Resurrection

by Derek Landy

  “Ah, and October is a friend?”

  “I doubt October knows who I am. She’s really popular. But the guy who tutors her in science is friends with the guy who sits across from me in French.”

  “And … and does he know you exist?”

  “Of course.”

  “Right.”

  “But he doesn’t like me.”

  “I see.”

  “He thinks I’m weird and have no friends.”

  “Do you have friends?”

  “Yes, I do. I have one.”

  “One friend still counts,” said Valkyrie. “One friend is all some people need. So we talk to this guy, who talks to his pal, who talks to October, who tells us where Byron is, right?”

  “If she knows. She mightn’t know.”

  “How long has it been since they went out?”

  “About four years.”

  Valkyrie hesitated. “That’s … that’s a significantly long time, Omen. What age were they when they dated?”

  “Like, ten.”

  “And how long did this relationship last?”

  “I can’t be sure but I think, maybe, a week.”

  “And why – dear God, why – would October know where Byron might be now?”

  Omen blinked. “I just … I mean, she’s our only lead.”

  “She’s not a lead, Omen.”

  “Really?”

  “Unless they stayed really good friends and she knows all his secrets. Is that what happened?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  “Then she’s not a lead.”

  “Oh. I thought she was.”

  “Do you have any other bright ideas?”

  “I don’t. I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s OK, Omen. Do you know where he lives?”

  “Dublin. Somewhere in Dublin.”

  “Dublin’s a big place.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s not as big as some places, I’ll admit, but it’s bigger than some others.”

  “I wish I could be more helpful.”

  “Me too, Omen. You being more helpful would be a big advantage to us right now. But it’s fine. I’ll ask Miss Gnosis to find Byron’s home address, but I’ll need you to come with me, just so Byron knows I’m someone he can trust. Unless … does he hate me, too?”

  “No,” Omen said quickly. “At least, I don’t think so. And Never doesn’t hate you, he just …”

  “People are allowed to hate me. It’s OK.” She tapped her leg and Xena sprang up. “You stay here,” she told Omen. “When I have Byron’s address, I’ll call you. Have you heard from Temper?”

  Omen nodded, and glanced at his watch. “He should be talking to his old friend right about now.”

  55

  Temper knocked on the door and a moment later it opened, and Tessa Mehrbano stood there, barefoot, in jeans and a T-shirt, and he gave her the look.

  “Hey, baby,” he said.

  She returned the look with one of her own. Less friendly. “You’ve got some nerve,” she said.

  She walked back in and he followed her, closing the door behind him. The apartment hadn’t changed much since he’d been here last. “I couldn’t stay away,” he said. “The rest of them, I’d happily leave in the dust. But you? I’ve always had a special place in my heart for you, Tessa.”

  “That right?” she asked, turning.

  “It is.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  “Me all over.”

  “You know what else is sweet?”

  He smiled, walking closer. “I think I can remember.”

  He leaned down for a kiss, but her hand closed around his throat.

  “This,” she said. “This is going to be sweet.”

  Mehrbano lifted him, threw him over the table. He crashed into the side of the couch, sent it sliding while he hit the ground. He looked up in time to see her striding to him, but too late to stop the kick that blasted the air from his lungs.

  “Awww, mann …” he wheezed, as she took hold of his shirt and hauled him up.

  “You think you can walk back in here?” Mehrbano said, hurling him into the wall. “After what you did? After you betrayed us like that? You are full of it.”

  He held up a hand while he tried to breathe. “In … my defence …”

  She hit him. She didn’t use her full strength, but it still sent him careening off the wall like he was a stainless-steel ball in a pinball machine, sent him stumbling the length of the apartment. His knees buckled and he went down for a moment, but kept crawling until he was back up on his feet.

  “In your defence what?” she asked, coming after him. “We were tight, Temper. We were family.”

  “Weird family,” he mumbled, backing off.

  “You were one of us,” she said. “You were a believer.”

  “They tried to kill me, Tessa.”

  “Bull.”

  His head wouldn’t stop spinning. “Now who’s full of it? You know what they did to the others.”

  “They were blessed.”

  “That what you call it? When was the last you spoke to them, huh? When was the last time they held a conversation with anyone?”

  Mehrbano didn’t have an answer for that. Temper pressed on.

  “Is that what you wanted to happen to me? You wanted me to be blessed like that? To be turned into one of those … things?”

  “Not everyone gets chosen. You were lucky.”

  “And, if they had come for you, what would you have done?”

  “For a chance to be closer to the gods?” Mehrbano asked. “I would have given up everything.” Her posture changed. She wasn’t going to hit him again.

  “Well, I wouldn’t have let you,” he said. “I couldn’t stand to watch you lose the parts of yourself that make you you. The others, the ones they took, they aren’t blessed, Tessa. They’re not communing with the gods. They’re standing somewhere, staring into space. Not moving, not talking. Not thinking. They’re failed experiments. And I’d have been on that list. Just another failed experiment.”

  “Or you could have been the one to change everything,” she responded. “There might have been something in your blood to unlock all the secrets.”

  “You can’t justify it. I don’t know why you’re trying.”

  “It’s the sacrifice, Temper. It’s the sacrifice we all must be willing to make. It’s not about us. We don’t matter. We’re insignificant.”

  “You were never insignificant to me.”

  “You’re young,” she said. “You don’t know how the world works. Give yourself a hundred years. Talk to me then.”

  They looked at each other for another few moments, then she sighed. “What do you want?”

  “Richard Melior. You know him, right?”

  “Yeah. I first met him back in … I don’t know, 1965 or something. I was living in San Francisco. Why?”

  “You were friends?”

  “At the time, sure. Why, Temper?”

  “He’s in trouble. I’m trying to help him.”

  Mehrbano turned away. She put a hand on the couch and pulled it easily back into place, then sat. “So it’s true,” she said. “You’re working with the Skeleton Detective.”

  “We’ve worked together, yeah.”

  “Working with the enemy.”

  “Skulduggery was never any enemy of mine,” Temper said. “I’m young, remember? The truce was seventy years old by the time I was even born. We live in a time of peace, Tessa.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said. “So is this a case you’re working on? You a private eye now? A detective?”

  “I’m a something,” he said. “Have you had any contact with Melior lately?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “He’s involved with some bad people, and his involvement could have consequences for the rest of us – your Church included.”

  “It’s not my Church.”

  “Well, it’s for damn sure not mine.”

 
; “The Church of the Faceless is a church for us all, Temper.”

  “Except the unworthy.”

  “You’ve been away for a while,” Mehrbano said. “You haven’t seen the changes that have been made. We’ve gone back to a more tolerant ethos – the true ethos of the Faceless Ones.”

  “Which is what, exactly?”

  “Acceptance. Forgiveness. Love.”

  He laughed. “You expect people to buy into that? After a thousand years of hate?”

  “Mevolent twisted the Church’s teachings to reflect his own prejudices. Look at the original texts. There’s nothing in there about sorcerers being the only ones to bask in the glory of the gods. The path is there for the mortals, too.”

  “That’s interesting,” Temper said. “Because when I was part of it, the mortals didn’t get much in the way of consideration.”

  “That was under Eliza Scorn,” said Mehrbano. “She’s gone now, and so have the last traces of Mevolent’s influence. It’s a brand-new day. You’d probably be welcomed back into the fold.”

  “The same people who conducted those insane experiments are in charge, Tessa. Creed’s in charge. The Church might be a different kind of crazy these days, but it’s still crazy.”

  Mehrbano sat forward, elbows on her knees and head in her hands. “What do you want, Temper? Tell me what you want and then leave.”

  “I’m looking for Savant Vega,” Temper said. “I’m trying to find out if he’s alive or dead, and, if he’s alive, I’m trying to find out where.”

  She looked up. “And then you’ll go?”

  “You know where he is?”

  “No. No idea. Will you go now?”

  “I need something, Tessa.”

  “What makes you think I know anything that could help you? There was a group of them. They used to go bowling, for the gods’ sake. They even had the shirts. Man, I used to laugh my ass off at that, but I got along with Parthenios Lilt better than I got along with Melior and Vega.”

  “You were friends with him? Lilt?”

  “Sure. We had similar views about mortals. Views I have since left behind me, by the way.”

  “I admire your new-found tolerance. You meet any of Lilt’s other friends?”

  “Sure. This chick named Quibble. Creepy guy called Smoke.”

  “Quibble’s dead.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “What do you know about Azzedine Smoke?”

  Mehrbano shrugged. “Not much. I never paid attention to what any of them were saying. I remember one evening, over at Smoke’s place, he just would not stop with the chatter. He was working on that freaky rubber suit the entire time and hours go by and I realise I have no idea what he’s—”

  “Wait,” said Temper, “go back. What was he doing?”

  “The suit,” she replied. “The black suit. He was working on it. He’d been working on it for weeks.”

  “What was he doing with it?” Temper asked. “Think carefully now. This is important.”

  “What is?”

  “The suit, Tessa. Tell me everything you remember about the suit.”

  56

  The Brute was the biggest prison block in Coldheart. It had eighteen tiers of cells arranged around a wide-open space. Hanging over that space was the security hub/control room, a large, windowed cube that dangled on thick chains, accessible only via retractable walkways. Far beneath it, level with the block’s second tier, was a large dais that hovered in place – no chains, ropes or struts necessary. Two tiers beneath that, a lake of energy rippled over the floor.

  Cadaverous stood on the first tier, leaning against the rails. He flicked a silver dollar into the lake – it fried instantly.

  The prisoners had stopped asking to be released. Every so often, one of them would mutter a curse, but they’d learned pretty fast that Cadaverous and the others were not here to free them, and they’d learned almost as quickly that continuous noise would result in their food privileges being taken away. For the most part, they just sat in their cells, sullen and bored and lucky they were being fed at all.

  Cadaverous looked up towards the dais, following the sound of drills and welders. Working from Destrier’s plans, three large metal Xs were being attached to hydraulic arms that would lift them high into the air. Doctor Melior was insisting that these things were absolutely necessary in order for Abyssinia to be resurrected. Cadaverous had his doubts. It all seemed needlessly theatrical.

  Skulduggery Pleasant floated down from a higher tier, hands in his pockets. “Isn’t it great?” he asked.

  Cadaverous tried to ignore the intrusion, but Pleasant landed right beside him.

  “It’s very theatrical,” he continued. “There’s a wonderful sense of showmanship at work here. You don’t get that any more. Not really. Very few people build elaborate sets in which to kill people. I think it’s a lack of skilled labour as much as anything. Where have you been? Cadaverous?”

  “What?”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Elsewhere.”

  Pleasant grunted. “I would have been elsewhere, too, but Smoke instructed me to stay in the prison. I don’t much like taking orders, if I’m honest. At the first sign of his influence fading, I’m probably going to kill him.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because we’ve bonded, Cadaverous. We took a road trip together. We beat up some cops. You killed one. That brings people closer. Also, I’ve got no one else to talk to. I tried talking to some of the convicts, but I’m the reason a lot of them are in here, so conversation was awkward.”

  “That must have been awful for you.”

  Pleasant shrugged. “It’s just so hard to make friends here. And, speaking of making friends, I was thinking about our earlier conversation.”

  “The one we finished, you mean?”

  “Yeah, that one. I think it’s time you got back out there, Cadaverous. You lost a partner. That’s terrible. A few decades before Valkyrie came along I, too, lost a partner. The screaming, the flailing … It wasn’t pretty, and I was helpless to do anything to save him. But do you want to know what I learned from that?”

  “No.”

  “To employ a hideously overused idiom, I learned that you must get back on the horse. Somewhere out there is another homicidal lunatic who needs guidance. Go to that homicidal lunatic, Cadaverous. Go to him.”

  “You mock me.”

  “I’m trying to help you.”

  “No. No, you’re mocking me. You’re mocking my pain. I only hope, skeleton, that when I do kill your precious Valkyrie you are no longer under Smoke’s influence. I want to see you fall to your knees. I want to hear the despair in your voice as she dies.”

  “Cadaverous, Cadaverous,” Pleasant said, shaking his head, “what am I going to do with you?”

  Cadaverous snarled. “You’re going to stay out of my way.”

  He went to push past, but Skulduggery grabbed and spun him and Cadaverous folded over the railing. The lake of energy crackled beneath him.

  “Or I’m going to kill you,” Skulduggery said.

  Fully aware that all the skeleton had to do was apply a little pressure, Cadaverous kept his voice even. “You didn’t do it earlier.”

  “If I’d killed you then, Lethe would have known it was me. But if I make it look like an accident …”

  “You think this would look like an accident?”

  “You’re an old man, Cadaverous. Old men slip and fall all the time.”

  “You’re not thinking clearly. Maybe it’s Smoke’s corruption, I don’t know, but do you really think we’re alone right now? She’s watching. She’s always watching.”

  “I take it you mean Abyssinia?”

  “If you kill me, she’ll tell the others what you’ve done. It won’t be so difficult to kill you. All it’ll take is a single word from Smoke and then you’ll be the one diving into this magnificent lake.”

  “It is rather magnificent,” Skulduggery said, and a
moment later he pulled Cadaverous back. “Fine. I won’t kill you, you decrepit old scamp. Not right now, at least. I’ll probably end up killing you at some stage, though, so be warned.”

  There was a commotion up on the dais, and the skeleton lost interest in Cadaverous completely, and floated up to see what was going on.

  Cadaverous wrapped his anger around a stone, deep in his chest, and when he was sure it wasn’t going to rise to the surface he unclenched his fists and took the metal stairs, emerging on to the second tier. He jumped across to the dais, joining the skeleton and the others near the three metal Xs. No one had yet bothered to clear away the fallen Cleaver scythes. Cadaverous hated mess, but this was not his responsibility.

  Nero and Memphis stood there like naughty schoolchildren.

  “She’s dead?” Lethe asked. “How did this happen? You were sent to retrieve the third sacrificial lamb. Retrieve does not mean kill.”

  “I told him that,” Nero said.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” said Memphis.

  “No killing!” Razzia whined. “Those were the rules! That’s why I couldn’t go! You cheater!”

  “I didn’t have a choice,” said Memphis. “Lethe, I’m telling you, man, the woman was nuts. She figured out why we were there. Heck, she practically killed herself.”

  “Ah,” said Lethe. “Yes. I’ve heard of that happening. Someone’s attacked and, in a startling act of self-defence, they break their own neck.”

  “She was struggling too much,” Memphis said. “Itching like she was in a fuzzy tree. I told her to calm down, told her to be cool, but she was too busy arguing and crying and such, and she twisted the wrong way and … that’s all she wrote.”

  “Smoke and I brought back our sacrificial lamb unharmed,” said Lethe. “Cadaverous and Skulduggery brought back their sacrificial lamb – somewhat unharmed. But you … you couldn’t even manage to bring back your sacrificial lamb even relatively unharmed.”

  Memphis swallowed thickly. “We still have enough, though.”

  “Oh,” said Lethe, “do we?”

  “Yeah, man. The Doc said all he needed were two Neoterics. We have two. The third was just, y’know, a spare.”

  “The third lamb was insurance,” Lethe said. “We only get one shot at this, Mr Memphis. One shot to bring Abyssinia back to life. Do you really want to risk running out of life force? The third lamb is as important as the first two.” He looked around. “Where is the good doctor?”