Ban: Lord of Death (Bow Street’s Most Wanted: The Four Horsemen #4)

Chapter 1

Fenchurch Street, London

Ban fought to scream, but no sound crawled up his throat however hard he tried.

He was choking, gagging on the putrid taste and scent of the grave that enveloped him like a morning fog off the Thames.

He twisted and turned to escape the touch of hands and arms that reached for him through the rough shroud clinging to his body as if determined never to let him go.

Finally, he wrenched his eyes open, filled his lungs with the stinking air of rotting corpses, and screamed.

He forced the sound from his body, and the wordless cry burned like hot coals, erupting from his mouth into the silence.

"Ban! Jesus, Ban, we're here. We're here." Fam. What was Fam doing here? Was he dead too? Was his brother lying next to him in this open grave?

"Give him to me." Con. Con was here. He couldn't be dead. Nothing could kill Con. Strong arms came around him. The scent of the grave began to fade. His oldest brother smelled of rain, and tea, and safety. "Wake up, Ban. Look at me." Con shook him for a moment. "Look at me."

Ban could not stop glancing about in fits and jerks, searching the darkness.

A door opened, and suddenly the soft light of candles crept into his vision.

He blinked. His eyes stung. His face was wet.

He'd been crying. Con hated when Ban cried.

After all he was seven years old, far too big a lad for tears.

"I'm s-sorry, Con. I didn't mean to cry." He raised his arm to swipe his hand across his face. Con crushed him tightly to his chest.

"Fuck that," Con said as he rocked Ban gently back and forth. "You cry you hear me? Anyone back from the grave can weep as much as he wants."

"Fam." Ban turned his head and rested his cheek on Con's chest. "Is Fam here? Is he dead too?"

"I'm right here, and nobody is dead." Ban felt Fam's hand rest on his back. "Leastways nobody who shouldn't be."

"Enough of that," a familiar voice said as a short, plump woman came closer and placed a branch of candles behind Fam. "God and all of his angels have been watching over you, Ban Dyer. You've been lingering between this world and the next for nigh on a week. Let me look at him, Connor."

Ban clung to his brother even as Con stood up and allowed the woman to take his place on the side of the bed.

"Missus Kamish?" He scrunched his brow so deeply his head hurt.

What was Missus Kamish doing here? "Where am I?

I'm dead. I was in a...a g-grave." His body began to quake uncontrollably.

In an instant he was wrapped in a soft and gentle embrace mixed with the scent of flour and cinnamon and lemon.

"Hush now," Missus Kamish crooned. "You're not dead. Those monsters tried, but the grave couldn't hold you. You're safe now." Footsteps sounded from somewhere and the door burst open.

"Ban," Nell cried. His sister ran in and knelt next to the bed.

"You're awake, sweeting. You're awake." She rose up on her knees and kissed his cheek.

He gave her a weak smile. He was still terribly confused, but if Con and Fam and Nell were with him.

.. "Where's War?" His voice was hoarse now, but still wrapped in Missus Kamish's arms, he was beginning to believe he was not dreaming.

"What's all this noise?" Warrick sat up in the bed next to the one in which Ban lay.

"He's awake. 'Bout bloody time. Thought you were going to sleep forever, and you snore something fierce.

" He sounded odd. His face looked strange too in the light of the candles Missus Kamish had brought into the room.

Then Ban saw them, tears running down one side of Warrick's face.

Of course, he quickly wiped them away. Warrick was nine, and Ban could not remember ever seeing him weep.

"Nell, dear," Missus Kamish said as she smoothed Ban's hair away from his face. "Go and make your brother a cup of tea with honey and fetch a clean nightshirt from the basket in my parlor. Poor thing has sweated this one clean through."

"Yes, missus." Nell kissed Ban's hair and ran to do as she was told.

"I don't understand," Ban said softly. "I was dead. Dawkins and Sykes killed me. They put me...they put me..."

"They tried to kill you," Con said as he knelt next to Ban and rubbed his arm. "They tried. But you don't have to worry about them anymore. They're gone. Bill's gone. It's just us now. We're going to look after you."

"He's right," Warrick said as he ruffled Ban's hair. "You don't ever need to be afraid again. We're free."

Missus Kamish rubbed his back. "You're going to stay here until you're well, lad. All of you will so long as you need to, yes?" She looked at Con who nodded. Nell bustled in with the mug of tea and a nightshirt.

Fam bounced out of the bed and stood between Warrick and Con. "You've got nothing to be afraid of, little brother. You've been dead and buried, and you spit in Death's fucking eye. You're bloody invincible!"

"Your language, Famstone Dyer, and your brother just delivered from the grave. Shame on you." Missus Kamish fixed Fam with a stern glare. Con winked at Ban.

"Sorry, Missus." Fam hung his head and scuffed his bare foot across the rug between the two beds. The sweet, stout lady reached out to draw Fam into a hug.

"You boys have earned a bit of swearing with all you've been through this week.

" She bussed Fam's cheek. "See you don't abuse the privilege.

" She gazed down at Ban who was suddenly drowsy as he rested his head against her chest. "Drink your tea, lad, and then back to sleep. No more nightmares for you."

Ban sat up and drank the tea whilst Missus Kamish held the cup for him.

Once he was finished, she tucked him back into bed, kissed his forehead, and slipped out, the branch of candles in her hand.

The sudden darkness startled him. He didn't want to close his eyes for fear those rotting hands would reach out and drag him back into the yawning maw of the cemetery.

"S'cold in this bed," Warrick grumbled as he crawled out of his bed and climbed over Ban to settle in next to him. "Just don't start snoring again."

"Move your arse, War," Con said and pushed Ban into the middle of the mattress so he could lie between him and the edge of the bed. "I'd better sleep here or War will dump you on the floor."

"Will not," War protested.

"Will too," Fam and Nell said together as they dragged some blankets from the other bed and clambered onto the foot of the one where Con, Ban, and Warrick lay.

"You always do," Nell added. "And you steal the blankets too.

" The bed creaked under the weight of all five of them, but Ban didn't care.

He might be only seven, but he knew what they were about.

They were doing what they always did, keeping him safe and warm.

He sighed and turned to rest his head on Con's shoulder.

"Your feet are cold," his oldest brother observed.

The covers rustled at the foot of the bed, and Ban sensed the weight of Fam's thin, lanky body on his feet.

He glanced down to see Nell curl herself around Fam's back.

No ghostly hands could touch him now. Even the dead dared not cross his brothers and Nell Dyer.

"Go to sleep," Con mumbled and wrapped his arm around Ban.

Fam was right. He was bloody invincible. He'd come back from the dead, and nothing could hurt him ever again.