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DEAD GIRL'S DON'T LIE

Name: DEAD GIRL'S DON'T LIE
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

BERNARD JIJI

Fantasy | Ongoing

5.0

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The dead never shut up. The living? They're worse. Nyx doesn't do favors-not for cops, not for ghosts, and definitely not for pretty boys with trust-fund smiles and blood that glows in the dark. But when a privileged socialite's corpse sits up on the morgue slab and hisses "They murdered me," even her cynicism has limits. Now she's stuck playing detective with Kieran Vale, the victim's too-charming, too-gorgeous brother who's hiding more than grief behind those sinful eyes. Between dodging a cult of immortality-obsessed elites and outrunning a death god who wears stolen faces, Nyx has two problems: Every corpse marked with that cursed rune is another ghost shackled to this world-screaming. Kieran's heartbeat is the only thing keeping her from joining them. Dark. Snarky. Heartbreaking. For fans of Vicious by V.E. Schwab, The Atlas Six, and Ninth House-with a love story as sharp as a scalpel and twice as cruel.

Thriller Adolescence

Chapter 1 The Girl Who woke Up Dead

04-22 19:33

Chapter 1 The Girl Who woke Up Dead

The morgue smelled like antiseptic and lies.

Nyx Vexx exhaled a plume of cigarette smoke over the corpse, watching it curl around the fluorescent lights before dissipating against the ceiling tiles. The hospital had banned smoking five years ago, but Nyx had spent the last decade pissing off people far scarier than some clipboard-wielding administrator.

"Alright, princess," she muttered, snapping on latex gloves. "Let's see what sob story you've got for me today."

Lila Voss lay on the stainless steel table, her platinum hair fanned out like a halo, manicured nails still perfect. Death hadn't roughed her up much-just the neat little gunshot wound under her jaw, the kind the cops called self-inflicted when they couldn't be bothered with paperwork. The kind Nyx had seen too many times before.

She leaned in, her boot heels clicking against the tile. The coroner's report had been suspiciously sparse. No defensive wounds. No signs of struggle. Just another rich girl who'd allegedly decided to eat a bullet in her penthouse bathroom.

Bullshit.

Nyx pressed two fingers to Lila's sternum, just above the Y-incision some overworked pathologist had stitched back together. The cold seeped through her gloves, but she ignored it.

"Wakey wakey, Sleeping Beauty," she murmured. "Your fifteen minutes of fame starts now."

For a moment, nothing happened. Then-

Lila's eyelids snapped open.

Nyx didn't flinch. She'd seen corpses blink before. Seen them twitch. Once, she'd even seen one sit up and sing a lullaby in a voice like grinding bones. But Lila's eyes-

Those were new.

Her pupils were black voids, swallowing the pale blue of her irises whole. When her lips parted, the sound that came out wasn't speech. It was something wetter. Darker. Like words bubbling up through tar.

"They're lying about how I died."

Nyx's cigarette slipped from her fingers, landing on the tile with a hiss. "Well, fuck me sideways."

The corpse's hand shot up, ice-cold fingers clamping around Nyx's wrist. The smell of rot thickened, clogging her throat. Lila's mouth kept moving, but the voice wasn't hers anymore-it was layered, echoing, like a dozen women screaming down a long tunnel.

"He marked me. Like the others. Can't you see it?"

Nyx wrenched free, stumbling back into a tray of surgical instruments. They clattered to the floor, the sound like gunshots in the sterile silence. Her pulse hammered in her throat as she grabbed Lila's wrist, turning it toward the light.

There. Faint but unmistakable. A symbol carved into the skin just above the radial artery-a spiral with a single slash through it, like a noose tightening.

Nyx's breath caught. She'd seen that mark before.

On another body. In another morgue.

Three months ago, when another pretty girl had "jumped" from her balcony.

The lights flickered. The temperature plummeted. Somewhere in the building, an alarm started wailing.

Lila's corpse arched off the table, tendons snapping audibly as her head turned too far to the left. Black liquid oozed from her lips, her nostrils, the corners of her eyes. When she spoke again, the voice was a chorus of the damned.

"He's coming for you next."

The overhead lights exploded in a shower of sparks. Nyx threw up an arm as glass rained down, slicing through the sleeve of her leather jacket. In the strobe-like flashes of dying fluorescents, she saw Lila's body contort-spine bending at impossible angles, fingers elongating into claws.

"Fuck this." Nyx bolted for the door.

It slammed shut in her face.

The handle wouldn't turn. The metal groaned as something dented it from the other side.

Behind her, wet tearing sounds. The stench of opened cavities.

Nyx didn't look back. She drove her shoulder into the door once, twice-on the third impact, it burst open, sending her sprawling into the hallway. She hit the linoleum rolling, came up running, Lila's laughter chasing her like a physical thing.

The emergency exit loomed ahead. Nyx hit the bar at full speed, bursting out into the alley behind the hospital. Rain sheeted down, instantly soaking through her clothes. She didn't stop running until she'd put two blocks between her and that fucking building.

Then she bent double, hands on her knees, and vomited into a storm drain.

When she straightened, wiping her mouth, she realized three things in quick succession:

Black sludge streaked her boots where Lila's corpse-vomit had landed. It was moving. Crawling up the leather like living shadow.

The symbol on Lila's wrist was now burned into her palm, faint but pulsing like a second heartbeat.

She wasn't alone.

"Miss Vexx."

The voice came from behind her. Male. Smooth. Laced with something dangerously close to amusement.

Nyx turned slowly, hand drifting toward the switchblade in her pocket.

The man leaning against the alley wall was unfairly handsome-all sharp cheekbones and tousled dark hair, his tailored coat doing nothing to hide the athletic build beneath. Press pass dangling from his neck. Shoulder holster barely concealed.

Kieran Vale. Lila's brother. Investigative journalist. Professional thorn in Nyx's side.

He pushed off the wall, stepping into the flickering glow of a streetlight. Rain dripped off his jaw as he studied her with eyes that missed nothing.

"You saw what they did to her," he said. Not a question.

Nyx's fingers tightened around her blade. "I saw a corpse throw up nightmare fuel and try to wear me like a skinsuit, if that's what you mean."

Behind Kieran, the shadows shifted.

At first, Nyx thought it was just the rain playing tricks. Then the darkness peeled away from the brick wall, resolving into a shape-tall, too tall, its limbs jointed all wrong. Where its face should have been, there was only smooth skin stretched tight over bone.

It smiled with a mouth that split vertically down its featureless head.

Kieran followed her gaze. Went very still.

Nyx didn't hesitate. She grabbed his arm and yanked him into a sprint.

"Run," she snarled. "Now."

The thing behind them laughed, and the sound was like glass shattering in reverse