Guardian of the Dead Read Online Free PDF

anything?’
    Kevin’s smile suddenly looked forced.
    â€˜Four, he’s allergic to bees,’ I said quickly.
    Iris turned to me, eyes shining brightly. ‘Oh, of course. Four, possible horrible death.’
    â€˜Iris!’ someone cried from behind us, and I twisted to see a pair of petite girls in the student uniform of sweatpants and pink polar-fleece hoodies coming up the stairs. ‘Oh, how are we translated?’ the smaller one asked, which made no sense to me at all.
    â€˜Transported, more like,’ Iris said, and pointed down the corridor. ‘To the theatre.’
    We wandered through the smokers’ lounge and past the photos of past student executives, beginning with the faded black-and-white photos of the early 1900s. Kevin tossed a mock salute at his missing Great-Uncle Bob when we passed his photo, and we had to stop so Kevin could explain the tragic story of his uncle’s disappearance to the two girls. The photograph had been taken in 1939, a week before he’d gone missing. The boyish, handsome face was eerily similar to Kevin’s – a bit darker, maybe – but some photographer’s trick had given Robert Waldgrave’s dark eyes an intense, suppressed excitement that Kevin had never demonstrated.
    The girls made the expected sad noises at the story and then introduced themselves to me as Carrie and Carla. They were playing Helena and Hermia, and they were delighted that I was going to teach them how to catfight properly. I wondered if Iris had cast them for the alliteration, but she was staring pensively at Kevin, and I didn’t ask. I began to edge forward, and the girls followed me, talking about the fight.
    â€˜I thought we could fall over things,’ blonde Carrie said. ‘Like, maybe I break a walking stick on her, and then she tugs at my foot and we roll around. And then I kick her in the face!’
    I pictured the impact of Carrie’s flailing shoe against Carla’s snub, brown nose. ‘I’ll work something out,’ I said diplomatically.
    â€˜Nothing that tears at clothes,’ Carla said. ‘We’re hiring all the Edwardian stuff.’
    â€˜Carla’s doing costumes,’ Kevin informed me. ‘Since the original costume designer quit.’
    â€˜Do you want to be onstage too?’ Iris said, perking up. ‘You could be a fairy, Ellie.’
    â€˜What do fairies wear?’
    â€˜Bodysuits,’ Carla said promptly. ‘With koru designs drawn on them, and the girls get grass skirts.’
    I envisioned myself on stage, wearing spandex decorated in curling patterns and surrounded by tiny women like these. ‘Ah . . . no. Thanks.’
    â€˜I’m glad I don’t have to wear one,’ Carrie chirped, rubbing her flat stomach. ‘I’ve put on the first-year five kilos since March!’ I was probably imagining her sly look at my bulk, I told myself, uncomfortably aware that my ‘dinner’ had comprised three chocolate-chip biscuits and four pieces of peanut-butter toast. I had to get some exercise. My tae kwon do gear bag was in my wardrobe, untouched since I’d moved down in February. Maybe I could join the university karate club after the play. It might be interesting to see how they did it.
    We had come to the end of the corridor, and entered the wide lobby. Kevin pushed on the wide, pale-blue doors, emblazoned with ‘Ngio Marsh Theatre’ in flowing script, and ushered us in.
    â€˜Are any other—’ I began, but I had spoken into one of those sudden silences that occasionally punctuate group conversations. All the strangers gathered on the stage looked up at us.
    Empty, the theatre was immense and intimidating. The black side curtains were tied up in enormous knots, and the undressed stage stretched all the way back to the brick wall. The group of shivering bodies clustered on the stage’s scarred wooden floor barely covered a tenth of it.
    I