Kanaan & Tilney: The Case of the Undead Wood

By Katey Hawthorne and Jenna Rose

Praeternaturals—people with paranormal powers—all over Boston know Lowell Kanaan and John Tilney for their discretion and forthrightness as private detectives. They’re also about to move in together, and John seems to be dragging his feet for reasons Lowell can’t fathom. Personal worries are quickly put aside, however, when they get a top-priority case: someone has introduced a blight into the Terran Garden, a kind of living graveyard for dormant Terrans who’ve become one with trees.

Most blights don’t cause trees to start craving human flesh, but somehow, this one has, and one Gardener is already dead. If Lowell and John can’t navigate the back-channels of Terran politics and secrecy quickly enough, more dead will certainly follow. Accusations abound: a Necromorph revenge plot, a widower’s anger, a friend’s jealousy, political maneuvering, or simply an ugly accident. The only thing that’s clear is the carnage will get worse until Lowell and John discover who introduced this new blight and why they’d desecrate sacred Terran ground.

Just when Lowell was starting to think he’d seen it all... foliage zombies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: KV Taylor
• Release date: Aug 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005195588

Katey Hawthorne

Katey Hawthorne loves queer romance. Originally from the Appalachian foothills of West Virginia, she currently lives in Ohio with her family, two cats, and two huge puppies. In her spare time, she enjoys travel, comic books, B-movies, loud music, video games, Epiphones, and Bushmills. Her favorite causes include animal rescue and bisexual representation in media. She is an unashamed fangirl and collects nerdy tattoos like she’s trying to prove it.

Book preview

Praeternaturals—people with paranormal powers—all over Boston know Lowell Kanaan and John Tilney for their discretion and forthrightness as private detectives. They’re also about to move in together, and John seems to be dragging his feet for reasons Lowell can’t fathom. Personal worries are quickly put aside, however, when they get a top-priority case: someone has introduced a blight into the Terran Garden, a kind of living graveyard for dormant Terrans who’ve become one with trees.

Most blights don’t cause trees to start craving human flesh, but somehow, this one has, and one Gardener is already dead. If Lowell and John can’t navigate the back-channels of Terran politics and secrecy quickly enough, more dead will certainly follow. Accusations abound: a Necromorph revenge plot, a widower’s anger, a friend’s jealousy, political maneuvering, or simply an ugly accident. The only thing that’s clear is the carnage will get worse until Lowell and John discover who introduced this new blight and why they’d desecrate sacred Terran ground.

Just when Lowell was starting to think he’d seen it all… foliage zombies.

Kanaan & Tilney: The Case of the Undead Wood

By Jenna Rose and Katey Hawthorne

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

Edited by Raven McKnight

Cover designed by Aisha Akeju

This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

First Edition August 2020

Copyright © 2020 by Jenna Rose and Katey Hawthorne

Kanaan And Tilney::

The Case of the

Undead Wood

Kanaan & Tilney 3

Jenna Rose

and

Katey Hawthorne

Chapter One

What if it’s something super simple? Like, she’s sleeping with the mail carrier? John spun his office chair—and the cord to his headset got caught under his keyboard and yanked it off his head. Shit! He fumbled to disentangle his wires and get the thing back on his ears. Sorry, sorry, I did it again.

Over the phone, in the low grumble of someone who was trying not to draw attention to himself, Lowell said, Then our job will be much easier.

But that’s no good for a book. John tried to sit still, leaning one elbow on his cluttered desk. A stack of receipts from a previous case—another potential cheating husband—stuck to his arm. He ignored it in favor of his notebook. The overhead fluorescent flickered. John loved that thing; it felt so very noir, while the rest of the office was all updated and nice. Finally. I need something better. The first book is doing well; people will expect something big. Or maybe it could be something normal and simple and easy—except there’s a twist! Like she’s sleeping with the postwoman, but the postwoman is slowly poisoning her husband. With something weird. Gold, maybe. Gold can poison someone, I think.

Apple seeds, Lowell replied offhandedly.

Cyanide, John said by way of agreement.

And easy cases may be no good for a book, but they’re good for my sanity. Lowell did sound tired. And bored. And frustrated.

Sorry, Lowell. I wish we could stop taking cheating cases, but… Well, they paid the bills. They just felt so beneath someone with Lowell’s heroic abilities and sensibilities.

Lowell sighed, and John could imagine him rubbing his face. I know, I know. Gotta keep the lights on somehow. Infidelity pays well.

Paying you to be bored. John sighed back. I can take the next stakeout. I’ll pay attention and everything. I can dictate voice memos instead of bringing my notebook.

You sure? It’s a lot of sitting and waiting.

John winced but tried to sound chipper. I can sit and wait! The voice memos might keep me still. It’s like writing but talking, and I like both of those?

We can give it a try if you want, but don’t feel like you have to, Lowell said. I’ve been handling this BS for years; I think I can handle it for a little longer. I got you to keep me entertained now. His voice went warm on the end there.

John’s heart fluttered. You’re making me blush.

There was something kinda growly in Lowell’s voice now. Really? You should send— Shit.

John already had his phone up for a selfie, but he paused, sitting up straighter. On the move?

Yeah. Lowell’s keys jangled. The mark just left the house. Got to go. He’s moving fast.

Go get him, Big Bad. John could do better than a selfie when Lowell got home with the goods.

The car’s engine started with a rumble. I’ll talk to you later.

John pulled off his headset. Stared at the notebook, considering the apple-seed poison over the heavy-metal poison.

And promptly went back to spinning in his chair.

***

Roughly five hours later, which was to say three a.m., John had abandoned the office for home. Home—not as in the tiny upstairs bedroom he’d been renting in Allston, but home as in Lowell’s apartment. Now their apartment.

Except some of John’s stuff was still in his old room across town. And most was here, in this wall of boxes, and had been for a few weeks.

In despair, John mixed himself a Manhattan at the bourbon-only wet bar in the corner. Lowell’s cozy living space had beautiful, built-in bookshelves of the kind John had always wanted. Maybe if he could just get a few boxes of his own books in there, John would believe this was really his home now. His home, with his Lowell. His happy little pack.

He glanced at the clock on the cable box. Took another drink and then a deep, determined breath. He started with great purpose for the nearest and most daunting of his book boxes, but before he could open it, he was saved by the blessed sound of the front door. Lowell, dead on his feet, stripped off his battered leather jacket.

With a sigh of relief, John diverted his course back to the wet bar and poured out a neat bourbon. By the time Lowell had gotten rid of his jacket and boots, John stood before him, holding it out as an offering. Jesus, where’d she go, California?

Holed up in that cheap motel they all seem to love. Lowell took the glass and downed it in one go. I thought she’d never come out. Finally did, though. I got the shot. He jerked his head toward the camera he’d deposited on the counter.

John threw his arms around Lowell’s neck and pecked him on the lips. My hero.

Lowell kissed John back, and some of that tension in his shoulders seemed to loosen. Did you call me Big Bad, or did I imagine that?

John grinned and rested his forehead against Lowell’s briefly, which required some stooping. Yeah. Perfect, right?

Because I’m a wolf? Lowell set the empty glass down to put his arms around John.

Yeah. And you’re small and good. It’s irony.

My artist, Lowell said fondly. I’d love to show you how big and bad I can be, but I’m this close to falling asleep on my feet.

John kissed him one more time, quickly, sweetly, and tugged him toward the bedroom. His bare feet padded over the original hardwood, lovingly preserved and only occasionally seasoned by a dropped drink here and there. His hardwood, now. His apartment. With Lowell.

It still didn’t feel real, but John was sure it would. Soon. Come on. I’ll read in bed with you for a while. I like hearing you breathe.

Lowell followed compliantly, his fingers hooked with John’s. He crawled into bed—their bed—without undressing and exhaled a tired, relieved sort of sigh.

John pulled off his shirt and crawled in next to him, picking up whatever book was on his side table. Agatha Christie’s A Cat Among the Pigeons. Trusty old favorites—and there was no inspiration for a mystery writer like golden age detective fiction. Lowell had a lot of it, and that was good, since all John’s books were…yeah, still in boxes. Let me know if you want another drink to get you there, he offered.

Lowell’s only answer was to shift closer to John, tuck his head against his thigh, and lay an arm across his lap.

John opened his book and settled in, one hand in Lowell’s soft curls—

And then Lowell’s phone buzzed.

John sighed. "I mean, you don’t have to get it." But if someone was calling at this time of night…

Lowell grumbled, groped for his phone blindly, and then offered it to John, all without lifting his head up.

John left his book facedown with Lowell’s leg keeping the page open. Kanaan & Tilney Investigations. John Tilney speaking.

Mr. Tilney, I apologize for the hour, but it was unavoidable, said a smooth, gentle male voice on the other end.

In our line of work, it happens, John said with a slight chuckle. Something dire was probably going on, though, so he should sober up—metaphorically speaking. Ah, to whom am I speaking?

Jacob Heinlen. I’m…uh, I’m on the Terran Council, but you wouldn’t have heard of me.

Seeing as I’m an Elementalist, John provided. No need to be awkward about it, after all. "But I do know there is a Terran Council. You work out of the Mother Tree Center, right?"

Lowell’s head tilted under John’s hand, and an eye peeked out.

That’s right. We have a…situation there. And you were recommended. Every time Heinlen spoke, he got more and more hesitant.

I’m glad someone thought we could help. John plowed ahead, chipper as ever.

Fergus King, Heinlen said.

Ah. Earlier in the year, Fergus’s boyfriend had been a victim of the Packless Killer, and Lowell and John had found her and brought her to justice. Right, yeah, he knows our work well. Not to rush you, but what, exactly, is the—

You’d better come and see for yourself, Heinlen said in dour, dire tones.

First thing in the morning, then, John said.

There was a pause, as if Heinlen wanted to tell him no, right now. But eventually he said, Six a.m. Thank you, Mr. Tilney.

When John hung up, he dropped Lowell’s phone on the end table and said, Better get in a power nap. We have a very mysterious six a.m. meeting at the Mother Tree Center.

The sound Lowell made was a muffled, but unmistakable, Fuck.

John patted him and hummed in consolation. At least it’ll be more interesting than a stakeout? I mean, as long as we don’t have to literally watch grass grow.

Lowell just grumbled and tucked his face back into John’s thigh, so John went back to his book.

***

While Lowell might’ve been too tired to appreciate the splendor of the Mother Tree Center—home and solace to all Terrans calling Boston home—John, at least, was not. The massive tree, the center of this tiny ecosystem, was visible from the front, towering above the modern structure built in front of the arboretum proper. But this arboretum was open—in spring and summer, at least—so the gigantic baobab in the center was visible for miles.

Schoolchildren in endless lines covered the stairs to the education center in front. John stared in awe; it was bold—brazen, even, which was one of his favorite words—to allow the non-praeternatural public anywhere near their community center. As far as John knew, no other praeternaturals did that.

He was about to ask Lowell about it when someone waved hello from the bottom of the stairs. Immediately, John recognized Fergus King. After hellos, Fergus introduced them to a fretful-looking man in a too-warm jacket. And this is Jacob Heinlen. He’s my uncle.

Heinlen shook their hands, his own a little clammy. Fergus can’t say enough about you. He also says you can be trusted to be…ah. Discreet.

We’re the discreetest, John promised solemnly.

Lowell gave him a look but kept quiet. The bags under his eyes had bags, so John tried to behave.

Yes, ah, well, good. I’m afraid our hands may be tied anyhow. Thank you, Fergus. Give your mother a hug for me.

Fergus looked like he’d rather stay, hesitating for a moment. Then he nodded and waved before loping off.

So Fergus doesn’t know…whatever is happening? John guessed.

Heinlen shook his head. I have access to bring you to the Garden. He turned and bustled down the stairs and started toward a side entrance. Please show proper respect; no shoes, and if you’re wearing any perfumes or pesticides, please stop off at the showers first.

Seeing as they were not, Heinlen led them directly to what looked like a small service entrance: metal plate door, serious security, cameras and keypads everywhere. In the upper right corner was the small, sparkly letter P decal that signified it as a place friendly to praeternaturals. As Heinlen began the process of cracking the door like a safe, John ventured to ask, So the Garden is different from the arboretum?

"Yes and no. The ecosystem is one, obviously, with the Mother Tree in the center. But we keep the education center’s arboretum available to the public, while the Garden itself is our inner sanctum, so to speak. That’s where the Mother Tree is located.

"She’s not the original Mother Tree here in Boston, of course, but after a plague in the 1870s, the council decided to find a new one that signified our heritage as a nation of immigrants. With special consideration for our brothers and sisters brought here in chains. It seemed only right to acknowledge Boston’s history in that