Resurrection

  They came to a stop. The knife was in Omen’s hand, the blade jammed against Nero’s throat.

  “Sloppy,” said Lethe, but he didn’t run in to haul Omen off. He didn’t move. Razzia didn’t move, either. Temper collapsed.

  Omen badly needed some water. His throat was parched and his lips were dry. His tongue felt too heavy to form words.

  From beneath him, Nero said calmly, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  Anger flashed and Omen came up to one knee, digging the knife in a little deeper. He could talk fine now. “You’re going to let us go,” he said, with a hell of a lot more confidence than he felt. “If anyone tries anything, I’ll kill him.”

  Lethe folded his arms. “You will? Really? I don’t know. Razzia, what do you think? He look like a killer to you?”

  Razzia jumped up and down. “Ooh, I hope so! Do it! Do it, kid! It’s only Nero! If he carks it, we can grow another one!”

  Lethe looked at her. “Actually, we can’t.”

  Razzia stopped jumping. “We didn’t grow him in a tube? Strewth, I thought he was one of those genetic experiments I keep hearing about. With the hair and all.” She shrugged. “Kill him anyway, kid. Cut his throat and join the club.”

  “Hey,” Nero said loudly. “Hey! Come on! Let’s not antagonise the kid, all right? Let’s all be cool here.”

  “Of course,” Lethe said, sauntering forward. “You’re right, Nero. Of course you are. Let’s be cool.”

  “Stop walking,” said Omen.

  Lethe ignored him. “We’ll all be cool. Nobody has to hurt anybody. Let’s just shake hands and part as friends, what do you say?”

  Temper groaned, and rolled on to all fours. “He takes another step, you start cutting, you hear me?”

  “The boy’s not going to cut,” said Lethe. “He’s not a killer. He’s not a murderer.”

  “I’m scared and I’m trapped and you’re gonna kill me,” Omen countered. “I will do whatever I have to.”

  “You don’t have to do anything,” Nero said quickly, “because Lethe is going to stop walking right goddamn now. Aren’t you, Lethe? Lethe?”

  Lethe’s saunter, as calm and unhurried as any saunter Omen had ever seen, came to a slow and reluctant stop. He sighed. “Fine. Look at me. Look at how still I’m standing.”

  “Temper, come over here,” Omen said. He was sweating. Perspiration ran down his face, down the back of his collar. He could feel how damp his armpits were. The knife. The knife was slippery; he wasn’t sure that it’d stay in his hand if he had to stab, but he dared not adjust his grip.

  Temper got up and limped over. It was like he was being slow on purpose. Omen had to bite back harsh words. He could feel the panic beneath his skin. It jittered and bubbled and boiled.

  Finally – finally – Temper was crouching beside him, one hand on Omen’s shoulder, one hand on Nero’s arm. “All right then,” he said, taking control of the situation, “Nero here is going to teleport us back to Roarhaven. You hear that, Nero? Right into the middle of Meritorious Square. If you try something stupid, like dumping us off the edge of a volcano, Omen here will kill you as his final act, won’t you, Omen?”

  “Yes, I will,” Omen said, trembling so badly that the blade nicked Nero’s skin. If the shakes got any worse, the knife was liable to fly out of his hand before he got a chance to use it.

  “Meritorious Square,” Nero repeated. “All right. Just say when.”

  “None of this means anything,” Lethe said. “So you escape – so what? You’ve already told us everything you know, which was a paltry amount to begin with. At this stage, you’re worthless to us. This escape means nothing.”

  “First you hurt my body,” Temper said. “Then you hurt my feelings. I know which will leave the deeper scar. Nero? Mush.”

  Bright sun glared from a blue sky with no clouds and the sudden rush of cold air and the noise of Roarhaven all around them and Omen flinched and Nero shoved him away, twisting from Temper’s grip and vanishing.

  People were glancing at them. Two Cleavers were running over.

  “You did good, slick,” Temper said, lying on his back and looking up at the sky. “You did good.”

  Omen looked at the knife for a moment, then dropped it and managed a smile.

  His first rescue mission.

  38

  “This is not my first rescue mission,” Sebastian whispered to Bennet as they crouched around the corner from the tiny house. “Let me go in first. I’ll clear the room of hostiles. When I give you the all-clear, you come in. Understand?”

  Bennet nodded. He was visibly shaking. A quick peek through the dirty window had shown them Odetta sitting at a table, a Hollow Man standing right behind her. They had no idea how many other Hollow Men might be in there with them.

  Sebastian patted Bennet on the shoulder. He felt an urge to repeat his instructions, but decided against it. Bennet was a grown man, not a child.

  Keeping low, Sebastian jogged to the front door. He took a deep breath to steady himself and then kicked, the wood splintering beneath his boot, the door crashing open, and then Bennet lunged past him, pulling his gun from his pocket. There was a scream. Sebastian ran in, but saw Odetta throwing herself in front of the Hollow Man.

  “Don’t!” she cried.

  Bennet kept shifting his aim. “I can’t … Sweetheart, if you don’t move out of the way, I can’t shoot it.”

  “He’s not an it!” Odetta said. “His name is Conrad!”

  Bennet hesitated. “I’m sorry?”

  “Excuse me,” Sebastian said, satisfied that there were no other Hollow Men in the building, “but what exactly is going on here?”

  “We’re in love!” Odetta said.

  “Yes, we are,” said Bennet.

  “Not me and you!” Odetta said, almost angrily. “We! We are in love!”

  Bennet looked at his wife and the Hollow Man. “I’m missing something here.”

  “I … I think she’s leaving you,” said Sebastian. “I think she wants to spend the rest of her life with it. Sorry. Him. What’s his name again?”

  “Conrad,” said Odetta.

  Bennet laughed. Then his laugh failed and he lowered the gun. “What?”

  “It’s true,” Odetta said. “I’m so sorry, Bennet. I didn’t want you to find out this way, but I didn’t know how to tell you. I got scared. I thought just walking away would be the best thing, but then I knew you’d be worrying, so I had one of Conrad’s friends deliver that message … I suppose it’s good, that you’re here. We can finally talk about it.”

  “You’re … in love with … with that?”

  “With him,” Sebastian corrected.

  “But he’s a Hollow Man,” Bennet said. “He’s made of paper. I don’t get how this is remotely possible?” Tears brimmed. The gun fell to the floor. “You’re leaving me?”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “You’re leaving me for a man made out of paper?”

  Odetta wept. “Please don’t be nasty,” she said.

  “But we’re married. Why are you leaving me? You can’t leave me – we’re married. What about our son?”

  “Kase knows. He understands.”

  “But we were going to have more children. We talked about it, about giving Kase a little brother or sister.”

  “He can still have that. But you won’t be the father.”

  “Odetta, come on,” Bennet said, moving forward. “Be reasonable. You can’t have children with a Hollow Man.”

  “He has a name!” Odetta said, her anger rising again.

  “This is ridiculous! The only way you could have children with it is if they’re on a paper chain!”

  “How dare you!”

  “Is that what you want, Odetta? You want paper-chain children? Is that it? You want origami kids?”

  Odetta punched Bennet so hard his knees buckled and he fell.

  “Don’t say nasty things!” Odetta shouted. “You know why I fell in love with him? Becau
se he listens! You say nasty things whenever you get upset! You’re a nasty man! I can’t stand it! I can’t stand it any more!”

  “But … but I love you …” Bennet said, struggling to get up.

  “The only person you love is Darquesse,” Odetta spat. “And that is sick beyond reason! There is something seriously wrong with you if you worship that monster! She murdered over a thousand people! How can you talk about her like she’s this majestic, heavenly creature when she’s killed so many? You, you and your sick friends, there’s something wrong with you all!”

  Sebastian hesitated, then helped Bennet to his feet. The man felt like kindling in his hands.

  “Odetta …”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Odetta said. “And I think you should move out. I’ll be back on Sunday. You better not be there.”

  “Can we … can we just talk about it?”

  “Talking to you has never got me anywhere,” Odetta said. “Go home now, Bennet. The next time I talk to you, I’ll be divorcing you.”

  “No, no, please …”

  “I’m going to say this once and once only, so open your ears and listen to it. It’s only one word. Even you can absorb one word. Ready? Here it comes.”

  “No. Don’t. Please. Who else will love me?”

  She leaned in. “Goodbye.”

  39

  “Hello.”

  His voice. Deep, and smooth. Like velvet.

  Valkyrie sat hunched over on the bed, her phone to her ear. Elsewhere in the clinic, beyond her room, people were talking and machines were beeping, but in here Valkyrie was trembling. Her whole body shook.

  “I know you’re there,” he said. “I can hear you breathing.”

  She stared at the wall.

  “That’s OK,” he said. “You don’t have to talk. I can do the talking for both of us. You’re probably feeling very alone right now. This is understandable. You’re afraid and you’re confused and you’re panicking.”

  “It fades,” she managed to say.

  “I’m sorry? What was that?”

  “Smoke’s corruption,” she said. “It fades away after forty-eight hours.”

  “That’s what you’re hanging on to? That’s what you’re pinning your hopes to? Valkyrie, whatever makes you think that I would want this to wear off?”

  “Because you’re not yourself.”

  “This doesn’t change who I am. I’m still me, Valkyrie. I’m just a more efficient version of me. I’ve left behind so many little rules.”

  She shook her head. “Smoke controls you. You’re a slave.”

  “I could see how you would think that, but I’m afraid you’d be wrong. The only time in my life, such as it is, when I’ve felt more liberated than I am right now is when I wore armour. You should try this. You should join us. I’m sure you’d be a boon to the anti-Sanctuary.”

  “Help us,” she said. “Lethe … Smoke … they think you’re on their side.”

  “I am on their side.”

  “I don’t … I don’t believe that.”

  “Yes, you do. Can I ask you something? Are you worried about your family? Are you worried that I’m going to kill your dog? Or your sister?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Really? Are you being honest?”

  “You won’t go after my family or my dog. You don’t want me wasting my time worrying about the things I love. You want me focused.”

  “Yes,” said Skulduggery. “Yes. You know me well, Valkyrie. I’m going to have fun with you. Your death … it isn’t going to be quick. And your life isn’t going to be painless. From this point until the end, it’s going to be … excruciating.”

  She hung up.

  40

  Valkyrie’s throat was raw, her mouth haunted by the bitter aftertaste of the dried leaves she’d been given to ease the pain of the gunshot wound. Her leg was stiff, but numb, and already healing. She was so incredibly tired, though – like she’d already burned through a day’s worth of energy.

  “It’s temporary,” she said to the room. “It’s temporary.”

  And it was. It was temporary. Smoke’s corruption, it hit and overwhelmed and then it faded. She hadn’t lost him. Skulduggery wasn’t gone. Not forever.

  She lowered her hands, looked at them while they trembled. She’d get him back. She didn’t give a damn what Lethe or the anti-Sanctuary wanted out of all this, but she was going to stop them and get Skulduggery back, and the corruption would fade and that’d be that. Easy. Simple. Straightforward.

  She forced herself to breathe deeply, to calm down. Eventually, her hands stopped trembling.

  “Can’t leave you alone for a second, can I?” Darquesse said, walking in.

  Valkyrie ignored her, and carefully swung her injured leg off the bed.

  “It’s true, then? He really has turned?” Darquesse asked, and sat on the bed beside her. “You must be terrified. Are you? You must be. You’re all alone now.”

  Valkyrie experimented with putting some weight on to her foot.

  “He shot you,” said Darquesse. “He actually shot you. Yes, he’s under the influence of a bad, bad man, but even so – that has to sting, doesn’t it? The fact that he is fully capable of hurting you? You’ve gone all this time thinking the bond between you was so strong it would survive anything … but he fails at the first real test of your friendship.”

  “He hasn’t failed,” said Valkyrie.

  “Tell that to your leg.”

  “And our friendship has been tested before.”

  Darquesse dismissed the notion with a wave. “You mean when you found out that he was Lord Vile? That’s nothing. He sinned. Sins are committed in order to be forgiven. But this … this was a real test.”

  “Don’t you have someone else to haunt?”

  Darquesse smiled. “Just you. So do you think he’ll go after Alice? Do you think he already has her?”

  “He won’t. He told me.”

  “You believe him?”

  “Skulduggery wouldn’t lie to me.”

  “So he’d shoot you, but not lie to you? Well, I suppose boundaries are important.”

  “He doesn’t want me distracted,” Valkyrie said.

  “Who’s distracted?” Reverie Synecdoche asked, walking in.

  Darquesse moved out of the way and Reverie walked right by her.

  “I am,” Valkyrie said. “Sorry. Just talking to myself.”

  “First sign of madness,” Reverie said. “Can you stand?”

  Valkyrie pushed herself off the bed. Her leg didn’t buckle, but Reverie was too busy making notes to notice her grimace.

  “The scar should be gone completely in two or three days,” she said. “You’re lucky the bullet didn’t nick an artery, though. It could have been a lot worse.”

  “Hear that?” Darquesse said. “You’re a lucky girl.”

  Valkyrie stuffed her feet into her trainers and crouched to tie the laces. Her jeans were new. The old ones, bloodstained, with the left leg slit up the middle, were in a plastic bag somewhere, waiting to be thrown out or burned or whatever it was they did with ruined clothes here in Reverie’s clinic.

  “I don’t know why she bothered, though,” Darquesse continued. “Wouldn’t it have been better to just let you die? I mean, it’s not like Skulduggery is not going to kill you. Your death is as inevitable as it is imminent.”

  One of the nurses passed in the corridor and Valkyrie straightened and focused her attention on Reverie. “Clarabelle not working here any more?”

  “Fine,” Darquesse sighed. “Ignore me.”

  “Clarabelle?” Reverie said, finally looking up. “No, no. She’s busy being the worst bartender in the world. She stares into space half the time and for the other half cannot, for the life of her, remember what anybody ordered.”

  “Everyone’s thinking it,” Darquesse said. “I’m just the only one brave enough to say it.”

  “How are Scapegrace and Thrasher?” Valkyrie asked.

 
Reverie shrugged. “They come in here two or three times a year and I sew bits of them back on. Thrasher is still besotted, Scapegrace is still oblivious, and Clarabelle loves them both without measure. The pub’s quiet, but does OK. Thrasher is surprisingly good at bookkeeping, as it turns out.”

  “I’m glad,” said Valkyrie, pulling on her coat. “I’m glad things are working out for them.”

  “The doctor raises an interesting point, though,” Darquesse said, folding her arms. “About talking to yourself being the first sign of madness. Maybe you are mad.”

  “By the way,” said Reverie, “I got a call from the High Sanctuary enquiring as to why you were not availing yourself of their medical facilities. I get the impression that Supreme Mage Sorrows would rather you spend your time where she can keep a closer eye on you.”

  “I’m sure she would,” Valkyrie responded. “Thank you, Reverie.”

  “It’s what I’m here for,” Reverie said, and Valkyrie shook her hand and limped from the room.

  “Maybe you should ask her to take a look at your head,” Darquesse said, trailing after her. “Perform a brain scan or something. I just don’t think you’re playing with a full deck of cards, that’s all.”

  Valkyrie limped on. Darquesse stayed right behind her.

  “Let’s face it, you’re not exactly a poster child for mental health, are you? A great big chunk of who you are split off from you and killed 1,351 innocent people. You yourself murdered your own sister. And now look – you’re being haunted by the ghost of your own split personality.”

  “You’re not a ghost,” Valkyrie muttered.

  “No one else can see me, can they? They can’t hear me or touch me. So I’m either a ghost or a hallucination. I think it’d be better for you if I were a ghost.”

  Valkyrie turned to her, glaring into the smirk. “You’re not a ghost and you’re not a hallucination. I know exactly what you are.”

  “Oh, really?” Darquesse said. “Well then, what am I?”

  “You’re a bit of her,” Valkyrie said. “You’re a splinter of the real Darquesse. What, you really think I wouldn’t have worked it out? You’ve been hanging around me for five years.”