Page 39 of Dead Vengeance

She narrows her eyes at that, and I know what she’s thinking without her saying it, but she says it anyway. “Only a few years older than you, and they send you, totally inexperienced, as his… What is it again? Social worker?”

“Sort of.” I rush an excuse out. “I’m there to help him with his… nerves.”

“Anxious, is he?”

My heart flutters and, “Not really.”

“What is it then?”

“He’s…” Handsome, smart, kind, caring, stupidly wealthy… “He talks to this bird.”

The guffaw she huffs out breaks all the tension apart, and I’m so thankful for it. “And does the bird talk back?”

I’m smiling finally, at how ridiculous that whole part of the day was. And how lovely it was, actually. “It does a bit, yeah.”

“Well, maybe he’s not that mad after all.”

“That’s the funny thing. I don’t think he is. I think maybe he just needs…”

Someone to get rid of his ghost problem…

That isn’t really a ghost problem at all.

That’s worse than a ghost problem.

A problem that tried to kill me only a few hours ago. And him too.

“Maybe he just needs you, Liam,” she says lightly, sweetly.

“Yeah,” I reply, some mixture of self-flattery and fear fighting for supremacy while I’m wishing there was any way on earth that could ever be true. I repeat the nice notion all the same, because it feels good to think it—to say it. “Maybe he just needs me.”

I know the reality is different, though. Darker. Much, much more complicated.

Because even after everything else, I still constantly see my brother’s face.

Pale.

Dead.

A bullet in his brain.

And I know it’s not really Archer who needs me. I need him. And tomorrow, I’m going to find out every single thing he knows about the supernatural.

Then I’m going to find out what that thing knows about my brother.

We spent the next hour chatting, Mum telling me about her day, me trying to find reasonable bits and pieces to drop about mine. By the time I’ve showered, done some washing, and crawled into bed, my body is begging for a rest. I’m so tired I know I’ll drop off in about two minutes.

Between the sheets, covers up, body relaxing, eyes falling closed, and the deep satisfaction of sleep coming…

My phone vibrates on the bedside table.

I extend a tired hand, force my eyelids to part, and as soon as I see the message, my heart sinks.

Office. 7 a.m. Not happy >:( Ted.

fourteen

Breakfast!