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everyone else. She wished her grandmother could see it that way and still love her anyway.
     

 
     
    Chapter Three
     
    The sound of feet pounding down the corridor and muffled voices woke her. Raiden opened her eyes; her ghosts usually made no sound as they moved about. Her gaze focused on the faded wallpaper and frayed curtains, not the heavy, green silk drapes of her bedroom. She groaned and pulled the covers over her head. She was back at school.
    She lay there listening to the murmur of voices in the room below and the sound of water moving through the pipes. She had forgotten how much noise the living made. She liked hearing the noise, instead of the silence she usually woke up to. It meant she wasn’t alone anymore.
    Light flooded into the room as the curtains were pulled open. Raiden lifted up the covers to see Marielle moving around the room. She took out Raiden’s fencing clothes from the wardrobe and laid them at the bottom of the bed. The ghost smiled at her, before she disappeared through the wall.
    Raiden threw back the covers and scrambled out of bed. She stumbled to the bathroom and nearly collided with Heather who was just coming out. She quickly washed her face and carried out the necessities. Back in her room, she dressed in her fencing clothes which consisted of a tennis skirt and white blouse. She took her hairbrush to the window. The strange boy from last night had gone. The street below teemed with people. From this high up, all she could see were the tops of their hats and bonnets. It was impossible to tell if they were human or demon. When she was younger, she had made it a game to try and guess what they were. The dead were easy to spot; they ambled along, while the ghosts walked through things. A lady passed below, wrapped in a heavy black cloak. The rim of her wide bonnet concealed her face. She walked normally; a human still living, Raiden guessed. The lady paused; muck covered the street. She picked up her skirts to avoid the filth and Raiden saw a brief flash of her feet, only they weren’t feet. They were thick and rounded like hooves. She was a human with demon blood.
    Raiden tied her hair back with a black ribbon and sat on the bed to pull on her boots which Peters had cleaned in the night. She checked her reflection in the mirror and then hurried to the sitting room to join the others. It was too small to serve as a bedroom. There was just enough room for a table and four chairs and an old sofa in front of the fireplace. But it did have a carpet that, although thin and threadbare, covered the whole of the floor.
    Cassade sat at the table reading a newspaper. Her golden brown hair was braided and coiled around her head for fencing. Peters handed Raiden a cup of tea as she took the seat opposite Cassade. She wrapped her cold hands around the cup; it was lukewarm. In the centre of the table was a plate piled with cold toast. Peters brought breakfast up for them, so they didn’t have to go all the way down to the hall, but the food was always cold by the time it got here.
    Cassade set the newspaper down with a sigh. “There was a fire at a factory yesterday; over a dozen ogres were killed.” She smeared butter onto a piece of toast. “It’s not fair. If it was humans, people would be outraged, but they’re just ogres so no one cares.”
    Cassade’s mother belonged to every charitable society imaginable, for the welfare of everything from ogres to trolls. Cassade was just as passionate about reform. She even thought women and demons should be able to vote - but not the dead. It was the only thing she and Raiden disagreed about.
    Raiden drew the newspaper toward her. She wanted to see if there was any mention of James Matherson. She unfolded it and scanned the tiny print, not expecting to find anything. Her attention fixed on a small advert. Smallpeace, Dawes and Pumprey, the solicitors where her cousin worked were mentioned. It said they were settling the affairs of a Mr James