Finbar murmured happily. “Can you hear me, Finbar?” Skulduggery said louder.
“Skul-man.” Finbar smiled. “Hey, how are you? Coming in loud and clear….”
“Do you remember what you’re looking for?”
Finbar nodded, his eyes still shut. “Oh yeah. The gate. For the Faceless Ones. Creepy critters, man.”
“Yes, they are.”
Valkyrie watched Finbar frown slightly.
“I think,” he said slowly, “I think I can feel them, man….”
Skulduggery tilted his head. “Stay away, Finbar. Stay away from them.”
“That’s a … that’s a good idea….”
“You’re looking for the lines of magic, remember?”
“Yep … I remember….” His hands drifted across the map. “I’m flying now. Ooh, this is nice. I can feel the clouds between my fingers. I can see the lines all around me. They’re glowing, like gold, like glitter. So pretty …”
His smile faded a little. “Wait. These … these lines aren’t glowing. They’re dull. Getting duller.”
“Where are you?”
“Hold on, man, just going a bit closer …”
“Keep your distance, Finbar.”
“I’ll be okay …”
Valkyrie glanced at Skulduggery. They waited a few moments.
“It’s rotten,” Finbar said. Something in his voice had changed. He was no longer dreamy. “The lines, they’ve turned black. They’re rotting away.”
“Where are you?”
“I can hear them. I can … I can hear their whispers….”
“Who can you hear?”
“The Faceless Ones.”
“Don’t. Can you hear me? Stay away from them.”
“Oh God.”
“Finbar, stay away—”
“Oh God, they know where we are. They know where we are. They’ve found us and they’re waiting to be let in. They’re at the gate and they’re waiting to be let in!”
“Finbar,” Skulduggery said urgently. “Where are you? Tell us where you are right now.”
Finbar extended his arm toward the sink, and Valkyrie jerked her head back to avoid the knife that flew into his hand. He stabbed downward into the map, and then his arms dropped by his sides and his head dipped.
“Finbar?” Skulduggery said softly. “Finbar, can you hear me?”
A low chuckle escaped his lips. He flew into the air, knocking both Valkyrie and Skulduggery off their feet. The table collapsed, and Finbar turned to face them. His limbs were twitching and his eyes were still closed.
He opened his mouth, and a voice that was not his, a voice that was a hundred thousand other voices, said, “Cannot stop us.”
Skulduggery scrambled up, and something hit him and sent him crashing back against the wall.
“World will fall,” the voices said. “World will crumble. We are coming.”
Finbar fell to the floor, crumpling like a puppet with its strings cut. Valkyrie stood. Behind her, Skulduggery groaned and got up.
Finbar raised his head and looked around drowsily.
“Whoa,” he said.
Valkyrie helped him into the only upright chair in the kitchen.
“I hate being possessed,” he said. “Happens all the time when you’re a Sensitive. Usually, it’s pretty easy to spot, because you’ve got red eyes or a deep voice or you’re hovering in midair or something, but sometimes it isn’t. I was possessed by the spirit of Napoleon for a week before Sharon noticed anything strange about me. I think it was the accent.”
“Can you tell us anything about whatever that was?” Skulduggery asked.
“I’m sorry,” Finbar said, and Valkyrie noticed how pale he was. “That was freaky, man. That was some powerful mojo. Like, insanely powerful, y’know? My mind just got touched by a god’s mucky fingers, and it didn’t feel too good.”
Skulduggery lifted the map, examining the spot where the knife had plunged. “This is it, is it?”
Finbar shrugged. “If that’s where I pointed to, that’s where the walls of reality are at their weakest. That’s where the gateway is.”
“Batu probably already knows the location,” Valkyrie said. “He’s had fifty years to find it.”
“But without the Isthmus Anchor and a Teleporter, that information has been useless to him.” Skulduggery folded the map. “Do you mind if I take this, Finbar?”
“Not at all, Skul-man.” Finbar stood on shaky legs. “Anything else I can help you with?”
“You’ve done more than enough.”
“That’s cool.” Finbar looked at Valkyrie. “Want a tattoo?”
“Yes,” Valkyrie said.
“No,” Skulduggery said. “We’re leaving now.”
Valkyrie scowled as she followed him out into the rain. “I could have just got a small one.”
“Your parents would kill me.”
“Being around you puts my life in constant danger. I’ve fought monsters and vampires and I’ve almost died twice, and you think they’d choose to kill you over a tattoo?”
“Parents are funny that way.”
Skulduggery’s phone rang, and the moment he realized who was calling him, his voice went frosty. He made no attempt to hide his distaste. He hung up as they got to the Bentley.
“We have a meeting,” he said.
“Who with?”
“Solomon Wreath. He has some information he’d like to share.”
“Who’s Solomon Wreath?”
“The who is not important. It’s the what you should be worried about.”
“All right then—what is Solomon Wreath?”
“He’s a Necromancer,” Skulduggery said, and got into the car.
Eleven
WREATH
SKULDUGGERY AND Valkyrie drove in silence. Gradually, the streets became dirtier and the buildings smaller. The rain added to the gray effect of their surroundings as they swung into a large, run-down residential development, the car drawing curious gazes from the few locals who were out tonight.
The house they stopped outside was abandoned. The walls were defaced with graffiti, none of it any good. Skulduggery wrapped his scarf around his jaw and pulled his hat down low. They left the car and walked through the open door.
The streetlight shone through the cracked and dirty windows, enough to see by. The house had been stripped bare. There were remnants, here and there, of wallpaper. The floorboards were old, and they were damp. Valkyrie let Skulduggery go on ahead and wandered into the living room. There was no graffiti in here, as if the brave souls who had scrawled their slogans so inelegantly on the outside were not quite bold enough to venture indoors.
She turned to go, and a figure stepped through the door, blocking her exit. Valkyrie looked at him. He didn’t move. It had got even gloomier in the room, like the man had brought a cloud of shadows with him.
“I’m with Skulduggery Pleasant,” she said, but got no response. Valkyrie took a step closer, as much to see his face as to indicate her desire to leave. His hair was dark, but his eyes were so bright they almost gleamed. He was dressed in black, a finely tailored suit that she couldn’t appreciate in this light. He held a slender cane in his hand.
“Are you Solomon Wreath?” she asked, refusing to be intimidated by his silence.
“I am,” he answered, and gave a little bow of his head. “I’ve heard about you. You helped take down Nefarian Serpine and Baron Vengeous. You stopped the Grotesquery. Such talent. Such potential. Has he corrupted you yet?”
“I’m sorry?”
“He corrupts everyone he meets. Have you noticed that? Have you noticed how much you’re changing, simply by being around him?”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“You will,” he promised.
He stepped into the room, and she saw the shadows moving with him. She knew very little about Necromancers, but what she did know was that they preferred to place most of their power in objects or weapons. Lord Vile had pl
aced his power in his armor. By the way the shadows were coiling, Solomon Wreath seemed to have placed his in his cane.
“This house has had a rather bland life,” he said. “It was built and people lived here. They ate here and slept here. They grew old. Someone, an elderly man, passed away peacefully in the bedroom, a little over ten years ago. A very, very ordinary house.
“Until two years ago. You may remember this from the news, actually. Four people were murdered—three were shot; one was stabbed. Two people died here, in this room. The third was killed in the kitchen. The fourth in the hall, within arm’s reach of the front door.”
Valkyrie looked at him, noticing the way his eyes glittered as he described the scene.
“Who killed them?” she asked, determined to keep her voice steady.
He laughed. “Ah, you think all this is a preamble to me announcing that I’m the killer? I’m afraid not. I’m fairly certain that the police caught him, whoever he was, and put him in jail. But violent death lingers in a place.” He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. “A murder can imprint itself on the walls. You can taste it, if you try. You can drink it in.”
Valkyrie stepped away, her mind conjuring images of all that horrible dark energy swirling around him. She knew she shouldn’t have been surprised. Necromancy was death magic, shadow magic—it was only natural that its practitioners would be drawn to places that reeked of death.
And then, as if he was remembering he had company, Wreath stopped, opened his eyes, and looked at her again.
“My apologies. For our first meeting, I should have chosen a more civilized spot.”
“Don’t feel too bad,” Skulduggery said as he walked slowly in. “Valkyrie is my partner. You can treat her like you’d treat me.”
“That’s a shame,” Wreath said. “I actually liked her.”
“What do you want, Solomon? Our time is precious.”
“All time is precious, but you’ll want to hear what I have to say nonetheless. Or maybe you would rather I go to Remus Crux with this? I hear he’s running all over town, desperate for something with which to impress the Grand Mage.” Wreath shook his head. “His actions are deplorable. As one detective to another, Crux is a man who values a progress report over actual progress.”
“If you’re hoping we can bond because we share a distaste for the man, you will be disappointed.”
“That’s not all we share, actually. We have a common enemy.”
“Is that so?”
“Your investigation into the Teleporter murders, however unofficial it may be, coincides with an investigation I have been running for the past few years, into the Diablerie.”
Skulduggery didn’t say anything for a moment, then turned to Valkyrie. “The Diablerie was a group of the sickest fanatics Mevolent had at his disposal. A group that China founded and led.”
“China?” Valkyrie echoed.
“She had a misspent youth.” Wreath smiled.
Skulduggery ignored him. “When China left and became, to use her own word, neutral, Baron Vengeous took over, but it’s been a hundred and twenty years since they’ve been considered a real threat.”
“All that’s about to change,” Wreath said. “Jaron Gallow, Murder Rose, and Gruesome Krav reunited two years ago. I have found evidence that they have since hired Billy-Ray Sanguine, to add to their ranks. The Diablerie are back, Detective, and they are killing Teleporters.”
“And Batu? What do you know of him?”
“I suspect Batu doesn’t even exist,” Wreath said. “It’s a name taken to divert attention. The real leader is Jaron Gallow. He just pretends to answer to a mysterious master. He’s been at it for years—it keeps everyone off balance.”
“That still doesn’t make any sense,” Valkyrie said. “Batu, or whoever was using that name, killed Trope Kessel after he found out how to bring back the Faceless Ones. But since they need a Teleporter to open the gate, why kill them all?”
“They need a Teleporter?” Wreath asked. “How many?”
“Just one.”
“And how many Teleporters are left?”
“Two,” Skulduggery said. “Emmett Peregrine and one more. We’re not going to be sharing either his name or location with you, so don’t bother asking.”
Wreath frowned. “You obviously haven’t heard. Peregrine is dead. He was murdered an hour ago.” Valkyrie’s mouth went dry. “What about
Tanith?”
“Who?”
“The girl who was with him,” Skulduggery said quickly.
“Ah, the English girl. I don’t know all the details, but from what I have heard, she was attacked by Krav and Murder Rose, and escaped with her life. Which is an admirable feat in itself.”
Valkyrie closed her eyes. Thank God.
“Now,” Wreath continued, “if there is only one Teleporter left, and since all the Teleporters I know about are dead, then he must be new. Which makes sense.”
“How does it make sense?” Valkyrie asked.
“None of the seasoned Teleporters would cooperate with the Diablerie,” Skulduggery said. “They’d be too experienced, too powerful. The chances of escape would be much too high.”
“But why kill them?”
“Because if the gate opens, they’d be able to close it. The Diablerie have taken out the biggest obstacles to their success before we even knew what was happening.”
“Those in the Necromancer temples have taken an oath not to involve ourselves in the trivialities of your affairs,” Wreath said. “But there are those who share my view that the Diablerie’s plans affect everyone, Necromancers included. You will have my help should you need it, Detective. Help from me and three others.”
“I don’t trust you, Wreath.”
“Of course not, but like I said, we have a common enemy. I think we should put our differences aside, don’t you? For old times’ sake, if nothing else?”
Skulduggery hit him so hard and so fast that Valkyrie didn’t even register the punch; she just saw Wreath slamming back against the wall.
Wreath wiped the blood from his lip. “You certainly hit as hard as you ever did, and that’s no mistake.”
When Skulduggery spoke, his voice was even and without anger. “Solomon, so glad to have you on board. Welcome to the team.”
“A delight, sir, as always.”
Skulduggery nodded his farewell and walked from the house, out into the rain. Valkyrie followed.
“What was that?” she demanded as they approached the Bentley.
“History,” Skulduggery replied.
“You never told me you had a history with the Necromancers.”
“I’m over four hundred years old,” he said. “I haven’t told you a lot of things.”
Twelve
IN THE OFFICE OF THE GRAND MAGE
REMUS CRUX knocked, and the Grand Mage bade him enter. The office was crammed full of books, and maps covered every inch of the far wall. Thurid Guild was not one to become complacent just because he had reached a certain level of power. Crux admired that and was determined to follow his example. Together, they would make the Sanctuary strong again.
“You idiot,” the Grand Mage said, and Crux lost his little smile.
“Sir?”
“Do you know how many calls I’ve been getting? Our people are terrified, Crux. They’re looking at what is going on and they’re thinking, If someone can kill the Teleporters without leaving one single trace, then they can kill me, too. That’s what they’re thinking.”
“Grand Mage, I assure you, I am doing everything in my power—”
“You assure me? I’ve assured them, Crux, that my best detective is on the case. And do you know what they say?”
Inwardly, Crux swelled a little at this compliment, but he shook his head.
“They say, ‘Oh, I didn’t know you’d got Skulduggery Pleasant back.’”
Crux felt the blood rush to his face.
“They are scared and they are looking for results. I
brought you in to do the job, and you have yet to impress me.”
“But sir—”
“There’s another Teleporter. Did you know that? The last Teleporter. A boy.”
“Sir, yes, sir. His name is Renn, sir. He was last seen in a nightclub in County Meath. I have our agents combing the area. We’ll find him.”
“Do not let me down, Crux.”
“I won’t, sir.”
“Leave me.”
Crux bowed and hurried out, closing the door gently behind him.
Thirteen
THE HOUSE ON CEMETERY ROAD
SKULDUGGERY HAD a home. When Valkyrie had first discovered this, her initial reaction had been surprise. Her second reaction, following hot on surprise’s heels, had been logical acceptance. Of course he had a home; of course he had somewhere to live. Had she really thought that he just drove around all day in the Bentley? A part of her actually had thought that, but that was a silly part, and not very bright.
His house was the only residential building on Cemetery Road. There wasn’t an actual cemetery on Cemetery Road, but there were two competing funeral homes, situated directly opposite each other, and Skulduggery’s house sat proudly at the top, like a parent overseeing squabbling siblings. He’d told her stories of the arguments the funeral directors would get into as they stood just inside their gates and hurled abuse at each other from a safe distance.
One of the first things Valkyrie had noticed about the inside of the house was that every room seemed to be a living room.
“I don’t need anything else,” Skulduggery had explained. “I don’t need a kitchen or a bathroom, and I don’t need a bed, so I don’t need a bedroom.”
“Don’t you sleep?”
“I don’t have to, but I’ve developed the skill and I quite like it. Though I suppose you’d call it meditation. The effect’s still the same—I shut down completely, let my mind wander where it wants to wander, totally unhindered by conscious thought. It’s good. It’s relaxing.”
He’d shown her the chair he liked to sit in while he “slept.” It was an armchair, nothing particularly impressive about it. Valkyrie had looked at it, felt pretty bored, and gone snooping.