Resurrection

  For a long, long moment, nothing was said. Sebastian allowed himself to think that maybe Valkyrie was overawed. Maybe she was intimidated.

  “You look so dumb,” she said.

  “Do I?”

  “Did you fly, or jump?”

  “Oh,” he said. “I jumped. I was up there.” He pointed above him. “And now I’m, you know … down here.”

  “That’s a good story,” Valkyrie said.

  “I, uh, I feel like I haven’t made the best first impression.”

  “How could you possibly think such a thing, wearing a mask as ridiculous as that? Do you have a name?”

  Sebastian smiled beneath his mask. “Names,” he said, “are power.”

  “Fine,” she said, wiping blood from her lip. “I’ll call you Mr Beakface.”

  He stopped smiling. “No, don’t call me Mr Beakface. Call me the Plague Doctor.”

  “Mr Beakface is easier to remember.”

  “Please don’t call me that.”

  She peered closer. “Are you an actual doctor?”

  “I’m here to fix things.”

  “So no.”

  He sighed. “Not a doctor as such.”

  “And why are you wearing a mask?”

  “It came with the suit.”

  “It makes your voice sound funny.”

  He frowned. “Does it?”

  “You don’t hear that? It echoes.”

  “Oh,” he said. “I don’t know. I didn’t know it echoed.”

  She stepped over the unconscious body at her feet. “What do you want?”

  “Like I said, I’m here to help.”

  “By arriving at the last minute when the fight is just about done? You’re handy.”

  “I mean, from now on,” Sebastian said. “I’m here to help from now on.”

  “What are you going to help with? Has the Black Death come back?”

  “Well, no. But bad things are coming.”

  “Why do people keep saying that like it’s a surprise?”

  “I’m a friend, OK? That’s all you need to know.”

  She looked at him. “I’ve just had this conversation with someone else. I’m not looking for any more friends. Do yourself a favour and stay out of my life.”

  She walked by. For a moment, he thought she was going to lunge at him, to tear off his mask and reveal his face … but she passed him like she couldn’t be bothered with anything any more.

  “Valkyrie,” he said.

  She turned. Waited.

  “Why did you let them hurt you?”

  “They caught me by surprise,” she said.

  “No, they didn’t.”

  “Believe what you want. I don’t care.”

  “One other thing? I, uh, I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about this.”

  She frowned. “Sorry?”

  “Skulduggery,” Sebastian said. “Anyone else. It would be better if they didn’t know about me. Not yet.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t tell you. Please, for now, keep this between me and you.”

  She put her hands on her hips and looked down, like she was counting to ten. She raised her head. “Listen, Mr Beakface—”

  “Plague Doctor.”

  “—I’m not comfortable keeping any secrets from Skulduggery, even the important ones. I wouldn’t view meeting you as important.”

  “Valkyrie, please. When I can explain myself, I will. I know it’s asking a lot, but … trust me.”

  She sighed. “Fine,” she said, and walked away.

  11

  Two minutes later, the Bentley pulled up by the side of the road and Valkyrie got in.

  “A guy in a stupid mask asked me not to tell you he exists,” she said, reaching back to pet Xena.

  Skulduggery nodded. “Fair enough.”

  12

  They drove east through the city, parked and went walking. Xena, on a leash but without a muzzle, investigated every stray scent. Valkyrie hadn’t been to this part of Roarhaven since it had been rebuilt. The apartment blocks were big – the apartments within them small. The streets, though new, had already developed potholes. Mostly uninhabited, with little in the way of shops, the few people they passed there either stared at Valkyrie in shock or actually crossed to the other side to avoid her.

  “This is not doing my self-esteem any good whatsoever,” she muttered.

  “Maybe they’re afraid of the dog,” Skulduggery said.

  “They’re afraid of something.”

  Skulduggery took off his hat and placed it on her head. “Is that better?”

  “I look stupid.”

  “Not everyone can pull off a hat like this, it’s true.”

  She tugged the brim low, shielding her face as they approached a mother and small child. The kid pointed at Skulduggery, ignoring Valkyrie and Xena altogether. She kept the hat on.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “There’s a bar somewhere around here,” Skulduggery answered. “From what I’ve heard, it’s rife with anti-mortal sentiment.”

  “You think the bad guys drink there? What’s it called?”

  “The Mage’s Lament.”

  “What’s he lamenting,” she asked, wincing slightly, “not ruling the world? Bit of a long shot, isn’t it, checking out a bar the bad guys might frequent?”

  “I am merely aware that my twenty-four hours with you are slipping away, so I thought we may as well try a few long shots while we’re together. Are you feeling OK? You’ve gone quite pale.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Just have a headache starting up.”

  “Probably from all the punching you’ve recently undergone.”

  She shrugged. “People don’t like me here. I have to get used to it.”

  “So you’re not going to alert the City Guard, have these people arrested?”

  “They attacked; I defended. It’s over. Besides, it’s not like the City Guard would take me seriously. They’re probably looking for any excuse to slap the shackles on me.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. I suppose I should just be thankful that this mysterious stranger showed up in time to rescue you.”

  “He literally landed on the guy’s head. He didn’t rescue anyone. Stop saying that.”

  “I just find it amusing that you’d need to be rescued.”

  “First of all, I didn’t need anything of the sort. Second, what are you talking about? You used to rescue me all the time.”

  “That was different. That was the natural flow of events. I’d rescue you, you’d rescue me, it’s how we worked. It’s how we work still. We’re there for each other, aren’t we? Until the end?”

  “I suppose.”

  Xena stopped walking, started whining. Valkyrie crouched, ruffling her fur. “What’s wrong with you, huh? What’s wrong with my baby?”

  Skulduggery looked around. “I think we’re going the wrong way,” he said, and turned. Valkyrie followed as he walked back the way they came, Xena trotting happily ahead of her.

  “It’s not like you to get lost,” Valkyrie said.

  “I have many things on my mind. And, judging by the long periods of silence you sink into, so do you.”

  “I don’t have to be talking every moment we’re together, do I?”

  “No,” he said. “But that’s never stopped you before.”

  She shrugged. “The world is a scary place, and it’s only getting scarier. The American president is a narcissistic psychopath. Fascism, racism, misogyny and homophobia are all on the rise. We’ve ruined the environment. Animals are going extinct faster than I can name them. Bullying is everywhere. Nobody talks to anyone who doesn’t share their views. Everyone hates. Everyone shouts. Everyone cries. There is literally no escape for the human race unless someone steps in and orders them to be better. But the only people who could do that are sorcerers, and that would bring about the war with the mortals that Cadaverous Gant and these anti-Sanctuary nutjobs so desperately want. So
… y’know. Rock and a hard place.”

  “You think cheery thoughts, don’t you?”

  “Can’t help it. I’m a naturally optimistic person.”

  They reached the Bentley and it unlocked with a beep.

  “How’s the headache?” Skulduggery asked.

  “Fading,” Valkyrie said. “Are we not sticking around? I thought we had to find The Mage’s Lament.”

  “I’ve decided that I don’t like long shots. They’re annoying, and rarely work out. Besides, it’s the middle of the day – I doubt there’s anyone interesting there right now. A better use of our time might be to take a drive up to Cassandra Pharos’s cottage.”

  Xena jumped in the car and Valkyrie got in after her. “You really want to take a detour?”

  “You never got a chance to say goodbye when you left for America,” Skulduggery said, shutting the door and starting the engine. “Maybe some of your reluctance about committing to coming back stems from a lack of closure.”

  “Wow.”

  “What?”

  “Closure. Wow.”

  They pulled out on to the road and started driving. “Closure is important,” he said. “You moved to Colorado and assumed that people like Cassandra and Finbar would be here when you got back. You never said goodbye.”

  “You think I feel guilt about that?”

  “You don’t?”

  “No,” Valkyrie said, giving him back his hat. “And the only people who should are the people who killed them.”

  The morning after the Night of Knives, Skulduggery had called Valkyrie in Colorado to let her know what had happened. She’d spoken to him while wrapped in a towel. The house was quiet apart from the faint splashes coming from the shower. By the time she’d hung up, the water had been turned off and the shower door was opening. She sat on the edge of her bed, tears in her eyes. She didn’t go to the funerals.

  They rolled up to Cassandra’s cottage a little after 2 pm. Valkyrie had mixed feelings about the place. On the one hand, Cassandra had always reminded her of the grandmothers she’d lost when she was a kid. She’d been warm, and funny, and fascinating. She’d had stories to tell about each and every facet of her life. Just to be in her company had brought a glorious feeling of being welcome. Of coming home.

  But the cottage had a cellar, and in that cellar there was a floor that was a metal grille over a bed of coals. And when the steam swirled and Cassandra played her visions out in 3D, like holograms, the warmth vanished, despite the rising heat, replaced by the cold dread of the horrors to come. It was in those steam clouds that Valkyrie had first seen the rubble of Roarhaven during Devastation Day, and her own face, mere moments before she went on to kill her baby sister.

  Valkyrie let Xena roam, and eyed the cottage. “Why are we really here?” she asked.

  “I have a theory that needs to be tested,” said Skulduggery. “No more questions. I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

  He found the key beneath an old pot and opened the front door, and Valkyrie took a dry leaf from the battered packet she kept in her jeans, popping it into her mouth as she stepped through. The cottage was just as she remembered – the comfy sofa, the faded rug, the guitar on a stand in the corner – but the dream whisperers which had hung from the rafters were gone. Valkyrie was glad. They were creepy little things.

  “Are you OK?” Skulduggery asked.

  The leaf had started to dissolve on her tongue, but she chewed the rest to get rid of it faster. They were great for numbing pain, be it from a broken leg, a gunshot wound, or a mere headache, but no one had yet bothered to make the damn things taste better. “Another headache,” she said as she wandered over to the guitar. “Nothing to worry about.” She picked it up.

  Skulduggery’s head tilted. “Perhaps.”

  She strummed. Badly. “Perhaps what? It’s a headache. People get headaches all the time. Especially after they’ve been punched in the face.”

  Skulduggery took a small bag of rainbow dust from his pocket, held out his hand and let it sprinkle through his gloved fingers. It fell as golden particles. “Do you remember what gold means?”

  “Gold means psychic. Which is to be expected, right? Even though Cassandra’s been dead for two years?” She played the first few bars of ‘Stairway to Heaven’, got it wrong and tried again.

  “You are quite correct,” he responded, sealing the bag and putting it away. “This cottage contains an abundance of residual psychic energy, enough so that anyone with Sensitive tendencies would be vulnerable to their influence.”

  “OK. So?”

  “We were nearing Testament Road when you got the headache earlier,” he said. “The part of town where Sensitives can’t go.”

  Valkyrie laughed. “Oh, wow. This is your theory? You think I’m a Sensitive?”

  “I think it’s a possibility. The full range of your abilities has yet to be explored. Most sorcerers are restricted to one discipline – I’m one of the rare exceptions, being both an Elemental and a Necromancer. But you? You might be something else entirely.”

  “I think I’d know if I was a psychic, though.”

  “Would you?” Skulduggery asked, and took the guitar from her hands. He walked away from her, playing ‘Heroes’ by Bowie. “Tell me something – have you experienced anything unusual recently?”

  “You mean apart from you? Listen, I don’t have clairvoyance. I can’t read people’s minds or see into the future.” She faltered on the last word, then shook her head. “This is silly. I’m not a Sensitive.”

  “You don’t know what you are,” he said, turning and starting to sing.

  Xena wandered in and he sang to her while she sat, head cocked to one side, and when he was done he twirled the guitar and thrust it away from him, and it floated back to the corner to settle into its stand. The show over, Xena got up, wandered back outside.

  “I didn’t know you played,” Valkyrie said.

  “Cassandra taught me,” he responded, and looked around like he’d just realised she wasn’t here any more.

  Valkyrie let the silence continue for a bit, then broke it. “So we’re here,” she said. “Remembering Cassandra. Singing. She really would have liked that. What’s next? We head back to Dublin and get matching tattoos in honour of Finbar?”

  “If you like,” he said. “But, since we’re here, we may as well go downstairs.”

  “Why would we want to do that?”

  But he was already opening the narrow door beside the cupboard. “Come on,” he said, and went down.

  Valkyrie hesitated a long moment before following.

  It was dark down there. Cold. Old pipes ran up the bare walls. A straight-backed chair stood in the middle of the metal floor.

  “I’m not sure what you’re hoping to achieve with all this,” she said.

  He clicked his fingers, summoning flame into his hand. “Your, what do you call it, your ‘aura-vision’ is a psychic ability. How do you know that it doesn’t go deeper? Indulge me this once.”

  “I’m always indulging you.”

  “Then indulge me once more.” He dropped the ball of fire to the floor. The flames lit the coals beneath and heat immediately started to rise.

  “What do you think is going to happen here?” she asked. “I’m suddenly going to have a vision? I don’t have visions.”

  “Not yet, but the energy all around you could trigger something, and, if it does, we’ll be able to see it played out in the steam.”

  “Or we’ll just be standing here getting a cheap sauna that will wrinkle your suit and ruin my hair.”

  “Nothing will wrinkle this suit,” said Skulduggery. “Ghastly made sure of it.”

  “We saw him in Cassandra’s vision,” Valkyrie pointed out. “We saw Ghastly with Tanith. We saw them kiss on Devastation Day – only he died before that could happen. Even if I did have a vision, so what? Ghastly’s death proves that visions of the future mean nothing.”

  “No,” Skulduggery replied, taking a y
ellow umbrella from a hook on the wall and passing it to her. “His death proves that the future can be changed if you know what’s coming. And we have no idea what’s coming. We don’t even know who we’re up against, not really, so we don’t know what we have to avoid. Try, Valkyrie. At least try.”

  She sighed, then sat in the chair. It was quickly turning hot in here. When the first bead of perspiration formed on her temple, she opened the umbrella as Skulduggery turned the red wheel. Water rushed through the pipes, gurgling like the belly of a ravenous beast. The sprinklers started up, tapping a growing applause on the umbrella. Steam rose, getting thicker, becoming mist, becoming fog. She lost sight of Skulduggery, but heard the wheel turn again, and the water cut off. She collapsed the umbrella, shook it and laid it on the floor before standing.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “Now focus,” Skulduggery said. “Or don’t focus. Empty your mind, or maybe fill it.”

  “You’re a great help.”

  “I don’t really know how this works.”

  “Hush,” she said.

  She stood there, eyes fixed on the empty space in front of her. She tried to relax her thoughts, but they were in as big a jumble as ever. Her head buzzed. The headache was coming back.

  “I don’t think this is working,” she said.

  And then something moved ahead of her.

  13

  A shadow in the billowing steam. Valkyrie narrowed her eyes. “Did you see that?”

  “I saw something,” Skulduggery said.

  “What was it? It looked like—”

  Something flared in the distance, a sudden fire or explosion. Valkyrie walked towards it.

  “Careful,” said Skulduggery, but he sounded so far away. “There’s a wall in front of you.”

  She knew that. Behind the steam and the shadows, she knew there was a solid wall. She knew she was still in the cellar. She knew what was real and what wasn’t.

  Only there was no wall. Frowning, she kept walking, hands out in front, and with each step she expected to come into contact with the wall and yet each step brought her deeper and deeper into the steam. She turned, looked back.