Valkyrie shook her head. “What did Craven do to you?”
“What did he do? He did nothing. He released the power I had inside.”
“No. He changed you. Look at yourself, for God’s sake.”
“Cleric Craven recognised my potential.”
“He tortured you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Nor would I expect you to. It’s funny, seeing you stand there, all scared. I’m used to seeing you in your special black clothes that protect you from harm, always with a smirk on your face. You’re not smirking, Valkyrie. I distinctly remember a smirk when you told me that I would have to start worshipping you. Isn’t that what you said? But you’re not the Death Bringer. You don’t get to save the world. I do. And so you should really start worshipping me.”
“Leave,” Valkyrie snarled, then stepped back inside the house, slamming the door. She turned as the shadows in the hallway lengthened and met in the middle of the floor, swirling, thickening, growing. Melancholia emerged from the maelstrom.
“My power is practically limitless,” Melancholia said softly. “I’d describe the sensation to you, but words would not be sufficient. To understand what it’s like to be a god, you’d really have to be a god. Like me.”
“Get out of my house.”
“I could destroy you and no one would be able to do anything about it. I would tear you from your family. Your friends would be powerless to stop me. The Skeleton Detective? I’d make him watch.”
Valkyrie said nothing.
“What’s this? No comeback at all? Silence? I’m starting to think that you are scared of me. I bet your heart is beating much, much faster, isn’t it? I bet your mouth is dry.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to admit that you’re scared of me.”
“And then you’ll leave? Fine, I admit it. I’m scared of you. I’m terrified of you. Now leave.”
Melancholia smiled. “I don’t think you’re being genuine. Maybe if I say hello to your little sister, maybe then you’d show some genuine fear.”
“Take one step and I swear I’ll kill you.”
Melancholia laughed. Valkyrie heard the back door open and saw Caelan blurring towards them, fangs bared, but the shadows were already curling around her and suddenly Melancholia was taking her shadow-walking. Valkyrie cursed, the shadows went away and she went stumbling to the grass. She looked up to the Martello tower beside her. They were on the cliffs overlooking the beach. But that was impossible. Shadow-walking was strictly short-range teleportation.
“No other Necromancer could shadow-walk this far,” Melancholia murmured, obviously thinking the same thing. She looked back to the twinkling lights of the town. “How far was that? A kilometre? Two?”
At least they weren’t in the house any more, or anywhere near Alice. Valkyrie got to her feet, and Melancholia remembered she was there.
“A vampire?” she said. “In your house? Was it coming for me or for you? Ah, I don’t suppose it matters. Unless it’s feasting on your little sister as we speak. Now that would be amusing.”
“Why are you here?” Valkyrie asked. “Why are you out alone? Lord Vile is still on the loose, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Melancholia sighed. “Lord Vile is overrated. Cleric Craven told me that he’s really not as powerful as all the stories say.”
“Craven? You’d put your trust in Craven?”
“At least he isn’t running scared like your skeleton friend. And he has faith. He knows that if Vile does show up, and I doubt that he will, it won’t be a fair fight. I’ll crush that armour of his with him still inside. What’s left of him will ooze out of the eyeholes in his mask.”
“And you came all this way to tell me that?”
“I came all this way to tell you that when I save the world, I’m not going to be saving you. You’re not on my list.”
“I’ll get by fine without you, don’t worry about it.”
Melancholia laughed. “You’re so tough, aren’t you? With all your fighting moves and your Elemental magic and your dainty little ring. I don’t need an object in which to store my Necromancy. My power is stored inside me. I am my own weapon.”
“Is there a point to any of this?”
“Yes, actually. There is. You’re not on my list.”
A fist of shadows crunched into Valkyrie’s chest and lifted her off her feet.
“And if you’re not on my list,” Melancholia continued breezily, “then you don’t get saved.”
Valkyrie struggled to get to her hands and knees. The shot had knocked the wind out of her. “Seriously?” she managed to say. “We’re going to fight?”
“Who said anything about fighting?” Melancholia asked. “I’m going to slash you to ribbons and you’re going to take it. I’d hardly call that a fight.”
Melancholia frowned, almost to herself, and for a moment she seemed to sway, like she was going to collapse. She suddenly looked drained. She looked exhausted.
Valkyrie stood slowly, warily, looking out for the trap. A moan drifted from Melancholia’s lips, and Valkyrie realised it wasn’t an act – Melancholia really was hurting.
And then, just as suddenly as the weakness had hit, it left her, and Melancholia straightened up. The darkness turned sharp and whipped across Valkyrie’s right arm. Blood sprang into the air and she cried out. Melancholia raised an eyebrow and something sliced Valkyrie’s back, opening up her skin as easily as it opened her T-shirt. Valkyrie stumbled, cursed, raised her hand, but the shadows wrapped around her wrist. They tightened and she screamed, the shadows cutting into her flesh like piano wire. The ring flew from her finger into Melancholia’s hand.
“A gaudy trinket,” Melancholia said, examining it, “containing an insignificant amount of power. Cleric Wreath had faith in you on the basis of this? How disappointing.”
Valkyrie pretended to stagger, closing the distance between them, and then she lunged, but Melancholia twisted the darkness into a claw that ripped into her belly. Valkyrie doubled over, gasping at the white-hot pain. Another claw slashed her face. She spun, fell, blood running down her neck. Her face was ruined, cut open like a freshly ploughed field. Shadows snagged her wrists and ankles, holding her in mid-air, her body locked tight.
“All the little jibes,” Melancholia said. “All the little taunts.”
Knives of darkness cut into Valkyrie’s skin and she screamed.
“Don’t worry,” Melancholia said, “I’m not going to kill you. I’m just going to cut you all over. When I’m done, there won’t be an inch of you that doesn’t have my mark on it. And even if you get to a doctor and they heal you right up and make all the scars disappear, you’ll know that some scars are deeper than that. You’ll know they’re there, and every moment of every day, you will regret all those little jibes and taunts. Providing you don’t bleed to death while I’m having my fun.”
“Don’t,” Valkyrie said. Blood dripped from her torn lips.
“Are you begging? Is the mighty and fearless Valkyrie Cain begging me for mercy?”
“Don’t,” was all Valkyrie could manage.
Melancholia sent the shadowknives upwards and they cut through Valkyrie’s T-shirt, making furrows in her flesh, changing the pitch of her screams.
Chapter 14
The Call
alkyrie awoke, lying face down on the grass. She turned her head slightly, tried to blink, but her eyelids were slashed. There were objects in front of her. It took her a while to register what they were. Her phone, and her ring. She moved a hand. It wasn’t easy. Some of her muscles had been severed.
With trembling, blood-caked fingers, she speed-dialled a number.
“Hey,” Fletcher said when he answered. “They’ve got the pizza almost ready. It smells delicious.”
“Fletcher,” she said softly. “Help.”
Chapter 15
The Doctor is In
hastly braked beside the Bentley and jumped out of his van, hu
rrying up to Skulduggery as he stalked through the Sanctuary doors. “I just heard,” he said. “Any idea what happened?”
“None,” said Skulduggery, not slowing down. “She called Fletcher, said she was on the cliffs. She lost consciousness as soon as he arrived.”
Sanctuary officials dodged out of their way, flattening themselves against the corridor walls.
“She’ll be OK,” Ghastly told his friend. “We have a new doctor. Apparently he’s brilliant on a level with Kenspeckle Grouse. Madame Mist brought him in.”
“Fletcher said she’s cut deep. Kenspeckle would take care not to leave scars.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Fletcher paced outside the operating theatre. His head snapped up when he saw them. “She’s still in there,” he said. He was pale. His voice shook.
Skulduggery barged through the doors, Ghastly and Fletcher behind him. Ghastly froze. Valkyrie lay on the table, eyes closed, covered in a blood-drenched surgical sheet. Above her stooped a creature dressed in a smock, with arms and legs longer than Ghastly’s whole body. Its eyes were small and yellow, the lids punctured with black thread where they had once been sewn shut. Its mouth had received similar treatment, and its nose had been cut off. There was a scab there now that refused to fully heal.
“What the hell is going on?” Skulduggery snarled, his gun suddenly in his hand.
“Kill me if you must,” Doctor Nye said in its high voice, “but if you do so, your friend will bleed to death. Make up your mind. I have a lot on my plate tonight.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Fletcher. “Who is that?”
“Step away from her,” Ghastly commanded. “We’ll get another doctor in here.”
“Another doctor would not be able to save her life,” Nye responded, sounding bored. “These are wounds inflicted with abandon. No method, no design, no finesse. But they are severe, and they are many, and organs have been sliced and arteries nicked. I have completed my examination and I know exactly how to proceed. If you call in another doctor, they would need to start over. By that time, she would be dead.”
“You can save her?” Skulduggery asked.
“Undoubtedly. And if I am allowed to get back to work immediately, there won’t even be any scarring.”
Skulduggery looked at Ghastly, then nodded.
“Get back to work, Doctor,” Ghastly said. “Skulduggery, I’m sure you’ll want to stay, to make sure he behaves.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Skulduggery said. He didn’t put his gun away.
“Me neither,” said Fletcher.
Ghastly left, anger quickening his step. He found Madame Mist in her chambers.
“Nye?” he said, barging in. “You have Doctor Nye working here? Are you out of your mind? Nye is a monster!”
Mist observed him from behind her veil. “Just because the Doctor is a being without specification does not make it a monster.”
“Without specification? You mean because it isn’t male or female? You mean because it isn’t strictly human? No, that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s a monster because it conducts medical experiments on its captives!”
“That’s all in the past.”
“Nye is a war criminal!”
“Who has been punished for the crimes it committed. Elder Bespoke, I was tasked with equipping this Sanctuary with the very best medical staff available. Kenspeckle Grouse is dead. Doctor Nye was next on the list.”
“And you didn’t think to run it by us first? You didn’t think we’d object?”
“When you say we, are you referring also to the Grand Mage? Because I did confer with him, and he agreed that this facility would benefit from Nye’s expertise.”
Ghastly frowned. “Ravel agreed to this?”
“Yes. If you have a problem, maybe you should take it up with him.”
“Yeah,” Ghastly said, “maybe I should.”
Ghastly walked the corridors, his pace slower now. Ravel was like him – he was a soldier. He’d fought in the war, fought against Mevolent, and he’d had friends who were captured. They’d all heard the stories, about the torture and the sick experiments. They’d all heard of the doctor with the long arms and legs and the scabrous nose. Everyone had heard of Doctor Nye.
“Ghastly,” Ravel said, looking up from his desk, “is Valkyrie OK?”
“She’s hurt,” Ghastly replied, “but she should pull through. She’s in the Medical Bay now. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Ah,” Ravel said, sitting back. It was three in the morning and he was looking tired. “Nye.”
“How could you agree to this? That thing killed some of our best friends.”
“Sorcerers live a long time, Ghastly – how long are we going to hold grudges for things we did in wartime?”
“Fighting on the battlefield is one thing. Torturing prisoners to death is quite another.”
“Do you know what Nye has been doing for the past hundred years? It’s been working alone, secluded, cut off, doing research on the human soul.”
“It wants to torture that too?”
“No, it wants to find it. Ghastly, can you imagine what that could mean? The soul is our essence – it’s the strongest, most pure part of ourselves. The link between the soul and our true names has been discussed but never proven – but think what we could achieve if we harnessed that power. Think what we could become if we allowed ourselves to be the best we could possibly be.”
“Erskine, all due respect, but what on earth are you talking about? If Nye did find the soul, what would it do then? Poke it? With what? It’s a soul, not a plate of jelly. The soul should be left where it is – it causes enough problems without us adding to them. Angry souls can become ghosts, powerful souls can become Gists and evil souls can become Remnants. It’s a dark and dangerous business, and we should leave it alone.”
“We didn’t recruit Nye so he could find the soul, Ghastly. I’m just telling you what he’s been doing for the past century. He hasn’t been hurting anyone, he hasn’t been torturing anyone. He has repented.”
“I find that very hard to believe.”
“He’s the best there is, damn it, and you know it. Do you think I like having him here? He’s creepy as hell and if you think I don’t remember the things he did to our friends, you’re nuts. But with Kenspeckle gone, with Vile on the loose and with Darquesse coming our way, we need to put our issues aside and surround ourselves with the best people for the job.”
“Even if that includes a known sadist and murderer?”
Ravel closed his eyes, and sat back in his chair. “I didn’t think it would be like this. I really didn’t. I thought every decision I’d have to make would be how many operatives to send on a rescue mission. I don’t know how Meritorious did it.” He opened his eyes. “Is Valkyrie conscious?”
“No. That’s probably a good thing.”
“Do we know what happened to her? Who did this?”
“I don’t need Skulduggery’s skills to recognise Necromancy when I see it.”
“Speaking of Skulduggery,” Ravel said slowly, “does he need to be contained?”
“Contained?”
“Don’t play innocent. You know what he’s like. Once she wakes up, he’ll be going after every Necromancer in the country.”
“Maybe we should let him.”
“We’re in charge now, Ghastly. We don’t have that luxury. This has to be done right.”
“Leave it with me. I’ll make sure he understands.”
“And listen,” Ravel said, “I know this goes against every fibre in your body, but Doctor Nye is the best man-woman-whatever for the job. It will save Valkyrie’s life.”
“Yeah, I know, it’s just… Things got complicated around here awfully fast, didn’t they?”
“Yes, they did. But we’re in charge now, my friend. We’ve got to be the ones to make the hard decisions. It’s inevitable that people are going to start hating us, sooner or later.”
<
br /> “They can form a queue behind me, then.”
Ravel smiled sadly. “Yeah. Let me know when she regains consciousness, OK? Oh, any news on Tanith?”
Ghastly hesitated. “She was in Berlin last week. With Sanguine. They almost got her. But no. No real news.”
“You’ll find her.”
“Yeah,” Ghastly said, and left.
He went back to talk to Madame Mist, who had a surprisingly good grasp of Sanctuary law and procedures. Once he had been sufficiently briefed, he walked back to the Medical Ward. Skulduggery was sitting outside the Operating Theatre, his head down, his hat on the chair beside him. His skull gleamed under the light. He looked up as Ghastly approached.
“Nye predicts a full recovery,” Skulduggery said, his velvet voice sounding disturbingly hollow. “She’ll wake in an hour or two. There’s a nurse in there with her now.”
“Where’s Fletcher?”
“I sent him home. He seemed traumatised.”
“Seeing your girlfriend slashed to ribbons will probably do that to you,” Ghastly said. “And how are you?”
“Meaning?”
“She was almost killed.”
“I am aware. You’re waiting to see if I’ll get angry.”
“I already know you’re angry. You’re sitting very still and you’re talking very quietly. You’re getting ready to kill someone.”
“I just need a name.”
“You know the name. A Necromancer did that to Valkyrie, and there’s only one out there who’d be motivated enough to do it.”
Skulduggery’s head tilted. “You’re going to tell me that I can’t go after her?”
“Not at all. I’m telling you that if you do go after her, she’ll kill you. She’s the Death Bringer.”
Skulduggery picked up his hat, and stood. “I’ll take my chances.”
“No you won’t,” said Ghastly, standing in front of him. “You think your brief encounter with Vile five months ago has prepared you? That was nothing. I went up against him during the war. I saw him slaughter dozens of sorcerers, including my mother – a woman, you’ll remember, who had proved herself to be very hard to kill. He killed her with barely a wave of his hand.”