Demon Bone (The Demons of Oxford Book 1)

by Kara Silver

  It wasn’t. She went to look at the statues on the other three corners and came back to this one, on the corner nearest to the college buildings, jutting out into the air. “At least you’re not going to tell me what to do,” Kennedy said, running a hand down the statue’s body. “No, I bet you’re keeping your mouth shut and not trusting anyone. Was that good advice? Maybe the last part, eh?”

  I must be the biggest dork in the entire city. “Is there a contest for that?” she wondered, pulling her coat more securely round her. “Because I could enter. I’ve been meaning to join clubs and societies. Some look really good. And they can’t be that expensive.” She hadn’t realised she’d slopped down to a sitting position until her legs were dangling over the side, her back supported by the gargoyle-whatever. She looped a hand over him, for extra safety. “Because money is a bit of a worry.”

  She told him about the outfitters and her idea to see if the college had old gowns going begging in a lost property cupboard somewhere. “Seems you can’t do an exam without one. I wonder if they help you cheat?” She described the panic and stress of A-Level exams, how sick she’d felt not to have done brilliantly, when she’d been the hope of her Sixth Form with her gung-ho attitude, jet-fuelled by her desire to leave her small town and make something of herself. The wave of relief when Heylel said they’d take her anyway. The haze of disbelief she’d floated around in after, not daring to think about the offer of a place, much less plan and strategize and read up on the college and town, in case she burst the dream bubble.

  “And then, I nearly didn’t get here at all! Has the stupidest accident… Well. I’ll tell you that next time. Or maybe I’ll bend the ear of one of the other grotesques. Give you a break.” She didn’t think she would. She liked this one. “I’d better go. I have things to do.”

  One thing anyway. And she wouldn’t fail. Her checks earlier had shown her a row of keys, obsessively labelled and colour coded, hanging neatly in the cupboard where the light switches and supplies were—including one for the exhibition space. She thought her heart was thumping, loud and hard, in her ears, but it was that urging, that desire beating down, tom-tom-like now. Making sure she switched lots of lights on, she made for the ground floor exhibition area.

  She wiped her sweating hands on her jeans. The key probably won’t work anyway, she told herself, trying to stave off the tidal-strength flow and ebb of adrenalin. There’s probably nothing in there about the mark, was her next just-in-case. But there was. Creeping in, she slipped from panel to frightening panel, from display to horrifying display until she stood in front of the one she wanted. The one that described how the mark had been used across the centuries, was placed, usually on flesh, to warn others…of “demonic heritage or birthright”.

  What the fuck? Kennedy leant until her nose was touching the glass and shone her new torch in as fiercely as she could. Fumbling, she yanked off her jacket, then her sweatshirt and felt under her tee, comparing by touch her mark with those displayed. She was able to as her birthmark was raised, not smooth to her skin. She’d always thought of it as 3D. No! It wasn’t exactly one hundred percent identically the same. Was it? Her knees gave way and she sank down again, as she had on the roof, shaking her head.

  No. No fucking way. There was no way she, ordinary Kennedy Smith from Wyebury, was a demon. Oh, and demons don’t exist anyway. So there. It was just a birthmark. A strange, jacked-up birthmark…which from one heartbeat to another was now thrumming, as if newly awakened, aware and ready. Kennedy raised her chin. Well, guess what? So the fuck am I.

  She rubbed her shoulder blade against the case behind her, like a bear scratching its back on a tree, only she wasn’t attempting to calm the sensation. Hers was the slow, deliberate move of an alpha dog marking its territory, and one that said, bring it on, motherfuckers. She wasn’t sure where to go from here, but there had to be a next step, and whatever the hell it was, she’d damn well find it—find it and take it. She stood and walked out.

  10

  “Heard you shot Bill down in flames.”

  For a second, Kennedy thought the man’s voice was Aeth’s, and she looked up from where she was shoving her spoon about in her porridge. She scowled at the guy she didn’t know, who’d dropped down to sit on the long bench across the table from her.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” She’d had about an hour’s sleep and her head felt both heavy and spinning at the same time. She was still trying to come up with ideas, no further on, and in no mood to chat to some idiot with half his collar popped above his sweater neck.

  “Completely rinsed him, in fact.”

  Seemed this tosser didn’t speak scowl or silence. She gave in. “Who the hell is Bill, and how the fuck can anyone rinse with flames?”

  For a second, his mouth hung open and his forehead furrowed. Fascinating. Like watching a savage see his reflection for the first time.

  Then he threw back his head and laughed. “Ahhaa! Gotcha!” He mimed shooting two fingers at her. “You’re a pistol.”

  “Fire, water, shooting—all ways to die. You might want to think about that.” Kennedy returned to churning the congealed mass about in her bowl, burying the dark raisins in the beige goo.

  “I mean yesterday—”

  “Look, Random Dude, you obviously have me confused with—”

  “You were in a class at a museum? Bill was coming on to you and you—”

  “Oh. Yeah. I remember.” She looked at the guy. “You weren’t there. How do you know what I said? No, wait. Don’t answer. I don’t care.” She made a shooing motion. Seemed Random Yet Persistent Man didn’t understand that either.

  “I’m in rowing with Ed. He told us at the crew night yesterday.”

  Filling in the gaps and decoding, Kennedy deduced Ed had been the brown-haired guy with the blond Bill at the Ashmolean yesterday, and that Bill, Ed, and this dude had met up yesterday evening and gossiped like teenage girls.

  “I’m on your staircase, so I told them you did date, I’d seen you come back really late and trashed, just weren’t into Bill.”

  “Oh, not just Bill.” She gave him her most pointed smile.

  “I’m Keir.”

  She sighed. “What do you want? We’re not reading for the same degree, so I can’t help you study. Even if I wasn’t behind myself.”

  “Study?” His forehead corrugated again, as if that were a new word.

  Despite herself, Kennedy gave a huff of laughter.

  “What I want? Well, I wouldn’t say no to that biscuit, if it’s spare.”

  Like Bill and Ed yesterday, he was tall and broad. Must take a lot to fill that frame. “Here.” She pushed the oversized chocolate-chip cookie towards him. “I haven’t touched the porridge either. Have that too.”

  “Nah, thanks. Don’t blame you for nixing the wallpaper paste with rats’ droppings.” He pointed at her bowl with one hand and crammed the cookie into his mouth with the other in a way that would have gotten Kennedy a reprimand in Holden House.

  A staff member hovered, clearing her throat, making Kennedy look at her watch. She stood to go.

  Keir got to his feet as well. “Are we going the same way? Want me to walk you?” He looked down at his feet then over the top of her head, so she turned too, wondering if the painting on the wall behind her was that interesting. She caught Emma’s wide-eyed signal, a twist of her head from Kennedy to Keir, and it took her a second to get the meaning. Random Keir Dude was flirting? With me?

  “Erm, I’ve got a tutorial. I doubt you’re going that way. See you around.”

  “Oh, maybe, seeing as I’m here too.”

  There was no answer to that, she decided, throwing her unravelling braid over her shoulder and scurrying to catch up with Emma before remembering today was a different tutorial. She wasn’t with Emma and the others in Dr Crane’s rooms but a different group and with a Dr Berkley.

  “I had to wait for you.” Emma caught Kennedy’s arm. “Saw you and Keir?”

&
nbsp; “Yeah.” Kennedy regretted giving him her cookie. She might want it later.

  “Be careful. You know what that set’s like.”

  “I’m—” She bit back the sick of people warning me about things that wanted to fly free. “What?”

  “Oh, you know. Red trousers? Quilted sleeveless jacket? Just here to party for three years before Daddy sets them up with a job?”

  Kennedy shrugged. She glanced up the path to where Keir was walking ahead and turning back every so often to glance at her, or in her direction. “And? What’s any of that got to do with anything?”

  Emma rolled her eyes and walked away. Keir waved and disappeared under an archway. Kennedy puzzled over it all the way to her class. Perhaps she’d been wrong—wouldn’t be the first time—and the guy hadn’t been trying to flirt? Or perhaps…Emma was jealous of him noticing Kennedy? It had been sort of nice, someone paying her a little bit of attention. He had seemed to be invested in her not being into Bill and—

  “Miss Smith, I presume.” The man standing against the door, holding it open in exaggerated patience, could only be Dr Berkley. He ran his hand through the waves of his dark-blond hair that sprang back from his forehead, but not enough that he messed them up. “Joining us? After missing a week of my pearls of wisdom?”

  “Sorry.” Kennedy slunk in. She’d been surprised at her first tutorial that they weren’t held in a classroom or office, but in what seemed like an over-furnished sitting room. She now knew some academic staff lived in the college, some in suites, holding their tutorials in one of their rooms. Dr Berkley had a big suite on a decent staircase. Looked like he was high up.

  “Human evolution.” Dr Berkley smacked his hands together as he pronounced the words, his glinting tawny gaze on Kennedy, almost as if reading her thoughts. “Perspectives on. Let’s hope everyone has done their reading…”

  She had, or had tried to. This would tie into the next practical, and the lecture later, so she fought hard now to keep her head in the game and make valid contributions. She thought they were semi-good, but seemed Berkley had another idea.

  “Miss Smith?” He signalled to her to remain as the other three filed out. “I noticed you struggling?”

  Wow. No sugar-coating here. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well. Everything’s a little…hazy.” Oh, God, that sounded like she was hungover.

  “Can I expect an improvement next class?”

  Kennedy blinked. “I hope so.”

  “As do I.” He sat at his desk, splaying out his gown behind him, and opened a book. “Shut the door behind you.”

  Fuck! No allowances here either, then. Kennedy swallowed, taking that in. She clattered down the stairs and breathed in the fresh air of the quad, making her way towards the front of the college to stop dead in her tracks behind two girls on a small bench.

  “What did you say?” she demanded, making them jump and turn around. “What? A girl gone missing?”

  One, decked out in so many college accessories that she looked as if she were in disguise, made a face at the other, obviously not appreciating Kennedy gatecrashing.

  “Janey Harris, second year, staircase ten,” supplied the girl with her. “Hasn’t been seen for a few days. Hadn’t rather. I actually thought she’d gone back home, but—”

  “How do you know?” Kennedy burst in.

  The first girl stood. “Look, whoever you are, maybe where you’re from it’s okay to butt your way in to private conversations, to try to push your way into groups. Whatever. I wouldn’t know. Thankfully. But FYI, it’s not on here. Hmm? Word to the wise.”

  “Oh, Cheska!” The second girl stood too. “Let’s get moving. Everyone’s talking about it,” she threw out to Kennedy.

  “About Janey?”

  It was Kennedy’s turn to jump as a guy slid in and put his arm around the first girl.

  “Yeah. They’re cleaning out her room now,” he said. “Just seen…”

  The trio strolled off, the first girl glaring at Kennedy.

  Kennedy darted forwards, then stopped. The Porter’s Lodge, finagle Janey’s room number out of them somehow and… No. That guy had said her room was being cleaned out. There’d be nothing to see. Go online? To what site? She’d just started moving, aware in the back of her mind she should be going to her practical, when she saw it. A newspaper photo of the girl she’d seen in the cemetery.

  “Excuse me!” Kennedy called at the man walking past, engrossed in a different page of his newspaper.

  He lowered it. “You. Little Miss Museum Guard. What d’you want now?”

  It took her a second to place him—the tall, floppy-haired guy who’d been drinking and smoking outside the Heylel Collection her first night there.

  “Your newspaper.” She pointed.

  “Why, got some quip to make about that too?” He clutched it to him.

  “Hey, you were out of line that night. Not me.”

  He just stared for a second, pushing his flop of hair back from his face and straightening his retro-looking blazer. “Fine.” His sigh was theatrical. “What about the Spire?”

  “Oh!” She’d heard of it, a less than official newspaper produced locally by students, most likely, just about tolerated by and often in trouble with officialdom. “May I have a look at your copy?”

  “I guess?” Surprised, he handed it over, and Kennedy fought not to paw her way through the pages. “Look, read it. It’s better than the usual whitewashed crap. Leave it in my pigeon hole? Lytton. I’m Drew Lytton, if you’re interested.”

  “Drew Lytton. I’ll remember. Thanks. I mean it.”

  It’s her. Janey Harris, staring out at Kennedy from the page, was the same girl. The fear and anguish of that night hit Kennedy again, almost knocking her off her feet. She shook herself like a dog coming in from the rain and read on. The article called Janey the latest vanishing second year. Really? The others had all been second years? Was that…normal? Kennedy scoffed. Was any of this? But she’d have thought students dropped out, or left, or whatever, earlier, perhaps after a term, or the second term, or at the end of the first year? Or maybe it made sense. The student tried to make a go of it, returned to college, only to— “Die horribly in a graveyard?”

  “What?”

  Kennedy hadn’t realised she’d spoken out loud, but the deep voice replying to her, sending a tiny ripple down her spine, told her she must have. Aeth. She lowered the paper and saw she’d walked to the museum on auto-pilot. Huh. That didn’t interest her as much as seeing Aeth there, leaning against the stone wall, looking as chiselled and strong and straight as if he were part of the building. Uncomfortable with that, she blinked and shifted, wanting a different angle or light to view him from.

  “Kennedy? What did you say?”

  “Look!” Recalled to her task, Kennedy shoved the newspaper at him, right under his nose. “That’s her! The girl I saw die!”

  And that sounds so soap opera. All it needs is swelling chords and— She took a breath. “That night, after the party, when we walked over the road? I saw…well, I didn’t think I must have seen…but then I was sure I saw…”

  “This missing girl died?” He recoiled.

  “I tried to get reception in the storm, to call the police. And when I got back to her, the body was gone. But now I know who she was, I can go to the police!”

  “Kennedy.” Aeth took her arm, to stop her waving wildly, perhaps. His hand was surprisingly heavy and solid. She remembered the feel of his arm at her back, guiding her through the rain. “You’re saying you saw this girl die, a week ago, in a graveyard and then her body just vanished? Why would the police believe you?

  “But…” Okay, fine, the sergeant might not listen. But that constable, Chris, he’ll…think I’m cuckoo. Cracking under the strain of college, of being away from home.

  “So.” She swallowed back the enormous lump forming in her throat. “What can we do, then?”

  “We— You need to leave it alone. Not get involved.”

 
“Aeth! Did you read the story? It says where she’s from, her town, her school, her family, and friends who are worried about her!”

  “And?”

  “And I know what happened to her! I can’t stand by and do nothing.”

  “And you have a plan?”

  “Yeah. I do. My plan is I’m going to solve it myself.”

  Aeth folded the newspaper into a neat shape and slipped it into Kennedy’s bag for her. “And how do you propose to do that?”

  “I…” Kennedy squirmed, trying to rub her shoulder against the inside of her sweatshirt. “I…think it must have something to do with that party, in the cellar bar.” She didn’t know why she said that, how she knew that, but she just did. “So, the first thing to do is to find the people from the party and talk to them.”

  11

  “And I suppose you intend to interrogate them as soon as possible, at the practical class, for instance?”

  “Good idea! You know, brains like that, I might just make you my assistant. Get you a notebook, badge, and everything.”

  He eyed her. “I suppose I’d better go with you. Just to make sure you don’t make a mess of things.”

  “I’ll be casual, get into a group with them and drop it into the general chat as we’re working.” Good idea. She nodded, pleased, then frowned. “And talking of, shouldn’t there be more people here for it by now?” She checked behind her—no students whatsoever. “I’m barely on time for stuff; I’d never be this early.”

  “There might, if it was taking place here. It’s in the University Museum of Natural History.”