by Derek Landy
Ravel was frowning. “They elected you? When? In what forum?”
“It was a private meeting,” Strom said, “where we all came together to voice our concerns.”
“Without inviting us.”
“We didn’t want it to seem like an attack. We wanted to voice our opinions, not intimidate you. During the meeting, the decision was taken to approach you with our concerns. Grand Mage Renato Bisahalani of the American Sanctuary, Grand Mage Dedrich Wahrheit of the German Sanctuary and I were elected, and it was decided that I should come here, representing the interests of the Supreme Council—”
Ravel laughed. “That’s what you’re calling yourselves? The Supreme Council? Well, that’s not intimidating at all, is it, Ghastly?”
“Sounds positively cuddly,” Ghastly responded. “So here you are, as the spokesman for the Supreme Council, to tell us what, exactly?”
“We’re not here to tell you anything,” said Sult. “We’re just here to offer our help should it transpire that you need it. As Grand Mage Strom was saying, the other Sanctuaries need reassurances.”
“That’s no problem,” Ravel said. “Go back and reassure them that everything is fine.”
Strom smiled sadly. “If only it were that easy. Erskine, we have been tasked with verifying, for an absolute fact, that you and your Sanctuary are ready for whatever happens next. And I have to say, this business with the mortals does nothing to boost our confidence in you. I gather a werewolf was on the loose last night. A werewolf. We fear, and again we mean no disrespect, that your relative inexperience shows through at times like these.”
Ravel nodded. “But I’m still not entirely sure what purpose the Supreme Council actually serves. You want reassurances, but don’t appear satisfied when we give them. What more do you want?”
“We need to verify your competence for ourselves.”
Ravel looked at Ghastly. “What does that sound like to you?”
“Sounds like they want to watch over us and tell us what to do. Which makes no sense, because as everyone knows, each Sanctuary is its own watchdog, answerable only to itself.”
“Times have changed,” said Strom. “We can’t take the chances we used to take. In the past six years alone you’ve had Serpine and Vengeous and the Diablerie trying to bring the Faceless Ones back. You’ve had Scarab’s attempt to murder eighty thousand people live on air. You’ve had a Remnant outbreak which threatened to spread across the globe and, only twelve months ago, the Necromancer’s messiah turned up with the intention of killing three billion people. If this Darquesse lunatic really does start her Armageddon here in Ireland, that’s seven world-changing events one after the other. How do you expect us to react, after all that? The Sanctuaries are afraid that one of these days your people aren’t going to make it in time.”
“Before you protest,” said Sult, “let me ask you a question. If you didn’t have Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain on your side, would we even be alive to have this conversation right now?”
“Detectives Pleasant and Cain work with the full support of this Sanctuary and its mages,” Ravel said quietly. “It’s a team effort.”
“You support them, but they do the work,” said Sult. “And they’re not always going to be around, or they’re not always going to be quick enough. They’ll make a mistake. They’ll slip up. And when they do …” Sult trailed off, and Strom continued for him.
“Administrator Sult’s point is merely that you can’t put the security of the world on the shoulders of two people. Sooner or later, it’s going to crush them. We’re simply offering you support, Erskine. If we feel your Sanctuary is strong enough, then that is what we’ll report back and the matter will be forgotten.”
“And if you don’t feel that we’re strong enough?” Mist asked.
“Then we’ll help you. We’ll supply you with Cleavers, with sorcerers should you need them. There is also, I suppose, the option of sharing responsibility.”
Ghastly fixed him with a look. “Meaning you’d take over.”
“No, of course not. We’re here to help, for God’s sake. We don’t have an ulterior motive.”
“And if we don’t want you here?”
Strom looked hurt.
“I’m afraid we’d have to insist,” said Sult. “And I mean no disrespect when I say this, but the Supreme Council has been granted certain powers of veto and authority that I’m sure we can discuss at greater length later on.”
“Certain powers,” Mist said, “that were not agreed upon by us.”
“This is true,” Sult admitted. “If you want to deny us access, that is your right. However, such a move could cut you off from the rest of the world. You’d be isolated. Alone. With no one to call on for help should you need it.”
“That sounds like a veiled threat, Mr Sult.”
“I apologise. I only meant to stress the seriousness of the situation.”
“I think we’re beginning to grasp it,” said Ravel. “We’ll need to discuss your … proposal before giving an answer.”
“Of course,” Strom said, and both men got to their feet. “We have sorcerers and Cleavers standing by, ready to help in a purely supportive capacity, but we can only keep them in place for seven days. After this day next week, our offer of assistance must be withdrawn.”
“And then?” said Ghastly.
“And then we’ll have to take more decisive measures.”
Strom and Sult bowed slightly, and walked from the room.
“So not only do we have a threat,” Ghastly said when they were gone, “now we have a deadline, too.”
Ravel sank back into his chair. “This is going to be trouble.”
he arrow sliced through the running man’s leg, sending him to the mud, screeching.
“Good shot,” Eliza Scorn said.
Christophe Nocturnal nocked another arrow in his bow as they walked through the dark forest. “They say man is the most dangerous prey, but the fact is that rabbits are much harder to hit. Still, there’s nothing quite like the panicked squeal a mortal makes when they know they’re about to die. It’s quite relaxing, in its own way.”
“I had heard you were quite the hunter, and now I see all the stories are true.”
“I’ve been doing this since I was a boy,” he said. “My father used to take us out, me and my four brothers.”
“I didn’t know you had any siblings.”
“I don’t. When we reached our teenage years, my father threw us all into a pit and announced that only one of us was coming out alive. I was the smallest of my brothers, but the most ruthless.”
“What a charming story.”
“It was a different time back then. A simpler time.” Nocturnal settled into an archer’s stance, pulled the bowstring back, and let fly. The arrow caught the hobbling mortal in the back. The mortal fell, face down. “What do you want, Eliza?”
“Oh, it’s not just what I want,” said Scorn. “It’s what you want, too. We should be allies. Combining the Church of the Faceless with the church you lead in America, we could get this world back on track, you and I.”
Nocturnal chuckled. “And there, you see, we have our problem.”
“Oh?”
“My church doesn’t need you, Eliza. We’re strong enough as we are. We’re funded and resourced by seventy per cent of those mages who worship the Faceless Ones. Aligning ourselves with your church would not give us the rewards it would give you.”
“Ah, but I think you’re deliberately ignoring some key facts. We have something you don’t – we have a Cradle of Magic. The Diablerie successfully brought through three Faceless Ones only a couple of years ago. We have a track record, as they say. We have credibility.”
“But you’re weak.”
“Compared to your organisation, perhaps. But we’re growing stronger. And I don’t say this to cause offence, but at least I’m not a wanted criminal.”
Nocturnal laughed. “No offence taken. To be honest, though, my renegad
e status has actually helped my church. The people I represent are nervous by nature, unwilling to proclaim their beliefs for all to hear. They look to me for leadership, as someone who isn’t afraid to stand up to the Sanctuaries.”
“And they’re also, I would expect, more than a little afraid of you?”
“Fear helps things run smoothly.”
“I would imagine so,” said Scorn. “But you didn’t come all this way to turn me down straight, now, did you?”
“No. No, I didn’t. I’m interested in your offer, with a few amendments.”
“Such as?”
“Your church is absorbed into mine, not the other way around. You would be kept on, naturally, but as my second in command.”
Scorn bristled. “I would have thought partners would be more fitting.”
“My people are nervous,” Nocturnal said. “They’d feel safer if they knew I was still in charge. Unfortunately, it is a requirement, not a request.”
“Of course. That … isn’t a problem.”
“And one other thing,” said Nocturnal. “Before we go ahead, the mages I represent would like one little favour. A demonstration of goodwill.”
“And that is?”
“They’ve all heard the stories of what happened when the Diablerie brought the Faceless Ones back. They heard about the girl, Valkyrie Cain, and how she used the Sceptre of the Ancients to kill two of our gods, and my people don’t think she should be allowed to get away with that.”
“What would you have me do, Christophe?”
“I would have you kill her.”
“She is under the protection of Skulduggery Pleasant. You know how dangerous it would be to risk—”
“She is the ultimate blasphemer, Eliza. She must be punished.”
Scorn considered it, then smiled. “Very well. Cain will die. And as it happens, I know just the person for the job.”
alkyrie climbed through her bedroom window, careful not to make a sound. Her reflection sat up in bed, looked at her with her own dark eyes.
“You’re hurt,” it whispered.
“Oh, yes,” Valkyrie replied, keeping her voice low. “But physically all I have are cuts and bruises. Mentally? You just wait till you remember what happened to me tonight. Pay particular attention to Jerry Houlihan. It’ll stay with you. Believe me. So how were things here?”
The reflection got out of bed as Valkyrie undressed. “I had an uneventful few days,” it told her. “The most exciting thing was an hour-long lecture from the headmaster on taking our studies seriously. He said next year’s exams will arrive sooner than we think.”
“No, they won’t,” Valkyrie said, frowning. “They’ll arrive next year, exactly when we expect them.”
“That’s what I told him,” the reflection nodded. “I don’t think he’s comfortable with logic, because he didn’t look happy. He sent me to the Career Guidance counsellor, who asked me what I wanted to be after college.”
Valkyrie stowed her black clothes. “What did you say?”
“I told her I wanted to be a Career Guidance counsellor. She started crying, then accused me of mocking her. I told her if she wasn’t happy in her job then she should look at other options, then pointed out that I was already doing her job better than she was. She gave me detention.”
Valkyrie grinned. “You’re getting me into so much trouble.”
The reflection shrugged. “We keep being asked to fill out the college application forms. Getting thrown out of class is the only way I can think of to avoid it. Have you figured out how to solve this problem over the past few days?”
“Amazingly, no. My folks expect me to go to college and I don’t want to disappoint them, but …”
“But how long are you going to have to keep lying to them?” the reflection asked, finishing the thought.
“Yeah. It’d be nice to give them the Stephanie they want while I’m off doing my Valkyrie thing, but let’s face it, I can’t keep you around for ever, can I?”
“I’ve already been active longer than any other reflection anyone has ever heard of. I wasn’t designed for this.”
“I know,” Valkyrie said, “and I never meant to spend so much time away from this life. I need to take control again, bring my two lives together. When I’m finished school, that’s when I’ll do it. Do you think you can keep going for another year or so?”
“I don’t see why not,” said the reflection. “I haven’t been acting strangely lately, and I haven’t been blocking any memories or thoughts, like you were getting worried about. I think I’m OK now. I think I’ve repaired myself. Plus, we’re getting along much better, you and I.”
“Well,” Valkyrie said, “how could I fail to get along with myself? Am I not brilliant company?”
“That I am,” said the reflection, smiling.
“Especially since I don’t have Tanith or Fletcher any more.”
“Or even China.”
Valkyrie couldn’t help but laugh. “My God, do I have any friends left?”
“Skulduggery,” the reflection said. “Ghastly, of course, not that you’ve ever spoken to him about anything other than clothes and hitting people. And me.”
“What more could a girl want?” Valkyrie asked, her eyebrow raised. The reflection gave her a smile in return, and stepped into the mirror. Valkyrie touched the glass, absorbing two days’ worth of memories. The reflection at school. The reflection at the dinner table. The reflection playing with Valkyrie’s little sister. All nice memories. All unexceptional memories. So unlike the two days that Valkyrie herself had experienced.
She checked the time as she climbed into bed. Five in the morning.
An early night for a change.
Valkyrie woke but didn’t open her eyes, preferring instead to drift slowly in darkness for a while. She loved her bed. She’d slept in others, of varying degrees of comfort, but her own bed in her own room was by far her favourite. It was smaller than was probably practical, narrower, and the mattress wasn’t as firm as she’d have liked, and there was a spring by her hip that threatened to jab into her every time she turned, but for the overall experience of a good night’s sleep, her bed was definitely the best.
She shifted on to her back, finally letting her eyes open. The ceiling sloped upwards from the wall beside her. When she’d been little, she’d had a load of horse pictures stuck up there, and they’d be the first thing she’d see every morning. She moved her leg from under the duvet, raised it and pressed her foot against the space where the posters had once been. Nothing there now. No horses. China Sorrows had said something once about taking her riding and Valkyrie had been looking forward to it. But that was before Eliza Scorn had told them about China’s involvement in the deaths of Skulduggery’s wife and child, a slice of history that China herself had always managed to skip over.
Lazily, Valkyrie reached for her phone to check the time. When the screen lit up, she sprang out of bed, cursing. She pulled on her dressing gown, flung open the door and bolted down the stairs into the kitchen, going straight for the cereal in the cupboard.
“Good morning,” her mum said as she fed Alice.
“I’m late!” Valkyrie responded, grabbing the milk from the fridge. “Alarm didn’t go off! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Oh, I suppose I should have,” her mum said, delivering another spoonful into Alice’s waiting mouth. “But then I got so distracted by the cuteness of your sister here, and then by the cuteness of your father, and then I saw my reflection in the toaster and I got so distracted by my own cuteness, that I completely forgot about you. I’m a bad mother. I’m a bad, bad mother.”
“I’ve already missed the bus. Would you be able to drive me to school?”
“But I’m still in my slippers.”
Valkyrie paused, the first spoonful of cereal halfway to her mouth. “Or … you know … I could stay home today. Do some studying at home. There are a few tests I need to revise for …”
“I don’t know,” her mo
ther said dubiously. “Stay home? From school? Stay home from school on a Saturday?”
Valkyrie dropped the spoon back in the bowl. “What?”
Her mum grinned. “It’s the weekend, Steph. You’re allowed to sleep in.”
Valkyrie shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Two sets of memories and neither of them bothered to inform her of this fact. “I’m overworked,” she decided. “I’m doing too much in school. I need to cut down on my studying, maybe stop doing homework. I should definitely switch to a three-day week.”
“Somehow,” her mum said, “I don’t see any of that happening. Maybe instead you could try paying attention to what day it is.”
Valkyrie frowned. “I don’t see how that’s going to decrease my workload,” she said, and munched on her cereal.
The front door opened, and her father walked in, placing a grocery bag on the table. “The great hunter-gatherer has returned victorious,” he announced. “I bring the womenfolk newspapers, fresh milk and bread. The newspapers led me on a merry chase but the bread and fresh milk didn’t stand a chance.”
“Well done, dear,” Valkyrie’s mum said.
Her dad sat. “And I’ve also found Stephanie a new boyfriend.”
Valkyrie choked on her cereal and her mum looked up sharply. “You’ve done what?”
“I know,” he said. “You’re impressed. You send me out for bread and I come back with a boy. Well, not literally. That would be weird. Even for me.”
“Dad,” Valkyrie coughed, “what did you do?”
“I met Tommy Boyle in the shop,” he said. “You know Tommy Boyle, don’t you? About my age? A little smaller than me, with sandy-coloured hair? He always wears these polo shirts. You know him, you do. You’ve seen him around. He’s from Navan originally, so he has this real Navan accent when he speaks. He’s married to that woman with the brown hair, who always wears those shoes. You know him.”
“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
“No, you do,” her dad insisted. “He’s got sandy-coloured hair.”
“Dad, I don’t.”
“You do. I don’t know how else to describe him. Melissa, how would you describe him?”