by Derek Landy
“Very good questions.” Sanguine nodded. “If you come with me right now, I’ll give you all the answers you want.”
“This man’s a killer,” said Skulduggery. “You can’t trust anything he says.”
“I’m not planning on it,” Fletcher replied, and he picked up his jacket and put it on. “I don’t care why you or your bosses want me to work for you,” he said to Sanguine. “The fact is, nobody tells me what to do anymore. I’m going to go ahead and say no.”
“That’s a mistake, boy.”
“Come with us,” Skulduggery said. “We can protect you.”
“Don’t need protection.” Fletcher shrugged. “Don’t need anything from anyone. I’ve got this really cool power, and I intend to use it to do whatever I want.”
“You’re in danger,” Skulduggery insisted. “Most of the other Teleporters in the world are dead.”
Fletcher frowned. “So I’m one of the last?” He took a moment to absorb this information, and when he shrugged, it was with the beginnings of a smile. “Then that just makes me even cooler.”
He vanished with a soft pop, as the air around him rushed in to fill the sudden vacuum.
“Damn it all to hell,” Sanguine muttered.
Valkyrie clicked her fingers and summoned a single flame into her palm, then pressed it into Sanguine’s leg. He yelped and his hold loosened. She grabbed his right wrist and held the straight razor away from her as Skulduggery moved in. Sanguine cursed and pushed Valkyrie into Skulduggery’s path.
“I really hate you guys,” he said, sinking down into the ground.
They waited for a few moments, making sure he wasn’t going to jump out at them from somewhere.
“Are you all right?” Skulduggery asked as he crossed to Valkyrie and tilted her chin to one side. “Did he cut you?”
“Not with his razor,” Valkyrie said, reclaiming her chin. She knew she’d been lucky. Scars left by that blade never healed. “We lost Fletcher. He’s probably miles away by now. After this, how are we ever going to find him again?”
There was a sound from the bathroom, and they both looked at the closed door. Skulduggery walked over and knocked. A few seconds later it opened, and Fletcher Renn looked out at them sheepishly.
“Oh,” Valkyrie said. “Well, that was easy.”
Valkyrie sat opposite Fletcher, neither of them saying anything. He had adopted an air of complete boredom on the drive over, and this obvious attempt at nonchalance was starting to bug her. She dabbed a wadded clump of napkins to her cut cheek, making sure the bleeding had stopped. Her hands still stung from the dozen splinters that had lacerated them.
The diner they’d come to was a tacky attempt at 1950s America—blue and pink, miniature jukebox on every table, and a neon Elvis jerking his hips from left to right on the wall. It was a little past three on a Thursday afternoon, and there were more than a few curious glances at the tall, thin man with the scarf, sunglasses, and hat who sat at a table in their midst. Skulduggery waved away the waiter even before he approached.
“The man with the razor was Billy-Ray Sanguine,” he said. “We believe that he is either working with or working for a man named Batu. Have you ever heard this name?”
Fletcher shook his head lazily.
“In the last month, there have been four murders—all Teleporters like you. Now there are only two of you left.”
“But that guy wasn’t after me to kill me. He said he wanted my help.”
“And I can assure you that if you did help him, you’d be dead soon after.”
“He’d try to kill me,” Fletcher said with another one of his shrugs, “but I’d just teleport a hundred miles away.”
“If that were true,” Skulduggery said, “then why did you only teleport as far as the bathroom?”
Fletcher hesitated. “Sometimes, like, I have to be calm to teleport more than a few feet….” He brushed his hand through his hair, as if he was checking that it was still ridiculous. Valkyrie could have saved him the effort. “Anyway, you’re wasting my time here, all right? So let’s get this over with.”
Skulduggery tilted his head. “Excuse me?”
“You want to give me the talk, don’t you? Just like those old guys?”
“What old guys?”
“Two old guys came up to me a few months back, and they were all, ‘You’re one of us, you have power and blah, you can now join this magical community, and something else about wonder and awe.’ I don’t know—I wasn’t really listening. They were trying to recruit me into this little world within a world that you guys have and they were none too happy when I told them I wasn’t interested. And I’m still not interested.”
“Did they tell you their names?”
“One of them was, I think, Light something.”
“Cameron Light.”
“That was it, yeah. He dead too?”
“Yes, he is.”
“That’s a shame. I’m sure somebody, somewhere, cares.”
“Did they say anything else?”
“They said that without the proper training I could be dangerous. Said I could attract the wrong kind of attention.”
“We usually try not to attract any kind of attention,” Valkyrie said, attempting to keep the annoyance out of her voice.
Fletcher looked at her. “Is that what we try?”
“Fletcher,” Skulduggery said, and once again Fletcher’s eyes flickered to him. “I’m sure that the idea that known killers are after you is one that, at the very least, is causing you some worry.”
“Do I look worried?”
“No, but neither do you look intelligent, so I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.”
Fletcher glared at him, and sat back and said nothing.
“If Batu is behind these murders,” Skulduggery continued, “then he wants to use your powers to open a gateway that will enable the Faceless Ones to return. Do you know about the Faceless Ones?”
For a moment, Valkyrie thought Fletcher might be too sullen to respond, but eventually he nodded. “The old guys told me about them. They’re the ones who want to take over the world. But that’s just a story, right? None of that stuff’s real.”
“I used to think the same way,” Skulduggery said. “But my mind has been changed.”
“So if these Faceless Ones come back, the world ends?”
“It probably won’t end immediately. They’ll come back, inhabit indestructible human bodies, tear down the cities and the towns, burn the countryside, kill billions, enslave billions more, work them until they die, and then the world will end. Are you okay, Fletcher? You’re suddenly looking very pale.”
“I’m fine,” Fletcher mumbled.
Skulduggery went quiet for a moment, thinking it all through. “But if Batu needs a Teleporter to make this all happen, why didn’t he go for someone with experience? You don’t even have any formal training. You may be a natural, as I’ve heard, but compared to Cameron Light, your powers are practically nothing.”
“If Cameron Light’s so bloody good,” Fletcher said with a sneer on his lips, “how come he’s so bloody dead?”
There was nothing Valkyrie wanted more in the world than to reach across that table and smack Fletcher Renn. Skulduggery, for his part, remained as impassive as ever.
“Even though this will go against your instincts,” he said, “for your own safety I think you should be put in protective custody.”
Fletcher’s grin was back. “Ground me, you mean? Not a chance, skeleton man.”
Valkyrie scowled. “He has a name.”
“Oh, yeah, Skulduggery, right? Skulduggery. That’s an unusual one. Were you born a skeleton, or were your folks just disturbingly hopeful?”
“Skulduggery is my taken name,” Skulduggery said evenly.
“That’s the advantage of being in this little ‘world within a world’ of ours,” Valkyrie added. “You’re told a few of the rules, a few tricks you’ll need to survive.”
Fletcher’s s
houlders made a slight movement, like they were too lazy to give another shrug so soon after the last one. “I’m doing okay.”
“So far. But how do you feel about being someone’s puppet? Because if you don’t take on a name of your own, any sorcerer who can be bothered might decide he wants a new pet.”
“Aha. So Valkyrie Cain isn’t your real name, that right?”
“That’s right. It’s the name I took, the name that stops anyone from controlling me.”
“Well, I changed my name when I ran away from home, so I guess I’m safe too, right?”
He was enjoying this. That made her dislike him even more.
“Are we done?” he asked. “I’ve got places to go and people to see.”
“They’re not going to stop,” Skulduggery said. “No matter where you go, they will find you. And if they find you, they will force you to help them.”
“No one forces me to—”
“I’ve not finished talking yet,” Skulduggery interrupted.
Fletcher sighed and raised an eyebrow expectantly.
“As I was saying, if they find you, they will force you to help them. And if you help them, Fletcher, then you’re on their side.”
Fletcher frowned. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning you won’t have to worry about them. You’ll have to worry about us.”
Fletcher grew even paler than before. Skulduggery, Valkyrie reflected, could be a very scary person when he wanted to.
“You don’t want me as an enemy, Fletcher. You want to be my friend. You want to do as I say, and for your own good, you want to enter into protective custody. Am I right?”
For a moment, Valkyrie thought Fletcher was going to defy him again, just for the sake of it, but then his eyes softened and he nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
“Excellent news. And I have the perfect place for you to stay.”
Seven
BATU
WHERE’S GALLOW?” Billy-Ray Sanguine asked the empty room. “Elsewhere,” said the voice, distorted over the tinny old speaker that hung in the corner. “They are all elsewhere.”
The walls were cold stone. There was one door, no window, and a mirror. Sanguine was fairly certain there was a camera behind the mirror, watching him.
“So who are you?” he asked.
“I’m nobody,” the voice said.
Sanguine smiled. “You’re Batu, ain’t you? You’re the one they keep talkin’ about.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah, you are. You’re the big boss. So how come you ain’t here in person? I been workin’ for you for over a year now. Ain’t it time we met, face-to-face?”
“I value my privacy. ”
Sanguine shrugged. “I get that.”
“You failed me, Mr. Sanguine. I paid you to do a job, and you failed me.”
“You said nothin’ about the skeleton detective and the girl gettin’ involved. That’s what we call extenuatin’ circumstances. If I’d’a known they’d be there, I could have prepared. Or at least charged double.”
“You will have a chance to redeem yourself.”
“Yippee,” Sanguine said without enthusiasm.
“I’m going to need you to steal something for me, as soon as Gruesome Krav returns. There is a very good chance you will encounter opposition.”
“So you’ll double my rate?”
“Naturally.”
“Yippee,” Sanguine said, and this time he smiled.
Eight
THE CIVILIZED MAN
THE HIBERNIAN Cinema was as quiet and dark as ever, the sound of laughter and applause long since faded. Skulduggery went first, down the aisle between the red-covered seats. Fletcher made comments as they walked, comments that neither Valkyrie nor Skulduggery responded to. As they approached the small stage, the heavy curtains parted and the screen lit up. Valkyrie allowed herself an inner smile when they moved to the projected image, an open doorway, and passed through, and Fletcher was finally impressed enough to shut up.
The darkness was replaced by the bright lights of the corridors that snaked between the laboratories, and the smell of disinfectant replaced the mustiness. Clarabelle, one of Professor Kenspeckle Grouse’s new assistants, drifted by them dreamily, humming to herself. She wasn’t, in Valkyrie’s opinion, all there.
They walked into a circular room with a high ceiling. There were spotlights on the wall, casting a hazy glow onto a statue of a man on his knees, one hand touching the ground. His bald head was ridged with scars, and the expression on his face was one of resignation.
Ghastly Bespoke had used the final Elemental power—the earth power—to save himself while he held off the White Cleaver. Valkyrie still had dreams about that moment, looking back in time to see the concrete of the floor latch onto Ghastly’s body and spread, even as the White Cleaver swung his scythe. Tanith Low had thrown her into the back of the Bentley and they had escaped, but Ghastly had been left as a statue, and no one knew how long the effect would last.
Professor Kenspeckle Grouse stood behind the statue, hands glowing as he passed them over its surface. His eyes were closed, his white eyebrows furrowed in concentration. For two years now, Kenspeckle had worked to return Ghastly to a flesh-and-blood state. He had used all kinds of science magic, brought in every sort of expert, tried everything he could think of, and then gone even further, with no success.
“Who’s the old guy?” Fletcher asked loudly. Kenspeckle scowled and looked up.
Valkyrie smiled and waved. Kenspeckle left the statue and came over.
“Valkyrie. You’re injured again.”
“A few little cuts, nothing to worry about.”
“I’m the medical genius, Valkyrie. I think I’ll make up my own mind about that.” He examined the cut on her face and then her hands. “Who’s the annoying boy?”
“I’m not—” Fletcher began.
“This is Fletcher Renn,” Skulduggery interrupted. “I was hoping he could stay here for a few days.”
“And why would you imagine I would agree to that?” Kenspeckle growled.
“He needs to be kept somewhere safe, with someone responsible.”
“You want me to stay here?” Fletcher asked, clearly appalled.
“Shut up,” Kenspeckle said, his eyes never leaving Valkyrie’s cut. “Are you trying to bring trouble to my door, Detective?”
“No, I am not, Professor.”
“Because the last time you brought trouble to my door, people died.”
He looked at Skulduggery, and Skulduggery looked at him.
“It’s not safe for him out there. He’s untrained, doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s basically an idiot. I need to know he’s somewhere safe. I need him kept out of harm’s way. You’re the only one I can trust to do that.”
“And this has to do with the Teleporter murders that everyone is talking about?”
“Yes.”
Kenspeckle turned back to Valkyrie. “Come with me to the infirmary.”
He walked out without glancing at Skulduggery, and she followed. When they got to the medical bay, he told Valkyrie to hop up onto the bed, then dabbed at her hands and cheek with a sweet-smelling cloth.
“It seems like every second day you come here,” he said, “mortally wounded, bones broken, bleeding to death, hanging on by a thread, and you expect me to perform some amazingly astounding miracle cure.”
“These are mortal wounds?” she asked skeptically.
“Don’t be cheeky.”
“Sorry.”
He shrugged, then shuffled off to the small table beside the bed. The medical department in Kenspeckle’s science-magic facility was small, but perfectly formed, and usually quiet—except for the times when one of Kenspeckle’s experiments went impressively wrong, or when old gods awoke in the morgue. But nothing like that had happened in months.
“Do you know the problem with people your age, Valkyrie?”
“We’re too pretty?” she answered hopefully.
“You
think you’ll live forever. You rush into situations without considering the consequences. You’re thirteen—”
“Just turned fourteen.”
“—and how do you spend your days?”
He came back to the bedside and started dabbing ointment onto the cuts on her hands.
“Well, usually we’re on a case, so we’re tracking down suspects, or we’re doing research, or I’m training, or Skulduggery’s teaching me magic, or, you know …”
“And how, pray tell, do other just turned fourteen-year-old girls spend their days?”
Valkyrie hesitated. “Pretty much the same as me?”
“Amazingly, no.”
“Ah.”
“Once you become an adult, you can endanger yourself as much as you want, and I promise I will not admonish you, but I’d hate to see you miss out on all the things normal teenagers do. You’re only young once, Valkyrie.”
“Yeah, but it goes on for ages.”
Kenspeckle shook his head and sighed again. He took a black needle and started to stitch the cut on her face. The needle went through her flesh without drawing blood, and instead of pain, she felt warmth.
“Has there been any progress?” she asked. “With Ghastly?”
“I’m afraid not.” He sighed. “I have come to the conclusion that there is nothing I can do. He will emerge from his current state when he emerges, and there is nothing anyone can do to speed up the process.”
“I miss him,” said Valkyrie. “Skulduggery misses him too, although he’d never say it. I think Ghastly was his only friend.”
“But now he has you, yes?”
She laughed. “I suppose so, yes.”
“And apart from him, do you have friends of your own?”
“What? Of course I do.”
“Name three.”
“No problem. There’s Tanith Low….”
“Who joins you on investigations, trains you in combat, and is about seventy years old.”
“Well, yeah, but she looks, like, twenty-two. And she acts like a four-year-old.”