Graves Robbed, Heirlooms
Returned (Reed Lavender: 1)
Chapter 1
In the bright moonlight, Reed Lavender inserted his best
crowbar into the pine box where the top met the sides and wrenched the steel
down. Wood squeaked and he shuddered. Worse
than fingernails on a blackboard. He lifted the lid free, resting it
against the freshly turned earth – which, unlike the sound of an opening coffin
– was an almost pleasant thing. A pungent scent, but real. Honest. Worms and
bugs, minerals and secrets lived in the earth; when you got right down to it,
grave dirt wasn’t really any different to regular dirt.
And
he was certainly down to it now, about to be elbow-deep in a coffin.
Again.
But
for what they’d given Elise, the word ‘coffin’ was a stretch. A pine box wasn’t
much of a final resting place – dignity hardly came cheap in Rikerton’s funeral
home and unclaimed bodies were lucky to avoid the incinerator. Or maybe that
would have been better. Dust to dust and
all that.
“But
then you’d be out of work,” he told himself.
Elise
the runaway – that’s what the police thought she was – lay in her dirty jeans
and the same faded Pink Floyd t-shirt she wore when she walked into the cafe
two days back. Her arms lay at her sides, cuts on her palms mostly hidden. Her
face had been covered... by a used napkin. “Jesus, Jennings, that the best you
could do?” Reed growled. At least the napkin was in one piece; the undertaker
had been known to be far more slipshod at times.
Reed
lifted the napkin... and ground his teeth.
She’d
been beaten blue. Deep bruises swam across her cheeks, one eye swollen shut and
the other just as blackened, torn skin at her temple. Jennings had cleaned her
face up well enough but there were still leaf fragments and dried blood in her
hair. The pallor of death had washed out Elise’s freckles, mere suggestions
crossing her bent nose. God, what is she,
fifteen? She looks so small.
Reed
tossed the napkin aside and unwound his scarf, folded it and placed it over her
face, standing still a moment, shaking as he blinked. The night air ran chill
fingers across his now-exposed throat and the back of his neck. Finally, he
took a breath and leant over the coffin, where he lifted her arm. “Sorry,
sweetheart,” he said softly, twisting her silver bracelet up to the moon. Only the
letters ‘Elise’ engraved there. Really, there was little he could learn from a
perfunctory glance at her clothing and jewellery that the police wouldn’t have
already catalogued. He’d check that later, of course – but Elise deserved more.
No,
he’d have to wake her up – sort of.
Her
last words would maybe be enough of a clue. Most folks didn’t have much to say,
right before the end. Sometimes it was a scream or a grunt if he was unlucky.
Other times, they addressed their killer. Or a loved one, perhaps, if the death
was peaceful. Not that I’ve heard a lot
of those in my time.
There’d
been a man out west, he couldn’t recall where - so many cities and towns
blended together - whose last words had been an apology for burnt toast. After
that, the poor guy hadn’t said a thing before being t-boned at an intersection
by a bus an hour later, two blocks from his office.
But
sometimes, a person’s last sentence held a clue.
“Come
on, Elise, tell me something I can use.”
If
she didn’t, he had no other supernatural tricks up his sleeve either, since he
couldn’t simply call upon her spirit. It would have made things much easier and allowed him to stop violating
peoples’ graves but sadly, he wasn’t that lucky.
Reed
removed the scarf a moment, took her cold hands and closed his eyes, sending
his awareness down through her mute fingertips, pushing his way along quiet
veins until he reached her chest, still echoing with the memory of a million
heartbeats, then at last up the throat to the tongue; the tongue which
remembered everything.
But
it would move only once more.
“In
the name of Mors, speak any that you might,” he whispered. “I’ll help you if
you can.”
Her
body resisted.
Not
unusual. It meant reliving the pain and shock – why wouldn’t her body want to
fight that? It was at rest now, if not at peace. But he had to know. Reed
pushed harder, pouring both his hope and anger into the request. “Please,
Elise.”
A
flicker, a tiny sound as her jaw shifted.
He
opened his eyes and leant close. Would it be a scream? A clue? Nonsense? Her
voice was little more than a rasping whisper, such as might easily be mistaken
for a breeze, but he caught the words.
“Wow,
what a beautiful view. This is some place; you can see half the city from
here.”
Then
silence.
“Shit.”
Poor girl, she probably never saw it coming.
Reed
lowered Elise’s hands. Half the city.
That hardly narrowed things down – there were only hundreds of such high points available. But it probably put the
owner in a certain tax bracket at least. He shook his head. No assumptions. It was his first rule.
And that went for murder too – maybe it was an accident. Still, something happened to bring Elise’s life
to an unjust end.
He
had to find out; no-one else was looking and Elise’s grandmother deserved
answers. Even unpleasant ones, he supposed.
Reed
placed the scarf back over the girl’s face and reached for his shovel.
The Radiant King
Reed Lavender Book 2
Things aren’t exactly
getting easier for Reed Lavender.
Old obligations and new cases are piling up but in the aftermath of Feronia’s
defeat, answers are still too thin on the ground. But one clue – his father’s
knucklebone – might just lead to something big.
To learn the truth about his parents’ disappearance, Reed
will have to take the fight to whoever is behind the growing turmoil in his
city. And if the rising number of Spirit-Worms, needy Gods, vindictive lawmen
and only somewhat-helpful cousins don’t stop Reed, then his sense of duty might
do what the others cannot.
Because Reed now finds himself caught between two goals –
solving the murder of Elise or chasing down whoever stole the Goddess’ hand, an
unfathomable thief who might hold answers about his parents…
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Summer in the City
Reed Lavender Book 3
Reed is about to snap
- and this time, nothing is going to stand in his way when it comes to getting
answers for Elise, not even a supposedly long-vanished Sumerian God.
Or so Reed thinks.
But summer in the city isn't going to be like the others.
The city itself isn't quite the same either, and even if you're lucky (or
cursed) enough to count the children of Gods among your friends, nothing is
ever simple...
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Ashley is a poet, novelist and ex-teacher living in
Australia.
He taught English, Media and Music Production, he ‘sang’ in
a metal band, worked in an art gallery and for a few years, slaved away at
music retail. (For a few years, he was also a legal secretary).
Aside from reading and writing, Ashley loves (indoor)
volleyball, Studio Ghibli and Magnum PI.
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