Lord Loss (The Demonata 1)

“Don't you have any friends?” I inquire bluntly — I've noticed he doesn't talk much about other kids, unless he's chatting about school. And he always has plenty of time for visiting Dervish and me. He never says he can't come or has to dash off early to see another friend.

“Not many,” he says honestly. “I have friends in class, but I don't see much of them outside of school. Grandma and Grandad Spleen like to keep me tucked up safe and snug indoors, which is part of the problem. I like hanging out with Dervish, which is another part. I guess mostly I'm just odd, not very good at making friends.”

“You made friends with me pretty easily,” I remind him.

“But you're like me,” he says. “An outsider. Different. A freak. We're both weird, which is why we get along.”

I'm not sure I like the sound of that — I've never thought of myself as a freak — but it'd be childish to stamp my foot and shout something like, “I'm not weird!” So I let it ride and follow Bill-E deeper into the woods.

In the middle of a thicket. Picking a spot to clear, where we can excavate. I find a patch of soft earth between two stones. I start to dig and earth crumbles away. It looks like there's a hole here. Probably an animal's den, but maybe, just maybe …

“I think this might —” I begin.

“Ssshh!” I'm cut short.

Bill-E presses his fingers to his lips — silence. He crouches low. I follow suit. I can tell by his intent expression that this isn't a game. My heart beats faster. I grip my axe tightly. Flashback to that room, that night. Terror starts to dig its claws in deep.

“I smell him,” Bill-E whispers. “If he spots us, laugh and act as if we were trying to surprise him. If he doesn't, keep down until I tell you.”

“Who is it?” I hiss. Bill-E waves the question away and concentrates on the trees beyond the thicket.

Ten seconds pass. Twenty. Thirty. I'm counting inside my head, the way I do when I'm swimming and trying to hold my breath underwater. Thinking — if it's them, should I run or try to fight?

Sixty-nine, seventy, seventy-one … a pair of feet. Sneakers. Lime green sports socks. I stifle a laugh. It's only Dervish! The terror passes and my heartbeat slows. I make a note to myself to give Bill-E a thumping later for scaring me like that.

Bill-E stays low as Dervish pads past the thicket and moves on through the trees beyond. Then he wriggles out as quietly as possible and gets to his feet, gazing after the departed Dervish.

“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 around.”

“The most hygienic disposal method,” I note.