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19
Lethe went at him and Skulduggery let him come.
He started with a kick that Skulduggery swayed away from. He spun with a back fist that got nowhere near. Next he sprang, twirling in the air like a Cleaver, and Skulduggery dodged back.
Valkyrie’s left shoulder was on fire. She glanced away from the fight, to Lethe’s friends. All of them, apart from Melior and the guy in the ill-fitting suit, were grinning, enjoying the spectacle as Lethe leaped and lashed out and Skulduggery just kept out of his way. It looked like it would only be a matter of time before one of Lethe’s attacks landed. They were anticipating it. This was sport to them.
But Valkyrie knew better.
Lethe was good, of that there was no doubt. As quick and agile as a Cleaver, he threw in a load of extra moves that almost caught Skulduggery out. But Skulduggery kept out of reach, watching him, observing him. Understanding him.
And then, once he’d absorbed enough information, Skulduggery acted.
He stepped inside a wild hook and flipped Lethe over his hip.
Lethe hit the ground and rolled, came up to his feet in one smooth motion. He bounced on his toes like a boxer for a moment, and moved back in again.
Skulduggery stayed where he was.
Lethe spun with a kick and Skulduggery stepped forward, tripped him, and Lethe executed a one-handed cartwheel to avoid hitting the ground a second time.
His friends cheered and clapped. They had no idea what was about to come.
Lethe changed tactics. He stopped with the spinning and the whirling, and came in straight and strong. His hands flashed. Skulduggery covered up, didn’t even try to block the strikes, but when he got close enough he reached out, grabbed Lethe and pulled him in to an elbow to the jaw.
Lethe stumbled away. His friends laughed.
A quick shake of the head and Lethe returned to the fray. He punched and Skulduggery grabbed him again, headbutted him, kicked his knee and slammed him to the ground. Lethe thrashed and squirmed, managed to roll away. He tumbled backwards to his feet.
Now it was Skulduggery’s turn to move in. A left jab and a right hook sent Lethe staggering. When Lethe threw a punch in return, Skulduggery grabbed his wrist, wrenched it, and only Lethe’s agility allowed him to spin out and free himself.
Skulduggery hit him again, and again. Lethe wobbled and dropped to one knee. Valkyrie expected the others to rush in at this point, but they stayed where they were. The cheering had died down, but they were still grinning.
Skulduggery stood over Lethe. “Where’s Temper?”
Lethe held up a hand for Skulduggery to wait, like he wanted to catch his breath.
“That,” he said at last, “was a good one.”
He stood up slowly, groaning as he did so, then he dropped low, slamming a fist into Skulduggery’s ribs.
Skulduggery grunted and stumbled back, and Lethe straightened.
“So it’s true,” said Lethe. “Even without flesh, even without nerve endings, you do feel pain. That’s interesting. I don’t think I’ve ever killed someone as interesting as you, Skulduggery.”
Lethe stepped in with what looked like a kick. Valkyrie was fooled. So was Skulduggery. He went to move inside the arc of the kick, but Lethe was ready for him. The kick was nothing but a feint, and Skulduggery slid straight into the elbow that knocked him back. Lethe followed it up by grabbing Skulduggery and hitting him three times before flipping him to the ground.
Valkyrie stared, her entire body cold.
Skulduggery caught a boot to the face that sent him sprawling. He got to one knee and snapped his palm out. The air rippled, but Lethe had already moved up beside him. He grabbed Skulduggery’s wrist and brought his elbow down and Skulduggery’s forearm broke.
Skulduggery cried out in pain and fell back. His gloved hand hit the street, bones spilling. Lethe kicked it away.
Valkyrie started forward, but the woman in the tuxedo intercepted her, slapping her dislocated shoulder. She cried out and the woman smiled at her.
“We’re giving them a fair go, remember? One on one. To the death.” She was Australian. “Things are always more exciting when they’re to the death, don’t you reckon? Hopscotch – to the death. Dance-off – to the death. Fight to the death – to the death.” She shrugged happily. “It’s fun.”
Clutching his flapping sleeve, Skulduggery tried getting up. Lethe leaped, spun in the air and came down on top of him, pinning him in place.
“Can you lose consciousness?” Lethe asked, hitting him. “You’ve got no brain to concuss, so maybe not. But it’s fun trying, isn’t it?”
Lethe hit him again, then reached down, forcing a hand into Skulduggery’s mouth, taking a grip. “I told you,” he said. “The world is a different place.”
Lethe wrenched and Skulduggery screamed as Lethe pulled his jawbone off.
Valkyrie grabbed the Australian and sent white lightning coursing through her, and she shot back off her feet and Valkyrie spun, raising her arm to Lethe.
But everything was moving so fast. Lethe blurred and her lightning was too slow. She tried whipping the lightning after him, but he blurred back, ducking under it. Impossible. Nobody was that fast, not even with magic.
And then Lethe was moving at normal speed again and Valkyrie stepped back, trying to work out what the hell had just happened. Suddenly the guy with the bleached hair was standing right in front of her. He hit her, square on the chin, and her head rocked back and her legs gave out and she was on the ground, looking up at the cloudless sky.
“You shouldn’t have come,” the Teleporter was saying. “Should’ve found somewhere else to hide. Now we’ve got you.” He grinned down at her. “Bet today isn’t turning out how you hoped, huh?”
“Don’t gloat, Nero,” said Lethe. “It’s not cool.” He looked down at Skulduggery, who was sitting up, his broken arm curled against him, his good hand clutching at his damaged skull. “I’ve damaged you. Richard could put you back together quite easily, I imagine. He might even be able to do more, given time. That’s why we have him, after all. To breathe life into the lifeless. But as interested as I would be in seeing that, from a purely academic point of view, I’m afraid I cannot allow it. You are the enemy. You must die. Richard, can you kill him?”
Melior hesitated. “Yes,” he said. “Probably.”
Lethe beckoned him over with Skulduggery’s jawbone. “Then, by all means, have at it.” He tossed the jawbone away.
Melior hesitated, but with a nudge from the goateed man he started walking over. Valkyrie tried getting up, but Nero stomped on her shoulder and she screamed and fell back.
And then Fletcher Renn appeared in the middle of it all.
Even through tear-filled eyes, Valkyrie recognised him. Tall. Good-looking. Blond hair still ridiculous.
Fletcher turned, taking in the scene. For the first time, Lethe and the others didn’t seem so confident. Fletcher winked at Valkyrie.
“I don’t know exactly what is going on here,” he said. “All I do know is that two dozen Cleavers are on their way. You can try to leave if you want. I don’t care. But I’m taking Valkyrie and Skulduggery. If I were you, I wouldn’t try—”
He stopped talking.
Valkyrie sat up. At first, she thought Fletcher was frozen, but no, he was still moving. Just very slowly. Incredibly slowly. The nervous guy in the ill-fitting suit had his hands raised and his eyes were narrowed. He was doing this. She’d seen it before, or something like it. Jeremiah Wallow had been able to slow time whenever he attacked, so as to prolong the pleasure of the kill. It seemed to her to be the perfect power for serial killers everywhere.
“Nero,” said Lethe, “I think it’s only fitting that one Teleporter should kill another.”
“As you command,” Nero said, taking a long knife from his jacket and walking up behind Fletcher.
Hissing with the pain, Valkyrie got to her knees and let loose a stream of lightning. She missed the guy in the ill-fitting suit, but did make him duck away.
“—to stop me,” Fletcher said, moving normally again.
“Behind you!” Valkyrie called, and Fletcher vanished just as Nero went to stab him in the back, appearing beside him an instant later and slugging him across the jaw.
Nero stumbled and Fletcher teleported to Skulduggery’s side and they both disappeared. A moment later, he was pulling Valkyrie to her feet and then they were indoors, in a hospital, and Fletcher let go of her and teleported again.
Two orderlies were helping Skulduggery on to a bed. Another one came for Valkyrie. Reverie Synecdoche hurried in from another room, eyes wide in alarm. Fletcher reappeared, his hands full of Skulduggery’s discarded bones.
“Here’s the rest,” he said, and Nero appeared behind him.
“No!” Valkyrie cried, and Fletcher turned and Nero plunged the knife into his belly.
20
“Ouch,” said Omen, sticking his thumb into his mouth and sucking it.
Never didn’t even look up from her textbook. “What’d you do?”
“Paper cut,” said Omen.
“I’m sure you’ll survive.”
The detention hall was empty except for them. It would have been empty except for Omen if Never hadn’t decided to keep him company at the last minute.
“You’re hiding from someone,” Omen said.
“No, I’m not,” Never replied. “I just thought I’d make a start on my homework, that’s all. How far are you through Peccant’s punishment?”
Omen checked. “Almost halfway.”
“You’d want to get a move on.”
“It’s really difficult.”
“That’s why it’s called a punishment and not a treat.”
Omen checked what he had left to do, then looked up. “Never …”
Never didn’t answer.
“Never …”
“What?”
“Can you do it for me?”
Never turned the page, kept reading. “No.”
“But you’re so much better at maths than I am.”
“My cat is better at maths than you are.”
“But it’ll only take you a few minutes to get through the rest of this.”
Never sighed. “Omen, I hate sounding like a teacher, or a parent, or just a general adult, but if you don’t do it yourself you’ll never learn.”
“It’s maths, though,” said Omen. “I’m not going to need maths when I leave school.”
Never closed her book, and raised her eyes. “What are you going to be?”
“When I’m done with school? I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know you won’t need maths?”
“Because whatever I’m going to be, it won’t be a mathematician or an accountant or, y’know, someone who does a lot of sums. I know how to add and subtract and divide … that’s all I need to know. What else is there? What else is important? Is calculating the angle of something really going to be that necessary in my everyday life? Is it?”
“I’m not doing your work for you.”
Omen lowered his head to the desk. “But I hate it.”
“You remember back in First Year, when we became friends? You remember how that happened?”
“Of course. We started talking, and we just got along.”
“No, that’s not how it happened at all. I was chatty, amusing and effervescent and you barely said a word to anyone. I was incredibly popular – do you remember that? I had just made a stirring, inspiring speech about my own particular rules that I wanted people to follow regarding my gender-fluidity. I listed the pronouns I was prepared to accept and the times at which I was prepared to accept them. I let people know that everyone was different and that my rules might not be the same as their rules. I was interesting. I was engaging. From that moment on, I had my pick of friends. Do you remember all that? Do you?”
“I remember you talking …”
“But, even though I had my pick of friends, I’d watch you in class and think to myself, This Omen kid might be cool. You were always on time, you never took your eyes off the teacher, you always worked so hard … How did that guy become this guy?”
Omen didn’t say anything.
“That wasn’t a rhetorical question,” said Never.
“It sounded like one.”
“What happened to you, Omen?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Never.”
“Is it a parent thing, or …?”
“I dunno. I mean … I don’t really examine why I do things.”
“Obviously.”
“But you know how they are. Mum only calls when she’s wondering why Auger isn’t answering his phone. Dad … well, Dad never calls. I … I suppose when I started here I thought I could become someone new. Like, someone they’d approve of.”
“And?”
Omen shrugged. “I realised I couldn’t do it. I tried working hard, but nothing changed. I wasn’t suddenly the smartest kid in the class. I was still me.”
“How hard did you work, though? I mean, how long did you give it?”
“Ages,” Omen insisted.
“And why did you stop?”
“Well, like, it was really difficult.”
Never sighed, and looked away for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “There’s nothing actually wrong with you. I mean, you know that, right? Your parents are obsessed with making sure Auger is ready to fight the King of the Darklands, whoever the hell he is. So yeah, you get ignored. But you’re still a worthwhile person. You’re decent, you can occasionally be funny and you have a good heart. It’s why people like you.”
Omen’s eyes widened. “People like me?”
“Probably, yeah.”
“Wow. Do you know who?”
“No. We don’t have a club. We don’t have badges or go to meetings. I’m just assuming other people like you because, well, because I cannot be the only one, I swear to God.”
“Thanks, Never. You’re cool, too.”
She frowned at him. “I know.”
The door opened, and Auger stepped in, smiling when he saw Omen looking up.
“What’d you do this time?” Auger asked. “Hey, Never.”
“Hi, Auger,” Never said, giving a little wave.
“I missed a class,” Omen said. “By accident. Don’t tell Mum and Dad.”
“Dude, if I told them half the stuff you got in trouble for, you’d never be able to leave the house. I thought Miss Ether supervised on Wednesdays.”
“I’m the only one in detention,” Omen said, “so she told me to get on with it and then she left.”
“Never, what are you doing here?”
Never shrugged. “Keeping him company.”
Auger smiled another one of his dazzling smiles. “You’re a class act, you know that?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why do you want Miss Ether?” Omen asked.
Auger gave a quick one-shouldered shrug. “Nothing important. Just have to check something with her. Homework stuff. Anyway, try and stay out of trouble, you two.”
And then he was gone.
Never looked at Omen. “What do you think’s going on?”
“I bet he’s on another adventure,” Omen said.
“Me too. Like the time with the substitute teacher who turned out to be a serial killer, or all that possession stuff last year. Hey, you think he’ll ever invite the two of us along? I mean, you are his brother, and we are best friends.”
“Are we?”
“Aren’t we?”
“Well,” said Omen, “you’re my best friend, but am I your best friend?”
Never thought about it. “Probably not,” she admitted. “But you’re up there. Top four.”
“Four?”
“I’m very popular with a lot of diverse groups,” Never explained.
“Four, though.”
“Maybe five.”
“Ah, for God’s sake.”
“One of these days,” said Never, “the Chosen One will ask for our help, and we will prove ourselves and then we’ll be part of his gang. Wouldn’t that be something? You, me, Kase, Mahala and Auger, saving the school, saving the city, saving the world.”
“Ah, I don’t know,” Omen said, slouching.
Never arched an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. It’s just … I’ve seen him save the school and save the city, and in a few years I’ll see him save the world … and it’s not really that glamorous. He gets hurt. Like, seriously hurt. A lot. Last year he almost died.”
“I heard about that.”
“I don’t know. Having adventures is fine and everything, but I’ve been around this stuff my whole life. It starts to wear thin after a while.”
“Yeah,” Never said, “maybe. Or maybe it wears thin when you’re watching it. Maybe if you were having those adventures yourself, it wouldn’t seem quite as bad.”
“Yeah,” Omen said quietly. “Maybe.”
Never’s phone beeped and she checked it, then slid her book into her bag and stood up. “OK, I’m off.”
Omen frowned. “Who was that?”
“Who was what?” she asked, walking to the door.
“Who was that messaging you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re talking crazy. Stop talking crazy now, you hear? All that crazy talk will land you in the crazy house, you crazy biscuit.” And then she was gone.
Omen stayed in his seat for another ten minutes, spectacularly failing to complete the work that Peccant had set for him. Once the allotted time was up, he hurried to his locker, dumped his bag and climbed the stairs to the fifth floor.
He slipped into the library. Lounging around in the seating area, Jenan Ispolin and his friends congregated and chatted – loudly. The librarian, a bald old man with an astonishingly white beard, like a skinny Santa Claus, was asleep behind his desk.
Omen darted behind the bookcases as more Arcanum’s Scholars joined the group. He got into a position where he could peek without being seen.
“Did you hear?” Colleen Stint said, talking in her usual breathless fashion. “Did you hear what happened?”
Jenan took his time looking at her. Everyone knew Colleen fancied him like mad, and Omen was sure that Jenan despised her for it.
“What happened to what?” Jenan asked, like he couldn’t be bothered hearing the answer.
“What happened to Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain,” Colleen said.
Omen crept a little closer, making sure he caught all of it.
“They were in the Narrows,” Colleen continued. “Went to arrest someone. Just the two of them, like. No Cleavers or back-up or nothing.”
Jenan sat straighter. “They dead?”
“No,” said Colleen, “but close to it. They got the crap kicked out of them.”
“Everyone’s talking about it,” said Byron Grace. “There was a Teleporter and a man in black, and he went up against Pleasant and—”
“Kicked the crap out of him!” Colleen finished, shooting a glare at Byron for daring to interrupt. “Like, threw him about the place. I heard he pulled the skeleton’s head off.”
Jenan sat forward. “Seriously?”
Colleen folded her arms. “That’s what I heard.”
Jenan took a moment to absorb the news. “Well now,” he said, “looks like we chose the winning team.”
A few of them laughed at this. Omen’s frown deepened.
“You think it’s them?” Lapse asked, too stupid to put things together by himself.
“Of course it is,” said Jenan. “We’ve been told for ages that they’re a force to be reckoned with, right? Who else could do something like that? This is it, boys and girls. This is where it all kicks off.”
“About time,” muttered Gall.
Byron took a seat, like he was exhausted, his bag spilling open on the ground beside him. “We don’t know for sure,” he said.
Jenan shot him a look that boiled with hostility. “What did I just say? There’s no one else who could do something like that. The guy in black? I bet that was Lethe himself.”
“Yeah,” said Byron, “maybe.”
Jenan stood. “What the hell is wrong with you, Grace? You going soft all of a sudden?”
Byron paled. “No.”
“You’re full of the big talk when all we’re doing is planning,” Jenan said, “but the moment it turns real your spine turns to jelly. Is that what’s happening?”
Byron shook his head, but didn’t answer.
“Everyone, listen up,” Jenan said, looking round. “These aren’t games we’ve been playing. This isn’t dress-up. This is real life, baby. The plan has been set in motion. We have all been set in motion. We were told they had big plans for us. Well, this is where it starts. If you’re having doubts now, at this stage … I’m sorry to tell you that you’ve missed your chance to back out. You’re here now, and that means you’re in. No excuses. Does everyone, and I mean everyone, understand that?”
Nods all round. Even Byron.
Jenan retook his seat. “Good.”
The librarian snorted and woke, raising his head. “Quiet down there!”
“Sorry,” said Jenan without even looking at him.
The librarian went back to sleep.
Omen’s gaze fell upon Byron’s open bag, and the golden mask that peeked out.
He wished his brother was here. Auger would not only know what to do, but he’d also be able to do it. And, if it went wrong, he’d be able to get out of it. Omen, though, was the screw-up of the family. Omen’s efforts were doomed to failure. He knew this.
And yet, if what Colleen had said was true, the stakes were high. And high stakes meant chances needed to be taken, no matter how ill-advised they might be. And this chance was incredibly ill-advised.
Omen crouched, held out his hand and touched the air.
He visualised interlocking blocks from his fingertips to the bag. Pushing was easier. He could have pushed the bag over without even trying. But pulling … that was where things got tricky. He’d done it before, though. Not in class, and not in exams. He’d done it at home. Auger had taken him through it. Omen had been calm, then. He tried to be calm now.
So he ignored the rapid beat of his heart, and the jagged spikes of adrenaline that made his hand tremble, and he focused on the imaginary blocks … and the mask moved.
Jenan and the others kept talking. No one noticed the mask lifting itself out of the bag.
Omen laid it gently on the carpet and left it there for a moment while he shook out his hand. He took a deep breath, reached out again, focused on hooking his fingers into the air just right and pulled.
The mask moved slowly across the ground.
Bit by bit, it got closer. For a terrifying few seconds, it was out in the open, and Omen lost his grip. He’d allowed his mind to wander, to imagine what Jenan and the others would do if they caught him. Would they kill him? It seemed ridiculous, that a bunch of his classmates would actually try to kill him, but, if they really were involved with this anti-Sanctuary thing, killing a witness might not be something they would baulk at. Certainly Jenan wouldn’t hesitate to throw Omen off the balcony. That’d be something he’d probably enjoy.
Omen pushed such thoughts from his mind, reached out again and pulled the mask closer. Now it was under a small table, blocked from the view of the others. It was going well. It was actually going well. It was actually going to work. Omen smiled, and his fingers moved with too much enthusiasm and the mask shot off the ground. He snatched it from the air as it sped past his face, falling backwards and lying there, eyes wide, waiting to hear the shouts of alarm.
But Jenan and the others kept talking, and Omen let himself breathe again.
Someone new came in and Omen got up.
“Good, good,” he heard Parthenios Lilt say, “everyone’s here. Let us move to less salubrious surroundings. Ceremonial masks on.”
Omen stayed hidden, clutching the mask with both hands.
“Uh,” he heard Byron say.
“Is there a problem, Mr Grace?” Lilt asked.
“My … my mask isn’t in my bag, sir.”
The library went very quiet.
“Mr Grace …” Lilt said.
“I put it in there, sir,” said Byron. “I know I did. It must have fallen out or …”
“Mr Grace, these masks are a symbol. These masks mean something. They meant something to Rebus Arcanum and they mean something to us.”
“Yes, sir,” said Byron.
Lilt sighed. “I have a spare in my office, on the shelf near the window. Go and fetch it.”
“Yes, sir,” said Byron. “Thank you.”
Omen heard him hurry out.
“We’ll probably have to kill poor Byron before too long,” Lilt said sadly. Then his tone brightened. “OK, everyone, into the back room. We have much to discuss.”
