Guardian of the Dead by Karen Healey Read Free Book Online Page A

rounded heads of kahikatea trees rising over the dark houses. ‘No. That’s the patch of original forest, right?’
    â€˜Yes. Right in the middle of Christchurch. They’ve stuck a big wire fence around it to keep bird predators out, so it’s really left as it would have been before. The family of the first settlers left it to the city government on the condition that it never be cleared.’
    â€˜The first white settlers,’ Kevin murmured, and took a right. The Bush dropped away behind us. ‘We should go in the summer, Ellie. There’s a boardwalk, it’s cool.’
    â€˜We should definitely go,’ Iris agreed, and I fought the urge to say that she hadn’t been invited. Kevin seemed to be working himself up to his promised confession, and being nasty to Iris right now would be even more than usually like kicking a cute but annoying puppy.
    Sure enough, when we stopped outside Iris’s neatly painted front door, Kevin offered to walk her to the door and in, shooting me a look that I had no trouble interpreting as an invitation to stay in the car with my book for company. At least he left me the keys, to drive the engine and keep the heat running.
    I did more worrying than reading, biting at my already well-gnawed nails. There were so many ways this could go wrong. Iris could react to Kevin’s revelation like my parents had to Magda’s. She could laugh at him, or insist he must be wrong, or tell him it was just a phase, or any number of other horrible, devastating things. Kevin was the second-bravest person I knew, I reflected. I wouldn’t have had the guts to do it in a thousand years.
    When he returned, Kevin’s face was tight and closed in the car’s internal light. I could see no trace of tears in the few seconds it took him to turn off the light and brace his arms against the wheel, bending his big head into the tense darkness there.
    I was horribly curious, but it could definitely wait until tomorrow. ‘It’s been a long day,’ I said.
    Kevin sat up straight. I caught the white flash of teeth as he directed half a smile at me. ‘Yeah. Let’s go home.’

    First period on Friday mornings was school assembly, where the principal made announcements and handed out awards to sporting, academic, and cultural high-achievers (not me). Musically or dramatically talented students (definitely not me) were given an opportunity to perform for an audience of their bored and whispering peers. This week’s performance was a skit by several fellow Year Thirteens, featuring students fearfully discussing which of the substitute teachers might be taking over their Geography class. It turned out it was only the Eyeslasher (Jeff Forbes, in a balaclava, with a knife I was betting he’d swiped from the kitchen) and they were all really relieved.
    A lot of people thought this was hilarious, but I wasn’t impressed. Real people with real families were dying, outside these walls. I leaned back into the uncomfortable wooden bench, trying not to crowd the people on either side of me, and wishing I hadn’t eaten quite so many scrambled eggs that morning. I was relieved when we were finally allowed to stand and make our way through a limping rendition of the school song.
    Second period on Friday mornings was Classics, which meant there were several good reasons to make it through assembly. I managed to snag one of the desks at the back, not too far from the best of those reasons, but my usual practice of picturing Mark Nolan with his shirt off was continually disrupted by a vague and traitorous memory. I couldn’t actually remember what it was I wasn’t remembering, but something about him was troubling, and it wasn’t that he still hadn’t washed his hair. My head started to ache again.
    I forgot all about Mark when class started, and barely noticed my headache fading. Professor Gribaldi always demanded complete attention. Her