The Secret Dead (London Bones Book 1) (31 page)

62

I was hungry. Not ravenous. Not yet, but hungry. And I didn’t want a sandwich. Everything I’d thought about zombie hunger was wrong. The slim packages in Malcolm’s freezer were wrong. I didn’t want neat squares of meat. I didn’t want meat the way humans want animal meat. I didn’t want human steak, with maybe a little brain thrown in. I wanted the lot. Toes, ankles, genitalia, ears, and noses.

I stood in the bathroom and stared into the mirror, trying to find the part of me that found the thought disgusting. It was missing.

Another option occurred to me. I could go do the graveyard thing. It would be risky. Graveyards are patrolled. And the ghosts would be happy to give me up. The prospect of a zompocalypse holds little entertainment value. Who’d change the movie projector at the Graveyard Theatre?

‘And I don’t want to eat human slime,’ I said aloud. Except I did. I did very much.

It would mean no murdering. No death by fire. The pit was a risk, but not if I was careful. I had an answer.

A tap sounded at the bathroom door. Lorraine’s voice followed. ‘Vivia, sweetie? Are you all right?’

I took a deep breath and opened the door. ‘Yes, I’m...’
Fine
, I was going to say. I was going to say I was fine, but I couldn’t because Lorraine wasn’t herself.

She was a candyman version—a fat dumpling made of sugar-flavoured red flesh and white marbling, and I understood human slime wasn’t really an option. From now on, everyone I knew was food. It was only a matter of time before I gave in and ate.

‘Are you okay? You’re giving me ever such a funny look.’

I mentally shook myself. ‘I’m fine.’ I gave her what I hoped was an innocent smile, but as anyone over the age of three knows, that only makes you look guiltier. ‘I hate to do this to you, but could you take Sigrid for a bit longer? I have something I really need to do.’

‘Sure, sweetie. As long as it involves going to the doctor. You really don’t look well.’

‘I know. I’m going to fix it.’ I risked another glance at her. She still looked edible, but she was also the woman to whom I owed an enormous debt. I’d still be stuck in my room if it weren’t for Lorraine. I wouldn’t have had my job if I also had to look after Sigrid during the day. No amount of checking on Lorraine’s dead husband made up for the time she gave me. I bit back tears. ‘I don’t say thank you enough. What would I do without you?’

She gave me a worried look. ‘I know you and Stan don’t always get on, but he’s going to be all right. He’s a tough old coot, and fairy bites aren’t usually serious.’

I gave her a weak smile.

She smiled back at me, ‘I don’t know how that fairy got in. Maybe the cat flap. I’ll pop into Tesco’s and pick up some repellent.’

‘Thanks. I’ve got to go out. I’ll... text you when I know what’s happening.’

I felt her gaze on me as I walked across the landing to my bedroom. I dressed for a funeral in smart black jeans and a black silk shirt. I brushed my hair into an up do I usually save for special occasions. Just because you’re going to burn doesn’t mean you shouldn’t look your best. Besides, this was going to be my outfit for all eternity.

And the things that were important to me? The key around my neck and two photos. One of me and Sigrid as children, the other of my friends at the Lipscombe. I folded them and tucked them into the back pocket of my jeans. I packed my laptop into my backpack.

I kissed Sigrid goodbye, but aware of Lorraine’s worried eyes on me, I didn’t cry. Then I put on my coat, grabbed the keys to Stanley’s van and left my home for the last time.

63

I drove around the corner and parked illegally on a double yellow line. Ticket? Nobody’d be collecting where I was going. I flipped open my laptop and, just as I’d hoped, managed to log on to the home Wi-Fi.

I spent five minutes tapping out an email to Obe, letting him know where to find my will and trying to explain what had happened. I spent a little longer figuring out how to set a timer delay on sending it out.

It took longer to write out the email to Dunne. I didn’t mention my impending zombiehood, but otherwise I left nothing out. I liked Jillie, but I was convinced she’d been the one to murder Berenice. She could have been telling the truth about Ben and the rabbit meat, but it made no sense to me. Annie knew nothing about it, and Ben had been in London almost two weeks before Christmas. Berenice had still been alive on Christmas Eve, and Jillie had also lied about seeing Berenice on Christmas Day. She’d been the only one home long enough to dismember Berenice’s body—when Malcolm took Finn out to the park.

I recalled the worried look Samson had given me when I’d visited Carapace, and the ground that at the time I’d thought had been disturbed by his shifter clients. I was willing to bet Dunne would find Berenice’s bones there. Poor Berenice. Dead for nothing. I wondered how Jillie had intended to tell her husband and what he would have said.

I wrote out everything I knew about Alister Brannick and added the new mobile number he’d put at the bottom of the note. I detailed my trip to the ZDC in the world of the dead, leaving out the bite, and explained what I’d seen of Rosa’s death.

When I couldn’t think of anything else, I set the timer on the email and shut the laptop down. I couldn’t procrastinate any longer.

I turned my mobile over in my fingers a few times before I found the courage to scroll to Patricia Stull’s number. She answered after a couple of rings.

‘Pat, it’s Vivia.’

‘Hello, was the spreadsheet helpful?’

I’d forgotten about that. ‘Yes, thanks.’ My mouth was too dry. I swallowed. ‘Pat, I need a favour. I need to know which crematoriums accept zombies.’

There was silence. ‘Why?’

I considered lying, then thought better of it. What would be the point? ‘It’s for me. I died about an hour ago. For good.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ She paused then said, ‘There are other options, you know.’

‘None I want.’

‘I have contacts. In the morgues. No one has to be hurt.’

I thought of how delicious Lorraine had looked. ‘I’ll end up hurting someone, Pat. I know I will. I don’t want to do it, but I can’t see another option.’

She sighed. ‘If you’re sure. I usually send people to Putney Vale, but our man there is still in prison. I’ll have to make a few phone calls.’

‘Thanks, Pat.’

I sat in the van and waited. Outside, the world seemed so ordinary. My stomach rumbled. I jumped when the phone rang.

‘How long can you last?’ Patricia asked.

‘Maybe a day at most. I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.’ I caught a note of hysteria in my voice.

‘I’ve got someone who can do it, but he’s on holiday. He can be back in six hours.’

‘Okay. Yes. Please ask him to come back.’

She gave me the address. I jotted it down on the back of an old invoice I found on the passenger seat. ‘Thanks, Patricia.’

‘Of course. Let me know if you change your mind.’

‘I won’t.’

I sat back on the leather seat. Six hours. That was six hours to back out. Six hours to lose my nerve. Six hours to kill. But not literally.

I turned the keys in the ignition. I couldn’t do anything more for Sigrid, but I still owed Malcolm. I’d sent him to the pit instead of the quick fiery death he’d wanted. And he hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t murdered anyone. At the very least, I could check his son was okay.

It was daytime. It wasn’t raining. There was more traffic and my reasons for the drive were very different, but as I followed the route to John Line Terrace I couldn’t help remembering driving this route only a few days earlier after hearing Malcolm was dead.
Thank God
, I’d thought. What a bitch.

I parked on the side of the road opposite Moses’s house and stared at the front door. It was open just a crack—enough for me to see that something wasn’t right. No Londoner leaves their front door open long enough to do anything other than slip inside.

I closed the van door quietly and approached, silent as a cockroach. I nudged the door open with my foot.

The hallway was dim, but the body lying in it was easily identifiable by its shock of grey hair, now soaked with dark blood that pooled under Moses’ body and across the tiled floor to meet the skirting on both sides of the corridor. His right hand was curled around something, half-hidden beneath his body. I tiptoed forward and nudged him with my foot. He held Adam Brannick’s charm bracelet in a death grip. Was the killer Adam? He’d only been fifteen. A fifteen-year-old who’d witnessed his father killing his mother, I thought. A fifteen-year-old with a talent for magic. Was that why he’d wanted to find Ben? Not concern for his cousin, but concern for what he might know?

The floorboards in the room above creaked, and I looked up. Another creak, and then quiet. My stomach lurched. I quelled it. I was already dead. No one could kill me.

I stood at the bottom of the stairs, cocking my head and listening, but there was nothing to hear.

It would be a fairly stupid murderer to hang around in the house with his murder victim instead of getting as far from the body as possible before someone discovered them. I thought of the partially open front door. The clever murderer would shut that behind him, instead of leaving his victim’s body where it could be viewed from the road. You don’t get away with murder for so long by being careless. I considered calling in the police. It could be Alister up there, come to check on Ben instead of calling 999 like I’d advised.

Or it could be the person who had locked Drew Gillies in the boot of a car for over a decade, left a woman to die in a suitcase, and stamped on a toddler. I kept my mouth shut.

I climbed the stairs slowly, armed with nothing more than my handy ability to fall down dead.

The stairs creaked with each step, giving away my presence with each footfall. There were two doors on the landing at the top. One to my left and one to my right. Both were closed and painted an anonymous white. The landing was dark, the dim winter light from below not enough to brighten up the space without assistance.

I clicked the light on my phone and shone it at each door. At the bottom of the one to the left was something dark and sticky—more blood. A small movement in the corner of the landing caught my eye. I shone the phone towards it. Curled in the corner was a quivering green snake.

I mouthed ‘help me’ at it and made a beckoning gesture.

It shook its head. It shivered from head to tail then, fast as light, shot off down the stairs.

I watched him go. He smelled of snake—dry and sharp. His flesh would taste nutty. I shook my head then stopped and listened again; I heard nothing, but I could swear the dark listened back.

I switched the light off on my phone. Then I pushed the door open slowly. The curtains were closed, and the room was dim. I reached to my right to feel for the light switch. The room flooded with light.

Blood covered everything.

It seemed like too much for a single human, but there was only one red-soaked body in the room—Ben Brannick lying on the bed on his stomach, his eyes open and staring. The damage to his back wasn’t just the missing wings. It looked as if someone had taken a knife to it and cut him to pieces in neat strips. I took in an involuntary breath. The metallic odour of blood seared into my nostrils, along with the scent of camphor.

This was the reason the murderer had stayed here. Another soul spell, but reality hadn’t changed, as far as I could see. The truths of Rosa and Leslie’s deaths hadn’t been replaced with a fuzzy accidental version. The spell wasn’t complete.

Someone grabbed me by the neck and pulled me backwards, but my light zombie body must have slipped back faster than my attacker expected because the knife only skidded along my rib cage instead of sticking straight in.

Light and strong as a spider web, I turned under his arms and bared my sharpened teeth at my attacker. It was Adam Brannick. He was covered in Ben’s blood, but the blood wasn’t splattered. It was neatly painted onto this naked body, which was covered in symbols and runes. He had to be close to completing the spell. In a matter of minutes it wouldn’t matter. No one would remember any of this.

I shoved him across the room. He shot away and landed with a meaty thump on the body of the winged boy.

Adam scowled at me and raised his arms up. ‘I’m not going to prison, hag, and neither is my father. It’s too late. No matter what you do.’

He began muttering an incantation at me. I have a mild magic immunity, but nothing that would withstand a full-blown curse. I hurled myself across the room towards him and did the only thing I could.

I grabbed him with both arms and hugged him tight. And when I died, I took him with me.

64

The world was awash with blood. It sloshed around my knees, covered the walls, and dripped from the ceiling.

Wet blood covered both of us. Adam was heavy and slippery in my arms. I let go, and he fell into the blood, limbs flailing.

Dead Ben sat on the bed with a look of confusion on his face, his soul thin and tired. A patchwork of thin knife slices covered his skin. I lurched over to him, lukewarm blood sloshing around my ankles.

‘Ben?’

He raised his head slowly at the sound of my voice, but there was little recognition in his brown eyes.

I glanced back at Adam. He knelt with his hands and knees in the blood. He shook his head back and forth, disorientated. Tiny points of light jumped and flickered across his skin—the stolen soul trying to reconnect with what was left of it in its original body.

Adam shivered, teeth clenched with the effort of keeping it all inside. He muttered something under his breath—an incantation. I threw myself back across the room at him. If he managed to get the soul spell out, it would use up the power he had... and any chance for Ben to get the rest of his soul back.

I slammed my hand onto his mouth, anything to disrupt the incantation. He grabbed me by the ankle, pulled me down into the blood, and held me there. Blood filled my nose, my mouth. The world turned red. I choked.

I tried reaching out, but Adam had my arms pinned behind my back and was keeping them there with all of his stolen power.

I could hear him saying something above my head, but my ears were filled with blood and it was too muffled for me to hear it.

And then he let go.

His whole body disappeared from view. Other than haggery, soul magic is probably the only thing that could propel you to the living world from the underworld, and all I could think was that my body was there now, vulnerable.

I got to my knees, coughing. Ben was gone from the bed. I turned around. The boy stood by the blood-painted door, as did Adam.

I staggered towards them, but on my second step, Ben plunged both his hands into Adam’s chest. Adam retched. Ben solidified as I watched, his body gaining in strength as his soul poured back.

Adam’s hands rose and tightened around Ben’s neck. Ben pulled his hands out of his murderer’s chest and dug at Adam’s fingers, which were stuck fast. The boy made a choking sound.

I stumbled towards them, seized Adam around the waist, and pulled. He didn’t let go. I hammered blows down on Adam’s head, but he was still at least half-full of borrowed power and the beating had no effect. Ben’s eyes rolled back in his head. His body went limp and dropped to the floor. Adam turned to me. I took a step back.

Meaty arms grabbed Adam from behind. Leslie Brannick stood in the doorway, hugging her nephew to her in a tight embrace. Adam wriggled, but his arms were pinned to his side.

Moses Ogunwale, identifiable by his dandelion hair, now matted and bright red with blood, stood behind her, shuffling from foot to foot and anxious to get in. Leslie propelled herself further through the door. Moses followed.

The man behind him was someone I didn’t expect: Malcolm. He grabbed Adam around the head and pulled. Moses seized Adam’s waist as Leslie loosened her grip slightly. She seized Adam’s forearms. It was only when the limbs detached from his body that I realised what they were doing. I looked away as Adam’s victims pulled him apart and waited for the sticky sound to stop.

I’m not sure what I expected to see when I looked up, but I didn’t expect to see Adam’s body parts sticking out of the chests of Leslie, Ben, Malcolm, and Moses. After a moment, the body parts were sucked inside each of them. It was both the bloodiest and the most fascinating thing I’d ever seen.

The last of Adam Brannick disappeared with a little slurping sound. I sat down heavily on the bed and spat out the blood in my mouth. Now that I was properly dead, the taste of it wasn’t so appealing. Without a word, Leslie, Malcolm, and Moses turned their backs on me and started down the stairs, and I saw who had been on the landing behind them the whole time.

Sigrid.

Knee-deep in blood, my big sister wore a giant pair of wings—not the slightly grubby looking wings that Ben sported, but great snowy angel wings—spread out on either side of her without a spot of blood on their fluffy great expanse. She even had a giant sword.

Leslie and Moses hadn’t made it out of their own death nightmares alone. Sigrid was playing avenging angel, the same way she’d played zombie and skeleton.

She grinned at Ben, and the cuts on his body disappeared, along with the damage to his back. Even the acne on his face cleared up, and I was fairly sure Adam wasn’t responsible for that. His skin became as smooth and unblemished as the proverbial baby’s.

I stared at the boy I’d been seeking. He looked healthy, but he was still dead. He gave me the same searching look.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I tried to find you.’

‘It’s okay,’ Ben said. ‘It’ll be better this way.’

Sigrid’s expanded wings folded back with a loud snap, and she walked into the bedroom with them now neatly compacted. The blood tide began to subside.

I jumped up and down experimentally. I was my usual heavy self there. I wasn’t a zombie. Maybe I’d stay. The idea of being burned alive didn’t appeal anyway. How long would it take for my body to decompose completely in the pit? And would I know when I had nothing left to go back to?

Sigrid took me by the arm. ‘You have to go back.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s not natural to die this way. You need to do it properly.’

I thought of the crematorium waiting for me. I’d just seen what happened to murderers. I thought nothing happened to suicides, but now I wasn’t so sure.

I took a last look at Ben Brannick. He’d been too young to die. ‘I am so, so sorry.’

Ben gave a very adolescent shrug. I felt for the key around my neck. The painted door obligingly turned into dark wood. I closed it first so I could reopen it. I inserted the key, aware of Ben and Sigrid’s eyes on the back of my neck.

As I took the step through, Sigrid grabbed my arm and Ben’s, and all three of us fell through into the world of the living together.