud. “You want to be one of us?”
Jix didn’t answer, but Avalon took his silence as acceptance. “All right, then! You won’t regret it.” He looked back at the blanket-covered jukebox. “See? There was a reason why Wurlitzer chose to let you go. It was because he knew you would stay.” He looked at Jill, in mild disgust, then pointed to one of the guards. “You-take her upstairs and throw her out.”
“No!” said Jill, clearly furious at Jix. “I guess I can stay for a while. I mean, it’s not like I’ve got anywhere better to go, right?”
“All right then,” said Avalon. “But you don’t get war paint until you prove yourself worthy.”
Jackin’ Jill was not a good girl. She was not a nice girl. In life she had been a constant source of trouble to her family, and was even more trouble as a skinjacker. She always thought her parents would see her coma as a blessing to them, and wondered why they hadn’t just pulled the plug years ago.
Whether or not her sociopathic streak was hardwired or was a reaction to the harsh realities around her, she didn’t know and didn’t care. She liked doing bad stuff. She was bad. That’s what she was always told, and so she had embraced it.
Reaping souls from the living had begun as a way of maintaining status in the inner circle. First in Pugsy Capone’s Chicago, and then for Mary-dear, sweet, goody-two-shoes Mary Hightower, who loved all children, and wanted to protect her widdle babies from the big bad world, by having Jill reap them into Everlost.
Jill didn’t know why she enjoyed reaping. All she knew was that there was an exhilaration in doing something so horribly wrong, and yet being rewarded for it. She would never admit that she had mixed feelings about it. She was good at it, and when her conscience tried to rear its ugly head, she would smack it back down, reminding herself that her only worth was in what she could do.
And then along came this feline freak, who cut through all of it every time he opened his lousy mouth, and made her see herself in a new light. Jix called her a huntress-and said that there was nothing wrong with it, nothing evil. All she had to do was leave the path she was on, and find a better, nobler path for her tendencies. No one had ever suggested that there could be anything remotely redeeming about her. Did he really believe it?
Jill cornered Jix in a saddle room where half the saddles were crumbling to dust and the other half had crossed into Everlost. It was just one of many hidden chambers in the old Alamo tunnels.
“What were you thinking?” she demanded, pushing him against the wall. “You want to stay here with these nut jobs?”
