Resurrection

  “I’m here,” said Melior, from the third tier. They looked up.

  “We’re one Neoteric short, Doctor Melior,” said Lethe. “We need another name from you.”

  “I … I don’t have one,” said Melior. “The three names I gave you have very specific energy patterns. They’re the only three I know of.”

  “I don’t believe you, Doctor. You can find these people by sight. I don’t believe you’ve only ever spotted three who possess this specific pattern.”

  “I’d need to search,” said Melior. “I’d need time.”

  “Time is what we do not have. Time is what your husband does not have.”

  Melior shook his head. “You won’t kill him. If you kill him, I won’t help you.”

  “We don’t have to kill him, Doctor. We can blind him. We can pull out his teeth. We can cut off his hands and hobble his legs. You’ll still get him back. But he will not be the man you knew. So I ask you for the last time – give us the name of a new little lamb.”

  Cadaverous watched the emotions flickering across Melior’s face, too many to keep track of. He’d never been that good at spotting emotions anyway. Apart from fear. He’d always been good at spotting fear.

  “I … I know one,” Melior said. “She’s got the pattern we need. It’s different from the others, but it’d do. I think it’d work.”

  “That is wonderful news,” said Lethe. “A name, Doctor.”

  Melior wet his lips. “Valkyrie,” he said softly. “Valkyrie Cain.”

  57

  Valkyrie dropped Xena off at Grimwood. She fed her and locked up and on her way back she passed through Haggard. She had no intention of heading up towards the pier, but found herself indicating left at the traffic lights anyway. She dampened her thoughts. The light turned green and she followed the road past Gilmartin’s Bar and Angelo’s Takeaway, then a small pharmacy that hadn’t been there five years ago. The row of houses on her left gave way to a wall, and the wall tracked the road and then opened up to the harbour. Gentle waves played with the small boats and the line of orange buoys on their approach to the crescent beach. She turned right, went up the slight hill, pulled in and looked across the road to the house she’d grown up in.

  From here, she could see the window to her bedroom, the same window she had sneaked out of countless times, the same window Skulduggery would perch at. There were no cars in the drive and no lights on inside on this grey afternoon. She felt an urge to leave the car, to walk through the empty house, to stand in the kitchen, to sit in the living room surrounded by all those framed photographs of the family. She ached for the feeling she was only now realising she’d been missing – that feeling of belonging. Of being welcome somewhere. Of being loved.

  She was about to step out of the car when her phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Valkyrie, hi.” It was Militsa. “I have Byron’s address. Naturally, I’m not supposed to give this out … but then again I’m not even allowed to access this information. Sorry it took so long. Anyway, his given name is Paul Matthews. He lives in Ballyfermot. Do you know it?”

  “I do,” Valkyrie said. She made a note of the exact address. “Thanks for this. Really. If it’s all right with you, I was going to ask Omen to come with me on this.”

  “Will it be dangerous?”

  “No,” she said immediately. “I just want Byron to see a familiar face, that’s all, and preferably not one that brings to mind the senseless slaughter of innocent people.”

  “Good point,” Militsa said.

  “Thank you, Militsa. Really. I know you could probably get into a lot of trouble for this.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll, uh, I’ll try and think of some way you can repay me. Take care of yourself, OK?”

  Valkyrie texted Omen then swung round and headed back the way she’d come, leaving her family home to get smaller and smaller in the rear-view. The road curved and suddenly the house was gone, and tears came to her eyes.

  She drove to Ballyfermot, and the world outside turned to concrete and cracked walls, interspersed every now and then with shocking green. She passed a pony grazing in someone’s garden and an old man walking and did her best to ignore the cold feeling that was gnawing at her insides. Her hands felt numb on the wheel, like they weren’t really connected to her. Her entire body felt heavy. It dragged her down, kept her anchored to her seat when all she wanted to do was rise up out of her shell, pass through the roof of the car and fly free and away. The car slowed, her foot clumsy on the brake. She pulled in, hopped the kerb slightly. Her stupid fingers turned off the engine. She sat there, head down, chin to her chest, staring at her lap. She could no longer tell if she was breathing. She could no longer tell if she was anything but a slab of meat.

  The car was quiet. It was a tomb. She was a slab of meat and this was her tomb. She was dead. They were going to find her and bury her, close her up in a coffin and put the coffin into the cold, cold ground. The last thing she’d hear would be the shovels throwing dirt and she’d lie there in the cold and the dark forever.

  She heard somebody call her name.

  Her eyes were still open. She was still looking at her lap. She wasn’t in a coffin. Wasn’t in a grave. She was sitting in her car with her head down. Shadows moved over her jeans. Someone was at the window. Someone was knocking on the glass.

  Her right hand. She could move the fingers of her right hand. She curled them, dug the nails into her palm. It hurt. She dug in deeper. It hurt more. When the pain was close enough, she took hold of it and let it drag her out, drag her up. The closer to the surface she got, the more she could feel. Her toes. She wriggled them, felt the socks she was wearing, the trainers. She moved her leg slightly, felt the jeans rub against her skin. She took a breath and her hand felt lighter. She lifted it, looked up, saw Omen looking in at her, a worried expression on his face.

  Valkyrie fumbled for the button that unlocked the car doors, and motioned for him to get in.

  “Everything OK?” Omen asked.

  “Everything’s fine,” Valkyrie lied. “Did Never drop you off?”

  “I took a taxi. Never’s mad at me for letting myself get hurt.”

  “Sorry about that.” She reached for her wallet. “How much was the taxi? I’ll reimburse you.”

  “It’s OK, Miss Gnosis pre-paid.”

  “Ah,” Valkyrie said, taking her hand out of her pocket. “I’ll reimburse her, then.”

  Omen shrugged. A moment passed. “Are you sure you’re OK?”

  “Don’t I look OK?”

  “You look fine now,” he said. “I’m not being rude or anything, but a minute ago you looked … I don’t know. You looked sad.”

  “I was just … I was thinking. I was a million miles away. But I’m fine. Really. You ready to do this?”

  “Yep.”

  “You should probably knock,” she said.

  His face slackened. “Aw.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Is that too much for you?”

  “No,” he said grudgingly. “I just hate knocking on doors. I’m the same with making phone calls when I don’t know who’s going to answer. I’m just not very good socially.”

  “Few people are. Most of us just pretend.”

  “Is that what you do?”

  “Fake it till you make it,” she said, getting out of the car. The fresh air, cold and sharp, filled her lungs and snapped her out of the last dregs of her morbidity. Omen joined her, and they searched for Byron’s house, one in a thousand just like it.

  “What’ll I say?” Omen asked as they walked up the weed-spotted driveway.

  “Say you’re here to see Byron.”

  “That’s his taken name, though, and I think only one of his parents knows about the whole magic thing, but I don’t remember which one.”

  “Then ask if Paul can come out to play.”

  Valkyrie hung back while Omen continued on to the front door. He rang the bell and waited. A woman answered. Omen stood t
here. She stared at him.

  “What?” she said brusquely.

  Omen smiled back. “Hi. Hello. Is Paul in?”

  “And who are you?”

  “I’m Omen.”

  “You’re a Mormon?”

  “No. Omen. That’s my name.”

  The woman frowned. “That’s a funny name, that is. Is it foreign?”

  “Not too foreign. I’m from Galway. Well, near Galway, a small town beside—”

  “Paul!” the woman yelled, and then looked back at Omen. “He’s coming.”

  “Thank you.”

  “He hasn’t mentioned you. You a friend of his? You from that bleedin’ school, are you?”

  “I am, yes. We’re in the same Year.”

  “Didn’t think he had any friends. Always thought he was a bit touched, y’know? In the head, like. A bit strange.”

  Omen chuckled. “I think we’re all a bit strange.”

  Her face hardened. “I’m not. What’re you trying to say? You saying I’m weird?”

  Omen visibly wilted, and Valkyrie walked over.

  “Mrs Matthews?” she asked, extending her hand. “I’m Miss Cain, Paul’s teacher. How do you do?”

  Mrs Matthews shook Valkyrie’s hand, her frown deepening. “Ah, what’s he done? Is he getting expelled, is he? Nothing but a burden, that boy, since the day he burst outta me.”

  “We’re just here to talk to him. I promise you, he’s not in any trouble. I’m dreadfully sorry, what’s your name?”

  “My name?”

  “Your name. Your first name. What is it, please?”

  “Rose.”

  Valkyrie kept shaking her hand, kept eye contact. “Rose Matthews, so good to meet you. Rose Matthews, this is not a big deal. When you think about this later, you’re going to skip over it. You’re not going to dwell on it, are you, Rose Matthews?”

  “I’m not going to dwell on it,” Mrs Matthews responded.

  “Of course you’re not. There’s no reason to. What were you doing before this?”

  “Painting,” Mrs Matthews said.

  “A portrait? A wall?”

  “The Enterprise.”

  “A Star Trek fan,” Valkyrie said. “Well, you can go back to painting the Enterprise, Rose Matthews, and you don’t have to give our conversation another thought. You can ignore us completely, in fact. You have a good day now.”

  “Have a good day,” Mrs Matthews mumbled, and walked back into the house.

  Omen glanced at Valkyrie. “I wish I could do that. They don’t teach it in school.”

  “With good reason,” Valkyrie said, stepping back as Byron Grace came down the stairs. He saw Omen and frowned, but when his gaze flickered to Valkyrie he froze.

  “You don’t have to worry,” Omen said quickly. “We just want to talk. Byron, this is—”

  “I know who she is,” Byron said in an accent as thick as his mother’s. “Am I … am I under arrest?”

  Valkyrie shook her head. “Like Omen said, we just want to talk. Could you step outside?”

  “I … I can’t. They’ll kill me.”

  “A lot of lives are in danger, Byron. There’s a reason you didn’t go with the rest of them, isn’t there? It’s because you don’t want to see anyone hurt.”

  “Look, just leave me alone, OK? You shouldn’t even be here. This is my home. You’re not supposed to come to my home. My mam doesn’t know about any of this stuff.”

  “And she still doesn’t,” Valkyrie said. “Step outside. Please.”

  Byron hesitated, then did as she asked, closing the door behind him. “Around here,” he muttered, leading them away from the road to the side of the house. They passed two recycling bins and emerged in the back garden. Clothes hung limply on a rotary dryer, and a high wall blocked off the sun.

  Byron turned to Omen. “You going to tell people?”

  “About what?” Omen asked.

  Byron laughed without humour, and spread his arms. “This. Where I live. About my mam. About how I really talk.”

  “No,” said Omen. “God, no. I did the same thing when I joined Corrival, or at least I tried. I thought I could reinvent myself, but you … you’ve actually done it. I’m not going to tell anyone.”

  “I just … I prefer being, y’know … Byron.” He stood up straighter, and his accent changed, though the look of hurt in his eyes remained. “I’ve always hated living here. I’ve hated living with them. My dad’s OK – he organised for me to go to Corrival once he figured out what I was. But my mother … She doesn’t care who I am or where I’m going. You know what I realised? She doesn’t like it when I’m happy. Isn’t that awful? My own mother doesn’t like it when I’m happy.”

  “Is that why you joined up with Jenan and the others?” Omen asked.

  “I thought they hated ordinary people as much as I did,” Byron said. “But I was wrong. They hated them much, much more. I may not like my family, but I do still love them.”

  “So help us,” said Valkyrie.

  “I don’t know anything,” Byron said. “I don’t know plans or schemes or anything. Lilt wouldn’t tell us anything.”

  “You saw him? After he escaped?”

  Byron nodded. “Jenan rounded us up, took us into the library and then Lilt appears from behind a curtain like a bloody stage magician, expecting applause and all that. Nobody clapped. I think the others were too stunned and too … too scared, I suppose. Lilt being back meant that some real orders would start coming in.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said the time is almost upon us. He said the anti-Sanctuary has big plans for First Wave. He said the mortal streets are going to run red with blood. Those were his exact words. We were told to pack some essentials because we were going to leave Corrival for good. I followed Lapse and Gall towards our dorm room, but …”

  “You argued,” said Omen.

  “I told them I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t hurt anyone. I asked them to come with me, to just … quit. They said I was a coward and a traitor and to wait until Lethe got his hands on me.”

  “So you came home,” Valkyrie said, “because you knew it’d be the last place they’d look?”

  He frowned. “What? No. I just … I just wanted to spend some time with my family before they came after me. I can’t hide from them, not when I have this.” He pulled up his sleeve. A sigil was tattooed on the inside of his forearm.

  Omen peered closer. “That’s … that’s a tracking sigil.”

  Valkyrie went cold. “They know where you are?”

  “Yeah,” said Byron. “Why?”

  She looked around. “We have to get out of here.”

  Skulduggery’s voice came from behind. “And why would you want to do that?”

  58

  Smoke and Nero grinned and Skulduggery stood between them, his hands in his pockets, his jacket unbuttoned, the chain of his pocket watch glinting against his waistcoat. Valkyrie altered her vision, just for a moment, just long enough to watch the tendrils of crackling grey that swirled around Skulduggery’s aura. It was fading. She could see it fading.

  “You can’t leave,” Skulduggery said. “We have so much to talk about. I’ve missed you, Valkyrie. I had just got you back and then we were pulled apart again.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” she said, making sure her voice stayed steady.

  He tilted his head. “Thank you. Thank you for saying that. It means a lot. How’s your leg, by the way?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “You’re probably annoyed that I shot you.”

  She shrugged. “I could have done without it.”

  “You understand why, though, don’t you? It’s important to me that you understand.”

  “I do.”

  “Good,” Skulduggery said. “Good. You’ve been busy, apparently. I heard about your encounter with this Shakespeare person. Did he hurt you?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure? If he hurt you, tell me. I’ll kill him.
”

  Nero chuckled, and Skulduggery turned his head slightly.

  “Why are you laughing?” he asked. “I’m quite serious. If anyone hurts Valkyrie, I will kill them. That includes you.”

  Nero’s chuckle faded.

  Skulduggery looked back to Valkyrie. “Cadaverous Gant wants to kill you, too, but don’t worry about him. If he tries it, I’ll shoot him in the head. You’re safe. For the moment. Although we might have to kill you in order to resurrect Abyssinia. Melior’s going to see if he can make do with the life forces of the two Neoterics we have shackled up back at the prison, but, if we need more, I’m afraid you’re on the menu. Your magic is unique, after all. You draw your magic straight from the Source. You may not be Neoteric, but you qualify.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Indeed. Or I might kill everyone before any of this moves forward one more step. I’m getting into that sort of mood.”

  Smoke placed a hand on Skulduggery’s shoulder. “Behave, Skulduggery.”

  Skulduggery stiffened, and Valkyrie’s heart plummeted. She activated her aura-vision just in time to watch the corruption overtake him once more.

  Smoke took his hand away. “Stick to the plan. Understand?”

  “Of course,” said Skulduggery. “Apologies, Valkyrie. I had a brief moment of awakening. It was nice, but it’s gone now.”

  Valkyrie’s mouth was dry. She could have tapped the auxilium sigil on her hip there and then. She could have called in three dozen Cleavers, have them teleport in to the middle of Ballyfermot and engage in a battle in broad daylight. She could have put innocent lives in danger and risked exposing magic to the mortal world.

  She could have done all these things with the tap of a finger. But her hands stayed where they were.

  “So you’re going to do it?” she asked. “You’re going to be the one to kill me?”

  Skulduggery nodded. “I think it’s only right, don’t you? After all we’ve been through together?”

  She tried smiling. “I kinda wish you wouldn’t.”