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Little Richard spent much of his days holding the piggy bank upside down and shaking it to make the coin come out of the tiny slot. He had been at it for several years.
“It will come out when it wants to,” Jix told him. But that didn’t stop him from shaking the bank.
Jill, who was listening, looked at Jix doubtfully. “You talk like the coin has a mind of its own.”
“Not a mind,” Jix said. “But a purpose. Nothing exists without a purpose.”
Jill smirked. “Did the jaguar gods tell you that?”
Jix knew it was meant as an insult, but he chose not to take it as one. “No,” he answered. “My mother did.”
Jill was not impressed. In fact, she was never impressed by anything. Ever. This fact impressed Jix a great deal. At least once a day, Jill would get in Jix’s face, insisting that they leave. “We’re skinjackers, we need to skinjack,” Jill said to him one day. “Even if you don’t, I do!”
They had been there about a week, by Jix’s reckoning, although the days did blend together—especially when they couldn’t see daylight.
“You would leave Mary?” he asked Jill.
Jill looked over to the glass coffin. It sat like a centerpiece in the common room, like a diamond in the middle of its setting. While Wurlitzer was covered with a quilt, Mary’s glory remained unhidden. More and more Neons had begun to revere the beautiful girl in the green satin gown. They knew nothing of her, had read none of her writings on the nature of Everlost. She arrived here without the thunderstorm of legend that usually preceded her arrival. Yet still, these Afterlights were drawn to her.
Jill considered Mary for a moment more, then said, “I don’t owe her anything, and right now she’s useless to me.”
Jix smiled. “Self-interest suits you, verdad? But sometimes a predator needs to look further than the eyes can see.”
“What are you blathering about? More of that jaguar-god nonsense?”
“No. I’m talking about successful stalking.” He looked around, and saw that the poker kids were beginning to get louder, preparing for their daily fistfight—which included a crowd of others cheering them on. Jix took Jill to the corner farthest away, so they could not be heard. “Cats stalk with their instincts—but you and me—we stalk with our minds. The way I stalked all of you on the train.”
Jill gave him a twisted grin. “You didn’t stalk anyone—we let you stay.”
“Why?” asked Jix. Jill had no answer for him. “I’ll tell you why. Because you never saw me as a threat. And yet I was. I knew you all so well—and had earned the respect of so many of Mary’s children, I could have easily taken over the train if I wanted to.”
Jill looked a little shaken. “Was that your plan? To take over?”
“No,” he told her, then leaned in closer. “But it is now.”
* * *
The following day, one of the lookouts—a skinny kid they called Domino—came down from up above, announcing that he had been seen by a group of refugees from the train crash. Avalon was not pleased. “I should push you down myself!” Avalon yelled at him. Then he ordered the Neons to prepare for battle. “We beat them once,” he said, “and we’ll do it again. And this time, we’ll send every last one of them downtown!”
“But they’ve got a monster now,” said Domino.
“What do you mean, monster?”
“I don’t know what else to call it. I’ve never seen anything that strong. And here’s the weird part,” he said, looking around, almost afraid to say it, as if they wouldn’t believe him, “It’s made . . . of chocolate.”
Jill gasped, then pretended she hadn’t.
“It’s true!” said the lookout, and showed them the brown stains on his clothes where it had grabbed him.
“And you led it right here, didn’t you?” said Avalon in disgust.
The lookout began to stammer. “I . . . I . . . I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Imbecile!”
Up above them, in the Alamo complex, a woman screamed and an alarm began to blare. Even though living-world business meant nothing to them, today it added to the tension. The Neons were all looking to Avalon for direction, so he pulled out the one remaining coin from his pocket. “We’ll ask Wurlitzer what to do.” Everyone agreed. He strode toward the machine, tugged off the blanket, and all the Neons fell to their knees. Even Jix did, for fear of angering it, whatever it was. Jill had to be forced to her knees.
Wurlitzer’s light cast a multicolored glow around the common room, caught and refracted by the many bits of glass that made up Mary’s coffin, which sat just a few yards in front of the jukebox. It almost seemed as if her coffin was a part of Wurlitzer now: an altar before the figure of a god. Jix couldn’t help but wonder if Wurlitzer wanted it this way—that even the attention given to Mary somehow reflected back on the mystical machine.
