by Derek Landy
“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. 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.”