Mortal Ghost | Page 5

but familiar o dours of river and city. And then
this new thing: the boy, suddenly different. The do g would have liked to bark but con-
tented itself with a low rumble in its throat, hard ly a growl. Jesse opened his eyes for a
moment and flicked a look of reproach at the dog, w ho hung its head.
Ten minutes, twenty, an hour; or no time at all. As always, the whentide ebbs till
the creature begins to struggle. Then it was done—b ones healed, and the kestrel re-
leased to flight. Jesse smiled as it met the air wi th vigorous wingstrokes, skimming the
water until it reached the middle of the river. The re it hovered into the rising wind, then
banked and flew in a steep climb. The higher it fle w, the bigger it seemed to grow—the
stronger its wings. Jesse followed its path with a hand shading his eyes, for the clouds
had parted and he was staring almost directly into the sun, which tipped the kestrel
with redgold. A single wild cry split the air: no e legy’s minor key. Engulfed in flame, the
bird passed from sight. Jesse watched for a while longer. The kingfishers w ere chasing each other over the
river. Their small, brilliantly-coloured bodies dar ted and flashed, embroidering the
rippling length of greygreen silk. There was a mome nt in their flight, just before they
dived, when they paused, suspended—the wave at cr esting, the pendulum at the top

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of its arc—and then with a shiver, as if time itsel f had hesitated, resumed their plunge.
Eventually hunger intruded. Jesse sighed, flipped h is hair out of his eyes, and
forced himself to turn away. The river would wait. He shouldered his rucksack and
continued in the direction of the city centre. Tire d and dispirited, he trudged along the
narrow footpath. The kestrel had drained whatever e nergy his short, troubled night and
inadequate supper had provided. His usual craving f or chocolate nagged at him. After
McDonald’s, he decided, he’d spend the morning in t he library, then try to find some
work, maybe in one of the posh residential neighbou rhoods—mowing, weeding, paint-
ing, window cleaning, anything. The dog had waited before following the boy. Gradua lly it crept closer, but not too
close. When the boy stopped to lean on the back of a concrete bench, the dog stopped
as well, watching wistfully. Jesse took a deep breath, lifted his head, and saw the dog.
‘You again,’ Jesse said.
The dog’s persistence irritated him. What would he do with a dog? Most days he
didn’t even know where he’d find his own next meal. A dog would make him stand out,
far too noticeable. And shackled: he didn’t want an y creature’s loyalty or devotion. He
picked up a stone from the ground. ‘I’m warning you,’ he called. ‘Go away.’
The stupid dog came a few steps nearer.
‘I don’t want to hurt you. But I will if you don’t