Omen pulled a small photo album from the case and flicked through it. The first third, or thereabouts, was filled with old pictures – black and white and sepia-tinged – of Melior and Vega. The first few were posed and stiff, the pair unsmiling, but gradually they eased, until their smiles were broad and their arms were around each other’s shoulders. There was even a kiss here and there. Colour started seeping in as the decades brought their own advancements, and the hairstyles got progressively sillier. One photo, discoloured by age and sunlight, showed Melior and Vega standing with two other men and a woman. The men were all wearing bowling shirts and holding a trophy aloft, and the woman, who had a gigantic Afro and hoop earrings, was laughing. Omen frowned, and looked closer. The man standing to Savant’s right was Parthenios Lilt.
“Found something,” he said, and handed the album to Valkyrie. Her eyes widened.
“See something interesting?” Temper asked.
For a moment, Valkyrie didn’t answer, then she flipped the album so he could see. “Recognise anyone?”
“That’s Lilt,” Never said, pointing.
Temper’s own eyes narrowed. “The woman,” he said. “She’s an old friend. Her name’s Tessa Mehrbano. You know her?”
“Not her,” said Valkyrie, “and not Lilt.” Her finger jabbed at the image of the small, smiling man next to Richard Melior. “Him.”
Temper took a moment, and his eyebrows slowly rose. “Wow. Nice hair.”
Omen and Never crowded round.
“Who is he?” Never asked.
Valkyrie pulled the photograph from the album, looking at Bridget as she did so. “Can I borrow this?”
“I guess so,” the old woman said. “Is everything OK? You look ill.”
“I’m fine,” said Valkyrie. “Just eager to talk to some people. Thank you very much for your help.”
“Of course,” said Bridget. “If you track them down, please tell them I was asking after them. They were such lovely boys.”
“We will,” said Valkyrie, and led the way out. The moment they were out of Bridget’s view – she stood in her doorway, waving as they walked – they dodged off the street, hurrying up the steps into the cover of Buena Vista Park.
Valkyrie spun to Temper. “This old friend of yours, what’s her name again?”
“Tessa Mehrbano.”
“You know where she lives?”
“Yeah. New York.”
“Talk to her. We’ll head back to Roarhaven, get things sorted out there. Maybe Mehrbano knows something that’ll help us, maybe she doesn’t, but it won’t hurt to try.”
Temper hesitated. “I haven’t really been her favourite person for a few years now.”
“I doubt you’re anyone’s favourite person except your own,” Valkyrie said, “but you still have to go.”
“OK, that was especially harsh.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean it. Not thinking straight. Never, take him.”
“I’m not a taxicab,” Never snapped.
Valkyrie stiffened, and turned her gaze to him slowly. “Take Temper to New York,” she said, “then come back for us. When I have time to ask nicely, I will ask nicely. But right now, do what I say or get out of my sight.”
Never flushed. “Hey, you’re the one who came to me for help.”
“And if you’re going to give that help then you’re going to do it without sulking every time you look at me. Now take him to New York.”
Glaring, Never reached out and Temper took his hand, and they vanished.
Valkyrie deflated all of a sudden, sagging back against a tree. Omen got the feeling she’d forgotten he was there. A familiar sensation.
“Um,” he said.
She looked up. “Yes?”
“I was … I was just going to ask. The guy in the picture. Who is he?”
“You really don’t know? Have you ever been to the High Sanctuary?”
“No.”
“If you had, you’d have seen him,” Valkyrie said. She frowned, and looked around. “Huh,” she said.
“What’s wrong?”
She hesitated. “Nothing, I just …”
And that’s when somebody punched Omen in the back of the head.
49
Valkyrie lunged, trying to catch Omen before he hit the ground, but he’d already face-planted in the dirt before she got anywhere close. He lay there, not moving, and Valkyrie looked around, trying to work out what the hell had happened.
“What’s your name, then?”
She spun. The man standing there was a little taller than she was. He wore old jeans and dirty boots. No shirt. He was wiry, his muscles tight. His grey hair was long. Messy. He had a grinning mouth tattooed across the lower half of his jaw. Other tattoos decorated his torso and arms. He was painted like his skin was peeling back, revealing an army of swarming demons beneath the surface.
“Don’t suppose it matters,” he continued. His accent was New York. “You were asking about the gay guys, which automatically means you get put on the list. Which means I have to kill you.” He shrugged. “Hope you don’t take it personal.” He reached into his waistband, and frowned. “Aw dammit,” he muttered, and looked up. “Don’t suppose you’d have the loan of a knife or a gun, would you?”
Valkyrie’s hand lit up, but the tattooed man skipped forward and slapped her so hard she nearly blacked out. She stumbled sideways instead, went down on one knee, but forced herself up again, keeping distance between them, backing off as he closed in.
“Guess I’ll just have to beat you to death,” he said, and smiled.
She raised her hand, tried blasting him, but her body wasn’t co-operating. By the time her fingertips finally started to tingle, he’d vanished. Teleporter.
She whirled, whirled again, then heard a boot stepping on dried twigs and she turned back to the spot where he’d vanished and there was no one there, but pain exploded across her face and her head snapped back and she staggered, both hands over her face while blood streamed through her fingers. Her nose was broken. The pain was excruciating. Through tear-filled eyes she watched his image solidify in front of her.
Not a Teleporter, then.
“I should have brought a gun,” he said. “For the first month or two, I always had a gun on me. But they’re pretty heavy, you know? And uncomfortable. So I stopped bringing it. Not very professional, I know, but this isn’t a full-time gig for me. I’m being paid to keep an eye on that patch of land and, if anyone comes snooping, I have to kill them. To be honest, you’re the first to come snooping. Until now, this has been the easiest money I ever made. Course, it’s still pretty easy.”
Never teleported in and his eyes widened immediately.
“Omen!” Valkyrie shouted, pointing.
Never ran to Omen’s side, crouching beside him as he tried to sit up, and Valkyrie bolted towards them. The tattooed man ran to intercept, but Valkyrie’s head start was more than enough to keep her out of his reach.
Never looked around, looked right at her with panic in his eyes, and just before Valkyrie could touch him he teleported, taking Omen with him.
Goddammit.
Valkyrie veered away and the tattooed man slammed into her.
They crashed through the undergrowth and tumbled down a small hill, Valkyrie managing to lash a kick into him as they rolled, and the moment she was able to she scrambled up, her right hand crackling.
The tattooed man froze in a half-crouch. “Ah,” he said.
“That’s a nice trick,” she said, “turning invisible. You do it again and I’ll fry you.”
“Yeah,” he said, “I got that.”
Her left hand dipped into her pocket, pulled out a few leaves and crammed them into her mouth. The pain dulled, and went away. She used to be so much better at this. She’d snap out a line and be all ultra-cool and her voice wouldn’t shake and her hands wouldn’t tremble.
Or maybe her voice had shaken, even then. Maybe her hands had trembled. Maybe she had just been better at fooling
herself.
“You’re going to answer some questions,” she said, wiping some of the blood away. “You’re going to answer them or I’m going to light you up. My aim hasn’t always been the best lately, but I doubt even I could miss at this range.”
He gave a little shrug. “I believe in you.”
“What’s your name?”
“Shakespeare,” he said. “Gleeman Shakespeare. Though most people in the press call me Mr Glee.”
“Why do people in the press call you anything?”
Another shrug. “Oh, I like to kill people. As a hobby. I sign my name when I’m done.”
“So you’re a serial killer.”
“I guess I am.”
“You’re not the first one I’ve met.”
“I don’t doubt it. Would you like a handkerchief? For the blood? It’s clean, I promise.”
“Yeah,” said Valkyrie. “That’d be good.”
Glee produced a spotless white handkerchief from his back pocket, and tossed it over.
She held it to her nose. “Abyssinia sent you to keep an eye on things here, did she?”
“Oh, I’m not one of the chosen few who are lucky enough to hear the voice of the telltale heart,” Glee answered. “Naw, I get my orders the old-fashioned way, from people who aren’t internal organs.”
“So Lethe, then. Where are they keeping Savant Vega? Do they have him with them on Coldheart?”
Glee’s smile spread beneath his tattoo. “That’s on a need-to-know basis, and I am merely an underling, not privy to sensitive information such as that. Pardon me, can I stand? I’m not as young as I used to be and—”
“Stay right where you are.”
He sighed.
“So you’re saying you don’t know anything useful? At all?”
“Pretty much,” he replied. “You should probably just let me go.”
“Or I could let the High Sanctuary’s Sensitives poke through your thoughts.”
Glee pulled a face. “Really? They’d have to wear wading boots and come armed with blacklights. It is messy in there.”
It suddenly occurred to Valkyrie that she had neglected to bring any shackles with her. Yet another small, personal triumph for her to revel in later.
Glee frowned. “You OK, miss?”
“Shut up,” she said. “I’m thinking.”
“And you’re sure I can’t move? My legs are cramping something awful.”
“Is this the face of someone who cares?”
“I did give you that handkerchief …”
“After you broke my nose.”
He sighed again. “Then do you mind me asking what we’re waiting for? I mean, are you going to arrest me or not?”
“You tried to kill me. Of course I’m arresting you.”
“Right. It’s just that you don’t look like you’re arresting me. You look like you’re trying to remember what you had for dinner yesterday. Or are you deciding if I’m worth the effort of hauling in? Maybe you’re wondering if you should just kill me right here. Is that what you’re doing? You want to kill me? Fry me?”
“You don’t want to be tempting me right now, Mr Glee.”
“Could you do it?” he asked, peering closer. “Hell, maybe you could, at that. You got a killer’s eyes.”
The crackling intensified. “Say one more word and you’ll find out.”
She heard Never calling her name.
“Down here!” she shouted, not taking her eyes off Glee.
A moment later, Never came half running, half skidding down the embankment, stopping beside her.
“I thought you’d abandoned me,” Valkyrie said.
“I was scared,” responded Never. “Fear is a magic inhibitor. Everyone knows that. Get over it.”
“Should I step away?” Glee asked. “Let you two talk it over?”
“Not an inch,” said Valkyrie.
“So what do we do with him?” Never asked.
“I haven’t decided yet,” said Valkyrie.
Glee smiled at them both, and the energy, which had been crackling so fiercely around Valkyrie’s hand, started to fade. She focused, tried to pour more power into her fingertips, but she was overthinking, she was letting her doubts block her instincts, and Glee could see it. He straightened.
“Get us out of here,” Valkyrie muttered.
“I … I’m trying,” said Never, his hand on her shoulder.
As the energy in her hands crackled out and died, Glee started to whistle a tune, that ‘Flowers in Your Hair’ song from the 1970s, and then he turned invisible. Keeping Never beside her, Valkyrie backed away.
“Never …”
“I know, I’m trying …”
Valkyrie kept her eyes on the space where the whistling came from, trying to spot a telltale ripple in the air, but the only sign of his movement came from the grass that flattened under his feet. He was coming closer. Closer.
The whistling stopped.
She heard him, heard movement, a sudden exhalation of breath and he was running at her, and she grabbed Never, pulled him behind her and covered up, screwing her eyes shut and clenching her jaw and waiting for the impact, and then the cool breeze went away and no impact came, and she looked up and saw a wall.
“Oh my God, that was way too close,” she said, the words tumbling out in one whispered sigh. She looked around. They were back at the school. “Where’s Omen?”
“Nurse’s Office,” said Never.
“Is he OK?”
He shrugged. A couple of kids passed in the corridor intersecting theirs, but were too wrapped up in their conversation to notice them.
“Thanks,” Valkyrie said. “I know first-hand how fear and adrenaline can affect your control over magic, so coming back for me took real guts.” The handkerchief was sodden with blood. It dripped to the floor. “I need to get to the High Sanctuary as quickly as possible. Can you help me, just a little bit more?”
Never looked at her, and made a sound halfway between a grunt and a scoff. “I’m not a tram,” he said, and walked away.
Teenagers.
Valkyrie turned and started running.
Startled students leaped out of her way as she ran, bloodstained and manic, for the street outside. She jumped into the first tram she saw and as it flowed towards Meritorious Square she probed her broken nose, hissing in pain. She did her best to wipe the blood from her face, but avoided her reflection in case she really did look as bad as she thought. When the tram slowed at the square, she threw herself off and sprinted to the steps of the High Sanctuary. There was a line of Cleavers and City Guards outside, not letting anyone in or out, but when they saw her they let her through without even checking her badge.
She got a few worried looks as she bounded up the steps, but she ignored them and crashed through the doors. Immediately, she was hit by the wail of an alarm, and had to shoulder her way through the massing crowd. Someone’s arm tipped against her face and it was like they’d swung a shovel into her nose.
“Move!” she shouted, in exquisite pain and sharp-edged anger. “Get out of my goddamn way!”
Her vision bleached like a washed-out photograph and the crowd parted suddenly, and she caught a glimpse of herself in the large mirror. The lower half of her face was indeed drenched in blood, just like she’d expected, and that blood was still dripping on to her T-shirt, turning it into a sodden mess. But the most startling thing about her appearance at that moment was the white energy crackling from her eyes.
Instinctively, she withdrew her anger, pulling her magic back into herself, and her eyes returned to normal.
She hurried on.
She found China two minutes later, striding through the corridor, surrounded by anxious mages and security.
“Let her through,” China commanded, and pulled Valkyrie in beside her as she walked. “My word, you look dreadful.”
“What’s going on here?”
“Parthenios Lilt has escaped,” China said bitterly. “We don’t know h
ow it happened yet – all our surveillance has been disabled. It would appear that we have a traitor in our midst. Your nose is broken, by the way.”
“I know,” said Valkyrie. “And I also know who freed Lilt.”
“You do?”
Valkyrie reached out, grabbed the collar of the traitor and dragged him back towards her. Everyone stopped walking, and China leaned in and glared.
“You’re going to suffer,” she said quietly. “The rest of your life is going to be a catalogue of pain and darkness and suffering, you snivelling little toad.”
Tipstaff paled.
50
“Some people are just not meant for this kind of life,” Pleasant said. This was the thirteenth topic of conversation he’d broached since they’d set off, and it was all Cadaverous could do to not drive the Cadillac off this quiet coastal road. “I’ve known them, you’ve known them – it’s plain to see. We can pretend it isn’t. We can pretend they belong, that they fit … but the truth is like a good trap – inescapable. Take your friend Jeremiah, for instance.”
Anger immediately started to flow through Cadaverous’s veins. “Be careful what you say about him, skeleton.”
Pleasant waved a gloved hand airily. “I have no wish to speak ill of the departed, even though that has never stopped anyone from speaking ill of me. I just wish to highlight the difference between your partner … and mine.”
“Jeremiah was a burning light in the darkness.”
“He rolled off a metal platform and fell into the fiery pit beneath. He was definitely a burning light somewhere. My point is, we each gave time and attention to someone else. Our positions could very easily be reversed right now – Jeremiah might be the one still living, and Valkyrie might be the one to have died. The difference between them is that Valkyrie was meant for this life. Jeremiah, sadly, was not.”
Cadaverous braked. A car behind honked angrily and veered round.
“Jeremiah became my reason,” Cadaverous said. “Before I took him under my wing, I was lost. I was despairing. And then I met him, and I recognised that he could be better than I ever was. He just needed the guidance. I know what you’re thinking. I know what everyone thinks. Minds go to sordid places. But the bond between Jeremiah and myself was a thing of purity.”