Page 5 of Dead Serious Halloween Special

“You’re welcome.”

“He does have a point,” Dusty muses. “They’re gorgeous. I saw the last lot that traipsed through here. I thought it was an audition forMagic Mike.”

“HAPPY HALLOWEEN!” Two more familiar voices chorus, one American and one Scottish.

Glancing over, I see Ian and Dave standing hand in hand at the end of the table and do a double take. Usually, the pair of them appearas they did at the moment of death: Dave, soaking wet and with no shoes, having taken a nosedive off a bridge into the Thames where he drowned, and Ian, covered in blue wax and tiny shards of glass from the exploding lava lamp thatfinished him off. Because of their appearance, I’d always assumed they were caught in some sort of death cycle, unable to move on until they solved their unfinished business, business that so far I’d had no luck figuring out.

However, now I’m starting to suspect that’s not the case at all. Both of them show no signs of the manner of their deaths right now; in fact, they both seem to be in costume. Ian is wearing a tiny pair of gold pants… holy hell, and I meantiny.He’s also wearing a little pair of sporty boots, the kind boxers wear, and he has a few artfully placed bandages on his thigh and upper arm. His shaggy blonde surferhair is loose around his shoulders and for once not matted and clumped with wax and glass. A light dusting of fair hair covers his well-definedpecs, and his rippled stomach is golden and smooth, no trace of the usual cuts and grazes.

Beside him, holding onto his hand to stop himself from wobbling on the black platform heels he’s clearly not used to wearing, is Dave. His black hair is wild and curly, his piercing pale blue eyes framed by heavy makeup and his lips painted a murderous red. But it’s his outfit that has my attention—or rather, his lack of it. He’s wearing tiny black briefs and a shiny corset, tightly laced.

“Holy Frankfurter!” Dusty cackles in delight. “You two look fabulous!”

Ian shrugs. “It’s Halloween, so we thought we’d dress up. If we’re going to the party at the bookshop, we figured we should make the effort.”

“You’re going to Chan’s party?” I blurt in surprise.

“Dusty invited us.” Ian nods in the direction of my dead bestie.

“What?” She blinks innocently. “It’s not like they can’t leave themortuary, they do it all the time. I caught them sitting at the apex of St Paul’s Cathedral the other week.”

“What were you doing up there?” I ask in confusion.

“Smoking,” Ian says easily. “You said you didn’t like the smell of weed in the mortuary.”

“Yeah, but I dunno, doesn’t it seem a bit sacrilegious to do it on top of a cathedral?”

Ian shrugs. “It’s a great view though.”

“Wait a minute!” Terry interrupts indignantly. “Why do they get invited to a party and not me?”

“Because you weren’t here,” Dusty answers in a bored tone.

“Oh,” Terry replies. “Well, can I go? To the party,” he clarifies.

“It depends.” Dusty’s eyes narrow.

“On what?”

“On whether you can go one evening without accidentally defibrillating anyone.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promises.

“And you have to wear a costume. Even though Chan can’t see you, he’s a stickler for the rules,” Dusty adds.

“But I don’t know how to,” Terry frowns.

“Hang on a minute,” I interrupt, looking at Ian and Dave. “How did you two manage to change your appearance?”

“We finally figured it out. Not sure why it took us so long,” Dave says shyly.

“Did you notice anything else?” Ian grins and stares down at Dave proudly.

Now that he mentions it, there is something different,calmerabout the Scotsman. For a second I stare contemplatively, then it comes to me.

“Your tic is gone!” I exclaim. “And your speech… the Tourette’s?”

“Mostly gone.” Dave grins. “A couple of words and phrases sneak in there if I’m stressed or not concentrating, but this is the longest I’ve gone without twitching or blurting things out.”