by Derek Landy
“Oh, much.”
He did his best to keep his nose in one place.
“So will I pick you up from Gordon’s once your lapse into sentimentality is over? We have that meeting to go to, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“How could I have forgotten?” she asked dryly. “I’ve been looking forward to this incredibly boring meeting for days, I really and truly have, oh boy oh boy.”
“You appear to have found a new level of sarcasm,” Skulduggery nodded. “Impressive.”
“And no, you don’t have to pick me up. I’ll get Fletcher to pop by. Of course, if you change your mind and decide I don’t have to go to this incredibly boring meeting, I can take my time about it all, and really get the sentimentality out of my system for good.”
“And deprive you of your chance to be there? I actually think you’ll be surprised by how interesting it all is.”
“I actually think I’d be very surprised.”
“But we’ll be electing a new Grand Mage. This is history in the making, Valkyrie.”
“And how long do you think the new Grand Mage will last before he’s either murdered or imprisoned?”
“You’re too young to be so cynical.”
“I’m not cynical. I just happen to remember the last four years. You give me one good reason why I should go. One good reason why I would be even remotely interested in attending.”
“Erskine Ravel will be there.”
“Well, OK then.”
Skulduggery laughed, and let go of his face. After a dangerous quiver, it settled down and stopped misbehaving, apart from the ear that was slowly drifting towards his chin.
5
VALKYRIE’S DILEMMA
With the morning sun barely making an effort to through the windows, Valkyrie’s dead uncle made a steeple of his fingers, and peered at her over the topmost peak. When he was alive, he would often do this while sitting in an armchair with his legs crossed, giving him the air of a wise and contemplative man. Now that he was dead and could no longer interact with the physical world, it merely gave him the air of a man in desperate need of a chair.
“You’ve discovered your true name,” he said.
“Yes,” Valkyrie responded.
“And your true name is Darquesse.”
“That’s right.”
“And Darquesse is the sorcerer that all the psychics are having visions about – the one who’s going to destroy the world.”
“Correct.”
“So you’re going to destroy the world.”
“It looks like it.”
“And when did you discover all this?”
“About five months ago.”
“And you’re only telling me about it now?”
“Gordon, it’s taken me this long to stop freaking out about it. I need your help.”
Gordon began to pace the room. It was a big room, lined with bookcases and Gothic paintings. An oil portrait of a semi-clothed Gordon, his body rippling with muscles he had never possessed when he was alive, hung over the vast fireplace, glaring down at all who passed like a great and terrible god. Even though this house and the land around it had been left to Valkyrie, she still couldn’t bring herself to take the painting down. It was far too amusing.
“Do you realise what this means for you?” Gordon asked, as his slow pacing took him towards the corner of the room. “A sorcerer who knows their own true name has access to power other sorcerers can only dream about.”
His image began to fade away, and Valkyrie cleared her throat loudly. Gordon stopped and swung round, pacing back the way he had come. Immediately, he became solid again. The Echo Stone which housed his consciousness sat in its cradle on the coffee table, glowing with a soothing blue light.
“I don’t care about any of that,” she said. “I saw one of these visions, OK? I saw a burning city and injured friends and I saw Darquesse – I saw me - kill my own parents.”
“Now, just wait a second. From what you’ve told me about Cassandra Pharos’s vision, your future self and Darquesse seem to be two distinctly separate entities.”
“That’s just because at no time in that vision was I ever seen hurting anyone. We saw fragments of what’s going to happen. We saw Darquesse, me, as a figure in the distance, fighting and killing and murdering, and then we saw me, my future self, close up, feeling pretty bad about it all, which was nice of her, but she’s undoubtedly a little fruitloops. Listen, it’s taken a while for me to look at this and be logical about it, but obviously someone finds out what my true name is, and they use it to control me.”
“Then you’re going to have to seal your name,” Gordon said.
“Do you know how I can do that?”
“No,” he admitted. “I wrote about magic, but as you are aware, I never had the aptitude for it. Something like that, sealing your true name, is knowledge only a certain breed of sorcerer would have.”
“I can’t ask Skulduggery,” Valkyrie said quietly. “I don’t want him to know.”
Gordon stopped pacing, and looked at her kindly. “He would understand, Valkyrie. Skulduggery has been through an awful lot.”
“If he’s so understanding, how come you still won’t let me tell him you exist?”
“Well,” Gordon said huffily, “that’s different. That was never about him or anyone else. It was always about me, and my insecurities.”
“Which you are now cured of, right?”
He hesitated. “In theory…”
“So you’d be fine with me telling Skulduggery that I talk to you on a regular basis?”
Gordon licked his lips. “I don’t think that now is the perfect time for that. You have a lot on your plate, and I think I can be of more use to you without the distraction of other people.”
“You’re scared.”
“I’m not scared, I’m cautious. I don’t know how my friends would react. I am not actually Gordon Edgley after all – I am merely a recording of his personality.”
“But…?” Valkyrie raised her eyebrows.
“But,” he said quickly, “that doesn’t mean I’m not a person in my own right, with my own identity and value.”
“Very good,” she smiled. “You’ve been working on it.”
“I have a lot of time for self-affirmation while I’m sitting in that little blue crystal, waiting for you to drop by.”
“Is that your subtle way of telling me I should call round more?”
“I practically cease to exist when you’re not here,” Gordon said. “There’s nothing subtle about it.”
The alarm on Valkyrie’s phone beeped once. “Fletcher will be here soon,” she said, picking up the Echo Stone and its cradle. “We better get you back.”
Gordon followed as she led the way out of the living room and up the stairs. “The big meeting is this afternoon, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” she scowled. “Even after everything that’s been happening, with everything that’s hanging over me, I still have to waste my time at this stupid thing. Skulduggery says it’s important to see how this kind of politics works.”
“You’re lucky,” Gordon said wistfully. “I would have loved to have been invited to something like that when I was alive.”
“It’s going to be a bunch of people talking about what we’re going to do about setting up a new Sanctuary. What do I have to contribute to that?”
“I don’t know. A general air of grumpiness?”
“Now that I can do.”
They passed into the study, but instead of following her through the hidden doorway to the secret room where he kept the most valued pieces of his collection, Gordon went to a small bookshelf beside the window. “And how is Fletcher these days?”
“He’s grand.”
“Has he met your parents?”
Valkyrie frowned. “No. And he’s not going to.”
“You don’t think they’d approve?” Gordon asked as he scanned the books.
“I think they’d start asking all kinds of a
wkward questions. And I don’t think they’d like the fact that my boyfriend is older than me.”
“He’s eighteen, you’re sixteen,” Gordon said. “That’s not drastically older.”
“If I need to tell them, I will. Right now, Skulduggery has taken responsibility for asking every single awkward question that my parents could ever possibly ask, so you needn’t worry.”
“This one,” said Gordon, pointing to a thin notebook. “In here there are directions to a woman who might be able to help you.”
“She can seal my name?”
“Not her personally, but I think she knows someone who can.”
“Who is she?”
“Who isn’t important. What, however, is. She’s a banshee.”
“Seriously?”
“Most banshees are harmless,” Gordon said. “They provide a service, more then anything else.”
“What kind of service?”
“If you hear a banshee’s wail, it’s a warning that you’re going to die. I’m not sure of the advantage of such a service, but it’s a service nonetheless. Twenty-four hours after you hear it, the Dullahan gets you.”
“What’s a Dullahan?”
“He’s a headless horseman, in the service of the banshee.”
“Headless?”
“Yes.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“So he has no head?”
“That’s usually what headless means.”
“No head at all?”
“You’re really getting hung up on this headless thing, aren’t you?”
“It’s just kind of silly, even for us.”
“Yet you spend your days with a living skeleton.”
“But at least Skulduggery has a head.”
“True.”
“He even has a spare.”
“Are we going to get past this now?”
“Yes. Sorry. Carry on.”
“Thank you. The Dullahan drives a carriage, the Coach-a-Bowers, that you can only see when it’s right up beside you. He is not a friendly fellow.”
“Probably because he has no head.”
“That may have something to do with it.”
“So this banshee,” Valkyrie said, “is she one of the harmless ones, or the harmful?”
“Now that I do not know. Banshees are an unsociable bunch at the best of times. If she isn’t too pleased to see you, though…”
“Yes?”
“I’d recommend putting your hands over your ears if she opens her mouth.”
Valkyrie looked at him. “Right,” she said. “Thanks for that.”
“When do you plan to approach her?”
“Soon, I suppose. I mean, as soon as I can. I want this over with. I think I’ll… Tonight.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I have to, Gordon. If I put it off, I’ll never do it. I’ll give Skulduggery some excuse. He won’t miss me.”
“Valkyrie, from what I know of it, sealing your name is a major procedure. You have to be sure, going in, that this is the best thing to do.”
“I’m going to be sure. You remember when Dusk bit me? He tasted something in my blood, something that marked me out as different. I think that whatever he tasted has to do with Darquesse. So I’m going to get a second opinion.”
Gordon frowned. “You’re going to get someone else to taste your…? Oh, I see. You’re talking about him.”
“Caelan will be able to tell me what Dusk sensed. If it’s bad, I won’t need any more proof or prodding. I’ll know this is something I have to do.”
“Right,” Gordon said gently.
Valkyrie nodded, feeling an unwelcome mixture of apprehension and uncertainty. She left the Echo Stone in the hidden room and took the notebook from the shelf, flicking through the pages until she got to the part about the banshee. She put the notebook in her jacket pocket and went down to the living room. Her phone beeped again, and a moment later Fletcher Renn appeared beside the fireplace. Blond hair standing on end, lips always ready to kiss or smirk, one hand behind his back, the other with a thumb hooked into the belt loops of his jeans.
“I’m gorgeous,” he said.
Valkyrie sighed. “Are you, now?”
“Do you ever just look at me and think, God he’s gorgeous? Do you? I do, all the time. I think you’re gorgeous too, of course.”
“Cheers.”
“You’ve got lovely dark eyes, and lovely dark hair, and your face is all pretty and stuff. And I love the way you dress in black, and I love the new clothes.”
“It’s a jacket, Fletch.”
“I love the new jacket,” he insisted. “Ghastly really made a lovely, lovely jacket.” He grinned.
“You look wide awake,” she said. “You’re never wide awake at this hour of the morning.”
“I’ve been researching. You’re not the only one who likes to read books, you know. Apparently, my power will increase if I work at it a little, so I thought I’d give it a try. I was told there was this book in Italy, written by a famous Teleporter – dead now, obviously – that could really help me, so I went there and got it.”
“Good man.”
“But it was written all in Italian, so I left it on the shelf and went to Australia for ice cream.” He brought his other hand out from behind his back, holding an ice-cream cone. “Got one for you.”
“Fletcher, it’s winter.”
“Not in Australia.”
“We’re not in Australia.”
“I’ll take you to Sydney for five minutes, you can eat the ice cream while we watch the sunset, and then we’ll come back to the misery here.”
Valkyrie sighed. “Your power is wasted on you.”
“My power is brilliant. Everyone wishes they had my power.”
“I don’t. I quite like being able to hurl people away from me just by moving the air.”
“Well, every non-violent person wishes they had my power, how’s that?”
Valkyrie frowned. “I’m not a violent person.”
“You punch people every day.”
“Not every day.”
“Val, you know I think you’re great, and I think you’re the coolest chick I’ve ever met, and the prettiest girl ever – but you get into a hell of a lot of fights. Face it, you lead a violent life.”
She wanted to protest, but no argument sprang to mind. Fletcher stopped holding out the ice cream, and started licking it instead, already forgetting what they’d just been talking about. Valkyrie checked the time, forcing her attention back to the here and now.
“Are you getting me anything for Christmas?” Fletcher asked, and Valkyrie found herself grinning despite everything.
“Yes. You better be getting me something.”
He shrugged. “Of course I am.”
“It better be amazing.”
“Of course it is. Hey, this time next year, you’ll have someone else to buy presents for. When’s your mum due?”
“Middle of February. I’m going to be asked to babysit, you know. How am I supposed to do that?”
“Get your reflection to do it.”
“I’m not leaving the baby with the reflection. Are you nuts? But I don’t even know how to hold a baby. Their heads are so big. Aren’t babies’ heads abnormally large? I’m not sure I’m going to be a good big sister. I hope she doesn’t take after me. I’d like her to have friends.”
“You have friends.”
“I’d like her to have friends who weren’t hundreds of years older than her.”
“Have you realised that you’re referring to the baby as ‘her’?”
“Am I? I suppose I am. I don’t know. It just feels like it’s going to be a girl.”
“Do you think she’ll be magic?”
“Skulduggery says it’s possible. Of course, that doesn’t mean she’ll ever find out about magic. Take my cousins, for example.”
“Ah, the infamous Toxic Twins.”
“They’re descended from the Las
t of the Ancients the same as I am, but we’ll never know if they can do magic, because they don’t know magic even exists.”
“So if you don’t want your sister involved in this crazy life of yours, you can just not tell her. And in twenty-five years, she’ll be looking at you, going, ‘Hey, sis, how come we look like we’re exactly the same age?’ Will you tell her then that magic slows the aging process?”
“I’ll probably just tell her that my natural beauty makes me look eternally young. She’s my little sister – she’ll believe anything I tell her.”
“To be honest, Val, I love the fact that this is happening. Once you have a sister, or a brother, that looks up to you and needs you, it might make you stop and think before rushing into dangerous situations.”
“I do stop and think.”
“And then you rush in anyway.”
“There’s still stopping and thinking involved.”
Fletcher smiled. “Sometimes I just worry about you.”
“Your concern is touching.”
“You’re not taking me even a little bit seriously, are you?”
“I can’t take you seriously, Fletch, you have a dollop of ice cream on your nose. Besides, we can have this conversation a thousand times – it’s not going to stop me going out there and doing what I do.”
Fletcher finished off the cone and wiped the ice cream from his face.
“Are you so determined to be the hero?” he asked softly.
She kissed him, and didn’t answer. He was wrong, of course. It wasn’t about her being the hero – not any more. It was just about her trying not to be the villain.
6
THE NEW MESSIAH
Sneaking up on someone who can see into the future is not as impossible a task as many people think. For one thing, the future changes. Details shift, circumstances alter, and while the universe is struggling to realign itself into some semblance of balance, opportunity has its moment to present itself. The trick is to be a constant destabilising influence in a world that really just wants to be left alone.
Solomon Wreath was confident that he could be just such a destabilising influence. Leaving many of his decisions open to chance, he had approached the tattoo parlour three times already and by the toss of a coin he had walked on by. The fourth toss of the coin, however, brought him to the door, and had him climbing the narrow stairs, black bag in one hand, cane in the other. No sound coming from above him. No whine of the tattooist’s needle. No chat, laughter or yelp. He could practically sense the trap waiting for him, but this didn’t slow his step.