I turned my attention to the service. The priest was waffling on about lost sheep, so I watched the bereaved instead. It might not sound like I have much time for religion, but I do. Going to church with Stanley on a Sunday was one of the few opportunities I had as a child, other than school, to get away from the oppressive presence of my mother. Now just sitting in a church is enough to drain any tension from my body.
Neil’s face grew redder as the sermon went on, but I didn’t think it was the sermon that was bothering him. His eyes kept turning to the Comforts to his left, and after a moment I saw Adam whisper something in his ear and pat him on the shoulder. The boil went down to a simmer, but I thought it was still even odds whether he would explode before the end of the service. I remembered what Adam had said about his work problems. I’d caught a hint of his temper in the swamp, but it was on display now. The man was a heart attack in the making.
I began to pay attention as the priest started talking about Malcolm, but it was clear he’d never met the deceased and had been given a quick rundown of his life: school, sports, job, family. He returned quickly to the main point of his sermon: a chance to sell the Big Man to all the non-churchgoers in the room, the ones who were recognisable by the way they started shifting in their seats and checking their watches.
I didn’t know how much longer he would have gone on, but he’d gotten in a good ten minutes’ worth of lecturing before Finn got bored and began to pull at his mother’s sleeve.
She ignored him, so he pulled harder. She picked him up and cuddled him, and he was temporarily mollified, but three-year-olds are not programmed to sit still for any amount of time. Jillie shushed him and stroked his hair while the priest paid no attention, presumably used to fussing children in the congregation. Finn started smacking her on the hip. She ignored him.
Then: blip.
Where Finn had been was a tiny brown cobra, swaying, hood flat, his clothes a bundle on the floor. It reared forward, but before it could bury its fangs in Jillie’s thigh, she grabbed it with both hands. She brought it up to her face. The long tail lashed back and forth.
‘No! No biting. Naughty!’ she hissed.
The priest, finally, stopped in the middle of a sentence. He didn’t look happy. I knew the Church’s stance on shifters, and it wasn’t a positive one.
Jillie kissed the tiny snake on the top of its head.
Blip.
Finn popped back. Jillie waved at the priest to continue. She picked up Finn’s clothes, turned the shirt inside out, and pulled it over the boy’s head. The priest coughed and turned back to his notes, running his finger over the page to find his place.
‘Oh, hell. Am I really expected to sit here with that thing?’ Neil pointed his finger at the little boy, who buried his face in his mother’s side.
The priest took off his spectacles and said, ‘Mr Brannick—’ But whatever else he was going to say was lost.
‘How do you think Malcolm died? Why no one’s talking about it? That poisonous thing bit him! Hear that, everyone? My brother was murdered by his own son. But I’m not allowed to say anything because it’s supposed to be a child. Child, ha!’
Samson stood up. ‘Back off, Brannick.’
But before Neil could reply, Adam said quickly, ‘Dad, now’s not the time. The boy’s just lost his father.’
‘Says her. She’s a snake. They’re not like us. Don’t keep to the same rules. God only knows who really spawned that thing.’
Samson stalked across the empty chairs. ‘You accuse my sister of being unfaithful? Seriously? After everything Jillie put up with from your asshole of a brother? He was damn lucky she put up with him. Malcolm was Finn’s father, and don’t you dare imply otherwise. Just because Rosa couldn’t keep her pants on, don’t think everyone else has the same difficulty.’
‘What the fuck do you think you’re saying about my wife?’ Neil went purple.
Samson pointed his finger at Neil, close enough that I couldn’t be sure he hadn’t poked his nose. ‘Well, maybe if she hadn’t been such a slag, this whole thing wouldn’t have happened.’ Adam stood up and pushed his way between them. ‘This is really not the time. Uncle Mal wouldn’t have wanted this.’ He looked Samson in the eye. ‘Please.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dunne put on the voice recorder function on his phone, too late.
Neil held both his hands up. Samson glared at the two of them and went back to his seat. Jillie began to cry quietly.
The priest wrapped everything up pretty quickly after that. We finished with a prayer for Malcolm’s soul and ‘Amazing Grace’ on the organ, then people trundled past Jillie, whispering their sympathies before heading to the tea and biscuit table.
45
A subdued air hung over the gathering, substantial even for a memorial service. I’d never seen this side of reanimation before. Funerals are already awkward in normal circumstances. There’s not much you can do but commiserate, and shows of great feeling tend to leave both the commiserated and the commiserator uncomfortable.
But this was worse. I could see the worry on the faces of the mourners that they were going to say the wrong thing or that one of the family would say something they had no pat answer for. Not staying dead: the latest social faux pas.
On the edges of the room, away from the core group of family, lowered voices and quick glances to make sure no family member was approaching indicated the main topic of conversation.
There was plenty of time to join the sympathy queue, so I headed off to the tea table, where I poured a cup of bad coffee and helped myself to a couple of lemon creams.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Samson’s sleek head ducking out a side door. I followed him out into the weak winter sunshine. I found him leaning against a wall with his eyes closed, taking one deep breath after the other.
‘Hey.’
His eyes flashed open, startled, but when he saw it was me, he relaxed slightly. His lips curved. ‘Enjoy the show?’
‘It was interesting. Is it true?’
‘About Finn biting Malcolm?’ I’d meant about Neil’s wife, but I nodded anyway. ‘Yes. It happened Christmas Day. I saw the police were here. What are they going to do?’
I leaned against the wall next to him and offered him a lemon cream. He shook his head. ‘Not much,’ I said. ‘They’ll need to write it up, maybe refer Finn to social services. Not to have him removed or anything,’ I added quickly when I saw his expression. ‘Just for therapy, make sure he isn’t a danger. That sort of thing.’
The tight cords in his neck relaxed. ‘Okay.’
‘It happens surprisingly often in mixed households. Finn’ll be fine.’ I took a deep breath. ‘The rest of you? Not so much. I assume if you know how Malcolm died that you knew that he was dead. That’s a pretty serious offence.’
‘I wasn’t there. Jillie only told me about it,’ Samson said. He stood completely still against the wall and lifted his face to the weak sun. ‘The only surprise is that Finn didn’t wait until he was older to bite the man. Shows he’s a Comfort not a Brannick. Every time I see any of them I have to hold back on giving them a little nip.’
He laughed softly, and his predator eyes met mine. I couldn’t help noticing how long and sharp his canine teeth were. His smile widened, and I realised he knew how hard I found it not to flinch. I couldn’t hold the stare. I looked away.
‘I’m surprised it killed him. Didn’t anyone call an ambulance?’
His shoulders rolled back in shrug. ‘Didn’t know about it until it was too late. Malcolm was drunk—too many Baileys, Jillie said. He’d gone for a lie down. She heard him telling Finn off, but didn’t think anything of it. Adam went upstairs to the loo a half hour later and found him dead.’
‘That quick? I thought an adult would have at least a few hours to get medical attention.’
‘Jillie thinks it triggered a heart attack. I think anyone too stupid to let his wife know he’d been bitten by a cobra was lucky to have made
it to adulthood.’ A cloud crossed the sun, and the world darkened. ‘About twenty minutes after that, Malcolm came downstairs. And then, I’m told, there was a lot of arguing.’
‘What did Ben do?’
‘Oh, apparently he just watched, which sounds about right to me. He never got involved. Even when someone—by which I mean Neil—tried to pick a fight with him. Even then he just nodded and watched. You’ve never met anyone so inside his own head.’
I ate the last bite of my lemon cream. ‘Did no one call the ZDC?’
‘Jillie wouldn’t let them. Malcolm said he’d rather burn than go into the pit.’ He grunted. ‘Son of a bitch thought he could escape what was coming to him.’
A thought occurred to me. ‘Why was Neil there anyway? I thought the two of them didn’t get along. I suppose now I know why.’
‘You mean Malcolm and Rosa? The two of them have been dancing round that little piece of betrayal for years. Neil never had any proof.’ He snickered. ‘But he does now.’
‘So she zombified?’
‘Oh yeah...’
We were interrupted by a slender blonde woman who stuck her head out the door. ‘Sam? Jillie wants you.’
‘Excuse me.’ Samson disappeared back into the hall.
Neil’s wife had zombified, and then years later so did his brother. I guessed we no longer needed to wonder how Malcolm had become infected or how he’d died.
He killed me. Not murdered. Killed. It had all just been a stupid accident, and if I had kept my mouth shut, Malcolm would be at peace instead of shuffling, ravenous, through stinking darkness.
46
Obe had already left by the time I went back in, his social skills having a short shelf life. So had Adam and Neil, and Per and his father. Jillie was stuck tight within a small knot of lithe women, all of whom had the same predatory stare, which I didn’t have the courage to approach. Samson was nowhere to be seen.
You can usually find the police near the free food, and I didn’t even look to see if they were there before heading to the tea table to find Dunne and Little. Dunne wore a grey suit at least one size too small—likely his designated weddings and funerals getup. Twice I saw his hand stray towards his crotch to pull at it, before he remembered himself and tucked it back in his pocket. He was in the midst of piling a small paper plate with sandwiches, which he then ate in awkward little bites.
‘Hi.’
Dunne nodded. His eyes didn’t meet mine.
‘You didn’t tell me Rosa Brannick was a zombie,’ I said.
‘I thought you knew.’ Dunne looked up. ‘Yet another thing you forgot to mention. You do know that’s the way it works? You give us information. We don’t give it to you.’
Little sniggered, then sneezed.
‘Bless you,’ I said.
Dunne swallowed a last bite of sandwich. ‘Excuse us.’ He took Little by the cuff. I watched them leave.
Only a trickle of people remained, and while Obe had left, the remnants of the Lipscombe crowd was still there, standing next to the podium. Habi laughed suddenly, then clapped her hand over her mouth, remembering where she was. I wandered over to them.
Habi put her hand on my shoulder. ‘Hey, Viv. We were just going to the pub, have a drink to remember the old perv. You coming?’
I had been planning on going into the office to make a few phone calls and have a dig through the stuff I’d asked Patricia to send me. But I could put it off for half an hour.
I gave Lorraine a quick call and was reassured that Sigrid was fine. I looked around for Jillie, but she was deep in conversation with the blonde woman who had summoned Samson, so I followed Habi out.
Outside, the sky was urine-coloured and so heavy it looked like it was touching the tops of the houses—ready to snow again. The last lot hadn’t settled, but I thought it likely we’d wake up to a white city in the morning. Another good reason to get to the office tonight and get some work done. The slightest bit of snow wreaks havoc with the trains, and I might end up stuck in the house. This is why the Canadians laugh at us.
I walked at the back with Donna Warren, who was a hedge witch and in charge of accounts, and Irene Taylor from the Edinburgh office, who did fundraising and was relentlessly cheerful. I guess if you have to spend your day phoning people and asking them for money, you need a sunny disposition. We complained about the weather in typical British fashion, but there wasn’t any real annoyance in it. Londoners moan about the snow because it stops all the public transport, but really we appreciate the day off work and the chance to go sledding in the park, or at least watch others go sledding. It’s the one time of the year the city stops being grey and starts being beautiful.
We reached the pub just as the snow started coming down in clumps, and the five of us ducked into the pub laughing and shaking our feet. We found a table at the back, and Irene got the first round.
Donna squeezed in next to me. ‘You know I caught him with charm enhancer once.’
Habi grimaced. ‘Oh, that is really skeevy.’
Donna shrugged. ‘Didn’t do him the slightest bit of good. He had the magical ability of a wet rag, but it didn’t stop him having a good old argument with me about it. He was all, “It’s just an enhancer, not a glamour.” Claimed it wasn’t enhancing anything that wasn’t already there, and it couldn’t count as undue influence. Bleurgh.’
Irene came back with our drinks. I drank mine slowly, half-listening to the conversation. Magical ability might run in families, but it wasn’t guaranteed. If Donna was right about Malcolm having no magical inclination, that cleared him of Leslie’s death. Or at least of Drew’s.
I turned my attention back to the group. They’d got on to the time Malcolm came back from his bachelor party and insisted on showing everyone where he’d been tattooed.
‘Brazen old goat,’ Donna said. ‘I hope there are plenty of female zombies in there with him.’
We all fell silent, and then Habi said, ‘God, I hope not. Poor lady zombies. He was bad enough alive.’
Donna got the next round, and then of course I was obliged to stay for the next one because it would just be rude to let everyone else buy you drinks without stumping up a round yourself.
In the end I didn’t make it to the office, but I did make it home before nine, even if I wasn’t in a state to do anything other than peel off my clothes and fall into bed.
47
I lay in bed and stared at the wall, all the wrong memories returning in the bright light of the snowfall. It was only after I’d been let out that I found out Sigrid was alive after all. I’d spent much of my time being dead, and after spending so much time with Sigrid’s spirit, it was a shock to find her body was still in this world, not knowing it was supposed to be dead.
It had been Malcolm who’d saved me. He’d been a caseworker then, called in by a Lorraine worried about the elderly neighbour who didn’t appear to be ageing and lived in a putrid house with his disabled granddaughter. His face was the first I saw when I woke from the dead to sudden freedom. Malcolm, whom I had sent to the pit. I hadn’t saved him in return.
I pulled the duvet over my head against the too-bright sunlight streaming through cracks in the blinds. Sigrid’s voice carried through the wall, holding a conversation with someone. It was only when she said my name that I realised it was supposed to be me.
My head hurt too much to go back to sleep—entirely my fault—and my bladder was arguing that it was time to get up. I swung my legs out of the bed and onto the cold floor. I shrugged into a dressing gown, added a pair of fluffy socks, and made my way out of the bedroom, wincing a little along the way.
And found I had been magically transported into another dimension as I slept. At least that was the first explanation that leapt to mind. The house was clean. Completely clean. From top to bottom. The pile of Stanley’s shoes that had sat alongside the door for as long as I could remember was gone, and the oak floors were clean and shiny. Lavender-scented polish had replaced the smell of old so
cks. I poked my head into the living room. The sofa looked like it had been vacuumed, and fuzzy blue throw pillows I’d never seen before were dotted at regular intervals hiding the stains. The TV was actually completely visible, now that the piles of books on the coffee table were neatly stacked back on the bookshelf. I got on my hands and knees and looked under the sofa. It was spotless. Not a sock, dust bunny, or old biscuit to be seen.
Same thing in the kitchen. It wasn’t just tidy, it was spotless. The sink sparkled, and even the crusty limescale was gone from the tap. Light streamed through clean windowpanes.
It made me a little nervous. I scooted down the clean hallway and opened the door to Sigrid’s room. It was clean too. She was in bed asleep, half under the duvet which—I sniffed— had been freshly laundered. Siggie had been freshly laundered too. Her hair was still slightly damp and smelled like shampoo.
I headed up the stairs to the attic. It still smelled like damp and rot—no amount of scrubbing was going to get rid of that—but it was clean. My mother’s mouldy Snow White coffin had been polished and cleaned too. I wished it hadn’t. At least before you couldn’t see in all that clearly. Stanley sat next to it, staring into it intently. Unusually, he had nothing to entertain him. No laptop, no magazine, no book.
‘What’s going on? Why is everything so clean?’
Stanley grinned at me, showing a mouthful of square false teeth. ‘Just getting the place ready for when your mum comes back.’
‘What are you talking about? She’s been gone for years.’
‘Uh-uh. She woke up.’
My stomach did a double flip, and I was halfway to the door when common sense caught up with me. ‘What are you talking about? She’s still in there, still dead.’
The Secret Dead (London Bones Book 1) Page 22