themselves to be executioners. Generations ago, the Lambs were formed to deal with that problem. The wealthier members of our clan founded and continue to fund them. It’s their job to kill teenagers who’ve turned into werewolves. They also experiment on some of the beasts, in the hope of unlocking the genetic secrets of the family curse and curing it.
Dervish doesn’t have much to do with the Lambs. He mistrusts them. He always planned to kill Bill-E or me himself if the worst came to pass—there’s nothing like the personal touch. But my uncle’s been through a lot these last few years. He looks as strong as ever, but looks can be deceiving. Maybe he doesn’t feel he has the strength to deal with me if I turn.
I don’t like the Lambs either. I’ve only met one of them, but she was a cold, creepy woman, and the whole idea of letting strangers put me down like a wild dog fills me with distaste. Dervish has made it clear in the past that he would put me out of my misery if such a drastic step was ever called for. I can understand why he might want to retract that promise now, but understanding doesn’t make it any easier to accept. As childish as it might seem, I feel like he’s betrayed me.
Bill-E manages to come over on Thursday, after Dervish argued hard on the phone for a couple of days to persuade Ma and Pa Spleen to let him out of the house. He looks shell-shocked. Pale and sickly. His lazy left eyelid flutters so much it looks like worms are wriggling beneath the flesh. He doesn’t say much, which is unusual for Bill-E. Listens numbly while Dervish explains about the cave and why we had to move the body. Doesn’t seem too bothered by the threat of a demon invasion.
“I rang Loch’s house,” Bill-E says when we’re alone in the TV room. I stare at him, not sure how to respond. I wanted to ring Reni all week but didn’t dare. “His father answered,” Bill-E continues. “I could tell he’d been crying. I wanted to say sorry, ask how they were, if there was anything I could do. But I couldn’t speak. My mouth dried up. In the end he put the phone down. He didn’t get angry. He just sounded sad.”
Bill-E’s staring off into space. The way this has hit him, you’d think it was his best friend who’d died, not a bully he didn’t like. But maybe that’s why it’s harder for him than me. Guilt’s mixed up with grief. I think he’s sorry for all the bad thoughts he had about Loch, the foul names he no doubt called him behind his back, the times he probably wished his tormentor was dead.
“I’m going back to school on Monday,” I tell Bill-E. “What about you?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
“You should. It might help.”
“Gran and Grandad don’t want me to. They said I could stay at home as long as I want. Said they’d hire a private tutor.”
The meddlesome, selfish old buzzards! I probably shouldn’t be too hard on them. They’re old and lonely. Bill-E’s all they have. I can understand why they want him to themselves, locked up safe where they can fuss over him twenty-four seven. But they should know better. He needs to be out in the real world, getting back to normal as soon as possible.
“I remember you telling me about when your mum died,” I say softly. Bill-E looks at me, eyes coming into focus. “Your gran and grandad kept you indoors for a year. You didn’t speak to anybody else. You fought with other kids who tried to talk to you.”
“Then I got whacked in the jaw by a boy in a shop,” Bill-E laughs jerkily.
“And that put you straight.” I sit beside him. I think for a moment of putting an arm around him but decide against it—no need to go overboard. “Don’t cut yourself off from your friends, Bill-E.”
“Do I have any?” he asks sadly.
“You know you do,” I snap. “Maybe not as many as you wish, but there are plenty of people who like you and feel sorry for you, who’ll help you through this. But they can’t if you shut yourself off, if you let your gran and grandad smother you. Come back to school. Move on. You know it makes sense.”
“Loch can’t move on,” Bill-E sighs.
“No,” I agree stiffly. “He can’t. But
Bill-E nods slowly. “Are you going to the funeral?”
“I don’t want to but I think I need to.”
“I can’t,” Bill-E whispers. “I can go back to school but not…
“That’s OK,” I smile. “School will be torture enough.”
Bill-E returns the smile briefly, then stares off into space. “I can still hear his scream,” he mutters. “And I can see his face. His eyes… He didn’t know he was going to die. There wasn’t terror in his expression, just worry. And a bit of anger. He should have looked more terrified. If he’d known…”
We sit there for hours after that, TV off, sniffling occasionally, but otherwise as silent as Loch must be.
Friday. The funeral. It’s horrible. And that’s all I’m saying about it.
Monday. School. Everyone staring and whispering. Kids scurry out of my way. It’s like the Grim Reaper’s walking alongside me.
I spot the gang in one of our usual hangouts behind the cafeteria, sheltering from the rain. Talk dries up as I approach. When I stop, they stare at me, I stare at them, and for a few long seconds nothing is said. Then Charlie breaks the silence with, “Loch must have been mad as hell, looking down on his funeral—he hated flowers. And having to wear a suit as well!”
Everybody laughs.
“You’re an ass, Charlie,” Frank giggles.
“Don’t say anything like that in front of Reni,” Shannon warns him.
“Please,” he huffs. “I’m not a
The laughter fades. Frank clears his throat. “Was it really bad?”
“Crapville,” I say tightly.
“Did he say anything before he… you know?” Mary asks.
I nod soberly. “His last words… I had to strain to hear them… he…” I cough and everyone leans in close to listen. “He said… his voice a painful croak… fighting for breath… eyes locked on mine… ‘Mary Hayes has a face like a cow’s dirty rear.’ ”
Mary roars with fury and clubs me with her bag. The others laugh. Then the bell goes and we march into class. Back to normal—or as much as it can be.
A rumour at lunchtime. Misery Mauch has gone on sick leave. A mental breakdown. Some say he was overcome with grief when he heard about Loch, but that’s rubbish—Loch never went to see Misery. Apparently he’s been replaced by a woman. They say she’s quite young, though nobody’s had a good look at her yet—she’s been in Misery’s office most of the day. I don’t see Bill-E during lunch. He’s with the new counsellor. I hope she’s got more of a clue than old Misery. Bill-E needs professional help, not some over-eager do-gooder. I’ll have to check her out, make sure she’s not going to mess him up even further. Grubbs Grady—rooter-out of frauds!
Halfway through geography, a kid from a lower year delivers a note to my teacher. The new counsellor wants to see me. Guess I’ll get to give her the once-over a bit sooner than I thought.
I’m kept waiting outside the office for a few minutes before I’m called in. The counsellor is standing by the side of Misery’s desk when I enter, her back to me. When she turns round, I almost drop through the floor. A slender woman of medium height, in her late thirties or early forties. Smartly dressed, more like a businesswoman than a teacher. Pretty but not gorgeous. Very little make-up. Pure white hair tied back in a pony tail. Extremely pale skin. Pinkish eyes. She’s an albino. But that’s not what knocks the wind out of my sails. It’s the fact that I know her and last saw her a year ago in Slawter, frying the brains of a demon collaborator called Chuda Sool.
“That’s Miss Swan to you, young man,” she says with a little smile. Then steps forward and wraps her arms around me, hugging me tight while I stand frozen, stunned, staring down at the top of her pale white orb of a head.
Juni was one of film producer Davida Haym’s assistants. A psychologist, it was her job to make sure the children on set were being well treated. Dervish fell for her and I think she had a thing for him too. I doubt the pair got beyond fond looks and holding hands, but I bet they would have if life hadn’t gone crazy on us all.
