Playing with Fire (Skulduggery Pleasant, Book 2)

by Derek Landy

  Valkyrie undressed, pulled on her Dublin football jersey, and climbed into bed. Twenty seconds later she was asleep.

  Chapter Five

  The Terror of London

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  A DARK SHAPE flitted high above the streets of London, moving from rooftop to rooftop, spinning and twisting and cavorting in the air. He wore no shoes, and his footsteps were light, his tread no more than a whisper, snatched away by the night breeze. He sang to himself as he moved, and giggled, a high-pitched giggle. He was dressed in black, with a battered top hat that stayed perched on his misshapen head no matter what acrobatic feat he performed. His suit was torn, old, and musty, and his long-fingered hands were tipped with long, hardened nails.

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  He landed on one leg on the edge of a rooftop and stayed there, his lanky body curled. He looked down onto Charing Cross Road, at the people passing below him, at the cars zipping by. His cracked lips pursed, his small eyes moving, he browsed the selection on offer, making a choice.

  "Jack."

  He turned quickly to see the young woman walking toward him. Her long coat was closed, and the breeze played with her tousled blond hair, teasing it across her face. And such a pretty face. Jack hadn't seen as pretty a face in many a year. His lips parted, showing the small yellow teeth, and he gave her his best smile.

  "Tanith," he said in a voice that was high and strained, in an accent that was a cross between East London and . . . something else, something unknowable. "You're lookin' ravishin'."

  "And you're looking revolting."

  "You are too kind, I'm sure. What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

  Tanith Low shook her head. "It's not your neck of the woods any longer, Jack. Things have changed. You shouldn't have come back."

  "Where was I gonna go? Old folks' home?

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  Retirement village? I'm a creature of the night, love. I'm Springheeled Jack, ain't I? I belong out here."

  "You belong in a cell."

  He laughed. "Me? In captivity? For what possible crime?"

  "You mean, apart from murder?"

  He turned his head so that he was looking at her out of the corner of one eye. "That still illegal, then?"

  "Yes, it is."

  She opened her coat, revealing the sword against her leg.

  "You're under arrest."

  He laughed, did a flip in the air, landed on his right foot, and grinned at her. "Now this is new. You were always pokin' your nose where it wasn't wanted, always dealin' out what you thought was justice, but you never arrested anyone. You a proper copper, now, that it? You one of the constabulary?"

  "Give up, Jack."

  "Bloody hell; you are. Consider me impressed."

  He dipped his head, looked at her with those small eyes of his. "What was that you used to say, before things got all rough and tumble? 'Come and have a go-- '"

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  "If you think you're hard enough."

  He grinned. "Do you?"

  She drew her sword from her scabbard. It caught a beam of moonlight and held it, and she looked back at him without expression. "I'll let you decide that."

  And Springheeled Jack sprang.

  He flipped over her and she turned, ducking the swipe of hard nails, moving again as he landed, narrowly avoiding the return swipe and twisting to face him as he came at her.

  He batted the sword to one side and his right foot went to her thigh, his toenails digging in, and he clambered up, kneeling on her shoulder. She grabbed his wrist to avoid the nails. She stumbled, unable to support his weight, but he jumped before she hit the rooftop, landed gracefully as she rolled to a crouch, and then he dived at her again.

  They went tumbling. He heard the sword clatter from her grip, and felt her foot on his belly as she kicked. He did a flip and landed, but her fist was right there, smacked him square in the face. He took a few steps back, bright lights dancing before his eyes. She kicked his knee and he howled in pain; then there was a grip on his wrist

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  and a sudden wrenching.

  He pushed her away, his vision clearing.

  "You should be leavin' me alone!" he spat. "I'm unique, me! They don't even have a name for what I am! I should be on the Endangered Species List! You should be protectin' me!"

  "You know how they protect endangered species, Jack? They put them in a special enclosure, where no one can harm them."

  His face twisted. "Enclosure's a fancy word for a cell, innit? And you're not takin' me anywhere near a bloody cell."

  And then it drifted up to them: the sound of a baby crying. Jack's expression softened and he smiled again.

  "Don't even think about that," Tanith warned.

  His smile turned to a grin, then a leer.

  "Race you," he said.

  Jack ran to the edge of the building and then there was nothing beneath his feet but air, and the next rooftop swooped to meet him. He landed and ran on without missing a step. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Tanith Low trying to keep up. She was good, that girl, but this was something Jack was made for. He was the prince of London City. It

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  let him go where it let no one else. He knew it like he knew his own face.

  The baby's cry came again and he changed direction, heading away from the busier areas, tracking it over the streets and the alleyways. His powerful legs propelled him through the darkness, and he spun and dug his feet into brick. He ran sideways, the length of the building. He saw Tanith, moving on a parallel course, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, trying to intercept him before he reached his goal.

  One last cry from the baby, and Jack zeroed in on an open window, high above street level. He made a series of small jumps, building his momentum. He saw Tanith out of the corner of his eye, sprinting to catch up. Too slow, he thought to himself. He leaped from one side of the street to the other and dived straight in, clearing the window and going for the crib.

  But the crib held only blankets, and the room was dark and unfurnished, not like a baby's room at all, and why had the window been open, it wasn't warm enough to have the window open--

  The baby's cry, much louder, was coming from a small device that sat near the window.

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  It was a trap. She had tricked him.

  He moved to the window, but she had walked up the side of the building and was climbing through.

  "Out there," she said, "in the open air, I didn't have a hope of catching you. But in here, in a confined space? You're all mine, ugly."

  Jack panicked, went to the door, but it wouldn't budge; there was a sheen to it he could see, even in the darkness, and he knew it would withstand whatever he had to throw at it. He whirled. The only way out was the window-- the window that Tanith Low now guarded. She laid her sword on the ground and took off her coat. Her tunic was sleeveless and her arms were strong. She rolled her neck, loosening up her shoulders, and nodded to him.

  "Now," she said, "finally. Come and have a go, if you think you're hard enough."

  Jack roared and went for her, and she kicked him. He swiped and she ducked, and smacked him across the jaw. He tried to flip over her, but the ceiling was too low and he belly flopped into it, felt his breath leave him, and he crashed to the floor. After that, all that registered was a whole lot of fists and

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  elbows and knees, and a wall that kept running into his face.

  Jack collapsed. He breathed hard and groaned in pain. He stared up at the ceiling. He could see the cracks, even in the dark. Tanith stepped into view, looking down at him.

  "You ready for your nice warm cell now?"

  Jack whimpered.

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  Chapter Six

  FIREBALLS IN THE PARK

  VALKYRIE WOKE EARLY. She took a pebble from her bedside table and sat on the floor, cross-legged. The pebble was flat and smooth in her hand. She focused on it as Skulduggery had taught her. She focused until she could feel the air on her skin, and she focused on how
it all connected. Slowly, the pebble began to rise off her palm, held aloft by the air itself.

  A part of her still thrilled to see this, but she kept that part of her subdued. To use magic, she couldn't afford to let anything ruin her calm.

  And then that voice, drifting up the stairs like

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  the whine of a dentist's drill, and the pebble fell back into her hand. Muttering to herself, Valkyrie stood up and walked into the bathroom, her practice done for the day. She took a shower, then pulled on her school uniform before heading down to the kitchen.

  Her mother was there, and sitting beside her was Valkyrie's shrill, sharp-featured aunt, Beryl.

  "Morning," Valkyrie said as she passed them, going straight for the cupboard.

  "Hi, love," her mother said.

  "Good morning, Stephanie," Beryl said primly.

  "Beryl," Valkyrie said in greeting.

  "How is school going for you?"

  Valkyrie poured some cereal into her bowl, and added milk. She didn't bother sitting. "It's okay."

  "Are you studying hard? My girls are always studying. They get it from my side of the family, I have to say. It's a valuable work ethic I've instilled in them."

  Valkyrie murmured and scooped a spoonful of cereal into her mouth, doubting the validity of just about everything Beryl had just said. Her aunt didn't like her, and Valkyrie didn't like her aunt. Her aunt didn't like her because Valkyrie had inherited her

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  late uncle's estate, and Valkyrie didn't like her aunt, or her aunt's husband Fergus, because they were dislikable people.

  Her father came in, dressed in smart trousers, undershirt, and a tie around his bare neck. He winked at Valkyrie, then noticed his sister-in-law.

  "Beryl," he said, utterly failing to hide his dismay.

  "Desmond, good morning."

  "Beryl, what are you doing here? It's not even eight o'clock. You know I don't like seeing you before I've had my first cup of coffee."

  Beryl laughed that hideous fake laugh of hers. "Oh Desmond, you're such a messer! I'm just here to talk to Melissa, that's all. We've got a lot to organize for tomorrow night."

  "Oh dear God, the family reunion thing."

  "It'll be wonderful!"

  "But you'll be there," her dad said, puzzled, and Valkyrie nearly choked on her cereal.

  Her mum looked up at him. "You forgot your shirt."

  "Oh yes, the reason I'm here. I don't have a clean one."

  "Behind the door."

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  He turned, saw the crisp white shirt hanging on the coat hook, and rubbed his hands together. He took it off the hook and put it on, sliding the collar up beneath the tie as he buttoned it. He didn't like wearing ties-- he owned a construction company, so he'd always thought he'd be in work boots and jeans. But every now and then he had to dress up and pretend-- as he put it-- to be civilized.

  "So Steph," he said, "looking forward to a great day in school?"

  "Oh yes," she said with mock enthusiasm.

  "What do you think you'll learn today?"

  "I can't begin to guess. Maybe how to subtract."

  He waved his hand dismissively. "Subtraction's overrated. It's like adding, only backward. You're not ever going to need it."

  "Desmond!" Beryl said sternly. "You shouldn't take that attitude. Stephanie is at an easily influenced age, and she needs to be taught that everything she learns in school is valuable. Joking around is all well and good, but some things just have to be taken seriously. How can you ever expect Stephanie to be responsible when all you ever do is set a bad example?"

  "I don't know," he answered. "Luck, I suppose."

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  Beryl sighed in exasperation and looked like she was about to try to give a lecture. Valkyrie and her father both pounced on the same opportunity before Beryl could utter another word.

  "I'm going to school," Valkyrie said quickly, shoveling the last spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

  "I'm going to work," her dad said, only a millisecond behind.

  Valkyrie slipped her bowl into the dishwasher and walked for the door.

  "But Desmond, you haven't had any breakfast," Valkyrie's mother said with a frown.

  "I'll get something on the way," her father said, following Valkyrie out.

  They got to the hallway and Valkyrie turned for the stairs as her dad picked up his keys off the small table. They looked at each other and nodded their silent good-byes. Then they both smiled, and he walked out and she went to her room.

  Not for the first time, she wondered how her father would react if he knew that the family legends were true, that they were descended from the Ancients, that his grandfather and his late brother had been right. But she didn't tell him. If he knew

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  the truth, he'd try to stop her from going out every day, try to protect her from people like Serpine, and Vengeous, and whoever else wanted to kill her. Or worse, maybe he'd want to get involved. She didn't think she'd be able to cope with her father putting himself in danger. She wanted her family to be normal. Normal was good. Normal was safe.

  She closed the door, then took off her school sweater and dropped it on the bed. She touched her mirror, and a moment later her reflection stepped out. She had forgotten about the logo rule once, and the reflection had gone to school with the school crest on the wrong side and the school motto written backward. Valkyrie hadn't made that mistake again. She waited until her reflection had pulled on the sweater, then handed it her schoolbag.

  "Have fun," she said, and the reflection nodded and hurried out of the room.

  Not for the first time, Valkyrie grinned to herself. She'd hardly been to school since Skulduggery had worked his magic on that mirror, yet she was up to date on all the classes, all the gossip, all the day-to-day workings of an ordinary, everyday, run-of-the-mill thirteen-year-old. Without having to

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  actually set foot through a classroom door.

  Sure, there were times when she wished she'd been there to experience something firsthand instead of reliving it through the reflection's eyes. It wasn't the same merely having the memories of, say, a joke being told, instead of actually having been around for the real thing. Just another price to pay, she reckoned.

  Moving quietly, Valkyrie took off the rest of her uniform, hid it under her bed, and dressed in the black clothes that had been made especially for her. She'd grown a bit since Ghastly Bespoke had designed them, but they still fit, and for that she was thankful. They had saved her life on more than one occasion, and it wasn't as if she could ask Ghastly to make her any more. In a fight with the White Cleaver he had used the earth power as a last-ditch defense, and turned himself to stone. She hadn't known him that well, but she missed him, and she knew that Skulduggery did too.

  She slipped into her coat and opened the window. She breathed deep and slow. Checking to make sure she wasn't being watched, she climbed out onto the sill and paused there for a moment, focusing her mind. Then she slipped off the edge,

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  displacing the air beneath her to slow her descent. It wasn't graceful, and her landing was still a little too hard, but it was a lot better than it had been.

  She hurried down the road to the pier. When she was younger, she used to join her friends there. They used to sprint for the edge and leap as far as they could over the rocks right below them, splashing down into the sparkling water. Yes, it was dangerous, and yes, poor J. J. Pearl once shattered his knee on those rocks, but the danger gave the exercise a certain extra kick. These days, J. J. walked with a slight limp, and she'd long since drifted apart from her childhood friends. She missed swimming, though. She didn't get to do a whole lot of that lately.

  The Bentley was waiting for her, parked beside a rusty old Fiat. It stood out by a mile-- but then, it stood out by a mile wherever it went.

  "Good morning," Skulduggery said when she got in. "Well rested, are you?"

  "I had two hours' sleep," she s
aid.

  "Well, no one said being a great detective leading an action-packed life was easy."

  "You said it was easy."

  "I said it was easy for me," he corrected. "Was

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  that your lovely aunt's car I saw outside your house?"

  "Yeah, it was," she said, and told him about her brief run-in with Beryl.

  "Family reunion?" Skulduggery said when she had finished. "Are you going?"

  "And, what, leave you to stop the bad guys without me? No way. I'll send the reflection in my place, thank you very much."

  "A reunion might be fun."

  "Right. Fun. Because I have so much fun with that side of the family. I wouldn't mind so much if it was Mum's side-- I have a laugh with them. Dad's side is just. . . weird, you know?"

  "I do. Gordon spoke of them often. Never forget, however, that you're weird too."

  She glared at him. "I'm not weird like that. I'm good weird. I'm cool weird."

  "Yes," he said doubtfully. "Yes, you are."

  "Shut up. But anyway, all of Dad's cousins will be there, with their families, people I hardly know, and of course Beryl and Fergus and the Toxic Twins, and it's pretty much going to be horrible, so there's no way in hell that I'm going."

  "Well, that's good enough for me."

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  He started the engine, and she sat low in her seat as he pulled out onto the road and started driving.

  "So have you found out anything about Vengeous?"

  "One of our people at the docks hasn't reported in yet," he said. He was wearing his usual disguise: wide-brimmed hat, overlarge sunglasses, fuzzy wig, and a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face. "It might be nothing, but..."