Page 1 of Deader than Dead

Chapter One

John

I took the flight of stone steps that led up to the building two at a time, glancing at my watch as I did so. Late, but not that late, which was about as good as it ever got for me, so I’d take it. And if my boss wanted to give me shit for it, then I’d do what I normally did: sit and listen with a slightly apologetic look on my face until he ran out of steam.

The Paranormal Problems Bureau, or PPB for short if you didn’t want to use the day’s syllables up before breakfast, was as quiet as ever as I swiped my ID to gain admittance. Mainly, because it was invitation only and very few visitors set foot within its walls. Which only left the people who worked here. With my office on the fourth floor, I headed to the lift. First floor was the psychics, second floor the exorcists, or the ghostbusters as we called them behind them behind their backs, third floor the hunters, with us necromancers taking up the fourth. Human resources, IT and anyone else required to make everything run smoothly could be found on the fifth, and then Cade, my boss, and the person who had started this business from scratch ten years ago, had the whole of the top floor to himself like the king of the castle he believed himself to be.

I checked my watch again as the lift made its slow ascent, the glass wall affording me an impressive aerial view across London that I never tired of looking at. Thick carpet greeted me as I stepped out of the lift. No one could ever accuse Cade of being cheap with the décor. The PPB had the best of everything: plush carpet, mahogany bespoke furniture, wall to wall windows. Cade could afford it, though. We didn’t have a close enough relationship for me to inquire about his annual income from providing exclusive services to the public, but if he wasn’t a billionaire, I’d eat more than just my own hat.

Accessing the fourth floor required my ID again, Cade a stickler for security. Why he thought anyone would want to wander around, I didn’t know. Maybe to gawk at the freaks that had been born with paranormal abilities they didn’t have.

There were three desks in the large open-plan office. Three desks for three necromancers, all reflecting our individual personalities. Mine was messy, bits of paper stacked haphazardly, and several post-it notes littering the surface. There was also a half-eaten sandwich I kept meaning to throw away but never quite got around to. Maybe I could pass it off as some sort of biological experiment.

The desk closest to the windows and, therefore, the amazing view, was Griffin’s. Of course it was. Griffin got first choice of everything given he and Cade went way back. Despite today being scheduled as an office day for us to catch up on paperwork—assuming no emergencies reared their ugly head—Griffin’s desk was empty. It was the antithesis to mine, so austerely tidy that opening a window required a risk assessment. But then I supposed keeping a desk tidy was easy if you rarely sat at it.

The third desk belonged to Calisto, the youngest of the three of us. His desk was a study in organization that I could only dream of. Everything compiled into alphabetical order and labeled with little stickers for good measure. He had pens that wrote in every color, and drawers full of elastic bands, and paperclips, and staples, and every single shape, size, and color of post-it note you could think of. The man was a walking, talking stationery shop. Why he even had half the stuff, I didn’t know. I was yet to see him come up with a use for most of it.

Calisto raised his head as I entered the office, his expression curious. “You’re late,” he said, his slight Spanish accent bleeding into the words.

I shrugged off my leather jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. “Traffic was bad.”

He studied me for a moment, as if deciding whether the conversation was too tricky to continue. That was Calisto all over. The man was nice, like really nice. Probably the nicest person I’d ever met or was likely to. “You come to work on the tube,” he said.

I grinned at him. Calisto was obviously feeling feisty today to be picking me up on my bullshit. I waggled my eyebrows at him. “Ah, yeah, that’s right. I do. My mistake. Guess I just woke up late, then.” I jerked my head toward the empty desk. “Anyway, it’s not me you should be giving a hard time to. I’m late, but at least I’m here. What’s his excuse?”

Calisto grimaced. “I’m used to Griffin being AWOL. He’s always been like that. Do you think…?” He stopped suddenly, as if catching himself.

I raised an eyebrow. “Do I think what?” Calisto shook his head. “Go on,” I said. “Be brave. There’s only you and me here, and I won’t say anything.”

Spots of bright color appeared on Calisto’s cheeks, visible even with his naturally tanned complexion. “It’s just…” He waved a hand toward Griffin’s desk. “He’s here less and less these days. We cover nearly everything between us. Do you think we should be concerned? Maybe we should stage an intervention or something?”

“An intervention?” There was no keeping the amusement off my face. I propped myself against the edge of my desk, paying no attention to the pieces of paper that fluttered to the floor. “Interesting thought. And how do you imagine that going?”

More color flooded into Calisto’s cheeks. “What if he does something stupid?”

“Like what? Remembering where he works and actually turning up to do it?”

“You know what I meant,” Calisto muttered. “You know he…” He trailed off, unwilling to put the rest into words.

Strolling over to Griffin’s desk, I pulled the top desk drawer open and extracted the bottle inside. I held it up, the few inches of amber liquid still left inside it giving a satisfactory slosh as I shook it. “We’re talking about this, right?” Calisto dropped his gaze to his desk, pretending a fascination in a pack of post-its shaped like a leaf.

I put the bottle back before returning to my perch against my desk, a few more sheets of paper giving up the ghost to join the rest on the floor. “It’s sweet of you to worry about him.” It really was. Calisto had a sympathetic soul. Far too good for the line of work he’d found himself in. “But you know as well as I do that Griffin’s fine. He just refuses to toe the party line, and he likes a drink or seven.”

“Why does Cade let him get away with it? If you or I did that, we’d…”

“Get raked over the coals?”

“Yeah.”

I shrugged. “Well, that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?”

“Do you think he’s got something on Cade?”

Calisto really was being very un-Calisto-like today. Someone must have slipped something in his coffee.

“Possibly.”

Calisto opened his mouth, presumably to put forward a theory on what that something might be. Unfortunately, the phone on his desk chose that moment to ring. He picked it up with a frown, a momentary pause following his greeting. “Yes, he’s here.” Another pause. “When?” He tilted his wrist so he could see his watch. “Ten minutes ago.”

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