I was still alive when I woke at seven, but I felt as if a whole herd of elephants had trampled me in my sleep. Everything ached, and everything throbbed. The ceiling spiralled above.
I pulled the duvet over my head, and everything went blissfully dark. I slept again and had hot breathless dreams in which I was being chased by body parts that crawled out of the ground.
I woke feverish and disorientated. My head thumped, and I was sticky with sweat. I threw the bedding onto the floor. Neil might have murdered his wife, but I wasn’t sure I cared any more. I just wanted to lie in bed—one made out of ice, with a snowflake duvet and a crushed ice pillow.
My foot no longer hurt, or at least it didn’t hurt any worse than the rest of me. I contemplated getting out of bed and undoing the bandage to look, but that felt like entirely too much effort. I just needed to get through this fever.
Two percent. I held onto it. Incredible that two little words could hold so much, and so little, hope.
‘Psst. Hey, hag.’
I opened my eyes. The suited ghost was standing at the foot of my bed.
‘What?’
‘Do I still get movie choice for information?’
‘Sure. Whatever.’ If I’m not dead this time tomorrow. ‘You find the winged boy?’
‘No. But there’s something else.’
My throat was dry. I would kill for a glass of water. ‘What is it?’
‘I’m not going to tell you that until you agree to a deal.’
I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes. ‘Sure. Whatever you want.’
‘There’s an unnatural thing following you.’
I groaned. I no longer cared. All manner of unnatural things could follow me all round London if that was their bailiwick. I was going to stay in bed and do nothing interesting at all.
‘Yeah, you already said. I don’t care.’
The ghost looked around as if there actually was something there then sank onto his knees and whispered in my ear, ‘Are you sure? Because it’s in your house.’