Beautiful Dead Book 1 Read online

  Copyright © 2010 Eden Maguire

  Cover and internal design © 2010 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover illustration by Julia Starr

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Fire, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567–4410

  (630) 961–3900

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  First published in Great Britain in 2009 by Hodder Children’s Books.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is on file with the publisher.

  Printed and bound in the United States of America.

  VP 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For my two beautiful daughters

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  Excerpt of Beautiful Dead: Arizona

  About the Author

  The first thing I heard was a door banging in the wind. It spooked me because I didn’t even know there was a house here among the trees, this far out of town.

  Slow down, heart, I thought. Darina girl, get a grip! But back then a falling leaf would have spooked me. It was two days after Phoenix had died.

  So the door banged and my heart thumped, and I was looking for something on that hill, I don’t know what. I walked to the top and looked over the ridge and there it was—an old log-built, falling-down house with a porch, a big old barn, and one of those round water tanks on stilts, all rusty and decrepit. So was the truck parked at the front of the deserted house, with its fenders falling off and the roof caved in, and yellow grass growing knee-high around the porch.

  It was the door of the barn that banged shut. Open-shut, open-shut, whenever the wind grabbed hold.

  I guess most people would have walked away.

  Not me. As I said before, I was lost and looking for answers to big questions about love, loss, and the meaning of life. Darina on a mission, you might say. Like, how come four of my classmates at Ellerton High had died in the space of a year? Jonas, Arizona, Summer, and now Phoenix. I mean, how weird and tragic was that? It scared the hell out of everyone, I can tell you.

  But the last one—Phoenix—broke my heart. I was in love with the guy, mostly from a distance. Then for two blissful months we were dating. My flower tribute to him, placed on the spot where he got stabbed, was pathetic. It read, “I’ll miss you forever, with all my love, Darina” and didn’t even scratch the surface of the way I felt.

  So I was going to stop that barn door banging then take a look around the ghost house. I wanted to get inside, see how the people had lived—what plates they had put on their table, what chairs they had sat on.

  But first the barn. The door was huge and held together by a hundred rusty nails. The inside was dark. I could see old horse halters hanging from hooks, a pair of dusty leather chaps, some cobwebby rakes, and brushes.

  And a whole bunch of people standing in a circle, chanting a rhyme at a guy standing in the center. I didn’t believe my eyes when I first saw him, but that guy was Phoenix, stripped to the waist as true as I stood there. Phoenix who had died from a knife wound between his shoulder blades. The knife had plunged through a major artery and he’d bled to death.

  An older guy, with gray hair, stepped into the center of the circle and placed his arms on my dead boyfriend’s shoulders.

  “Welcome to our world,” he said.

  Bang! The door behind me slammed shut. I thought my heart was going to shudder to a halt.

  “The world of the Beautiful Dead,” the group chanted.

  “You are one of us—welcome.”

  Phoenix—it was definitely him—looked out of it. Kind of dazed, as if he couldn’t get his eyes to focus.

  The gray-haired guy’s hands steadied him. “You’re back,” he murmured.

  “From beyond the grave,” the group whispered.

  I shook my head to make this stuff go away. It can’t be happening! It’s some kind of stupid trick!

  Dead is dead, and you can’t come back.

  Except that the headshake made no difference and I was a witness.

  “Hey, Phoenix, it’s cool,” a girl said, stepping up to him.

  “Remember me?”

  She had her back to me, so all I saw was her long dark hair.

  “Dude, remember me?” A guy detached himself from the group, and then another girl, this one with fair hair falling over her shoulders.

  “It’s OK, Hunter fixed it for you,” the blond girl explained. “This is Hunter.”

  The older, gray-haired guy offered to shake Phoenix’s hand. “Not too much pain on the journey back?” he asked like a doctor checking on his patient.

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Phoenix replied.

  It was his voice. Never more than a mumble—deep, kind of lazy. He eased his broad shoulders as if they hurt a little.

  “Hunter looks out for us all.”

  The blond girl’s smile pulled me in further. Hey, I knew that amazing warm smile, though the hair was longer, wilder, the skin paler. It was Summer Madison. I was watching another dead person walk, talk, smile.

  “He brought us all back.” The dark-haired girl joined in with the explanations. “Hunter’s the boss man.”

  I was hearing but I wasn’t looking at her or Hunter. My eyes were fixed on Phoenix. Truly, my heart couldn’t keep on thumping like this without jumping clean out of my rib cage.

  I wanted to run to him, touch him, kiss him, hold him in my arms. But I was totally freaked out.

  “Why?” Phoenix wanted to know. He’d got his balance and his focus now and was suspicious. His gray-blue eyes narrowed to a frown.

  “That’s up to you.” The “remember me” guy shrugged, and I stopped staring at Phoenix long enough to catch a glimpse of his blue eyes and curvy, full mouth—Jonas Jonson.

  “You’re back here for your own reasons,” Summer explained. “We all are.”

  “Where is this? What’s happening?” Phoenix asked. Nothing made sense to him, or to me, spying from the outside.

  “Get up to speed,” the dark-haired girl laughed, but not unkindly. “Didn’t you hear? You’re one of us, the Beautiful Dead.”

  “Arizona?” Phoenix did the headshake thing, just like me. She was there, right in his face. “How come?”

  “I have things to do,” she replied with a toss of her head. “Stuff to put right.”

  Phoenix Rohr, Arizona Taylor, Summer Madison, and Jonas Jonson. The four dead kids from Ellerton High.

  So beautiful, all of them, with their pale skin and their wild look. Not damaged by death.

  Love and loss battered at my heart.

  Bang! The door swung open and slammed shut.

  Hunter was walking toward me. “I’ll get it,” he told the group. “We need to fix this latch. It’s driving me crazy.”

  What can I say? I panicked.

  I jumped out from the stall where I’d been hiding and made it to the door before Hunter. I didn’t care if he saw me. I was out i
n the open and running past the deserted house, past the water tower, along the rough track between the aspen trees. I didn’t even look over my shoulder.

  “Where did you go?” Laura, my mom, was in my face the minute I slammed my car door.

  I was walking up the driveway when she pounced.

  “Nowhere. I drove someplace.” I knew the answer would annoy her, but it was all I could come up with right then. It was better than, “I saw four dead people walking and talking.”

  “You can’t just drive around,” she nagged as I went up the steps and through the door. “You know the price of gas.”

  Silence from me. I threw my keys on the kitchen table. “Darina, I was worried about you.”

  “No need,” I said, heading for my room.

  Laura cut me off. “I am worried,” she insisted. “You don’t talk. You don’t eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Are you getting any sleep?”

  Yeah, I’m sleeping right now and having a nightmare. Wake me up, someone!

  “Darina, talk to me,” she said.

  I’ve never talked much to Mom, not since Jim moved in four years ago. There’s nothing wrong with Jim, but not much right either. Mr. Bland Techie Guy, traveling around the state selling laptops.

  “I know you’re upset,” Laura sighed.

  Upset? Try “devastated,” “wrecked,” “ripped apart.” Like someone made a hole in my heart, my head, whatever it is that makes me who I am. I stared at her and tried to stop my lip from trembling.

  “It’s his funeral on Tuesday,” she said quietly. “Brandon came into the store yesterday to buy a dark jacket.”

  “Say his name, why can’t you?” The pain made me angry. “His name is Phoenix!” Was Phoenix. Is Phoenix. Had I seen him at the barn or not?

  Usually Laura would call me out on disrespectful stuff like this and it would end up in a fight. But today she let it go. “You want me to write to the principal and ask for the day out of school?”

  I shrugged. I’d take it anyway. “I need to crash,” I told her. My head was spinning. “If I don’t get some sleep I’ll go crazy.” Am crazy already.

  So Laura let me pass and I finally made it to my room. I flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. I tried hard to block what I’d seen in the barn. I didn’t really drive to Foxton and park the car, walk through the silver aspens with their golden leaves fluttering. Hear a door bang and walk over the ridge.

  Rewind that part of the day. Go back to the afternoon I spent with Logan at his place, just sitting being silent and sad together.

  “Phoenix wasn’t the violent type,” I said after an age of saying nothing. “He didn’t get into fights.”

  Logan and I were out on his porch. There were empty Bud bottles lined up on the rail, his dad’s dusty boots kicked off and lying under the swing. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “We’d arranged to meet up,” I went on. It was Friday. I’d been waiting for Phoenix in my car out by Deer Creek, watching for his truck as the sun went down, but he never showed. “So how come?” I asked Logan, letting tears slide down my cold cheeks. “What happened exactly?”

  “They were all carrying knives,” he told me gently. “Phoenix too.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to hear that.”

  “It’s true, Darina. Phoenix was no angel, believe me.”

  That’s when I decided to leave. I got up and accidentally knocked over a couple of empty bottles. They smashed on a rock beneath the porch.

  Logan followed me down the gravel path to the road. “How long were you and Phoenix an item?” he asked. “Six weeks, two months maybe?”

  I wouldn’t answer. My tears were angry now.

  “So how well did you know him—really know him?”

  I got in my car and slammed the door.

  Logan leaned in and grabbed the steering wheel. “How long have you known me? All our lives. Trust me, Darina, I wouldn’t tell you anything that wasn’t God’s honest truth.”

  “So what are you saying?” I shot back at him over the rev of the engine. “My boyfriend was a member of a gang who carried a knife and deserved to die?”

  “No!” Logan shook his head furiously. “No more than Jonas deserved to crash his bike. Or Arizona to drown in the lake, or Summer…”

  “Don’t!” I yelled at him. Four deaths in one year. “No need to remind me, thanks. Now let go of the wheel.”

  We’d known each other since kindergarten, Logan Lavelle and I, but he was misreading this situation big time.

  “I thought you’d understand,” I flung at him as I stepped on the gas and shot away from his house.

  Last Friday I’d waited an hour for Phoenix out at the creek. Then Logan had driven to find me. “There’s a fight in town,” he’d warned. “A big one. Brandon’s involved. So is Phoenix.”

  I didn’t believe what Logan was telling me until I’d broken all the speed limits on the road to Ellerton. I was mad at Phoenix for not texting to tell me he couldn’t make it. I was choked with worry that Phoenix’s big brother, Brandon, might do something really crazy this time. Then I got to town, and it was too late. The fight was over. There was blood on the ground.

  “I could get you some therapy,” Laura offered as I left for school the next day. “I’ll find the money somehow.”

  “Do I look as if I need therapy?” I snapped back.

  She took a sharp intake of breath as I scooted out of the house, down the steps, and into my car. I made a list as I drove into town.

  Major reasons to be unhappy: My parents split when I was twelve. My stepdad’s a loser. My boring school sucks and there’s a jinx on it that keeps getting people killed. My boyfriend just died…

  Tears streamed down my face. I was broken and I couldn’t see anyone around who could fix me.

  Logan thought he could. He came up to me as I parked my car in the school parking lot. Tall, tanned, with dark brown curly hair—the hair that was golden when he was in preschool.

  “Hey, Darina.”

  I slammed the car door. “Didn’t we just have a fight?” I reminded him.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. But you got it all wrong. I wasn’t trying to say that Phoenix got what was coming.”

  We walked into school together, me slightly ahead of Logan, trying to tune him out. But his last remark got through to me. “That’s what everyone else in Ellerton is saying though,” I reminded him. “‘Phoenix was just like Brandon. They were brothers, the same DNA, the same faulty genetic code.’”

  “No, they’re not. Don’t get paranoid,” Logan begged. He ran ahead of me and blocked my way down the corridor. “No, that came out wrong too. It wasn’t a criticism. I mean, your feelings are totally mixed up right now. That’s understandable. It’s tough for you, I know it is.”

  I sighed and it came out like a groan. “Logan, I’m just trying to put one foot in front of the other. Please can we not talk?”

  He nodded then gave way. “Text me if you need me,” he called.

  I walked into my classroom and for a split second I saw Phoenix sitting on the window ledge, his long legs stretched out across the table, his feet crossed at the ankles. He smiled at me.

  I am crazy! I told myself for the hundredth time since Foxton.

  Then I was surrounded. I lost sight of my ghost in the corner and there was a heap of touching and hugging. My boyfriend had just been stabbed to death. I was the flavor of the month.

  That was before the special gathering in the school’s state-of-the-art media center. The principal called all students together in the theater.

  “We’re meeting to share our sorrow at the sudden death this weekend of one of our senior students, Phoenix Rohr,” Dr. Valenti began.

  There wasn’t a single person in Ellerton who hadn’t already heard the news. I was sitting between Jordan and Hannah, staring straight ahead. They glanced sideways at me as if I was made of glass and someone might drop me.

  “There’s st
ill a lot of confusion surrounding the circumstances of Phoenix’s passing,” Dr. Valenti went on, standing on the stage in his gray suit, using gray words. “But what we do know for sure is that he will be sadly missed by everyone here.”

  I heard a few people sobbing. I blinked and saw Phoenix standing right behind Dr. Valenti, smiling at me again.

  Once, OK, it was just me being crazy. Twice, and I had to pay attention. My heart tried to storm its way through my rib cage.

  The principal did his bland stuff. He told us we were going to have a minute’s silence. “We’ll bow our heads in respect,” he said. “And while we think of Phoenix, we’ll bring to mind the others we have lost this year. We’ll remember Jonas, Arizona, and Summer, and I for one will keep them in my thoughts as I carry out the tasks ahead during this coming day.”

  One lousy day. How about a lifetime, Dr. Valenti?

  I blinked again and Phoenix was gone.

  Come back! I thought. But my heart soon stopped trying to force its way out. I knew I’d been seeing crazy stuff.

  We all kept our heads down for exactly sixty seconds—then it was over.

  “Stand up, Darina!” Jordan whispered in my ear.

  Clunk went a thousand hinged seats as everyone stood up and filed out.

  If you asked me about the rest of that day, I wouldn’t remember a single thing. Friends spoke to me and I didn’t hear. My math teacher suspected I was going to black out. She sent me to the school clinic. I lay on a bed and stared at the ceiling, hoping to see Phoenix’s face in the shadows cast by the redwood tree outside the window. Hannah came to see me. I didn’t speak. Nothing broke through.

  All I knew was, if Phoenix wasn’t going to show up again, I’d have to go and find him. I would drive back out to that old house and barn.

  School finished and there was an obstacle in my way in the shape of Brandon Rohr. He was leaning against the side of my car, arms folded across his chest, waiting for me.

  I tell you now, Brandon was Phoenix’s brother but they were total opposites. They didn’t even look alike, except they were both well over six feet tall. Brandon was the bulky football type, Phoenix was more the graceful basketball player. Brandon’s hair was cropped close to his head, while Phoenix wore his hair longer, almost to his collar.