The Secret Dead (London Bones Book 1) by SW Fairbrother

Author:SW Fairbrother [Fairbrother, SW]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2014-04-10T22:00:00+00:00

34

I left with a promise from Per that he’d call me if he heard anything. There was no sign of the street weasels as I made my way down the urine-scented stairs. It was fully dark by the time I stepped outside, but with enough light pollution to make out a yellow tint to the cloud ceiling: snow. I shivered and pulled my coat closer.

A car zoomed past, hip-hop blaring from the speakers. Every now and then I had the urge to leave the city. To take Siggie and run away, just the two of us. But no matter where I went, she’d still need carers and I’d still need money. At least in London I lived rent free. Even if it did snow occasionally. I made my way back to the station, expecting to feel snowflakes on my face at any moment, but the sky held itself back. With the exception of light shining underneath the living room door, the house was cold and dark when I let myself in.

An episode of Big Brother blared from the TV as Lorraine cycled Sigrid’s legs back and forth. My sister lay on her back on the carpet and chattered about tennis balls.

I leaned against the doorway, ‘Everything okay today?’

‘Fine. She’s been a bit antsy, but fine.’ Lorraine laid one leg down and gripped the other by the thigh, then she moved the leg from side to side. ‘We’re running out of nappies though.’

‘I’m due another pack from the clinic on Friday. Will they last till then?’

Lorraine wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t think so, sorry.’

‘That’s all right. I’ll just have to buy some.’

‘If you need help, sweetheart...’

‘I’m fine, Lorraine. Thanks. I’ll get them.’ I hesitated, then said, ‘I know you want to get home, but I’ve got something I need to do this evening. Would you mind staying an extra hour?’

‘No prob.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, I wanted to finish watching this anyway.’ She nodded her head towards the TV.

‘I’ll make it up to you.’

Light shone down the stairwell from the attic. I checked the fresh lock I’d put on my bedroom door. Still secure. I used the toilet, then locked the bedroom door behind me.

I prefer to die in my own bed. It’s safe and secure, and I don’t have to worry about anyone fiddling with my body while I’m gone. I pulled off all the bedding and changed the bottom sheet for a plastic one designed for those who wet the bed. I’m not normally gone long enough for it to be a problem, but the thought of death sweat soaked into my bedding gives me the icks.

I lay down and closed my eyes. Remnants of the last death still infected my body. An undercurrent of nausea swirled in my stomach, and I had what I thought of as a pre-headache. Dying came as a relief. I stretched and became aware of weight on my body. I felt a moment of panic before I realised the harpies covering the bed like a pile of stinky soft toys were their usual docile selves.

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