“What was that about?” I ask, standing, wiping myself down.
“Let’s follow him,” Bill-E says.
“Why?” I get a thought. “You don’t think he’s going to meet Meera out here, do you?” I grin slyly and nudge his ribs with an elbow.
Bill-E glares. “Don’t be stupid!” he snaps. “Just trust me, OK?” Before I can respond, he slips away in pursuit of Dervish, like an Indian tracker. I lag along a few paces behind, bemused, wondering what this silly game’s in aid of and where it’s leading.
→Several minutes later. Hot on Dervish’s trail. Bill-E keeps his prey in sight, but is careful not to give himself away. He moves with surprising stealth. I feel like a clumsy bull behind him.
Dervish stops and stoops. Bill-E catches his breath, reaches back and drags me up beside him. “Can you see?” he whispers.
“I can see his head and shoulders,” I grunt in return, squinting. No sign of Meera, worse luck!
“Watch his hands when he rises.”
I do as Bill-E commands. Moments later my uncle stands, holding something stiff and red. I get a clearer view of it as he turns to the left—a dead fox, its body ripped apart.
Dervish produces a plastic bag. Drops the fox into it. Studies the ground around him. Moves on.
Bill-E waits a couple of minutes before advancing to the spot where Dervish found the fox. The ground is stained with blood and a few scraps of fur and guts.
“The blood hasn’t thickened,” Bill-E notes, poking a red pool with a twig, holding it up as though judging the quality of the blood. “The fox must have been killed last night or early this morning.”
“So what?” I ask, bewildered. “A dead fox—big deal!”
“I’ve seen Dervish collect others like that,” Bill-E says quietly. “There’s an incinerator on the far side of the Vale. Dervish has a key to it. He takes the corpses there and burns them when nobody’s about.”
“The most hygienic disposal method,” I note.
“Dervish doesn’t believe in interfering with nature,” Bill-E disagrees. “He says corpses are an important part of the food chain, that we should leave dead creatures where we find them—unless they’re likely to cause a public nuisance.”
“What’s all this about?” I ask edgily.
Bill-E doesn’t answer. He stares at the forest floor, thinking, then turns sharply and beckons. “Follow me,” he snaps, breaking into a jog, and I’ve no option other than to run after him.
→A clearing by a stream. Beautiful afternoon sun. I lie down and soak it up while Bill-E drags a large black plastic bag out from under a bush.
“I’ve collected these over the last three months,” he says, untying a knot in the bag’s top. “I saw Dervish removing a couple of bodies during the months before that, and thought I’d keep an eye out for corpses and grab hold of them before he did.”
He finishes with the knot, clutches the bottom of the bag and spills the contents out. A swarm of flies rises in the air. The stench is disgusting.
“What the…!” I cough, covering my mouth and nose with my hands, eyes watering.
Lots of bones and scraps of flesh at Bill-E’s feet. He separates them carefully with a large stick. “A badger,” he says, pointing to one of the rotting carcasses. “A hedgehog. A swan. A–”
“What the hell is this crap?” I interrupt angrily. “That stench is enough to knock–”
“I didn’t know why I felt I had to hold on to them,” Bill-E says softly, eyes on the putrid corpses. He looks up at me. “Now I know—to show them to you.”
I stare back uncertainly. This feels very wrong. If Bill-E was trying to gross me out, I could understand – even appreciate – the joke. But there’s no laughter in his eyes. No grisly delight in his expression.
“Not you personally,” he continues, looking back to the animals. “But part of me must have wanted to show them to some body. It was just a matter of time until the right person came along.”
“Bill-E,” I mutter, “you’re freaking me out big-time.”
“Come closer,” he says.
I study his expression. Then the spade lying close to him on the ground. I take a firm grip on my axe. Walk a few steps towards him. Stop short of easy reach.
“Look at them,” he says, pointing to the animals.
Like the fox Dervish found, their bodies have been ripped open. Heads and limbs are missing or chewed to pieces. I flash back to images of Dad hanging from the ceiling.
“I’m going to be sick,” I moan, turning aside.
“These haven’t been killed by animals,” Bill-E says. I pause. “Look at the way their stomachs have been ripped apart—jaggedly, but up the middle. And the bite marks don’t correspond to any predators I know of. If this was the work of a wolf or bear, the marks would be wider spaced, and larger, because of the size of their jaws.”
“There aren’t any wolves or bears around here,” I frown.
“I know. But I had to assume that it could have been a bear or wolf – or a wild dog – until I was able to examine the corpses in closer detail. I didn’t leap to any conclusions.”
“But you’ve come to some since,” I note wryly. “So hit me with it. What do you think did this?”
“I’m not sure,” Bill-E says evenly. “But I’ve checked out the teeth marks in the best biology books and web sites that I could find. As near as I could match them, they seem to belong to an ape–”
“You’re not telling me it’s King Kong!” I whoop.
“–or a human,” Bill-E finishes.
Cold, eerie silence.
→Dervish’s study. Bill-E leads me in. I’m not sure where Dervish is, but his bike isn’t outside, so he’s not home. Meera’s bike is gone too.
“We shouldn’t be here,” I whisper anxiously. “Dervish said this room is magically protected.”
“I know,” Bill-E replies. He steps in front of me, spreads his arms and chants. I don’t know what language he’s using, but the words are long and lyrical. He turns as he chants, eyes closed, concentrating.
Bill-E stops and opens his eyes. “Safe,” he grunts.
“You’re sure?”
“Dervish taught me that spell years ago. He updates it every so often, when he alters the protective spells of the house. It’ll probably be one of the first spells he teaches you when he decides you’re ready to learn.”
I feel uncomfortable, especially since I promised Dervish that I wouldn’t come in here without him. But there’s no stopping Bill-E, and I’m too curious to back out now.
“What are we looking for?” I ask, following him to one of the bookshelves. He came here directly from the clearing, without saying anything more about the dead animals he’d collected.
“This,” Bill-E says, lifting a large, untitled book down from one of the shelves over Dervish’s PC. He lays it on the desk but doesn’t open it.
“Demons killed your parents and sister,” he murmurs. My insides freeze. He looks up. “We inhabit a world of magic. My proposal would make an ordinary person laugh scornfully. But we’re not ordinary. We’re Gradys, descendants of the magician Bartholomew Garadex. Remember that.”
He opens the book. Creamy, crinkled pages. Handwriting.