Demon Bone (The Demons of Oxford Book 1)

by Kara Silver

  She didn’t think so hours later, on the top of Carfax Tower. “Why are we even here?” she groused, smacking a hand on one of the twelfth-century tower’s crenulations. “Just fancied a change of scene?”

  Aeth, who’d surprised her by knocking on her door to collect her and walk her to the city centre tower, looked out over the city. “I like the view,” he replied. “Don’t you?”

  “I’d see more in the day,” Kennedy pointed out. She wasn’t sure she enjoyed being almost eighty feet up in the air, on the only bit remaining of a church. If the rest had fallen down… She’d been nervous enough climbing the ninety-nine stairs to the top on her own—Aeth had of course decorped and incorped where he wanted to be. And now? “Tell me again why you’ve been making me run up and down these damn stairs for hours? To work off the pizza and apple pie?”

  “I thought it might be easier, with this stone? It’s charged with a lot of positive energy.”

  “Easier to smoosh myself into?” She’d been obeying his instructions, just not sure why she had to stop at certain points and press herself against the walls and had begged for a break.

  Aeth sighed. For a creature with no pulse, which probably meant no heart, he had a reasonable pair of lungs, she’d noticed. “You seemed to be working well with earth before. I assumed you’d got it, could develop it, and move on to another element.”

  “So what the hell am I doing wrong!” Kennedy shouted, stamping a foot “Time’s a’wasting; people are in trouble, and I’m supposed to help, but I have no idea what I’m doing anymore or why I’m doing what I’m doing! Do you know how stupid and useless I feel?”

  She thumped both fists against the wall in frustrated fury and the tower warped. Shifted. Earthquake! “I knew it!” she squealed, pitched forward as if on a ship in a storm. And then there was a storm, or at least a shaft of light, or lightning. No, it was a surge of power, through her, from her—she had no idea. Just knew she wasn’t there anymore, on top of that stupid medieval tower at the crossroads in the town centre.

  “Where am I?”

  “Where are we,” came Aeth’s correction, in the gloom, the dank, yet bursting with life, dark all around. “I think we’re nearing your staircase. Try and picture it. See where you want to be.”

  “So we’re…” She fought not to struggle, flail, spit out earth. “Underground?”

  As she said it, they burst upward. Outward. Inward. Inside her staircase, at the bottom, near the door, breathless, yet swirling with energy. She stared at him, then her knees sagged and he caught her.

  “Come on. You can’t collapse here. Kennedy!” He dragged her. Helped her pull herself up by the bannister to her room, where he slapped her hand from her pocket to pull her keys out and let her in.

  Why? They could presumably burst through. Or, didn’t it—whatever it was—work for wood?

  “There.” Aeth heaved her onto her bed, where she bounced to a flop. “Now, you can collapse. Do you have any fruit, or fruit juice? I think you should have been drinking it throughout training, before now.”

  “Hindsight. Twenty-twenty.” Kennedy’s teeth chattered, to her annoyance. She pointed to the under-sink cupboard, where she kept drinks and snacks. Her hand shook when she accepted the glass he passed her, so she held it in the other one to lift the orange juice to her lips and gulp it down before swinging her head up to him.

  “What the h—”

  “Maybe avoid that word?” Aeth sat at the foot of her bed, his head low, as if his hands were fascinating, all of a sudden. “I think I was using the wrong approach. I suppose I’m out of touch, with how things are these days.”

  “No.” Kennedy pressed her foot into his knee, then drew her legs back. “I’d say you were doing all right. It’s me who’s the problem.”

  “Ah. I know this. It’s when someone says, it’s not you; it’s me?”

  She appreciated what he trying to do and cracked a smile. “It’s me. My fault. I was trying to manipulate stone or earth or whatever and it’s too difficult for me to grasp, never mind do. Good job you took us away when that tower collapsed and—”

  “That’s…not…what happened. The tower’s still standing.” He swallowed. “You’re a geokinetic. You manipulate earth—you just travelled through it. You don’t need to go element by element. And I think you may have other forms of kinesis too. Electrokinesis, for one, judging by what happened.”

  “Electric…currents?” It was what she’d felt. Now she felt numb. Shock, probably. It didn’t seem real. “I don’t know what I did, if I could do it again.” All she felt now was chilled and heavy, as if she’d come out of cold water and it was still dragging at her.

  “Hey.” She looked up. He was gazing at her, his eyes holding no censure or irritation or impatience.

  “I think you could. I believe in you, Kennedy Smith. No matter what’s coming.”

  23

  Kennedy woke with a snore-slobber, the sort that had her wiping her drool on her pillowcase before she knew what she was doing. She stilled. She was alone. Of course. But she’d fallen asleep with him still there. She knew that. And…he’d taken off her shoes for her and left. She stretched for the glass he must have refilled before he’d gone. That was nice of him. It had been good to have someone in her room, someone to talk to, like back home. She grinned, recalling all the chatting her and her mates had done, late at night, even when one of them came home really late, such as after a shift at the pub.

  She scrabbled for her phone at its bing. Chandyce. Kennedy scanned the text, all about her friend’s new boyfriend. She’d been on more than one date with him—it was serious. If it was, where did that leave Kennedy? The plan had been for her to crash with Chandyce over the end-of-term breaks. Maybe Layla would put her up? Kennedy doubted she’d be able to get live-in jobs to dovetail with the Christmas and Easter holidays, but maybe it was time to start looking? Locally, there could be au pair work, nannying, or whatever, or maybe she’d need a break from this city and to try pastures new? The university frowned on students taking on employment during term time, but surely the six-week vacations after each one were fair game?

  Of course, all that depended on how things went now. Things. Such a euphemism. “If I can solve these murd—disappearances,” she said out loud to no one, hoping Aeth couldn’t hear. He was probably napping, after his late night. Lucky herma. Whereas she had stuff to do. Eyeing the array of books and papers fanned out on her desk, Kennedy groaned. That, plus her…side project, plus trying to work on her powers, would her keep her busy all Sunday.

  Monday morning, after hanging around for a bit and seeing no one to walk to the dining hall with, she made her way there alone. She needed to get into Emma and co’s good books anyway. With her nose buried in her work yesterday, she’d seen no one. So, actually, any company would be good.

  “Kennedy! Morning!”

  Be careful what you wish for… She narrowed her eyes at Keir, whose feet she’d stumbled over. Random Yet Persistent Guy, she’d labelled him before. Now she knew his name, she’d have to change that to Persistent Guy. “Why were you lurking just outside the staircase?”

  “Oh.” His shrug made his broad shoulders ripple. “Thought I heard you?”

  “You must have the ears of a bat.”

  “Don’t think so?” He cupped one forward.

  Kennedy didn’t laugh. “Half your collar’s sticking up. Again.” Kennedy had been dying to fix it last time.

  “Oh, it’s a thing.” He nodded, a lock of his dark-brown hair falling over his eyes.

  “Well, breakfast.” Shooting him a thin smile, she started walking, but instead of taking the hint, he matched her pace.

  “You turned Ed down too.”

  Kennedy stopped. “What.” She breathed it out in a stream of irritation, not making it a query. If Persistent Numpty didn’t get that hint…

  “He offered you a lift. After sports?” Keir looked over her head. Easy to do, with his height.

  “Jesus. I�
��d say you lot gossip like girls, only I don’t know any who gossip like you.”

  Kennedy sped up, letting her irritation fuel her. She had an early tutorial so would have to rush breakfast anyway. Unfortunately, this guy was athletic too, like his friend Ed, and kept up. And kept talking.

  “So that’s Bill and Ed nixed. So, I’m just wondering if—”

  “Okay.” She could see what was coming: just how ‘weird’ and in what ways was she? “That turning down such hunks, tall, rich, at least one with a car, must mean I’m—”

  “I’m in with a chance?”

  Woah. Her mouth dropped open, just a bit, and she clamped it shut. “A chance?” When in doubt, repeat the last two words back, with a question mark after. If needed, furrow brow and tilt head.

  “If you’d like to…do something. One day. Or one evening. Sorry. I’m not suave like Ed. I can’t think of something clever.”

  “But you do have a car?”

  “Yes!” Keir exclaimed. “A sweet little jeep. So, that’s good, right?”

  “It was a—” She didn’t have the energy to explain wisecracks or riffs. “Thanks, but I’m really busy. I have so much work. And I have to do duty hours, being a scrap.”

  If she’d hoped that would turn him off, she was wrong. He spent the rest of the journey and the breakfast queue telling her about web sites where students could get help with essays and dissertations and theses. By get he meant commission from ghost writers. What part of broke scholarship student did he not get?

  “Oh, there’s Emma and Petra. Nice talking to you.” Kennedy made her escape. “I know,” she said before Emma could say anything, trying to recall the tone of voice she’d used yesterday. That had been a success. “I’m talking to Made in Chelsea again. I bumped into him. Couldn’t shake him off.” She added an eye roll for good measure.

  “I wouldn’t try,” sniffed Petra. “Wouldn’t smack down Ed from Lady Tilly’s either.”

  “Is there some CCTV you all watch?” Kennedy enquired, hoping the answer was no. If anyone witnessed the things she was up to… She shoved a heaped spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

  Petra waved a hand up and down, indicating Kennedy. “Just do not know how you do it, that’s all.”

  “Have you noticed,” Emma interrupted, before Kennedy could swallow her mouthful and reply, “There’s a weird atmos today? This morning? Custodians huddling, porters looking shifty… And did anyone see the bursar? Something’s up. Maja?” She beckoned her over. “Do you know what’s going on?”

  “Tutorial with Dr Crane.” Maja shifted the stack of notes and books she carried.

  “No, I… Never mind. Yeah. Better go.”

  Resigning herself to the inevitable and hoping Dr Crane was still as nice and as non-Dr Berkley-like as she’d been last week, Kennedy followed. But as they got to Dr Crane’s door, Liam was coming out, shaking his head, his eyes wide.

  “Cancelled,” he hissed.

  “Oh, no! I’m leading it,” Maja cried. “Oh. Is Dr Crane not well?”

  “She’s fine.” The woman herself came to her doorway. “All Heyel tutorials and anything college-based is cancelled today as a mark of respect. There’s been a tragic incident involving a student who, you may recall, went missing?”

  Kennedy’s heart stuttered, then picked up speed. “Janey Harris.”

  “Yes.” Dr Crane nodded. “I’m sorry to inform you that her body’s been found. You’ll be hearing more details as we know them and obviously the chancellor will make an official statement. I’d like to draw everyone’s attention to student counselling services. They provide—”

  “Where?” Kennedy snapped. “Where was she found?” The cemetery. If she was there all along…

  “I don’t know. So, just to—”

  “When?”

  “Miss Smith, I really don’t know details. Let me repeat about grief counselling. Anyone—”

  But Kennedy was gone. Dr Crane didn’t know details. But the police would. And if Chris wasn’t there, she’d badger someone else. Because she didn’t understand this. None of the other girls had been found, once they’d gone—alive or dead. So what did this mean? Halfway there, on Rusty bike, she braked. Aeth! Did he know? Too late to turn back now. She swerved down Turl Street. It held three colleges—should contain what she needed. Ooh. Yes.

  “Excuse me,” she whispered up at a carved figure, crouching high on a drainpipe. Some sort of gnome? No, a little devil. Figures. All pointed ears and long fingers, gripping onto the pipe, anyway. “You don’t know me, but we might be related? Could you do me a favour? Get a message to Aethelstan? I don’t know his surname. Or if that’s his surname. Huh. If you can, please tell Aeth that Janey’s body has been found, and I’m going to the police station to get more info. I’m fine. He doesn’t need to do anything. Just, he should know. Thanks.”

  “Charming,” she added a second later, when the little figure uncurled, released a hand from where it held on and turned to give her the finger. “I’m bringing a peashooter and a box of dried peas next time I pass this way. Consider yourself warned, buster.”

  PC Collier would be more amenable, she hoped. And yet his face, when she made her way into the becoming-more-familiar-by-the-day station and glimpsed him in conversation with the grey-haired, easily irritated sergeant she’d tangled with before, wasn’t that welcoming.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Oh.” Kennedy thought fast, nodding at the new police officer behind the desk who was beckoning her over. “I wondered about joining the force?” And that’s not fast enough. “Do you have any leaflets?” she added in desperation, making it worse by adding, “I’m a student.”

  “It’s all right, Sarah. I’ll handle this. I know her.”

  Chris’s warm Yorkshire tones, even a bit strained, were still a relief.

  “Oh.” The officer, Sarah, blinked. She held her hand over the side of her mouth, for discretion. “Is she…the one from Friday? The—”

  “I’ll handle this,” Chris repeated.

  Kennedy blinked a little in her turn as Chris’s expression and tone dismissed his colleague. “What was she going to say?” she asked. “Oh, God. That statue bloke didn’t make a complaint, did he? Never mind. More important things. Is it true? The body—”

  “Miss Smith.”

  When they go formal on you? Never good.

  “We’re really busy. Now’s not good.”

  “Yes. I can see that.” The mood, the bustle in the station was different, just as Chris’s tone and expression were flatter. “So I won’t take long. And the sooner you answer my questions, the sooner I’m out of here.”

  “It would be better if…” He sighed.

  Kennedy pounced on it. “Please? I’ll ask the questions. You’ll only have to nod or shake your head.”

  “Please tell me you weren’t serious about joining the force,” he muttered, lifting a flap of wood to usher her through. “Because that’s not how we conduct interviews. Come in here. Wait. I won’t be long.”

  He called out something to a few officers milling around. Kennedy was too busy taking in what she guessed was an interrogation room to catch it. He was back in a minute, a brown case file in his hand.

  “For my eyes only. You’ve got three minutes.” Chris leaned against the door.

  “Three?” It seemed an arbitrary number. “Thank you.” She pulled out her notebook, catching his smile at her action. “A body was found. Janey Harris?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t need to consult his file for that.

  “Was this mark on the body?”

  He bent over her drawing. “What medium is that? It smells like oil, or charcoal?”

  “Pencil. Must be the lead?” But she remembered the weird tattoo place guy had held the page. Chris must be sensitive to smells. “So, mark?” She jiggled the page, indicated his still unopened file.

  “Yes. Shoulder. The back.” He cupped his hand over his back to indicate.

  Kennedy made sure she s
tood still, didn’t try to scratch her shoulder at all. Chris seemed penetrating all of a sudden, and he was a police officer, trained to observe.

  “This question might seem a little odd.”

  “Just this one?”

  She had to smile. “Fair enough. But, can you tell me her blood type?” After what Aeth had said, she’d been pondering that link too.

  Chris flicked through the very few sheets of paper in the cardboard file. “Well, that’s weird. Look, I don’t want to shock you, and this whole thing’s morbid enough, but we’re waiting for test results. The state her body was in, seems it wasn’t possible to get answers with routine tests, so there’ll be more. More sophisticated, wide-ranging exams performed for a variety of things. I’m sure you can imagine. You must have seen police shows on TV, seen what happens when a victim’s body is found. Standard procedure.” He shrugged. “You did ask.”

  “But—”

  “Time’s up.” As if to underscore his edict, a sharp knock came at the door. He escorted her out, whether from good manners or kicking her off the premises she didn’t know. She couldn’t figure him out today.

  But what she did know was she had to go to the next party. No matter what it took, or what happened.

  24

  “Keir?” Kennedy stepped back after opening her door. “What—” She couldn’t ask what he was doing there—he lived on the same staircase, if another floor. And “What do you want?” seemed rude, even to her. But, after a week’s hard, exhausting training, and equally tough and tiring academic work and harrowing research into the missing girls, Kennedy hadn’t expected the man she still thought of as Random Persistent Guy to knock on her door. “Sorry. I’m busy. I’m on my way out, in fact.”

  “I know! And you look great.” He paused a second, but Kennedy didn’t pick up his cue. “Emma’s organised lifts to the do. So, ta-da!”

  “What?” As if she wasn’t already nervous about tonight and the party she’d been angling an invite to all damn week, without more riddles.