Beautiful Dead 02 - Arizona

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BEAUTIFUL DEAD

1. Jonas

3. Summer

4. Phoenix

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Copyright © 2009 Eden Maguire

First published in Great Britain in 2009 by Hodder Children's Books

This E-book edition published in 2010

The right of Eden Maguire to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act in

1988.

Al rights reserved. Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form, or by any

means with prior permission in writing from the publishers or in the case of reprographic production in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the 5

Copyright Licensing Agency and may not be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar

condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Al characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A Catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 978 1 844 56989 2

Hachette Children's Books

a division of Hachette Children's Books

338 Euston Road, London NW 1 3BH

An Hachette UK company

www.hachette.co.uk

6

For m y two beautiful daughters

Phoenix Rohr changed me. He exploded into my life like a bright shooting 7

star out of a big, dark sky and lit up my world. Before I met Phoenix I was a half-person unfinished and scared. Afterwards, for a few short weeks, I was whole.

He and I did it for each other. We held together against the rough world, my hand in his, his arm around my shoulder.

The truth is, people in my world have a habit of losing their lives -

four kids from our school in one year. It makes for intensity every day you grasp what you've got and live it. Love and sex, sharing each moment. I held on to Phoenix like he was my saviour.

And then it shattered. I lost him three smal words. He was in a fight and he died.

I looked for him everywhere. I drove my car out of town through the 8

shaking aspens and tal redwoods to where the jagged hil s joined the sky. 'Phoenix. 'I whispered it a thousand times. His name was al I had.

Phoenix the fourth on a rol -cal of students who would never return. One two - three - four hits to the heart and the last one was the worst by a mil ion miles. 'Phoenix. '

I clung to memories. His kisses, his touch midsummer days when we swam in Deer Creek, evenings of him turning up the sound system in my car and driving us out to Hartmann Lake, me resting my head on his shoulder and trying to count the stars. For a time I was scared that Id forget.

Then the wings of angels, ghosts, spirits in limbo whatever you want to cal them began to beat. And Phoenix came back.

9

I don't want to talk with anyone. I need to be alone.

OK, so everything worked out for Jonas - and that was partly down to

me. But I stil hold the fate of three Beautiful Dead in my hands. It's true

- I do. Arizona, Summer and Phoenix. Arizona, Summer, Phoenix. In that order the names run in my head like a mantra.

'Darina, I wish you would stay home more. We could do stuff have a pedicure, go shopping.' This is Laura, my mom.

'Darina, you have to quit driving the convertible. It eats gas.' My stepdad, Jim.

You get the picture.

'Meet us at the mal . Lucas and Christian wil be there.' Jordan and Hannah. Chirpy-chirpy-cheep-cheep chickadees.

And Logan Lavel e. 'Darina, why don't you hang at my place like we used to? I have a cool new DVD we can watch.'

Back offàl of you. Leave me alone. My body language ought to have done it, but these guys are too thick-skinned to read it. Or maybe they care about me.

I drive the car anyway, way out through Centennial, always in the

same direction towards Foxton. Into the mountains, rising sheer on each side of the freeway, blocking out the blue sky.

I blast music into the quiet air. I put my foot on the gas.

Speed is the key to lifting the weight from my shoulders, leaving everyone behind. Drive, baby, drive! I'm in amongst the burn-out area. Miles of forest-fire have left black, twisted stumps, fal en trunks, grey earth. In ten years maybe green stuff wil start to grow.

I'm out of the tree carnage, pushing higher into the mountains and the redwoods are green again against the pink rock, and I'm shedding my heavy secret, it's sliding from my shoulders because out here nobody can pressure me. I'm safe.

The beat of the music pounds my eardrums. Guitars whine. I yel the

lyrics as I grip the steering wheel and lean forward in my seat. Lipgloss-

red bodywork and creamy beige leather, with silver trim. Brandon Rohr showed expensive taste when he found me this car. I pass Turkey Shoot Ridge, ten minutes from Foxton. Thirty minutes from the Beautiful Dead. 10

I guess I'm fixated. I know I am. Every moment, every breath I take, I long for Phoenix, his eyes reading what's in my head and heart, his arms around me. Why can't I be with him twenty-four seven, I want to know.

Here's Foxton - a straggle of wooden houses, a general store with boarded windows, a junction without a traffic sign. I take the side road, past the fishermen's cabins overlooking the racing water where Bob Jonson final y took revenge for Jonas's death - forced Matt Fortune off the track and they both smashed against the rocks and drowned. They took Matt's Harley back to Charlie Fortune and he fixed it up for himself to ride. I shudder when I think about that. Don't think about it, Darina. Drive on.

I'm clear of the houses and the track has turned to dirt. There's

nothing beyond this point, so I need to get out of the car and go by foot along the path the mule deer have made when they head for the stand of aspens on the ridge. This is the fifth, maybe sixth time I've driven up here since Jonas left, and always I meet silence and emptiness. The wind blows through the aspens but there are no wings beating, no force field

tel ing far-siders like me to back off.

Phoenix, it's me. Where are you? I need to see you. When he holds me in his arms my heart steadies. It's the only time I feel I'm home. If I carry your secret much longer, I '11 fal apart. Tel Hunter, tel the others, I can 't do this alone.

I climb to the ridge and I'm out of breath as I stand in the shade of the rusting water tower. You can look through the trees down into the next val ey and never see the old barn. The aspen leaves shake and rustle - like wings? It's beautiful, real y beautiful - the aspens and the sloping

hil side, yel ow spikes of Indian tobacco plant standing proud of the silvery meadow grass. And the big, big sky.

But no, I'm stil not hearing the sound of beating wings - only the thump of my own heartbeat and the rasp of my breath, and I get no sense of Phoenix and the Beautiful Dead. I look for him as I stride down the

slope, look so hard that maybe I miss the obvious and fail to spot his tal , 11

stil figure by the barn door, turned to me and waiting. He wil be there, if wishing and longing can make it happen.

My legs swish through the grass. I crouch and crawl under the razor-

wire fence. And I can see straight into the barn because the door is swinging open like always. 'Phoenix?' I say out loud as I step into the darkness. There's the dust smel in my nostrils and the stal partitions

rotting and leaning at crazy angles. Ancient horse tack is hanging from

hooks, cobwebs trail from rafter to rafter. 'Please!'

Let's get this straight. This is where the Beautiful Dead hang out. They don't let you see them unless they want to. In fact, they need to be secret, to keep out people from the far side - that's you and me - or else they're ... I was about to say 'dead', but that would be weird. I mean, Phoenix, Hunter, Arizona, Summer and the rest are history already. They're revenants, come back from the dead.

The barn was empty - I checked every inch, even the hayloft, where narrow shafts of sunlight fel across the rotting floor. This was where I'd first glimpsed Phoenix, in the centre of a chanting circle - the Beautiful Dead and their overlord welcoming him back from limbo. Bar! - my mind exploded. By the time I gathered the pieces, my dead boyfriend was part of Hunter's gang and he had his death mark to prove it. An angel-wing tattoo between his shoulder blades, where the knife went through.

Phoenix, come back! I pleaded.

I left the barn and walked across the yard, hope draining from me. 'Hunter!' I yel ed. This is you doing this. I hate you!'

The zombie overlord kept them invisible. He wasn't ready for me to see the Beautiful Dead again. He would take his time, let them gather their strength after the Jonas thing. And you should also know that they have no free wil and Hunter rules every single thing they do. Even though he stayed invisible, he heard me saying I hated him, right there and then. That's another seriously useful superpower he has.

I decided to appeal to his softer side, though I knew he didn't have one.

'Hunter, Please. I miss Phoenix. It hurts like hel .' 12

No answer as I stood by the flatbed of the rusty truck. Stil no answer

as I stepped on to the house porch and peered through the grimy window. I made out the rocking-chair by the kitchen range, the table covered in a hundred years of dust. I turned the handle and shoved with my shoulder against the locked door. 'Hunter, I hate you,' I murmured.

A month earlier I would have walked away and told myself that the whole zombie thing was crazy. It was what grief was doing to my fevered brain making me see things that weren't there. I mean, how else do you cope when the person you love most in your life gets stabbed in a fight and dies? Loss doesn't cover that feeling. You need to cry and hit out at the same time, you fal down the deepest, darkest hole and the sides are smooth and there's nothing to cling on to. According to Kim Reiss, the therapist Laura sent me to see, this is when the brain is most likely to play cruel tricks.

But that was four weeks back. Since then, I'd time travel ed and come up with the answer to the mystery of Jonas Jonson's death, and I was a true believer. So I knew Hunter the zombie overlord was definitely holding out on me and stopping me from seeing Phoenix. He was choosing to stay away.

'If you keep on like this, I won't come back,' I threatened. I sounded like a wuss, even to myself. You need me. I'm your link with the far side.'

Silence and space nothing else.

'Arizona needs me,' I insisted. It was close to a year since she'd drowned in Hartmann Lake. 'Her time is starting to run out.'

The wind blew along the porch, lifting a loose board in the roof. I'd tried every trick I knew to make the Beautiful Dead come back, and al for nothing. Stil I stayed for the whole morning, sitting in the cab of the ancient truck, staring up at Angel Rock.

Final y I climbed down. 'OK, you win,' I muttered, setting off up the hil . 'Anyhow, I have a funeral to go to.'

It wasn't Bob Jonson's actual funeral. After four in one year, I don't go any more. So I went along afterwards to the wake.

Al the old bikers were there in their fringed leathers, with their goatee 13

beards and their wild grey hair. The Harleys were parked in a half circle

outside Bob's favourite bar. I was underage, so I hung out in the parking

lot with Jordan, Lucas and Logan.

'This is too sad.' There were tears in Jordan's eyes. A lock of wavy dark hair fel over her face. I was waiting for shy-boy Lucas to put an arm around her shoulder and comfort her.