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16
“Surprise,” said Never, taking the seat beside Omen in the Dining Hall and flicking the hair out of her eyes. “Someone is actually sitting beside you for breakfast. Wonders – will they never cease?”
Omen frowned. “People sit beside me all the time.”
“Rarely by choice, though. Admit it, Omen, you’re delighted to have someone to talk to this early in the morning, aren’t you?”
Omen didn’t answer. But he was.
“However, the truly amazing thing,” Never continued, “is that I’m sitting beside you even though you’ve been avoiding me all day.”
“It’s … first thing in the morning.”
“Don’t deny it, Omen. When you deny a truth, a kitten dies.”
The din in the hall – chattering voices, clinking utensils, the heavy tread of feet and the tortured scrape of chairs – had not yet reached deafening proportions, so, when Never leaned in and lowered her voice, Omen could hear her perfectly.
“You better tell me what’s going on and you better not lie. You’re a terrible liar. I always know when you’re lying because your ears go red. Are you going to eat that?”
“It’s my breakfast,” said Omen.
“I know. Are you going to eat it?”
“I’m eating it now.”
Never sighed. “Then are you going to finish it?”
“Probably. Where’s your breakfast?”
“In my stomach, where all breakfasts belong. Can I have that sausage?”
“The one on the end of my fork? No. It’s mine. Look.” Omen took a bite. “See?”
Never turned her head, so she was looking at Omen out of the corner of her eyes. “You’re definitely acting weird.”
“No, I’m not,” said Omen. “I’m acting normal because I am normal.”
Never flicked her hair again. She liked flicking her hair. It was one of her things. “You couldn’t be normal if you tried. Not with your family.”
“Well, I don’t know what you want me to say. But I’m not acting weird.”
“You were walking around yesterday, peering at everyone and trying to listen in to their conversations.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Whatever.” She used the air to lift a bread roll from the basket. Even though teleportation was her natural gift, and she was the only one in Mr Renn’s class who could actually teleport, Never was pretty good at everything, Elemental magic included. She was definitely better at it than Omen.
Omen hesitated. “Do you, uh, do you think they noticed?”
“Who?”
“Everyone.”
“That you were spying on them? Naw.” She dropped the bread roll back. “People tend to ignore you. It’s a gift you have. So what were you up to?”
“I can’t tell you.”
Never glared. “Since when do we keep secrets from each other?”
“We keep loads of secrets from each other,” Omen said, frowning. “Literally, loads.”
She shrugged. “We should stop that. A friendship like ours is a friendship that relies on one hundred per cent honesty at all times.”
“Then is it true what I heard about you and Rasure Cross?”
“One hundred per cent honesty from this moment on,” said Never, smoothing down her skirt. “Hey, did you hear? Skulduggery Pleasant was here yesterday.”
Omen stuffed some egg into his mouth. “Yeah?”
“Chocolate said she was in French and she happened to glance out the window and there he was.”
“That’s cool.”
“She said Valkyrie Cain was with him.”
“Right.”
Never’s face had already soured. “I thought they’d split up.”
“I, uh, I don’t think they were ever together in that way …”
“You know what I mean. I thought she’d gone off to live out her life in America. That’s what I was hoping. She probably missed the limelight too much, had to come back to get everyone talking about her again.”
“OK.”
“Chocolate said that she looked just like Darquesse.”
“Well, obviously.”
“Yeah, I know. I just expected her to look a little different from all the videos, you know? You’d think she’d have dyed her hair a different colour or something. It’s like she’s proud of what she did.”
“Ah … I don’t think that’s fair …”
“She’s walking around the same city she half destroyed, Omen. What else would you call it? And why are you defending her?”
“Because it wasn’t her, was it? It was Darquesse.”
Never had that look on her face.
“Stop,” Omen said quickly. “We’re not talking about this again. We have different opinions and I know how angry you get when we talk about it, so let’s not, OK? Not today. I have too much on my mind.”
She stared at him. “You have what?”
He blushed. “I, uh, I have a lot to think about.”
Never laughed. “You have too much on your mind? Oh my God.”
“Please forget I said that.”
“I will never, ever forget you said that. Oh my God, you sound just like my mother.”
He sagged. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“No. I’m not. At all. Mum.”
Omen sighed, and swallowed the last mouthful of his breakfast before putting his knife and fork on his empty plate. “I’m going to go get ready for class now, because at least in class no one laughs at me quite as much as you do.”
Never grinned. “Bet you don’t even know what class we have.”
“Actually, I do,” said Omen. “We have history, with Mr Lilt.”
“A man gets in his car,” said Parthenios Lilt, perched on the edge of his desk. “It’s night. The drive home is going to take him an hour. His favourite TV show starts in forty minutes. He starts driving. He goes a little faster than he really should. It starts to rain. His windscreen wipers aren’t that great. The road is slippery. He’s tired. He hasn’t slept well. He’s thinking about an argument he’s had with his boss. He gets to a sharp bend. He skids and crashes. What caused the accident?”
The class was silent. Lilt looked around, eyebrow raised expectantly. After a few moments, Megan Epithet put up her hand.
“He’s never heard of the Internet?”
Lilt frowned. “Sorry?”
“He can watch his show online whenever he wants,” Megan said. “He doesn’t have to hurry.”
“Ah,” said Lilt. “No, I think you’re missing the point a little.”
“The sharp bend,” said Never. “If it’d been a straight road, he wouldn’t have had to turn and he wouldn’t have crashed.”
“But he’s taken that bend every day for twenty years and he hasn’t crashed before tonight. Can you really say the bend is the problem?”
“The rain,” said someone else.
“The speed,” said another.
Lilt held up his hand. “I’ll put you all out of your misery. There is no one thing that caused the accident. It’s a combination of things. Each factor, on its own, didn’t make him crash. But put together … the crash looks inevitable. And so it was for World War Two. Reparations. The rise of nationalism. Appeasement. Europe’s reluctance to—”
The door opened and Jenan stepped in. Lilt glanced at the clock.
“Three minutes left of class, Mr Ispolin.”
“Yeah.”
“‘Yeah’?”
Jenan straightened. “Yes. Sir.”
“Are you going to tell me where you’ve been?”
“I was called in to the Principal’s Office.”
Lilt sighed. “Misbehaving again, Jenan? What did you do this time?”
Jenan scowled. “Didn’t do anything.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. I’m sure Mr Rubic invited you in for a friendly chat about the weather.” Lilt waved him to his seat. “Go on, you may as well sit down. Try not to cause any more disruption.”
Jenan went to his desk and Lilt chewed his lip. “Where was I?”
“World War Two,” said Megan.
“Yes, thank you. And what were the Sanctuaries doing during all this escalating tension? Were we getting involved? No? Why not?”
“The Scandza Accord,” Jenan said as he slouched into his chair.
Lilt nodded. “You are on your way to redeeming yourself already, Jenan.”
The thought occurred to Omen that naming Lilt as a suspect was one thing, but if he really wanted Skulduggery and Valkyrie’s approval he’d be better off getting some actual proof. He smiled, liking that idea immensely.
“Can someone remind me what the Scandza Accord is?” Lilt asked. “Omen?”
God, no. Not again. Omen sat up a little straighter in his chair. He knew the answer. He knew he did. It was there, in the clutter of his mind. He just had to find it. “It’s the, uh, the thing.”
A few people laughed.
“The thing, Omen?”
“The agreement,” Omen said, blushing. “The agreement that Sanctuaries would never interfere in mortal affairs.”
“The official agreement,” Lilt corrected. “It was unofficial policy for centuries before the Elder Councils of the world thought it’d be a good idea to put it down on paper. So, if we weren’t to get involved and prevent a war and a Holocaust that killed millions, what were we to do? Anyone?”
“Observe and protect the mortals from magical threats,” said Never.
“That’s right.”
“Babysit,” Jenan muttered. That got a few laughs.
“Let’s not be mean,” Lilt said, barely suppressing a smile.
The bell went. Lilt stood.
“No homework tonight,” he said, “but you still have the essay on Archduke Ferdinand to hand in tomorrow. No less than six pages. I want some effort put into this one.”
Omen and Never squeezed out of the room, joining the throng of students in the corridor. “Do you know how to join Arcanum’s Scholars?” Omen asked, trying his best to sound casual.
Never frowned at him. “Why?”
“My mum has been on at me to do better,” Omen said. A Fifth Year barged into him on his way past, nearly spun him round. He winced, rubbing his shoulder. “I thought a study group might be a good way to get ahead.”
“A study group is a great way to get ahead,” said Never, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “but not that one. You know who’s in it, right? Ispolin and his cronies. Why the hell would you want to join them?”
“Ah, they can’t be all bad.”
“I’m sure they have their good points,” she said, “but being decent people is not one of them. Omen, you’re a great guy. Why would you ever want to be part of something they’re involved in?”
“I just … Jenan missed nearly the whole class and Lilt didn’t even bat an eyelid. I could really do with having a teacher on my side like that.”
Never stopped walking and turned to him. “Is this because of Peccant? Omen, Lilt isn’t going to stand up to Peccant for you. Nobody stands up to Peccant. Except maybe Miss Wicked.”
“Still, though …”
“And you’ve seen what they have to wear. You’ve seen how dumb they look, with their little masks.”
“The secret society Arcanum was part of, they wore those masks.”
“I know the history, Omen. Unlike you, I actually pay attention in class. But even that annoys me. Wearing the masks implies a grand old tradition, right? This school is less than five years old. It has no traditions. This isn’t Yale. They aren’t the Skull and Bones Society.”
“The what?”
“My point is: do you really want to wear the stupid mask and go to their secret meetings?”
“Secret?”
“Secret,” said Never. “As in behind-closed-doors secret.”
“I thought they met in the West Library.”
“Not for ages. I swear, do you pay attention to anything? These days they meet in one of the back rooms of the fifth-floor library.”
“Huh,” said Omen. “And they close the doors?”
“Yes, they do.”
“Ever wonder what they talk about?”
“Oh, I know what they talk about.”
“You do? What?”
Never rolled her eyes. “History, Omen. They talk about history.”
“Oh,” he said. “Oh, yeah.”
High heels clacked behind them, and Omen only realised that the corridor had emptied as they turned.
“Where are you two supposed to be?” Miss Wicked asked.
“Chemistry,” said Never.
“I’m not sure,” said Omen.
“Never, run off to chemistry, there’s a good girl. Omen, find out where you’re going and go there.”
“Yes, miss.”
She moved on, and Omen smelled her perfume as she went.
“Catch you on the flip-flop,” said Never, and sauntered away, her skirt swishing.
“What class do I have now?” Omen called after her.
“Look up your timetable,” she called back.
“Where’s my timetable?”
“In your bag.”
Omen frowned at his empty hands. “Where’s my bag?”
“You left it in history,” Never said, and disappeared round the corner.
“Dammit,” said Omen.
17
“Crap,” said Valkyrie, the coffee spilling onto her sleeve. The guy who had bumped into her glowered like he was expecting an argument, but Valkyrie just turned away, took some napkins and left the café without saying anything else. A few years ago her words would have sliced through him until he apologised, maybe started crying, but that particular fire wasn’t burning inside her anymore. She didn’t know if it’d ever come back.
She got to her car, put the cup in the holder and dried herself off as best she could, then drove to the High Sanctuary. She showed her badge to the Cleaver and he allowed her into the car park. She picked a spot beside the Bentley and got out, zipping up her coat. It was another cold day.
Taking her coffee with her, she rode the elevator up, ignored the looks she got and made her way to the Records Department. Skulduggery was the only person here at this hour of the morning. He was wearing another three-piece suit – darkest blue this time, with a white shirt and blue tie. His hat was off and he tapped at a computer. A thick file lay open beside him, spiral-bound. Entire lines were blacked out.
“This it?” she asked, flicking through the pages.
“That’s the Neoteric Report,” he said, still looking at the screen.
“What’s with the black lines?”
“Sensitive information, too secret for the likes of us.”
She sat, took a sip of coffee. It was her first from a Roarhaven café, and it was amazing. She wasn’t surprised. Of course the coffee would be amazing here. Sorcerers loved doing things better than the mortals. “So tell me,” she said.
Skulduggery tapped a little more, then turned in his swivel chair. “I think we have our suspect.”
She frowned. “Omen was right?”
“He may have good instincts for this kind of thing.”
“But we don’t care how good his instincts are, do we? Because we’re cutting him loose, right?”
“Absolutely,” Skulduggery said. “But I thought it’d be nice if I could tell him that his hunch was right before I essentially fire the boy.”
Valkyrie shrugged. “Suppose that is a nice thing to do. What have you found?”
“The names of some of these Neoteric sorcerers Parthenios Lilt dealt with are the same names that Temper Fray passed on to me as anti-Sanctuary operatives. Two in particular stand out – Richard Melior and Azzedine Smoke. Much of the information about these two has been classified, but, from what I can gather, Melior is something of a Vitakinetic and Smoke has the ability to corrupt those he touches.”
“What do you mean by corrupt?”
“Control,” said Skulduggery. “According to this, if he touches you, you essentially become a psychopath, and you’re compelled to obey whatever order he gives you.”
She frowned. “That’s a dangerous skill to have.”
“Yes, it is. The corruption lasts for approximately forty-eight hours, but a lot of damage can be done in two days. As we both know.”
“So if we’re going up against someone who could basically brainwash us and turn us against each other …”
“We’d better not let him touch us,” Skulduggery finished. “Or you’d better. I don’t have a brain to wash, as it were.”
Valkyrie grunted. “And the healer?”
“Doctor Richard Melior,” said Skulduggery. “A practising surgeon in a mortal hospital – Johns Hopkins in Baltimore, in case you’re interested—”
“I’m not.”
“—whose power goes beyond that of regular Vitakinetics – though in what way, I don’t know. We might have a lead on him. Smoke would appear to live up to his namesake. I can’t find a trace of him in the database. But Melior divides his time between Baltimore and his modest house right here in Roarhaven. I say we drop by, see if he’s home and ask him where they’re keeping Temper.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You have a query?”
She didn’t know how to put this gently. “You have taken into account the possibility that Temper Fray might be dead, right? They might have killed him when they caught him and just disposed of the body.”
“I have taken that into account,” said Skulduggery, “but I’m not overly fond of the possibility so I’m choosing to pretend it doesn’t exist. It’s a remarkably cheering solution to an otherwise depressing situation.”
“Pretending something doesn’t exist is a practical outlook, is it?”
“I never said it was practical, just that it cheered me up.”
“And this Melior guy … We’ve both seen Vitas use the same energy to hurt people as well as to heal them. Can this guy hurt us?”
“If you’re asking if things could get dangerous … that’s always a possibility. I see you’re still not wearing the armoured clothes Ghastly designed for you.”
“They were getting a little snug around the shoulders.”
“Snug or not, they’ve saved your life on more than one occasion.”
“If I decide to come back full time, I’ll wear the black, I promise.”
His head tilted. “I haven’t persuaded you yet?”
“Not yet,” said Valkyrie. “But your twenty-four hours aren’t up for another—” she checked her watch “—hundred and fifty-seven minutes.”
“Ah,” he said, “plenty of time.”
“So will we be going after Melior with an army of Cleavers or what?”
“Not really, I’m afraid. That would mean handing over authority to the City Guard, and we want to stay as far away from them as possible.”
“So we’re going in alone?”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“How should I say it?”
“I don’t know.” He stood. “Say it with a little more enthusiasm.”
“So we’re going in alone,” she said. “Yay.”
Skulduggery put on his hat. “Much better.”
18
They took the Bentley to the Narrows, in the South-East District. The buildings along the wall were smaller than those in the middle of the city, and here the streets were thin and winding. Skulduggery parked and he and Valkyrie went walking. The shade cast by the tightly packed buildings robbed them of their shadows. Only at midday did sunlight ever have a chance to warm the paving stones.
They passed a mother and her children, all of whom stared at Skulduggery as they passed, and ignored Valkyrie. It was a nice change.
They got to Richard Melior’s house. The upper bay window was open. Without breaking stride, Skulduggery wrapped an arm round Valkyrie’s waist and took them both off their feet. They drifted up and through the window, touching down in the bedroom. The bed was unmade. The door to the ensuite was open. From inside, the sound of someone brushing their teeth.
Spitting. A tap running. The clink as a toothbrush went back into its holder.
A man came out, dressed in jogging bottoms and a T-shirt. His feet were bare. His black hair was short, his haircut expensive. His beard was trimmed close. He stared at them.
“Doctor Melior,” Skulduggery said. “Good morning. I’m going to have to ask you not to make any sudden moves.”
Melior darted for the door, but Valkyrie shoved him towards Skulduggery who grabbed him, spun him around and sent him stumbling to the wall.
“That would count as a sudden move,” Skulduggery said. “My name is Skulduggery Pleasant. This is Valkyrie Cain. We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you have the time. We’re looking for a friend of ours. Male, about your height, African-American. His name is Temper Fray. I believe you know him?”
Melior licked his lips. “You … you can’t be here.” He was American.
“We won’t be long.”
“You can’t just … you can’t just come into my house. You need a warrant or a—”
“You’re thinking of mortals,” said Valkyrie. “You’re thinking of cops. We’re neither.”
“Get out,” Melior said, shaking his head. “I’m telling you to leave. Leave now.”
Skulduggery picked up a framed photograph by the bed, of Melior and a man with a remarkably square jaw. “This is nice,” he said. “Your husband? Savant Vega, isn’t it? Is he in? Could we speak to him?”
Melior’s eyes narrowed. “I told you to leave.”
“Calm down, Richard.”
“They’ll know. They know you’re here now. You’ve got to leave.”
“Not until you tell us what you know of the anti-Sanctuary,” Valkyrie said.
Melior pressed the heels of his hands into his temples and screwed his eyes shut. His face was red and he was muttering.
“What’s that, Richard?” Skulduggery asked. “We can’t hear you.”
Valkyrie frowned. It wasn’t only Melior’s face that was going red. It was his neck and his arms and his feet, too. His whole body was flushed and trembling. He was burning from within.
“Skulduggery …” Valkyrie murmured, suddenly wishing that she was at home with the dog, having a nice quiet morning, far away from people who wanted to do her harm.
“Let’s not resort to violence, Doctor,” Skulduggery said. “If we feel we are about to be attacked, I must warn you that we will defend ourselves.”
Melior’s eyes snapped open. “You brought this on yourselves,” he growled.
Skulduggery grabbed Valkyrie, pulled her behind him as he raised a hand. There was a whump, like a sudden explosion of flames, and a wave of energy hit Skulduggery’s shield of air and threw them both backwards. Valkyrie tumbled out through the window, the world tilting crazily, and then all too suddenly the ground crunched into her shoulder. She would have cried out if she’d had any breath left in her body. She turned over, trying to suck in air as she clutched her left arm.
Skulduggery sat up beside her. “Are you OK?”
She shook her head, and managed to draw in a single breath. He helped her to her feet.
She did her best to ignore the rising pain. “Didn’t think … Vitas could attack like that …”
“This one appears to be special.”
Melior’s door opened and Melior stormed out. He was wearing trainers now, the laces not yet tied, and was shrugging into a jacket.
Skulduggery drew his gun. “Stay right there, Richard.”
Melior barked out a mirthless laugh, and six people appeared around him.
At first, Valkyrie thought they were all Teleporters – they’d arrived at the same instant and none of them had been touching – but that notion fell apart the moment one of them, the woman in the tuxedo, extended her right arm. Her palm opened and a black tendril shot out, its barbed teeth closing round Skulduggery’s gun, yanking it from his grip. She smiled widely, her tongue between her teeth.
The man beside her had a black, braided goatee. The guy next to him had an Elvis haircut and wore a purple suit.
To Melior’s right were three men. The one furthest away was dressed in an ill-fitting suit and he wrung his hands nervously. Beside him was a handsome young man with shockingly bleached hair. He looked like a washed-out supermodel with a rock-star sneer. Valkyrie just knew he was the Teleporter.
The sixth member of the group was dressed head to foot in black rubber.
“Mr Lethe,” Skulduggery said, brushing dust from his jacket. “Good to finally meet you.”
The masked man held up a finger. “Just Lethe will do,” he said, his voice distorted. “It’s very good to meet you, too, Detective. I’ve heard so many stories. So many wild tales. You’ve had quite the life of adventure, haven’t you?”
“It’s not over yet,” Skulduggery said.
Lethe chuckled. “I fear it may be, actually. And beside you the Swathe of Destruction herself, Valkyrie Cain. Now your death, Valkyrie … your death will be special.”
Valkyrie stayed quiet. Her shoulder was dislocated and the pain was making her sweat, and she couldn’t be bothered engaging with this creep.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” said Skulduggery. “We only came here to chat to Richard. We’ve lost a friend, you see, and we were—”
“Oh,” Lethe interrupted. “You mean Temper. Yes, we know Temper. He’s alive, in case you were wondering. We haven’t killed him yet, or anything like that. We’re all sorcerers of some description, after all. We’re family. Not monsters.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“And, if we kill family, we like it to be an occasion. We want it to be memorable. To stick in the mind. We’re not going to kill him just because he’s an enemy, or because he betrayed us. He was probably only obeying orders, right? Infiltrate the group. Gain our trust. Lead to our downfall. That sort of thing.”
Skulduggery nodded. “That sort of thing. Exactly.”
“Was it you?” Lethe asked. “Did you send him in, Detective? I’m sorry, can I call you Skulduggery?”
“Of course.”
“Did you send him in, Skulduggery? Did you send him in to spy on us?”
“I did.”
“That was sneaky of you.”
“We were only returning the favour. You and your group have been pretty sneaky yourselves, what with—”
“No,” said Lethe.
Skulduggery tilted his head. “I’m sorry?”
“You don’t get to steer the conversation, Skulduggery. You’re not in charge here. We are.”
“Very well. It’s all yours.”
“How gracious of you,” Lethe said. “You’ve taken a risk coming here. A big risk. A big mistake. Skulduggery, I know you’ve been Commander of the Supreme Mage’s personal Gestapo here in Roarhaven for the last few years, and the stories I’ve heard about the things you’ve done in that time … Shocking. Simply shocking. But I fear you may have lost your edge now that you’re back as the Dynamic Duo. Things have … well, they’ve changed since you’ve been away. The world has changed. It’s sharper. It’s nastier. It’s cut-throat. I would have loved nothing more than to have watched you both embark on more adventures, to watch you both fight to preserve the status quo yet again … but I’m afraid I can’t allow it.”
“You have your plans,” said Skulduggery. “It’s understandable.”
“Not my plans,” said Lethe. “I’m just a pawn. We’re all just pawns in the great game.”
“And the objective of the game?”
Lethe shook his head again.
“What is the anti-Sanctuary?” Skulduggery asked. “What is it really?”
“It’s beyond you, I’m afraid. I doubt you could fathom how we see the world. We’re not like you. We’re not … content. You’re scared of us and of course you’re scared. We are something you don’t understand. We are the future.”
“Can I talk now? You’ve had your say, I think it’s only fair that I have mine.”
Lethe walked forward. “There’s nothing fair about this world, Skulduggery. We don’t always get what we want, do we? For example, I bet you want to walk away from this encounter, isn’t that right? I bet you want to live, yes? But you’re not going to.”
Skulduggery observed him. “Seven against two,” he said. “And, as you can undoubtedly tell, Valkyrie injured herself in the fall.”
“It’s not seven against two,” said Lethe. “It’s right against wrong. It’s me against you. If you win, you walk away. If you lose, you die, and we take Valkyrie here.”
“I see,” Skulduggery said. “Well, that seems reasonable.” He took off his hat, handed it to Valkyrie. She stepped back.
“Before we begin,” Skulduggery said, “can I ask what your magical ability might be?”
Lethe chuckled again. “You can ask.”
