The other horses came through. The moment they passed beyond the fog they faded to nothing, and Ghastly and Vex dropped to the ground. Saracen sprinted out after them.
“Not fair,” he panted, glaring at them.
“You need the exercise,” Vex said, his hand lighting up. “Might want to get out of the way, though.”
Saracen turned, saw the wraith coming up behind him. Vex let loose with a stream of energy that caught the wraith square in the chest. It moved it back a step, but didn’t burn through. Ghastly hurled a fireball at another wraith that walked out next.
Saracen backed up beside them. “Damn it. I kind of thought they’d be confined to the fog.”
“Me, too,” Vex growled.
Shudder took off his coat and opened his shirt. “Step back,” he said. “All of you.”
A head pushed through his chest. It snapped and snarled as it woke, its narrow black eyes opening and blinking at the approaching wraiths. It was Shudder’s face, only different, and it pushed out further till it had freed its arms. Trailing a stream of light and dark back into Shudder’s chest, the Gist burst free and flew at them, screeching. Its clawed hands raked uselessly at the wraiths on its first pass and it flew upwards, fury solidifying its features. On its second pass, a wraith’s arm fell to the ground, and on the third it brought a wraith high into the air, tearing into it with claws and sharp teeth, and the wraith fell in bits, back into the fog.
The other wraiths paused, then stepped back, allowing the gloom to claim them. The Gist flew overhead, unable to go after its prey, furious.
Then the fog started to retract. It rolled quickly back up the hill, taking the town and the wraiths with it, leaving only Skulduggery and Ravel standing in the ruins, swords in their hands.
The Gist shrieked as the stream went taut, and it was pulled back into Shudder’s body. Ghastly moved Valkyrie away a little, to make sure it didn’t try to grab her for purchase. When it was gone, Shudder’s knees buckled, and Saracen and Vex grabbed him, supporting his weight.
The fog kept rolling away, and soon it was lost in the darkness.
Valkyrie walked forward on stiff legs. At her feet, the wraith’s severed arm moved, its fingers clutching at nothing. “They forgot something,” she mumbled.
“Bloody wraiths,” said Saracen. “They’d forget their heads if they weren’t so hard to chop off.”
Valkyrie kicked the arm into the ruins. The wraiths could pick it up next time they visited.
Vex gave her some leaves to chew and the pain lessened considerably. He had some medical supplies in his bag and he did what he could, applying ointment and wrapping her wound in a bandage. When he was done, she could drop her T-shirt and it didn’t sting. He offered the ointment to Shudder who applied a little to his wrist, but the offer of leaves to dull the pain was turned down with a grunt.
Saracen gave a low whistle. “What do you know?” he said. “The fog didn’t take everyone with it.”
Valkyrie and the others followed him through the ruins till they came to the few crumbling walls of what had once been the tavern. Sitting at a broken, rotten table was Trebuchet, his head down in the darkness.
Skulduggery glanced at Saracen. “Is he alive?”
Saracen nodded. “He seems alive to me.”
“Of course I’m alive,” Trebuchet said, not looking up. “The ghosts have it easy. They don’t know they’re ghosts. Every night the fog comes and rebuilds the town and the people who lived here, and they go about their business, whatever it may be. I’m the only one who knows. The only one who remembers.”
“Why don’t you leave?” Ravel asked.
Trebuchet looked up. “And go where? Wolfsong is my home. Its people are my people.”
Skulduggery looked around for something to sit on, then chose to remain standing. “Why don’t the wraiths kill you?”
At this, Trebuchet smiled. “Because then the game would be over. They come every third night, despite what Griff says. Never trust a ghost’s memory, that’s my advice to you. The fog rebuilds the town and everything is fine and then the wraiths come and the people all panic and scream and they all die. They die in different ways, in a different order, but they all die. The next night the town rebuilds, and the ghosts come back with no idea of what’s just happened to them. It happens over and over again and there’s nothing I can do to stop any of it.”
“Who’s doing this to you?”
“The Warlocks,” said Trebuchet. “One in particular. Charivari. Their leader.”
“Why?” Valkyrie asked.
Trebuchet looked at his old weather-beaten hands for a long moment. “Griff would’ve told you about the boys, yes? The three boys who went to take a look at the Warlock settlement and never came back? They were gone three days and me and another man went out after them under cover of night. We got to the mountains, found the boys almost immediately. Dead, they were. Hands and feet cut off, laid out on the rocks as a warning.
“Well, that didn’t sit too well with us. So we went up into the mountains. Warlocks could kill three teenage boys and take no effort to do it, but two seasoned mages like us? We were going to bring the killers back with us, drag them all the way to Wolfsong.
“First Warlock we saw was a woman, cleaning her underclothes in a stream. We killed her. It wasn’t easy. By the time she stopped breathing, I was the only one left on his feet, and I was losing blood and had bones broken and … Anyway. The other Warlocks, they’d heard the commotion. Tracked me all the way back to my horse. Playing with me, they were. Got to the base of the mountain and Charivari was standing there, waiting for me.
“I told him she died because of what was done to those three boys. He didn’t care. I’d never seen anyone like him. His eyes … He had nightmares in his eyes. I thought it was my life next, but instead he put me on my horse, sent me back here. And sent the fog after me. It’s my fault this town was murdered. It’s the least I can do to suffer for it.”
“You’ve suffered a hundred years,” Valkyrie said.
“And I’ll suffer a hundred more and then some. I suppose I am a lesson. Never give a Warlock good cause for revenge. I am proof of that.”
“Come with us,” said Ravel. “Help us. You still have supporters in the French Sanctuary, I know you do. You could convince them to rise against Mandat and the Supreme Council.”
Trebuchet looked up. “Where were my supporters when Mandat ousted me? Where was their support then? I fear you overestimate my worth, Erskine. Do you know how I was ousted? Do you know how it began? I wanted to move the Sanctuary to Saint-Germain. I did not think it was healthy to isolate ourselves from the mortals. Isolation breeds suspicion, and resentment, and hatred. I felt we needed to surround ourselves with the people we were protecting. I met with Corrival Deuce many, many times to discuss these matters. You yourself were present for these conversations.”
“I remember them,” said Ravel. “We were compiling lists of Sanctuaries and individual sorcerers who agreed with our point of view. You were close to the top of that list.”
“I didn’t agree with all of Corrival’s philosophies, but I agreed with most. My fellow Elders, however, did not. Mandat was particularly vehement about it. Arguments began. Petty at first. Then … not so petty. Mandat seeded doubt in the minds of those around me. They began to view me as dangerously out of touch. Two years from when I first suggested Saint-Germain, I was no longer Grand Mage. And I came here, and was welcomed, and then I got everyone killed.”
“We need your help,” Skulduggery said. “Mandat and the other Grand Mages have declared war on us. We need to get into their research facility.”
“If you succeed in your mission, Grand Mage Mandat will be unhappy?”
“Better than that,” said Skulduggery. “He will look a fool in front of his allies.”
The ghost of a smile played on Trebuchet’s lips. “It’s a rare opportunity indeed that I get to upset the plans of Grand Mage Mandat.”
“So
you know something that can help us?”
“I know of an entrance. A secret tunnel that even Mandat doesn’t know about. Bring me a map and I’ll show you where it is.”
Ravel looked at him. “You could come with us. Haven’t you suffered enough?”
“For what I did?” Trebuchet shook his head. “No. For what I did, I cannot atone. I can only suffer.”
“don’t like you.”
Fletcher blinked, and looked around. “I’m sorry?”
The big guy’s last name was Threatening. Fletcher didn’t know his first name. When you had a last name like Threatening, first names became somewhat unimportant. And Threatening was indeed threatening. He was roughly Fletcher’s age, but much bigger and stronger and much more severe, and his very voice rumbled with the promise of violence.
“I don’t like you,” he said again.
Fletcher nodded this time. “Ah, that’s what I thought you said.” He went back to reading his book. He had started carrying books around with him wherever he went. Since most of the time his job involved waiting around, it was the only thing stopping him from growing insanely bored whenever he went on a mission. It was also handy for those times when Madame Mist kept him waiting outside her office – times like right now. He was fighting fit, for God’s sake. The doctor whose name he couldn’t pronounce had told him he was able to teleport again. He should be out there, where the action was, not stuck in here, having to deal with morons.
Threatening reached out, thick fingers closing over the book and pushing it down. “Aren’t you going to ask why?”
Fletcher looked up at him. “No.”
Threatening’s brow furrowed. “You’re not?”
“No. Well, not unless you want me to. Do you want me to?”
“How can you stand there and have someone tell you they don’t like you and not be curious as to why?”
“It’s not that I’m not curious,” Fletcher clarified. “It’s just I assume you’re jealous of my hair.”
“Your what?”
“My hair, and how amazing it is. You wouldn’t be the first, believe me, and you won’t be the last. It is incredible hair.”
“I’m not jealous of your hair.”
“You are a little.”
“Shut up. I don’t like you because you’re a coward, and even though everyone knows what you are, you’re still treated as some big, important part of what we’re doing here. You know what? You’re not. And you can pretend to be a hero and a warrior, but we both know what you really are.”
“A coward?”
“Yeah.”
Fletcher gave him the thumbs up. “Righto.”
“Do you not even care that I called you a coward?”
“Why would I care about that?”
Threatening shook his head, disgusted. “I don’t know what she saw in you.”
“What who saw in me?”
“Never mind.”
“Who were you talking about?”
“No one.”
“Valkyrie? You don’t know what Valkyrie saw in me?”
Threatening loomed over him at full height. “You’re a coward and she’s saved the world a hundred times and all you’ve done is teleport places. So what is it? How did you get her to go out with you?”
“Do you … do you fancy Valkyrie?”
Threatening’s face clouded with anger. “At least I appreciate her. At least I’d never break her heart.”
“I didn’t break her heart.”
“Then why did she dump you?”
“That’s none of your—”
“You cheated on her. You’re lucky the Elders need a Teleporter because if they didn’t I’d break you in half for what you did.”
“Listen, what happened between Valkyrie and me is none of your business. But if you fancy her so much why don’t you ask her out?”
“Maybe I will.”
“Good.”
“At least then she’d be with someone who really loves her.”
“Hmm. Yeah. Tell me something, have you ever spoken to her?”
Threatening glowered.
“So that’s a no,” said Fletcher. “You’ve never spoken to her, but you love her, yeah? Well, I can’t think of a healthier way to start a relationship. You want my advice? If you’re serious about how you feel and you really want to make the right impression, you know what you should do?”
“What?”
“Boss her around. Seriously. She loves that. Protect her from everything and shield her from danger, all that stuff. She likes it when people take charge and tell her what to do.”
“Really?”
“God, yeah. You have to be more than a match for her.”
The door to Mist’s office opened, and Tipstaff walked out, nodding to him. “You can go in now, Mr Renn.”
Fletcher gave Threatening a smile, and walked into the office. It was a dark room with a desk and a chair and not much else. Two men stood waiting – one tall and narrow, the other short and broad. Mist herself sat behind her desk in a chair of sweeping angles and sharp edges that reached for the high ceiling – more a throne than an office chair.
“Mr Renn,” she said in quiet greeting. From the moment he’d first seen her, he’d wondered what she really looked like. Her body was slender and her hands were unlined, so she was probably relatively young under that black veil. But was she pretty? Was she ugly? Was she plain? What colour was her hair? Her eyes? Did she ever smile?
“I understand you have fully recovered.”
Fletcher touched his stomach reflexively. “Raring to go.”
“Good. You will begin immediately. The gentlemen beside you are Gracious O’Callahan and Donegan Bane, the Monster Hunters,” she said. “You may have heard of them or read the books. By their own account, they are quite famous in certain circles.”
Gracious and Donegan smiled at him.
Mist tapped a long finger once on the photograph before her. “This woman’s name is Zona. She is, among other things, an expert at constructing shields from sigil magic. Likewise, her knowledge can also be used to dismantle our shield from the outside. We cannot afford to let this happen. It has come to our attention that she is due to be transported from the Mexican Sanctuary within the hour. By our estimation, Zona will be outside and vulnerable for no longer than ten seconds. The three of you will therefore intercept, retrieve her, and bring her back here.”
“You’ve been to the Mexican Sanctuary before?” Donegan asked him.
Fletcher nodded. “I’ve been to most Sanctuaries. I can get us there. Will she have anyone with her?”
“A security detail,” said Mist. “Bodyguards – Cleavers and mages.”
Fletcher frowned. “And we only have ten seconds?”
“From the Sanctuary entrance to the car will take approximately ten seconds at a fast walk.”
“And there’s just us? Just the three of us?”
“You’re not going there to engage in a battle,” said Mist. “Three should be more than adequate.”
Fletcher looked at the two men beside him, and Donegan smiled. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ve done things like this before. We’ll be fine.”
Gracious nodded. “Probably.”
Fletcher teleported them to a rooftop in Mexico City, where they took turns with the binoculars. Gracious complained about the effects the sun would have on his delicate skin, so Fletcher teleported away for a few seconds, arriving back with a parasol that Gracious happily accepted. And then they waited.
The Mexican Sanctuary was a two-storey, flat-roofed building with an enclosed, high-walled yard. Beneath the surface, it continued downwards for many levels, but for anyone on street level it was just like all the other sun-baked buildings in the neighbourhood. No guards, no obvious security, nothing to draw the eye.
“So you’re a natural, then?” Donegan asked, the binoculars fixed to his eyes.
Fletcher looked round. “Sorry?”
“A natural,” Donegan
said. “You didn’t need any training to teleport?”
Fletcher gave a little shrug. “I needed training to control it, to be able to do it properly, but yeah, I just started one day, before I knew anything about magic or sorcerers or any of this. The first time I did it was the day my mother died. I wanted to get away, I was running out of the hospital and then, suddenly, I was at home.”
“That must have been quite a shock,” Gracious said.
“I didn’t know what had happened. The next day I had all these theories, like I just didn’t remember running home, or I’d blocked it out because of my mum. Then, a few weeks later, it happened again. The only Teleporter I’d ever heard of was Nightcrawler – you know him?”
Gracious nodded. “Kurt Wagner, from X-Men.”
“Exactly,” said Fletcher. “So I read all the comics, then watched a few science-fiction movies and TV shows for research. You know, like Dragon Ball Z, Heroes, things like that. But I stopped after I watched The Fly. I didn’t teleport for two weeks after I saw that.”
Gracious winced. “I can understand.”
“And a few months later I met Valkyrie and Skulduggery and some lunatic used me to bring the Faceless Ones back. And now here I am, in Mexico City, with the Monster Hunters.”
“I love stories with happy endings,” said Gracious.
Donegan straightened. “We have movement,” he said, and passed the binoculars to Fletcher.
Fletcher adjusted the focus slightly, saw the Sanctuary door opening, saw the Cleavers lead the security detail out. Beside him, Gracious and Donegan bent their knees and raised their fists. Fletcher took a deep breath, waited until he glimpsed a big enough gap in the group, right beside Zona, then he dropped the binoculars, grabbed the Monster Hunters—
—and then they were down there, in the middle of the security detail, and Gracious was throwing punches and Donegan was throwing energy blasts and everyone was moving and shouting and Zona looked around, her eyes wide, and Fletcher grabbed her and—
—now he was in Roarhaven, in the Sanctuary, but a Cleaver and a mage had grabbed on to Zona at the last moment, and they were turning towards Fletcher even as—