He shrugs. “I wouldn't miss Grandma and Grandad that much if I moved in with Dervish,” he admits. “I could still go see them all the time. But if he lost, they might take out a court order to stop him seeing me. I reckon they struck a deal with him when Mom died — he could carry on visiting, or having me over to visit, as long as he never told me who he really was. If I go messing about, it might screw up everything.”
I scratch my head, thinking that over. It all seems a bit complicated to me — Dervish doesn't strike me as the sort to go in for such subterfuge. But I'm new on the scene. Bill-E has spent most of his life around my uncle. I guess he knows what he's talking about.
“This makes us cousins — if it's true,” I note.
“Yeah,” Bill-E giggles, then pokes me in the chest. “It also makes me his son and rightful heir, so don't go getting too attached to this place, Grady, because as soon as the old man kicks it, you're out of here!”
“Charming!” I laugh, and dump the last of my popcorn over Bill-E's head.
“Hey!” Bill-E shouts, shaking kernels from his head, all over the couch and floor. “Clean that up!”
“You clean it,” I grin wickedly. “It's your house …”
Both of us laughing, he chases me up the stairs to my room, lobbing fistfuls of popcorn at my head all the way.
CARNAGE IN THE FOREST
ROUTINES. Daily chores. Lots of chess competitions with Dervish and Bill-E. Dervish taught Bill-E how to play. He's much better than I am, though his concentration wanders occasionally, so I beat him more than I should. Watching TV. Hanging out with Bill-E. We play soccer and explore the countryside when we're not stuck in front of the massive screen or locking horns in chess tournaments.
I'm recognized in Carcery Vale now. Bill-E introduced me to the shopkeepers and gossips. They accept me the same as any other kid. Pass the time of day with me when I come in to pick up shopping. Ask about Dervish and what I think of the mansion. Tell me tales from its gory past, trying to spook me.
Bill-E also takes me to visit Grandma and Grandad Spleen. A couple of battleaxes! Narrow-eyed, sharp-tongued, drably dressed, their house in a state of perpetual gloominess. Grandad Spleen rambles on about the old days and how Carcery Vale has gone to the dogs. Grandma Spleen hovers in the background, serving tea and cookies, eyes daring me to spill crumbs on her carpet.
Both have lots to say about Dervish, none of it good.
“Not right, living out there on his own.”
“A house like that's too big for one man.”
“He should be married — but no one will have him!”
“If he does anything out of order, you let us know.”
Bill-E smiles apologetically when we leave. “I love my grandparents, but I know what they're like. I won't take you there too often.”
I shrug as if it's no big deal, but offer up silent thanks. I don't know how he stands them. I'd have run away from home years ago if I was caged in with a crabby old pair like that! Although, thinking twice about it, I suppose it's better to have grumpy grandparents as parents than no parents at all. I complained a lot about Mom and Dad when they were … still with me. They had their faults. I think everybody does. But I wouldn't complain if they were with me … alive now.
The murders are never far from my thoughts. The memories of Vein, Artery, and Lord Loss haunt me. Many nights I wake screaming, arms thrashing, eyes wild, imagining demons in the room with me, under the bed, in the wardrobe, scratching at the door.
Dervish is always there when I wake from my nightmares. Sitting by the bottom of my bed. Passing me a mug of hot chocolate or a towel to wipe the sweat from my face. He never says much, or asks what I was dreaming about. Leaves as soon as I've settled down.
We haven't discussed the demons. I think Dervish wants to, but I'm reluctant to step back into that world of darkness. He leaves books in my room, or open on the tables downstairs, about monsters, demons, magic. I avoid them at first. Later I read certain passages and study pictures, attracted to the mystery of this other realm despite my fears of it.
No pictures of my demons in the books. I glance through some of the many encyclopedias in the mansion, but there's no mention of a Lord Loss or his familiars in any of them.
Friday. Listening to CDs I bought in the Vale. A roaring outside, of a motorbike approaching. But it isn't Dervish — he's up in his study. I creep to the window and secretly watch the cyclist dismounting. A woman dressed in black leather. Long blond hair tumbles down over her shoulders when she removes her helmet. She stretches, hands going high above her head. Ay caramba!
I'm down the stairs in a flash, but not as fast as Dervish. He's already opening the front doors. I catch a glimpse of a big smile. Then he's shouting, “Meera! I wasn't expecting you for another few days. Why didn't you phone?”
“You never answer,” the woman says, meeting Dervish in the doorway, hugging him hard. She pushes him away and studies his face. “How's it going, hon?”
“Not bad,” Dervish chuckles.
“How's the house guest?” She spots me over Dervish's shoulder. “Oh, never mind. I'll ask him myself.” She strides over and offers her hand. I shake it politely. “Meera Flame,” she introduces herself. She smiles — dazzling. “And if I know Dervish, he hasn't told you a thing about me, right?”
I nod dumbly. I think I'm in love!
“Grubbs Grady — Meera Flame,” Dervish says. “Meera's a close friend of mine. She comes to stay quite regularly. I meant to tell you she was on her way, but I forgot.”