The Secret Dead (London Bones Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

you. I’m the new sniffer.’
    That explained the smell comment. ‘What are you?’
    ‘Cat.’ And that explained the rudeness.
    This was why the police usually hired dogs—much easier to get on with. I wondered if Little was the type of cat who got off on crapping in the neighbours’ veggie patch. The Lipscombe had more than one cat client fighting an ASBO for doing that.
    ‘Shifter or wereperson?’ I asked, more out of habit than out of any real interest. Shifters had the ability to actually shift into their totem animal; werepeople just took on their characteristics.
    ‘Shifter. Your standard Felis Domesticus . British Shorthair, if you want to be specific.’
    I nodded and stomped my feet to try to warm them. It didn’t work. It never did. ‘Do you know how Malcolm died?’
    The cat shook his head. ‘Wife claims he was alive when she went to bed. Guess we’ll find out if he agrees to an autopsy.’
    My gaze shot upwards at a creaking sound. The loft window at the top of the house opened. Malcolm swung his legs out. They were bare, and he wore only a pair of blue striped boxer shorts. He was alone. My heart skipped a beat before I realised Malcolm would be covered in blood if he had attacked his son.
    Malcolm was definitely dead. Still moving, but definitely dead. The hag part of me was offended at the feeling of wrongness emanating from him.
    A small hand reached through the window and grabbed Malcolm’s boxer shorts. Malcolm twisted from his seat on the sill and gently moved it away. I let out the breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding.
    Despite his efforts, I’d never paid much attention to the man’s physique, but Malcolm was scrawnier than I would have imagined, all silver hair and skinny legs.
    He wasn’t noticeably decayed, so either he hadn’t been dead long or he’d been very, very bad. The cat’s flesh alone wouldn’t have staved off decay for more than an hour or two.
    There was no sign of injury, nothing to indicate how he had died. He sat on the window sill, legs dangling. He stared upwards, his mouth set in a tight line. I followed his gaze and saw nothing but grey cloud.
    A loud crash sounded from within the house. Malcolm looked behind him, then peered down as if contemplating jumping.
    A fall wouldn’t destroy a zombie, of course, but without fresh flesh to reknit the damage to his bones and muscle, he’d only lose control faster. He certainly wouldn’t be able to outrun the police blocking either end of the street. I’d always thought the man was stupid, but I didn’t think he was that stupid.
    I thought of the little boy in the attic with him, and I called, ‘Don’t be an arse, Malcolm. Don’t jump in front of Finn.’
    Malcolm heard me. He looked down, clearly surprised to see me. He looked up, and an expression of relief washed over his face. Then he pushed back with his feet against the wall and jumped, arms straight out in front of him, as if he were diving into a swimming pool.

 
     
     
     
     
    5
     
    Malcolm fell, but he didn’t land. A dark shape dropped from the grey sky above him. One moment Malcolm was falling, the next he was blocked from sight completely. By a giant pair of wings.
    Next to me, Little drew in a sharp intake of breath, and someone in the crowd screamed.
    The wings twisted to show a skinny figure bent over double—Ben, one thin arm under Malcolm’s left armpit, the other scrabbling to establish another hold on his father. Malcolm hung to Ben’s legs, gripping his jeans. They struggled in the air, each trying to get a better grip on the other. Ben wobbled, and dipped, then rose again with effort. Malcolm stopped moving, and Ben stabilised. Malcolm murmured something, and Ben replied, but they were too high and too far away for me to make out the words.
    The boy let go of his father and straightened. At the same time, Malcolm changed his grip and hugged the boy’s legs tightly.
    The wings were huge, but the boy was skinny, fragile, and