by Derek Landy
Valkyrie couldn’t help it, she laughed. Fletcher did, too. She felt lighter now, better, and she stood up straighter.
Fletcher held his arms out wide. “Dry me.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
“Use your water power thingy.”
“I’m not a hairdryer, Fletch.”
“I don’t want you to touch my hair. It’ll go frizzy. Just dry the rest of me.”
She sighed and raised her hands, and he closed his eyes and waited. Grinning, she took hold of the air and sent it blasting into him, knocking him back a few steps, thoroughly disrupting his hair and sending his towel spinning into the bathroom. Then she spun on her heel and walked out. “Briefing in five minutes,” she called.
“I hate you so much,” he called after her.
“I know.”
Tanith turned up for the briefing without Sanguine. Valkyrie said nothing, but watched Ghastly pretending not to notice that she was standing right beside him. Fletcher arrived with his hair perfectly ridiculous as usual. Valkyrie grinned at him from across the large table and he did his best to ignore her, but she could see the smile edging on to his lips.
“OK then,” Ravel said, his voice bringing an end to the low murmuring in the room, “good news first. Squads of African sorcerers have obliterated seven of the Supreme Council’s facilities around the Middle East, and our Australian friends have gone straight to New York. I’ve heard unofficial reports that Grand Mage Bisahalani himself had to be evacuated before he was captured. These actions have taken so much pressure off us. Without them, I’d say we’d be well on our way to losing the war. So … that’s the good news. The bad news, you’ve all heard. If the Accelerator overloads, a power boost that big wouldn’t just affect sorcerers. The Engineer said every magical being. So we’re talking Warlocks and witches and creatures and—”
“And mortals,” Skulduggery said. “Mortals with magic in them. Ordinary people, who would have lived out their lives without a hint of what they actually are. That’s more than catastrophic. That’s an extinction-level event. The human race would be wiped out.”
“And what about Darquesse?” Ghastly said. “The Accelerator was supposed to help contain her, not make her more powerful. Someone like her, boosted to that degree …”
“She’d be a god,” Skulduggery murmured.
“Oooh, this is fun,” Tanith said, grinning and looking straight at Valkyrie.
“Suddenly we have a new priority,” said Ravel, missing the glare that Valkyrie shot back. “We need to be able to shut down the Accelerator the moment this war is over, or within a matter of weeks – whichever comes first. To do that, the Engineer needs one missing piece of its brain, which sits in the London Sanctuary.”
“I might be able to just teleport in,” Fletcher said, a little uneasily.
Saracen shook his head. “Every Supreme Council Sanctuary will have anti-Teleporter sigils set up. We’ll have to go in the old-fashioned way.”
“I know a secret entrance,” said Tanith. “No problem.”
“Getting in isn’t our main problem,” Ravel said. “We’ve been keeping an eye on them, just as we’ve been keeping an eye on as many of the major Sanctuaries around the world as we can. On the table before you are surveillance photographs. Take a look at the sentries. We can only assume the sentries inside are the same as the sentries outside.”
Vex frowned at the images. “Half of these are teenagers. They’re rookies. What the hell is Ode playing at? Is he running out of full-powered sorcerers?”
“The success of this mission depends on us retrieving the prototype without setting off a single alarm,” Skulduggery said.
After a moment, Vex’s face changed. “Oh.”
Valkyrie frowned. “What? I’m obviously missing something.”
Ghastly looked at her. “The only way to guarantee that nobody raises the alarm is to kill each sentry we come across. Ruthlessness is the quickest and quietest way.”
“But we can’t kill kids,” Saracen muttered.
“Taking the time to subdue them is going to increase the risk of discovery,” Shudder said. “They are enemy combatants. They should be treated as such.”
“They’re too young,” Vex said. “No. We can’t go in.”
“That is exactly why Ode assigned them,” said Ravel. “Anton’s right – we should view them as any other enemy. We don’t want to do it, but we have to. You want to blame someone, Dexter? Blame Cothernus Ode for deliberately placing them in harm’s way.”
“In our way,” said Saracen.
“This is war,” Ravel said. “Bad things happen. We’re the Dead Men. We’re used to making unpalatable choices.”
“Not like this,” said Vex. “We never did anything like this, Erskine, and you know it. This is what Guild’s lot did. His Exigency Mages wouldn’t think twice about killing a bunch of raw recruits. But not us.”
“The Exigency Mages aren’t around any more – we’re the only option left. And the moment we start putting the safety of the enemy above our own is the—”
“It’s Skulduggery’s decision,” Ghastly interrupted. “He’s got full operational control of this mission.”
“Agreed,” Ravel said. “Skulduggery? What do you say?”
Skulduggery looked up. “The mission is still a go, but we use non-lethal means to subdue these sentries.”
Saracen was the one to break the silence that followed. “Astonishing,” he said. “You’ve managed to find a solution that pleases absolutely nobody.”
“Tanith,” Skulduggery said, “where is this secret entrance?”
“In the alley to the east,” Tanith said. “That’ll take us into a storeroom. From there—”
“You’re not coming with us.”
“What?”
“We’ll be able to restrain ourselves from killing,” Skulduggery said. “You won’t. Fletcher will teleport us all into the alley. You will open the entrance, and Fletcher will teleport you both back. We will go in, the seven of us. We’ll split into teams, retrieve the prototype, then clear a room so that Fletcher can teleport in.”
“It sounds so easy,” said Ravel.
Skulduggery looked at him. “It won’t be. We can expect heavy resistance. We can expect them to do whatever it takes to stop us from achieving our goal.”
“So how do we get round that little obstacle?” Saracen asked.
Skulduggery tilted his head. “We disguise our goal with another one.”
hina pulled up, away from the streetlamps, and checked her rear view. Satisfied that there were no motorbike headlights approaching, she pushed open the door, grimacing as she got out. The car was a Mini Cooper, a nifty little thing. But it wasn’t hers. It was the second car she’d borrowed since losing her own. And even this one had bullet holes in it.
Holding her side, she crossed the street, walking quickly. She followed the narrow alleyway, weeds spilling from cracks in the concrete, to a house that had once been small and unassuming and which now stood proudly, refurbished, remodelled, rebuilt. Eliza Scorn had been busy.
Even the door was new. It was heavy, built into an arch. Everything about this place screamed ‘church’, though there was no religious symbology that any mortal would recognise. China pushed open the door, stepped in and closed it behind her. Inside was quiet. Still.
There was a knock on the door behind her and China spun, her heart lurching. But no. Vincent Foe kicked doors down – he didn’t knock on them.
She answered it, and the expression that greeted her was most unusual. It managed to be awestruck, captivated and lustful, while at the same time shocked, shamed and terrified. Octa Gregorian Boona stared at her, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound emerging. Then he spun round, started walking away.
“Octa,” China said in a soft voice.
Octa stopped walking immediately, but didn’t turn round. His shoulders were shaking. He was crying.
“Come back here.”
He shook his head, but turned despite himself and walked back, dragging his feet. His head was down. He sniffled as he stopped in front of her.
“You probably didn’t expect to see me when you knocked on the door,” China said, careful to keep any hint of accusation from her tone. “I’m sorry if I startled you.”
“It’s OK,” he sobbed.
“I haven’t seen you in a while. Not since my library was destroyed. Have you missed me?”
He nodded quickly.
“Is this where you’re bringing your little snippets of information now? To Eliza?”
Octa fell to his knees. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t want to betray you. I love you. You know I love you. But Eliza pays for the things I know. She pays me. With money. Not … not promises or …”
“Octa,” said China, “when did I ever promise you anything?”
He looked up, tears in his eyes, his face splotchy and red. “You didn’t promise with your words. It was the … It was my own hope.”
“I can hardly be held responsible for that, now can I?”
“No.”
“And I didn’t think I had to pay you. I never viewed you as an informant, Octa. To me, you were a friend. If you wanted me to pay you, you should have told me. Then I’d have known things were strictly business between us.”
“No,” said Octa, “they weren’t. There’s something between us, China. I don’t care about money. I care about you. I love you.”
“You are so sweet. So what did you come to tell Eliza about?”
“Just something I heard about the Warlocks. One of them was seen in Mozambique this morning. He killed eighteen sorcerers.”
“One Warlock killed eighteen sorcerers?”
“That’s what they’re saying, yes.”
In the distance, the sound of motorbikes.
“I love you,” said Octa. “Miss Scorn might think I’m her informant, but in my heart, I will always be yours.”
“I knew you’d stay loyal,” China said. “Thank you, Octa. I’ll make sure she gets your message.”
China stepped back and closed the door, and turned to see a weasel-faced man in a three-piece suit staring at her. “Hello, Jajo,” she smiled.
He backed off, practically ran away. China sighed, walked deeper into the church. The pews were hand-carved. On the wall, two circles, one big, one small, barely intersecting, both made of solid gold.
Eliza Scorn walked from a backroom, Jajo Prave following along in her wake. She looked well, China had to admit. Her clothes were wonderful. Her hair, luxuriant. Her lips, curled in a cruel smile. “I’d heard you were being hunted,” she said.
“I still am,” China replied.
“How delightful! Are you still scurrying from place to place like a scared little fox, while the pack of wild dogs is closing in?”
“That’s how you picture it, is it?”
“I picture lots of shivering in dark and lonely places. I did wonder, of course, why you didn’t just go running to the Skeleton Detective or those nice Sanctuary people, but then I remembered. That pride of yours. I bet you shudder at the very thought of running to your friends for help.”
“They’re not my friends, Eliza. You made sure of that.”
Scorn smiled.
China answered her smile with one of her own. “I look around at the power and the wealth you’ve accumulated and, I must admit, I envy you. Not long ago, I had all of this.”
“And then you let it slip away.”
China shrugged. “I was arrogant. Foolish. I placed too much value in the games I played. When you arrived back, I was caught unprepared. I deserved what happened to me.”
“I am so glad you see it that way. But if you think the Church of the Faceless will allow you back in after everything you’ve done …”
“Oh, no, Eliza. I’m not here to seek help. I still view the Faceless Ones as insane beings of enormous power and their worshippers as the most deluded people I have ever had the misfortune to know – yourself included, of course.”
“Then why are you here, China? To waste my time? To try my patience?”
“To spread the pain. I had my status, my reputation, my possessions, my library … I thought they made me strong, but they merely made me an easy target. Now I have nothing. Now I am strong. And you? You have everything. And that makes you weak.”
“Is that what this is? You came here for a last physical confrontation before the wild dogs catch up to you? How disappointingly pedestrian of you. And so ill-advised. I beat you easily the last time we fought. I’ll beat you easily again.”
“I’m not here to fight you, Eliza.”
“Then what? Why are you here?”
China smiled. “It’s not dogs who chase me. It’s wolves. And I’ve led them to your door.”
Eliza lost her smile. “Out. Out, get out.”
“Too late, I’m afraid. They’re already here.”
“Then I’ll throw you to them,” said Scorn, grabbing China’s arm.
China whipped her arm free, smacked Scorn across the face and stomped on the back of her leg. Scorn fell to one knee and China’s fingertips dug into either side of her trachea.
“You beat me last time because I had grown complacent,” she said softly. “I had lost my edge. But I’ve had a year to get that edge back. Feel how sharp I am, Eliza?”
Scorn made a sound, deep in her throat.
Prave came clattering down the steps. “There are people outside,” he said. “They have the church surrounded.”
China released her grip, and Scorn stepped away, hand at her throat. “They’ll burn this place to the ground and they’ll burn you with it, Eliza.”
“We’ll tell them we’re not protecting you,” Prave said.
“They won’t listen,” Scorn said, her eyes glinting with anger. “Activate the defences.”
China left them to it, found a small room and took the thick piece of chalk from her pocket. She drew the sigil on the floor quickly. She could hear crashes and breaking glass. She lay down on top of the sigil, took a deep breath, and tapped the edge.
The sigil glowed, and China gritted her teeth as a pulse of light shot upwards, hit the ceiling, lighting up the whole room. Her cracked ribs burned as they healed. Pain ran the entire length of her body, but there had been no time for subtlety. She’d needed a safe place to do this ever since that vampire had thrown her into that wall.
She tapped the sigil and the light cut off and she gasped. She turned over, tried to stand. Her body trembled. She was sore, bruised and battered, but at least her ribs were no longer broken. From elsewhere in the church, she heard the door being kicked down.
So much for Eliza’s defences.
She forced herself up, stepped from the room in time to see Scorn running and Prave scrambling after her.
“She’s that way!” Prave screeched, pointing in China’s direction.
Foe and Mercy came into view, stumbling. Whatever defences Scorn set up had obviously had some effect, but they looked more annoyed than hurt. Still, it was something, and China would take whatever she was given. She ran for a narrow set of wooden stairs, found herself climbing into a loft space with a large, stained-glass window at one end. No other way down.
A voice crept up inside her mind, Obloquy’s voice, bringing with it distant promises of pain. Her psychic defences were higher than most – secrets had been her livelihood, after all – but this kind of attack could not be blocked by conventional means.
Pain, said Obloquy and China cried out, her knees buckling beneath her. She fell, turned to watch Obloquy climb the stairs after her, his eyes narrowed. More pain. More pain than you’ve ever felt. China tried to scream, but her body was seizing up, her muscles contracting. Obloquy was in the loft now, coming closer, closer, and when he was within range China clutched her head with both hands, her fingers digging through her hair to press against the tattoo on her scalp.
Her thoughts turned jagged. Grew thorns. Spikes.
Obloquy grunted. Tried pulling away. His thoughts caught on her thoughts. Caught on the spikes. Spikes ripped him. Tore him. China jabbed. Slashed. Obloquy flailed. Panicked. China’s thorns spread, piercing, then retracted, pulling.
China blinked and sat up. Obloquy stood over her, swaying slightly, his face slack. She got to her feet, wincing as a headache began to pound behind her eyes. She tried to hurry away, but her legs were like lead. She’d only had to use that sigil once before. The after-effects had been similar. A few minutes. That’s all she needed. Just a few minutes and her strength would return.
The window smashed ahead of her and Samuel climbed through. Typical.
She tapped her forearms. Whether she had enough strength to use magic at all proved irrelevant – Samuel darted at her so fast she didn’t have time to find out. His palm found her chest and she flew backwards, hit the ground and sprawled. Even before she could open her eyes she felt his cold hands on her, lifting her. He threw her into the wall. She turned her head at the last instant, saved herself a fractured skull, but her shoulder crunched and pain blossomed.
She’d come here to heal her broken ribs, and now had a broken collarbone.
She got to one knee as Samuel came for her. She held out a hand to stop him, to keep him away, and he grabbed her wrist, stepped back and yanked. China spun through the air, but he still had hold of her, and he turned and swung her back into the wall.
She dropped, gasping, unable to breathe. Collarbone broken. Those ribs again. Shoulder dislocated.
His fingers closed round her ankle, and Samuel started pulling her after him as he walked. They passed Obloquy, still standing there with his eyes half-closed. China managed to wrap an arm round his leg, but Samuel barely noticed. He tugged her and she slipped by, almost missing the knife in Obloquy’s boot. She reached out, snatched it, and then she was being pulled along the floor again.
She sucked in a sliver of breath. Then another. Then she sat up and plunged the knife through Samuel’s arm.
His grip opened and he stumbled, gave a roar that was more outrage than agony. China scrambled up, ran at him, jumped and crunched her forehead into his face. He collapsed backwards and she fell on him and rolled off, crying out in pain. Darkness swarmed, but she fought against it. Samuel might have been unconscious, but it wouldn’t be long before Obloquy’s brain came back online. If she passed out now, he’d kill her. If she took even one moment to rest, she’d never make it out of here alive.