Death & Co.

by D. J. McCune

  Archie glanced at his manga girl. ‘I’d give it a go myself if she was involved.’

  Spike smirked. ‘Exactly. Of course boys are usually stronger than girls but girls have excellent balance from all those high heels. So maybe we need to level the playing field.’ He added another word in the subject line. ‘I think we’ll send this to all staff, not just the teachers. The office ladies will enjoy it. And capitals will make sure everyone reads it.’

  He hit send. Adam stared at the new subject line. ‘COMPULSORY AFTER-SCHOOL MUD WRESTLING FOR BOYS AND GIRLS’. Dan gave a great bray of laughter, earning himself a swipe. By the time they had stopped laughing and closed the laptop the bell for the end of break was ringing.

  They took their time heading for the exit. Mrs Nostel, the school librarian, had been stacking books, dressed in one of her long, hippy skirts. Her herbal tea was brewing peacefully in a clear glass pot. Adam could see what looked like dead weeds unfurling inside. Now she returned to her desk and poured herself a cup. She unlocked her computer and raised the cup to her mouth, clicking the mouse. They could tell the moment she saw the email. Her eyes popped open, and she choked and spat a great spatter of tea onto her computer screen.

  They fled, whooping and cackling along the corridor.

  It turned out to be the highlight in an otherwise tiring day. By the time Adam fought his way onto the bus home he was grateful just to grab the last window seat and let his head loll against the cold glass, eyes closed, tuning out the noise. He had almost swooped home, even though he wasn’t allowed, just so he could crawl into bed. Of course it was always risky stepping into the Hinterland from the physical world. As far as normal people were concerned the physical world was all there was and Adam didn’t fancy explaining to his classmates how he had disappeared into thin air. In the end he decided against it – the nosebleeds always gave him away.

  It was a short walk from the bus stop until he reached the house. He paused at the wrought-iron gates leading into the driveway. Iron railings ran along the pavement, with dense shrubbery and old trees hiding the house from view. Something in the very foundations of the place made onlookers pass by quickly, forgetting it was even there. The only new thing visible was the high-tech security system. Adam placed his palm on an electronic pad and the gates swung open, closing as soon as he was through.

  He dragged his feet up the gravel driveway to the front of the house. It was old and graceful, grey stone with elegant leaded windows, surrounded by a neat lawn and lots of trees – rowan, oak, pine and yew. All trees had their meaning; rowan for protection, oak for strength, pine for eternity and of course yew – for transformation and rebirth. Some of the Irish Lumen still gave their souls a sprig of yew to take into their Light.

  Round the back of the house was a tumbledown shed where Nathanial parked his battered Volvo. The dogs had a pen here and a large paddock to run free in. Of course what could be seen above ground was only a fraction of what lay underneath. Adam doubted that his friends had vaults, crypts or ballrooms beneath their houses. His keystone vibrated gently, registering the family Keystones deep beneath the earth, happy to be back on Mortson ground.

  He paused and breathed deeply, feeling unsettled. Home was a sanctuary from the world outside – but home was also a curse, a place where he felt like a misfit. Like a failure.

  He put his shoulder to the front door, swinging the heavy wood and stained glass aside, trying to close it quietly so he could sneak up to his room. But before he even had a foot on the bottom stair his father’s voice called from his open study door, ‘Adam? Come in here for a moment.’

  Adam almost cursed – then gave a sigh of resignation. He accepted his fate and stepped into the study.

  Chapter 3

  Adam shuffled inside. His father was sitting at his long mahogany desk, staring out into the garden. Adam had always liked this room – the creamy walls, the long bookshelves, books standing neat and alert like soldiers. It smelled like beeswax polish, old paper and his father’s aftershave. His favourite thing when he was a child was spinning the globe on the end of the desk, stumbling over the names of countries and capital cities.

  Nathanial made a courteous gesture and Adam sat on a low reading chair. It was old and the bottom was sagging, making him sink beyond the point of comfort. He could feel the front edge of the chair digging into the backs of his thighs.

  When his father stood up he towered over Adam but ambled around the room, putting some distance between them. ‘So, how was school?’

  Adam shrugged. ‘All right.’

  ‘Good. I was worried you would be tired today. Blow yourself up in chemistry or something.’ Nathanial chuckled and Adam struggled to make his mouth respond. The struggle must have shown because Nathanial’s face drooped. He cleared his throat and made his expression carefully neutral. ‘So … How do you think last night went?’

  Adam blinked at him. ‘Not very well really. I mean, there was a giant earthquake. I’d say that made it a pretty bad night for most of the people there.’

  Nathanial smiled faintly. ‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Adam.’

  Adam felt a brief, surprising flare of something between frustration and shame. Just once he would have liked his father to yell and curse and rage; in short, to lose his temper. Maybe it would have made Nathanial seem more human. He sighed. ‘I’m really tired. I just want to go and sleep for a couple of hours. I’ve got loads of homework tonight.’

  Nathanial tapped the ends of his long fingers together. ‘I see.’ His face was thoughtful. ‘You won’t have to worry about that kind of thing for much longer.’

  Adam’s heart kicked inside his chest. He tried to keep his voice even. ‘Well, I have a few years left. By the time I get through sixth form an—’

  ‘Adam.’ Nathanial cut him off and now his face wasn’t quite so calm. ‘Son, I’m not sure where you got this idea from but you know it’s quite impossible. Your Auntie Jo convinced me to let you stay on until you finish your CGEs but after that …’ He spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

  Adam scowled. ‘They’re GCSEs. For, like, the millionth time. And I can’t be a doctor if I haven’t gone through sixth form.’

  Nathanial studied him, half amused and half exasperated. ‘Where on earth did you get this doctor idea? It certainly didn’t come from your mother or me.’ He shook his head, baffled.

  Adam wanted to say something dazzling, something that would penetrate his father’s one-track mind and make him understand that there was more to life than death. Unfortunately he couldn’t say anything because a familiar feeling was prickling around the edges of his vision, turning his stomach and beading his forehead with sweat. He took a deep breath and tried to push the feeling away.

  It was a struggle. Usually he could do it without even thinking about it. But now, when he felt so tired, he was weak. It took a lot of effort and he didn’t want Nathanial to notice. His family thought he had grown out of this little peculiarity.

  The Mortsons, like all Lumen, had a death sense. It was what told them when a person had died and how they had died. It helped them to track the soul so they could swoop and send the soul into the afterlife. This was a Luman’s job – to guide the dead, show them their special Light and send them safely onwards. Some, like the Mortsons, were specialists in particular areas; others would help anyone and everyone, regardless of how they had died. The death sense was essential for the job.

  Adam however had something extra – what might have been called a ‘doom sense’. He could sometimes feel the death before it happened. In their world someone like him was called a Seer. When Adam was a child Nathanial had been quite excited about this ability – after all, Seers were rare. A talent like that would make his son the fastest Luman in the land, ready to guide a soul before the person in question had even died.

  Adam had other ideas. He hated the sick, twisting sensation he got inside. He hated the knowledge that someone’s life was about to end. Death didn’t fright
en him – he had seen how the souls relaxed in the Hinterland, once they saw their Light and their own special road. But those souls had been people with lives and plans and dreams. He didn’t want to know that their dreams were about to end before they knew themselves. Another wave of nausea gripped him and he forced his mind to slam an invisible door closed, locking the premonition out.

  Nathanial hadn’t noticed. He strode along to the last bookcase, pulling out a heavy leather-bound book. When he sat down his face was reverent and melancholy in equal measure. The cover was embossed with the two golden symbols of the Luman world, the lantern and the key. A Luman had to light the way for the soul in his care, revealing the doorway into the next world. He lifted the cover and ran the back of his hand over the thick paper inside. ‘I never thought I would become the Keeper of this book.’

  Adam shivered, trying not to look away. He felt both attracted to and repelled by the book. The pages were heavy cream, the soft grain of the paper at odds with the sharp blackness of the ink inside. As Nathanial turned the pages Adam could see the writing changing – spidery on some pages, neat and precise on others. The Book of the Unknown Roads held all the collected knowledge, wisdom and law of the Luman world. It had been handed down through generations and only High Lumen could own such a book. The Mortson copy was ancient and his father was only its most recent Keeper.

  Maybe Nathanial was thinking along the same lines. His voice was soft. ‘Sometimes I think of those who have gone before me. Of what they learned before they finally walked the Unknown Roads themselves.’ When he looked at Adam his eyes were bright and hard. ‘Do you think they chose the life they had? Did it occur to you that maybe they had dreams of their own, just as you have? We have a job to do.’

  Adam shifted in his seat. He risked a peek at Nathanial, seeing the shadows under his eyes and the grey sprinkling his dark hair. His father was starting to look old. Being High Luman – overseeing all the Lumen and souls in the Kingdom of Britain – wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. He felt a curious stab of pride, mingled with his usual resentment.

  Nathanial cleared his throat. ‘It might surprise you to know that I wasn’t always so keen to be a Luman myself, Adam.’ He grinned, suddenly looking much younger. ‘I wanted to be a racing driver.’ The grin faded. ‘Sometimes it’s better to accept your fate gracefully. Dreams are just that. We are what we are.’

  Adam tried to keep his voice even. ‘You don’t need all four of us to follow in your footsteps. Aron and Luc can be Lumen and Chloe will marry Ciaron. You really don’t need me to be a Luman. I’m no good at it anyway.’ He hated how whiny and pleading he sounded.

  Nathanial frowned. ‘You need to do your bit, Adam. Populations change. There are more people in this part of the Kingdom than ever before. And there’s no guarantee that Ciaron will come here. He may wish to remain in Ireland and follow in his father’s footsteps. If we could have had more children perhaps things would have been different but …’ He stopped, leaving the rest unsaid.

  ‘I can’t do it.’ Adam stared at the floor. He could feel his cheeks burning. ‘I get a nosebleed every time I swoop. I always say the wrong thing. I can’t even guide souls without throwing up.’

  ‘It’s all in your mind, Adam,’ Nathanial said patiently. ‘Of course your mind feels attached to the physical world; you spend more time here than in the Hinterland. Just keep remembering that no one world is more real than the other. Everything is energy. Use your keystone for help – that’s what it’s there for. A little piece of both worlds.’ He saw Adam’s sceptical expression and sighed. ‘Maybe things will get easier when you come of age and get Marked. Until then some confusion is normal.’

  Adam snorted. Getting Marked meant taking the oath and becoming a full Luman, bound by all the laws of their world. A Marked Luman like Nathanial didn’t need a keystone any more. Of course at this rate Adam was never going to be good enough to come of age. ‘Yeah, but nobody else gets as confused as me.’ It was true. Even Chloe could swoop with ease – and she hardly ever got to practise.

  Nathanial cleared his throat. ‘Well … you’re still learning. Not everyone’s a natural.’ He paused, obviously torn between his desire to be honest and his desire to be encouraging. ‘Adam, what we do … Not everyone can do it.’

  Adam almost rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah, I gathered that. I don’t think the people in my class have to worry about dispatching souls into the afterlife.’

  ‘I don’t mean that.’ Nathanial sounded almost snappish – which by his standards meant he was really angry. ‘There are plenty of psychopomps and lower Lumen able to assist those who die quietly in their beds. To do our work requires a special kind of skill. To deal with souls taken before their time … Finding them fast and guiding them, explaining what has happened to them before they get lost on the Unknown Roads. There have been many High Lumen in the Mortson line. You could be next.’

  Adam glared at him. ‘I don’t want to be next! I don’t want to be a Luman at all, never mind High Luman! I keep telling you – I can’t do it!’

  Nathanial stared at him and the tight disappointment around his eyes was somehow worse than seeing him smash things or shout. ‘It’s time for you to grow up, Adam. You need to accept who you are. Become the man you’re meant to be.’

  ‘And do I get any say in that?’

  Nathanial sighed and turned away. ‘I have work to do, Adam. You’ll have to excuse me. Just … give it some thought.’

  Adam closed his eyes and shook his head. He knew when he’d been dismissed.

  He left his father’s study and staggered towards the stairs. As he passed the music room he could hear Chloe murdering Chopin on the old piano, his mother an unappreciative audience. ‘Non! How many times must I tell you? Comme ça!’ The keys thudded out a recognisable tune, albeit played as though the piano had personally insulted Elise. Adam might have felt sorry for Chloe but he had no room in his heart for compassion. At least she didn’t have to grow up to be a Luman. She just had to marry one.

  He hauled himself towards his bedroom on the top floor, clinging to the ornate banister, seething inside. He didn’t want this – any of this! He couldn’t even remember the moment he had first realised he was different; it was so long ago now. All he had ever wanted was to be normal, to blend in with the crowd. Everything about his family made that impossible.

  He tried to ignore the portraits weaving up the walls beside him but he could feel the occupants sneering at him. All those Mortsons, a long unbroken line of Lumen. According to the history books they were always the fastest, the wisest, the most charming. The vault below the house was crammed with the Keystones these Lumen had gathered. There had been more High Lumen with the surname Mortson than any other. They were guardians of the dead, shepherding souls into the afterlife. Not just any souls either but the most tricky souls, those who had died suddenly or violently. The Mortsons had always specialised in this kind of work – fast-response Lumen, needed all over the world at times, not just in their own Kingdom.

  The thought of it, the weight of all that history and expectation, exhausted him. Adam slipped into the coolness of his room and pitched headfirst onto the bed.

  When he woke it was dark outside. Adam lay in bed, blinking and stretching. There had been a period when he was younger when he used to wake up and pretend his life was all a dream. All he had to do was find his way out of it, into his real life in the real world. He didn’t waste time daydreaming any more.

  He crept downstairs, hoping to find the kitchen empty. Only one lamp glowed and for a second he thought the coast was clear but Elise was standing at the back door, smoking one of her long, thin French cigarettes. When she turned towards him Adam started. His mother’s face was always pale but tonight she looked ghostly. She nodded her head but didn’t speak, blowing smoke into the cold night air.

  Adam tried to smile. ‘Those things will kill you.’

  She arched an eyebrow but didn’t answer. He could feel her building up
to something; probably another lecture. He couldn’t face it. Hoping to distract her he asked if there was anything for dinner.

  It worked. Her face filled with outrage. ‘Of course there is dinner! Tell me one night in your life when you have not had dinner?’ She stubbed her cigarette out and dropped it into an Oriental vase, slamming the back door closed. Adam watched her dish up casserole and vegetables and muttered his thanks, hoping she would go away and leave him to eat in peace. Instead she poured a glass of wine and sat down opposite him. ‘So. How was l’école?’

  It always irritated Adam when she used the French word for school, although he couldn’t say why. ‘It was OK.’

  ‘Mmmm.’ The noise she made could have meant anything. ‘Your brothers never cared for it. They were happy to leave when they finished the junior school. I ask you every day how it was and every day you tell me it is “OK”. I wonder why you fight so hard to go there if it is only “OK”.’

  Adam glanced at her. ‘Because that’s what people my age do. They go to school.’

  ‘Not people like us, Adam.’

  He watched her sipping her wine. His mother was beautiful. She had brown eyes and long blonde hair, falling gracefully around her pale, heart-shaped face. He didn’t think he had ever seen her without make-up. At primary school he had watched other mothers come to collect their children and been fascinated by their trainers and ponytails, their short nails and bare faces. Elise would appear, somehow looking like a queen beside everyone else. She was always charming but never friendly, deflecting questions by asking them instead of answering.

  Adam had listened to his friends talking about their mums. He had even tried the word on her once – ‘Mum!’ – but she had looked at him so sharply he never tried again. She sometimes let Chloe call her Maman if she was in a really good mood.

  Neither of them spoke. Adam chewed and swallowed mechanically while Elise brought him some fruit salad. It was only as she left the kitchen that she turned to him again. ‘Adam. What I said last night … that I was ashamed of you. It was unkind.’ Just as he thought she might apologise she added, ‘It was also the truth. Your father works too hard. He needs you all to assist him. Make me proud of you, like your brothers do.’