Read Online Dead Of Winter (The Beautiful Dead Book 2) by Daryl Banner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Daryl Banner
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with Marigold presenting a large colorful cake. The candles are already lit and the few Humans in the room regard the boring little flames while all of us Undead see a ripple of mesmerizing rainbow fingers dancing along the walls. The band, which I see consisted of two drummers, an Undead guitarist with exposed skeleton fingertips, and two bald lady singers with long fluffy eyelashes, breaks into a creepy rendition of Happy Birthday.
“How do you people eat cake?” I hear Jim ask from behind me, his voice full of wonder.
“We just do,” Ann answers evasively.
“But where’s it go?” He doesn’t easily hide the equal parts fascination and disgust in his voice.
Gloomily, I reply: “I asked that same question when I was a new Undead. I didn’t like the answer very much.”
“So, like … where?”
“You won’t like the answer any more than I did.”
My important chat with Headless-Horny-Ann will have to wait. I move through the crowd, passing by Marigold who quickly warns a Human against eating the cake, as it’s not actually edible. For another Human, it was sadly too late a warning, and they spit a mouthful of wax—or whatever it is—back onto their plate, gagging. Somewhere in the mess of cheers and cake serving, the birthday songs are unfortunately resurrected.
The singing that follows becomes so loud, I’m forced to move out of the backdoor of the house, finding some semblance of quiet in the backyard. I see the garden Jasmine tends. It’s a sad spread of vegetables. I couldn’t identify any of them; they all look like leaves and vines and bushels of grass, only some of them here and there bearing anything with a color other than green. The sight of the little plants struggling to grow is heartrending; the poor things look so starved, so agonized, so near to giving up. I’ve heard the plants she grows in the greenhouse are far better off, hopefully far more than these here.
If I were a plant in this world, I would’ve given up the moment a person dropped my seed into the foul stuff we call soil. But these plants are helping the Humans live, I must remember. Even these sad, wrinkly things.
The door flips open, and Benjamin’s beady eyes find mine. He grins upon seeing me. “Hey, hey, hey. Long time, Wild Winter.”
“Hey there, Bonkers Benny.” He giggles, coming up for a meek side-hug. “How’re you liking your legs?”
“I make sure to jog every morning, just to show my appreciation.” He slaps each of his thighs. “Solid things, they are. Good joggers. I tell it’s morning by when all my Human neighbors are up and about. They’re like a clock, really, if you just pay attention.”
“Never thought of it that way.” I smile, appreciating his company suddenly. “Sorry I’m out here. Not really feeling the party in there. Too much of a crowd.”
“Yeah. Even us dead can get sick of too much dead.”
A question suddenly occurs to me. “You aren’t a native of Trenton. You told me that once. Are you by chance from somewhere called After’s Hold?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. All my comrades were travelers. Nomads. We coalesced over time, our numbers grew, and before we knew it we were thirty strong. Each of us was someone else’s First Hand, which is really incredible, if you think about it. The kind of bond we shared … We were brothers and sisters, all of us. Mothers and fathers. Half of us had learned our False Self, though I wasn’t among the lucky. Still haven’t had my—what do you Trenton peeps call it?—my Waking Dream .”
His story heals me. Impossibly, unexplainably. I can’t stop smiling, imagining it. Like Undead Gypsies. “So the thirty of you just … traveled about? Roamed the woods?” All this time, I’d assumed Benjamin was from a strange skeleton city akin to Trenton, much like I imagine After’s Hold will be. I wonder if it’s too late to beg Helena to let me stay. “The Second Life you’ve had sounds … so free .”
“Yes. So imagine
“How do you people eat cake?” I hear Jim ask from behind me, his voice full of wonder.
“We just do,” Ann answers evasively.
“But where’s it go?” He doesn’t easily hide the equal parts fascination and disgust in his voice.
Gloomily, I reply: “I asked that same question when I was a new Undead. I didn’t like the answer very much.”
“So, like … where?”
“You won’t like the answer any more than I did.”
My important chat with Headless-Horny-Ann will have to wait. I move through the crowd, passing by Marigold who quickly warns a Human against eating the cake, as it’s not actually edible. For another Human, it was sadly too late a warning, and they spit a mouthful of wax—or whatever it is—back onto their plate, gagging. Somewhere in the mess of cheers and cake serving, the birthday songs are unfortunately resurrected.
The singing that follows becomes so loud, I’m forced to move out of the backdoor of the house, finding some semblance of quiet in the backyard. I see the garden Jasmine tends. It’s a sad spread of vegetables. I couldn’t identify any of them; they all look like leaves and vines and bushels of grass, only some of them here and there bearing anything with a color other than green. The sight of the little plants struggling to grow is heartrending; the poor things look so starved, so agonized, so near to giving up. I’ve heard the plants she grows in the greenhouse are far better off, hopefully far more than these here.
If I were a plant in this world, I would’ve given up the moment a person dropped my seed into the foul stuff we call soil. But these plants are helping the Humans live, I must remember. Even these sad, wrinkly things.
The door flips open, and Benjamin’s beady eyes find mine. He grins upon seeing me. “Hey, hey, hey. Long time, Wild Winter.”
“Hey there, Bonkers Benny.” He giggles, coming up for a meek side-hug. “How’re you liking your legs?”
“I make sure to jog every morning, just to show my appreciation.” He slaps each of his thighs. “Solid things, they are. Good joggers. I tell it’s morning by when all my Human neighbors are up and about. They’re like a clock, really, if you just pay attention.”
“Never thought of it that way.” I smile, appreciating his company suddenly. “Sorry I’m out here. Not really feeling the party in there. Too much of a crowd.”
“Yeah. Even us dead can get sick of too much dead.”
A question suddenly occurs to me. “You aren’t a native of Trenton. You told me that once. Are you by chance from somewhere called After’s Hold?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. All my comrades were travelers. Nomads. We coalesced over time, our numbers grew, and before we knew it we were thirty strong. Each of us was someone else’s First Hand, which is really incredible, if you think about it. The kind of bond we shared … We were brothers and sisters, all of us. Mothers and fathers. Half of us had learned our False Self, though I wasn’t among the lucky. Still haven’t had my—what do you Trenton peeps call it?—my Waking Dream .”
His story heals me. Impossibly, unexplainably. I can’t stop smiling, imagining it. Like Undead Gypsies. “So the thirty of you just … traveled about? Roamed the woods?” All this time, I’d assumed Benjamin was from a strange skeleton city akin to Trenton, much like I imagine After’s Hold will be. I wonder if it’s too late to beg Helena to let me stay. “The Second Life you’ve had sounds … so free .”
“Yes. So imagine
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