by Derek Landy
“You’re broken,” said Valkyrie. “You’re malfunctioning. Get back into the mirror and we’ll fix you.”
The Sceptre flashed and black lightning turned the wardrobe to dust. She turned back to Valkyrie. “No more mirror,” she said. “I’m out here for good.”
Valkyrie backed off the top step of the staircase. For a moment, Stephanie thought she might tumble down, but no, she kept her balance. Pity. “You’re going to kill me?”
“Of course,” Stephanie said. “I kill you, and you won’t kill my parents.”
“I don’t kill them. That’s Darquesse.”
“Darquesse is you,” said Stephanie, following her down the stairs. “That little voice in your head? That’s not another person. That’s your nasty side. Your dark and twisted side. Even when your magic is bound, you could still hear that voice. And you’re so close to giving in to it, aren’t you? Especially now, after Ghastly. So, so close. I can’t allow that.”
“Skulduggery will know. He’ll—”
“He’ll think you were recaptured. And if he figures it out, I’ll kill him, too. He won’t suspect a thing. None of them will.”
“I won’t let you take my place.”
“Bit late.”
Valkyrie reached the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes blazed with anger. “You say you love them? Look at yourself. You’re damaged. You understand? You’re not safe to be around. You’re not a person, you’re a malfunctioning thing. Five years ago, Skulduggery shot you to fake my death. Ever since then you’ve been getting worse.”
Stephanie gave a smile as she followed Valkyrie into the living room. “Actually, it was a few moments before that. It was when he pulled me from the puddle – that’s when things started to change. See, I know everything you know, but you don’t know everything I know. Here are the rules when it comes to reflections. Rule one: a reflection shouldn’t be left out for too long. Oops. Rule two: reflections can’t do magic. Rule three: each person has only one reflection. Once that reflection’s physical body is destroyed, it can’t return, and no new reflection can be conjured. Why do you think this war isn’t being fought by thousands of reflection foot soldiers? Because they’ve all been destroyed by now. And rule four – once conjured, a reflection must emerge only from its original surface. In my case, the mirror I just destroyed. Skulduggery knew it was risky conjuring me from a second surface. He knew something could go wrong. But he did it anyway. So really, when you think about it, all this is his fault.”
“Listen to me. You don’t have to do this. We can—”
“Say my name.”
Valkyrie frowned. “What?”
“My name. Say it. I want to hear you say my name.”
“Why?”
“Because you abandoned it and I picked it up, and I want to hear you acknowledge that.”
Valkyrie looked at her, but didn’t say anything.
Stephanie raised the Sceptre. “Say it.”
“No.”
Now it was Valkyrie’s turn to see anger flash in Stephanie’s eyes. “Say my name.”
“No.”
Stephanie stepped forward and cracked the Sceptre off Valkyrie’s head. Valkyrie stumbled against the back of the sofa.
“Say my name or I’ll turn you to dust.”
Valkyrie held her hand to her forehead as blood started to trickle. She looked at the black crystal, and then—
“You’re not going to win, Stephanie.”
That name. That simple name, spoken by the girl who had abandoned it, brought a glow of pure joy to Stephanie’s being the likes of which she’d never felt before. And that joy brought tears. The first tears that weren’t part of simulated emotion for the benefit of others. The first real tears. And in that moment, in that wonderful moment, Stephanie became truly whole.
Valkyrie whipped her jacket at the Sceptre and stepped in with a punch that sent Stephanie reeling. Stephanie’s arm went wide to stop her fall, and she swept half the mantelpiece clear. Valkyrie had the Sceptre now, and was pointing it straight at her.
“This is for Carol,” she snarled.
And nothing happened.
Stephanie crashed into her, taking them both over the sofa. They sprawled out the other side, and Stephanie got up, grabbed Valkyrie by the hair and kneed her in the head. She tried it again, but Valkyrie grabbed her legs and sprang. Stephanie’s back hit the coffee table and the wind rushed out of her. She slid on to the floor and Valkyrie got on top, started hitting her. Stephanie covered up as best she could, trying to breathe. She tasted blood.
Her hand went searching for a weapon and instead found the leg of the coffee table. She pulled the table over her head, struggled to keep it there while Valkyrie tried pushing it back. A few moments to blink and clear her head and then Valkyrie lifted the table off her completely. Stephanie shot her hips off the ground and twisted and they turned over and over again, knocking over the lamp that Stephanie’s grandmother had left them.
There was a mad scramble and then Stephanie was flat on the floor and Valkyrie had grabbed her wrist, tried to break her arm. Stephanie saw the move coming and countered, flipping Valkyrie on to her belly. She dived on her, her arm snaking round Valkyrie’s throat, but Valkyrie bit down hard and Stephanie cried out and moved her head just in time to catch Valkyrie’s elbow right in the eye socket.
Stephanie rolled off, howling in pain. A moment later, Valkyrie’s boot slammed into her side. Through bleary eyes, she watched Valkyrie stride into the kitchen and take a knife from the rack.
Stephanie forced herself up, looking for the Sceptre. She lunged to the fireplace as Valkyrie came back, grabbing the poker.
“You’re going to stab me?” she said, panting. “You’re really going to stab me to death?”
“You’re not alive,” Valkyrie said, closing in.
Stephanie swung the poker and Valkyrie swayed back, came in with a straight stab, but Stephanie flicked the poker into her wrist. The knife dropped and the poker flicked again, whacked into her head. Valkyrie stumbled and Stephanie kicked, sending her into the patio door, cracking the glass. Valkyrie ducked the next swing, caught Stephanie with an elbow and Stephanie lashed out blindly, hitting nothing. Valkyrie grabbed her and lifted and then the floor smacked into her head and Stephanie lay there in darkness. Over her own breathing, she heard Valkyrie groan as she got up. And then she heard a car.
She opened her eyes. Valkyrie stood over her, frozen. The car’s engine shut off. A door opened and closed.
“Mum’s back,” Stephanie mumbled. “You really want her to find two of us here?”
Valkyrie looked down at her, her eyes wide with alarm.
“You’d better run,” said Stephanie. “I’ll give her your love.”
The front door opened.
“Steph?” her mum called. “We’re home.”
“Mum!” Stephanie shouted. “Help!”
Valkyrie whirled, grabbed her jacket off the ground and held it in front of her as she sprinted for the patio door. Stephanie’s mum rushed into the room, Alice in her arms, as Valkyrie leaped. She hit the glass and crashed through it and Stephanie’s mum cried out. Valkyrie stumbled but kept going, running to the back of the garden and vaulting over the wall.
Alice was crying and Stephanie’s mum was on her knees beside Stephanie and Stephanie tried her very best not to smile.
alkyrie cut across the fields, staying away from the roads as she left Haggard behind her. The cops would be out looking for a girl in black, and she didn’t think it’d be a good idea for them to pick her up and have her folks arrive at the line-up. She got to the next town over, walked the beach as the sun set, and chose a spot in among the sand dunes to lie down. She covered herself with her jacket and curled up. She didn’t think she’d be able to sleep. It wasn’t that she wasn’t tired – she was, she was exhausted – it was just that her mind was too active. Her thoughts jostled against each other and she couldn’t calm them. She had no phone, no money to get a taxi, and her car wa
s at her house, the keys with the reflection.
Stephanie.
Yes, Stephanie, as she now called herself. Stephanie, the murderous lunatic with the Sceptre and Valkyrie’s family in her possession. It was all Valkyrie’s fault, of course. She’d known something was wrong with the damn reflection. She’d known it for years. She’d even talked to Skulduggery about it, but she’d never pressed the issue. She’d never demanded a solution. She was too afraid that the solution might be to get rid of the thing altogether, and then Valkyrie would have had to resume her old life. And that would never do. Not when there was adventure and excitement to be had around every corner with Skulduggery. She could never give that up.
Just like with Darquesse. The moment she’d realised the truth, the moment she’d realised that she herself was the one all the Sensitives were having nightmares about, she should have quit. She should have walked away. She should never have done magic again, never spoken to Skulduggery again, never given the voice within her any more power. But of course she hadn’t quit.
You were having too much fun.
How many sorcerers had thanked her for saving the world? How many had called her a hero? The truth was she was too selfish to be a hero. She was too … what was that word?
Narcissistic.
That was it. She was too narcissistic. She’d lied to herself: she’d told herself she was doing good, she was saving lives. She’d told herself when the time came, when Darquesse tried to take over, she’d be strong enough to fight back, to retain control. Even after all these slip-ups, she was delusional enough to think she could emerge victorious when it really mattered.
Bless.
Valkyrie turned over, tucking the jacket under her chin. She made herself think about Ghastly, and felt that part of herself start to ache again. She thought about Shudder, felt guilty that she’d barely considered his death, but then her thoughts went back to Ghastly, and she cried.
She didn’t think she’d fall asleep, but she did, and she dreamed of her fingers being cut off and her eye being plucked out, and she dreamed of killing Carol. When she woke it was morning. She stood, shivering, and brushed the sand from her clothes. She pulled on the jacket and zipped it up, then left the beach, her arms wrapped round herself. Her belly rumbled. She got to a bus stop and stood beside people waiting to go to work and to school. She kept watch for cop cars. The bus trundled up and she let her fellow commuters get on ahead of her. She let her hair out of its ponytail, then climbed on and smiled at the driver.
“I don’t have any money,” she said.
“Do you have a ticket?” he asked.
“No. But I really need to get into the city.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you.” He kept the doors open, waiting for her to disembark.
kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him
He looked at her. “You don’t appear to be getting off.”
“I know,” she said, “and I’m sorry. I’ve never done this before, but I just don’t have any money, I don’t have my phone, I need to get into town and …”
The driver sighed. “One free ride. Don’t try this again.”
“Thank you. Really. Thank you.”
She found an empty seat and slid into it. Thank God for cool bus drivers.
She got into town, gave the driver a peck on the cheek for his kindness, and hopped off. She crossed the Liffey, hurried down the Quays, and fought her way through the crowds of tourists in Temple Bar. Finbar Wrong’s tattoo parlour was tattooed itself, a mural-covered building that stood out beside its slightly more conservative neighbours. The ground floor was empty, as usual, but as she turned for the stairs a voice behind her said, “About time you got here.”
She spun as Skulduggery emerged from the backroom, and she ran to him, hugging him so tight she thought she might break his bones. Her tears soaked into his jacket. Dark blue today. It was good to see him out of his combat gear and back in a suit.
“Everyone else is upstairs,” he said. “Apart from Saracen and Fletcher. Saracen’s out getting lunch. Tanith and Donegan told us what you’ve been through. It’s going to be OK.”
She looked up at him. “Ghastly …”
“I know,” he said, his voice soft.
“But Cassandra’s vision … We saw him with Tanith, we saw them kiss …”
“We also saw Ravel on his knees, which is why we sent Ghastly and Anton with him in the first place. We changed the future, Valkyrie. But we’ll make Ravel pay for everything he’s done. You have my word. Come on. We have plans to make.” He started for the stairs.
“Wait. Skulduggery, my … The reflection. She tried to kill me.”
His head tilted. “What?”
“She’s calling herself Stephanie. She’s not … she’s different. She wants my family. My life. She has the Sceptre.”
“How?”
“I brought it with me, or Darquesse did, she brought it back with her, but I thought it had stayed in the alternate reality. But she has it. Stephanie has it. We have to go back.”
Skulduggery paused for a moment. “If you want to go, we’ll go. But I don’t think we should. Right now your family has a protector with your knowledge, your skills and your intelligence. The reflection mightn’t have your magic, but it has the Sceptre. Valkyrie … I know it sounds warped, but they couldn’t be safer right now.”
“But she’s malfunctioning.”
Skulduggery nodded. “Say the word and we’ll go.”
She stared at him, then sagged. “Yeah,” she muttered. “OK. She can wait.”
“We’ll get your family back, Valkyrie. I promise,” he said, and led the way upstairs.
Saracen arrived back with lunch, and Valkyrie ate ravenously and washed it down with scalding hot coffee. Tanith was sitting upside down and cross-legged on the ceiling. Below her, the Monster Hunters drank soft drinks while Saracen and Vex stood by the windows, keeping an eye on the street outside. Sanguine sat apart from everyone else, and Finbar waited patiently for the conversation to begin.
Skulduggery took his hat off, adjusted the brim, and put it back on again. His house was being watched, so he couldn’t get at the rest of his suits.
“The hat looks fine,” said Vex.
Skulduggery shook his head. “It’s out of shape. It’s ruined. May as well just throw it away. There’s nothing that can be done for it now.”
“Ghastly wasn’t the only tailor in town, you know.”
“But he was the best,” said Skulduggery. “How can I go back to an ordinary tailor now? I have standards.”
“You also have a room devoted entirely to hats that he made you. I think you’ll do OK.”
“I’m not so sure,” Skulduggery said, and everyone went quiet until he snapped his head up. “All right then, for the benefit of those who haven’t been around in the last few days, here’s what’s been happening. The shield is down. We don’t know how or why it came down, but it’s down. The Supreme Council has taken over Ireland. The only place not under their control is Roarhaven, which is protected by another shield that is, thankfully, still up. General Mantis has the place surrounded, of course, and it’s only a matter of time before they find a way in.
“Meanwhile, Sanctuaries within the Supreme Council have been turning against each other with delightful regularity. I’d like to think they were arguing among themselves because the injustice of the war had finally got to them, but I suspect there is something bigger going on.”
“What about Ravel?” asked Valkyrie.
Skulduggery looked at her. “He’s still in Roarhaven.”
“I mean, why did he do it? What does he want? He is our mystery man, right? He’s the one we’ve been hunting? He’s been with Mist from the start. All this time we thought it was him and Ghastly standing together and Mist isolated, when actually it was Ghastly who was standing alone. But for God’s sake … why?”
“You saw the footage,” Skulduggery responded. “You heard what Mist said. They w
ant the Warlocks to attack Dublin, and all the sorcerers to team up to fight them. Once we’ve been made public, once we’ve been called heroes, we take over. The mortals will love us. Until they realise they’re no longer in control. By which time it’ll be too late to do anything to stop us.”
“Ravel’s a lot more cunning than I ever gave him credit for,” said Vex. “He went around with Corrival Deuce for all those years, talking to people like the Roarhaven mages, convincing them that our duty is to protect the mortals, not rule them. And at the end of it all? He had a list of sorcerers around the world who agreed with his point of view. Who knows what else he’s been up to?”
“Let’s make a list,” said Skulduggery. “Conspiring with the Torment and Madame Mist, Ravel was behind the destruction of the Sanctuary here in Dublin, in which dozens of lives were lost. The move to Roarhaven was his idea. I think we can safely assume that he murdered Corrival Deuce in order to replace him as Grand Mage, using the Remnant attacks to cover it up, and then orchestrated assassination attempts on himself in order to gain full control over the Cleavers. He released Sean Mackin, maybe hoping that Kitana and her friends would attack the mortals in full view of the world. When that didn’t happen, he returned to his Warlock plan, which had been set in motion five years ago, but which had probably been on his mind for the last century.”
“It’d almost make me admire him,” said Saracen, “if I didn’t hate him so much.”
“But the fact remains,” Skulduggery said, “that while we may have our issues with Erskine Ravel, we need Roarhaven to stay strong against the Supreme Council and others. Finbar?”
Finbar nodded and stood, cleared his throat. “Yeah, thanks, Skul-man. Well, as most of you know, the last two years haven’t exactly been easy for me. Someone, or something, who shall remain nameless but may very well be sitting upside down on my ceiling right now, got into my head during all that Remnant drama and forced me to push myself further than I’d have liked, psychically.”
“You say that like it wasn’t fun,” Tanith said.