Free Lord Loss by Darren Shan Page B

Bill-E about the teenagers and if he knows how they died.
    “Dervish doesn't say much about them,” he replies. “I think it's some ancient family curse.
You'll
probably go toes-up any day now.”
    “I'll try hard to take you with me,” I retort.
    We come to Dad and Gret. Bill-E pauses curiously. “These are new. I don't know who —”
    “My dad and sister,” I inform him quietly.
    He winces. “I should have guessed. Sorry.” He looks at me questioningly, licks his lips, stares back at the photos.
    “An unasked question is the most futile thing in the world,” I prod him.
    “That's one of Dervish's sayings,” he notes. Licks his lips again. “Do you want to tell me how they died, or is it a secret? I asked Dervish, but he won't say, and Grandma and Grandad don't know — nobody in the village does.”
    My stomach tightens. Flashes of a crocodile-headed dog, a hell-child, their eerie master. “They were murdered.”
    Bill-E's eyes widen. His lazy left eyelid snaps up as though on elastic bands. “No bull?” he gasps.
    My expression's dark. “No bull.”
    “Do you know who did it?”
    “I was there.”
    Bill-E gulps deeply. “When they were being killed?”
    “Yes.”
    “How'd you get away?”
    I consider how much I should tell him. Decide to try him with the truth. “They were murdered by demons. I escaped using magic.”
    He frowns. “If this is a joke …” Stops when he sees my face. “Does Dervish know?”
    “Yes.”
    “He believes you?”
    “Yes. But he's the only one. Everybody else thinks I'm making it up.”
    Bill-E grunts dismissively. “If Dervish believes you, so do I.” He turns from the photos and does an odd little shuffling dance, mumbling weird words.
    “What was that for?” I ask, bemused.
    “One of Dervish's spells,” he says. “It makes the dead smile. Dervish says it's important to keep the dead happy. The reason this house isn't haunted is that Dervish keeps its ghosts laughing.”
    “Bull!” I bellow.
    “Maybe,” Bill-E grins. “But I've been dancing for years and never been bothered by ghosts. Why stop now and run the risk?”
    We watch MTV on the widescreen TV, munching popcorn, drinking Coke from tall paper cups just like in the cinema.
    “The TV was my idea,” Bill-E brags, the remote control balanced on his left knee. “Dervish resisted to begin with, but I kept on at him and eventually he bought one.”
    “Does he always cave in to your demands?” I ask.
    “No,” Bill-E sighs. “I can wrap Grandma and Grandad round my little finger, but Dervish doesn't crumple. He got the TV because I convinced him it was a good idea — his guests would get good use out of it even if he didn't.”
    “You and Dervish are close, aren't you?” I note.
    “Step aside, Sherlock Holmes — there's a new kid in town!” Bill-E chuckles, rolling his eyes.
    “I don't want to … like … get between you … or anything,” I mumble awkwardly.
    “You couldn't if you tried,” he responds smugly.
    “I could!” I bristle. “He's my uncle.”
    “So?” Bill-E laughs. “He's
my
father!”
    I stare at him, stunned.
    Bill-E looks sheepish. “I shouldn't have said that,” he mutters. “You won't tell him, will you?”
    “No … but … I mean …” I catch my breath. “You said you didn't know your father!”
    “I don't,” he says. “Not officially. But it hardly takes a genius to work it out. He wouldn't invite me over and make such a fuss of me if we weren't related. And Grandma and Grandad Spleen wouldn't tolerate his involvement unless they had to, no matter how close a friend of Mom's he was. Dervish has to be my dad. It's logic.”
    “Have you ever asked him?”
    Bill-E shakes his head instantly. “Why spoil it? We get along great the way we are. If the truth ever came out, he might decide to sue for custody.”
    “Wouldn't you like that?” I ask.
    He shrugs. “I wouldn't miss Grandma and Grandad that much if I moved in with Dervish,” he admits. “I