Cadaverous chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised. I can admit when I’m wrong. Do you mind if I take this? You don’t? That’s so nice of you. This … this is what I love. I’m one of the originals, you started following Abyssinia after she released you from your cell, but here we both are, working together. As a team.”
Cadaverous folded the sheets and tucked them into his pocket, then lifted Avatar off the ground, grunting slightly with the effort. He dragged him the short distance to the balcony, and heaved him over.
Zzaap, as Razzia would say.
21
It was a Monday morning, which meant that Omen had already missed a double maths class and, as he handed blankets to a never-ending line of wary, hungry mortals, he was now missing civics. He was glad to miss maths – when was he ever going to have to add numbers in his adult life? – but he regretted missing civics. His classmates were being given their first lesson on how to forge an ID. Those kinds of things would be useful to know in the next few hundred years.
Instead, here he was in a sort of market, right in the very centre of the City of Tents, a proud member of Miss Gnosis’s volunteer team of nine. He’d never volunteered for anything before, and he was starting to remember why. It was boring, for a start, and the mortals were hardly any fun, what with them hating and fearing anyone who could do magic. He wondered how they felt about people who could barely do magic, like Omen himself, but decided against asking. He probably didn’t know them well enough to make jokes.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder.
“Miss Gnosis says I’m to relieve you,” Axelia said.
“Oh,” said Omen, and blushed, and stepped aside, and Axelia started handing out the blankets. She’d been weird with him all morning, everyone had, probably because they all figured he’d only volunteered because she’d be here.
He wandered over to Miss Gnosis, who was supervising the food distribution. “Um, miss? What’ll I do now?”
“You’re on your break,” Miss Gnosis said, flicking through the pages of her clipboard. “Go mingle.”
Omen didn’t really know how to mingle. He’d watched Never do it, but hadn’t ever come close to mastering that particular skill himself. Two of Axelia’s friends were giving him the side-eye and whispering to each other, however, so he plunged into the crowd of mortals to escape, and found himself jostled and jumbled and then spat out the other side, nearly colliding with a stall lined with pots. The girl behind the stall narrowed her eyes at him.
Omen looked at her, then decided to smile. He may have overdone it, because the girl recoiled slightly.
“Hi,” said Omen. “Um. Hello.”
“Hello,” said the girl.
Omen stuck out his hand. “My name’s Omen,” he said. “Omen Darkly.”
She observed his hand for a moment before shaking it. “Aurnia.”
“Hi, Aurnia. Very good to meet you. You’re the first person from another dimension that I’ve ever actually spoken to.”
She didn’t say anything to that, so he continued.
“I mean, obviously, I spoke to the people when I was giving them blankets, but it wasn’t anything that you’d call a conversation. It was mostly just, Hello, here’s a blanket, and then they’d walk away. So …” He cleared his throat. “It’s a school thing, the food and blankets. I volunteered. Do you have schools where you’re from?”
“Yes.”
“Yes. Of course. Who doesn’t have schools?” Omen laughed. “They’re all the same, no matter which universe you’re from. It’s all a drag. I hate school, y’know? Well, it’s OK. Some of the teachers are nice, but I think I’m just not very smart.” He was saying the wrong things. He didn’t know what the right things to say were, but he was not saying them. “So what do you think of our universe?” he continued. “Pretty cool, right?”
“It’s warm enough.”
“Sorry?”
“It’s warm. It’s fine.”
“Oh,” Omen said. “Oh, I get it. Um, when I say cool, I don’t mean cold. It’s an expression we have here. It means something good. Y’know, hey, that’s cool. I’m cool. You’re cool. It’s an expression. Do you have expressions where you’re from?”
“Yes.”
“Cool. Well … it was very good to meet you.” He waved, and backed off, and battled his way through the crowd.
“Making friends?” Miss Gnosis asked.
“I don’t think so,” said Omen. “She didn’t look very happy to talk to me.”
“She’s been through a lot. They all have. Remember that their culture is vastly different from ours, and also she probably sees you as evil.”
“Right.”
“Which probably explains her reluctance to chat.”
“I suppose.”
“I don’t think it’s anything personal.”
“Maybe it’s my face.”
“Your face is fine.”
“I don’t think girls like it, though.”
She passed him a badge. “Here. Invite your new friend to be one of the ambassadors. Let her see that you’re not a bad guy.”
The crowd had thinned by this stage, so Omen returned to Aurnia’s stall without making a fool out of himself.
“Aurnia?” he said. “Um, I was wondering if you’d like to be an ambassador, maybe? We’re giving out these badges to people that we’d like to talk to, going forward, to come up with ways to help out. We’re interested in hearing what you need, what your concerns are, that kind of thing.”
She eyed the badge suspiciously. “What we need?” she repeated.
“Yes. If that’s more food, or more blankets, or medicine, or … whatever. We want to open a dialogue with your people.”
“I don’t speak for them.”
“But you can,” said Omen. “That’s what this little badge does. It lets you speak. I mean, it doesn’t let you speak, you don’t need it to speak, but it kind of puts you in a position where you can get heard. If you like. If that interests you.”
“That little button does all that?”
“Yes.” He held it out to her. “If you want it.”
Aurnia considered it, then took the badge. “My people are scared,” she said. “We didn’t know what was on the other side of the portal – all we knew was that if we stayed in our homes we’d be killed. Now people are saying if we stay here we’ll be killed.”
“No,” said Omen, his eyes wide. “No, no. We don’t kill people. God, no. You’re innocent, and you’re unarmed, and you’re mortal. We don’t kill mortals. Sorcerers protect mortals.”
“From what?”
“Uh, mostly from other sorcerers.”
“Like Mevolent.”
“Yes,” Omen said. “We had our own version of him, in this dimension. We stopped him. He’s dead here. If the Mevolent from your home tries to follow you through the portal, we’ll kill him, too.”
Aurnia didn’t appear to be reassured. “What are you going to do to us?”
“We’re, um, we’re not … I’m sorry, what do you mean?”
“If you’re not going to kill us, where will you put us?”
“To be honest,” Omen said, shrugging helplessly, “they’re still trying to figure that out. Supreme Mage Sorrows – she’s in charge – is a very smart lady, though, so she’ll think of something. You’re safe now. You can relax.”
“We’re not safe,” Aurnia replied. “We’re in a strange world and we’re surrounded by sorcerers.”
“We’re not all bad,” said Omen. “I know your experience with people like me has been pretty terrible. I’ve heard about what it’s like over there, in your reality. But things are different here. The mortals are free and happy. Well, not all of them, but in general. Kind of. What I’m trying to say is that this is their world.”
“They rule over you?”
“Well, no, because they don’t even know we exist.”
“They have their own cities?”
“They have all the cities,” Omen said,
“all except this one, and Roarhaven is kind of invisible. This isn’t a perfect universe, and not everything is fair or good and not everyone is happy, but I’m telling you, you don’t have to be scared of us.”
She looked doubtful. “And you,” she said, “you promise you’re a good sorcerer?”
“I, uh … I promise I try to be a good person. I don’t think anyone would really say I’m a good sorcerer.”
She gave a reluctant smile. It was a pretty one. “I don’t mind that at all,” she said.
Omen smiled back, suddenly seeing the upside of volunteering for stuff.
22
After almost crashing her car the previous night, Valkyrie decided to let Skulduggery pick her up. She left Xena outside so that she could run around, and got in the Bentley. Skulduggery’s façade was a tanned gentleman with a blond moustache.
“Nice,” said Valkyrie. “Have you found out where the Sadists’ Club is?”
“Not yet,” he said, swooping the car round and heading for the gate. “But I’m expecting a call from one of my contacts who will – hopefully – relay that information.”
“Is Temper the contact?”
“No.”
“He’s usually the contact.”
“I have more than one contact, you know.”
She shrugged, and sank into a silence that lasted until they’d reached the motorway.
“Is everything OK?” Skulduggery asked.
“Sorry?”
“You seem quiet.”
“Do I?”
“I think I know why.”
Valkyrie looked at him, and didn’t say anything. There was no way he knew about the visions. No way.
“It’s about the dinner, isn’t it? I ruined your family dinner and you’re mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you,” she said, relaxing. “You know what happens when I’m mad at you.”
“You tend to throw mugs at me.”
“And have I thrown any mugs? Do you even see any mugs? No. So I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad at my parents, either, even though they invited you without asking me. I understand why they did it. They’re worried about me; they think getting more involved in my life will ease their minds.”
“It won’t, though,” Skulduggery said. “At all. In the slightest. If they knew more about what you did—”
“They’d never sleep again,” Valkyrie said. “Exactly. But, y’know … they’re parents. It’s their job to worry about me, just like it’s my job to protect them from what’s coming.” She winced even as the words escaped her lips, hoping fervently that he’d let it go. But of course he didn’t.
He looked at her. “Do you think about that a lot?”
“Think about what?”
“About what’s coming. The things you saw in your vision.”
Valkyrie tried to give a nonchalant shrug. “A bit. But, if I feel it getting me down, I just remind myself that we’ve seen the future before and we’ve seen the future change, so …”
“So you’re hoping to change the future.”
“Y’know … yeah.”
“That’s quite a burden to carry.”
“Is it?”
“It’s almost as if you’re taking all responsibility for the bad things that are going to happen.”
“Well,” Valkyrie said, giving a little laugh, “they won’t happen if we change them, will they?”
“We were able to alter aspects of the future that Cassandra Pharos saw,” Skulduggery said. “But it was only aspects. Are you hoping to avoid this new future altogether?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, it’s not out of the question, is it? The future I saw only exists because certain things happen along the way. We change those things, and that future vanishes. It’s not like we’re battling against fate or something, right? I don’t believe in destiny. Auger Darkly isn’t destined to face the King of the Darklands – it’s just been foreseen. By psychics. There’s a difference. So if there’s no fate, and no destiny, what are we left with? God? I’ve seen no evidence of a higher power controlling everything, and I’ve been Darquesse. If anyone could have sensed the presence of an upper-case God, it’s her.”
“All that may be true,” Skulduggery said, “but we know from experience that changing the future is not easy. In order to ensure it doesn’t happen, we’d need to know a lot more about what’s coming. You’d need to delve deeper into your vision.”
“Well, OK,” Valkyrie responded. “Then let’s do it.”
“Unfortunately, that brings its own complications, as you well know. In order to safely navigate the psychic highways, you’ll need training. Safeguards will have to be put in place.”
“That’ll take years.”
“You don’t know that,” Skulduggery said. “There’s never been a Sensitive like you before. The ability essentially exploded inside you. Maybe it won’t take that long.”
“You told me it’d take three years minimum before I could start exploring the vision seriously. Have you changed your mind?”
Skulduggery hesitated. “No,” he said at last.
“And, while I’m spending the next three years – minimum – studying to be a Sensitive, the world is going to hell around me? No, thanks. What I should be doing is just diving into the vision, head first.”
“Far too dangerous.”
“You don’t know that. It might be fine.”
“Or it might have huge, untold side effects,” he said. “You could lose control. You could lose your mind.”
“I’m strong enough to take it.”
“If anyone could, then yes, I agree, it would be you. And I freely acknowledge the fact that this caution goes against every instinct I have. I much prefer to plunge into danger. It’s more fun. But something like this … is different.”
“If you were me,” she said, “would you do it?”
Skulduggery didn’t answer. The eyes of his façade remained fixed on the road.
“Yeah,” she said. “See?”
His phone rang. She answered, then hung up and told him where the Sadists’ Club was.
They got to Roarhaven, drove through and parked, then walked a little, coming to a metal door with a shelf riveted on to it, level with Valkyrie’s chest. Skulduggery knocked, and a small voice piped up. “Who goes there?”
“Visitors,” Skulduggery said, “just passing through. We heard this would be a good place to meet like-minded people.”
There was a moment of hesitation, and then, “Skulduggery? Is that you?”
Skulduggery frowned. “It might be. Who is this?”
A slot opened, and a man no taller than Valkyrie’s outstretched hand stepped out on to the shelf. He was wearing a green suit and orange tie, and he had wings and pointed ears.
“It’s me,” said the small man. “Cormac.”
“Whoa,” said Valkyrie.
Skulduggery deactivated his façade, and peered closer. “Cormac?”
The little man grinned. “I thought that was you! How’ve you been?”
“Fine,” Skulduggery said. “You look … different.”
“Ah, yeah, I shaved the beard.”
“That must be it. Also, you’ve shrunk.”
Cormac’s face soured. “The faerie genes kicked in three years ago. My ears went pointy and I grew the wings and I got all that faerie magic that’d been promised me since I was a kid, but … well. As you can see, my parents left out some pretty pertinent information.”
“Hi,” said Valkyrie. “My name’s Valkyrie. How are you? Could I ask a question?”
“Go ahead,” said Cormac.
“Are your parents faeries, too?”
“Yes, they are. Proud members of the fae community.”
“And are they … small?”
He folded his arms and sighed, like this was the hundredth time today he’d had to explain this. “They’re people-sized. All faeries start off people-sized. Some faeries develop the ability to switch back and forth bet
ween sizes. Some – and this is the part I didn’t know until three years ago – shrink down to this size and are then stuck like this. It hasn’t been easy. I have to wear modified dolls’ clothes, I can’t form meaningful relationships with anyone taller than twenty centimetres, and cats keep trying to eat me. Also, I lost my job.”
“What were you?”
“I was a hand model. I modelled wristwatches in photo shoots, things like that. I have good wrists. Lightly haired.”
“Right.”
“And now I’m here, stuck doing security for the Sadists’ Club.” He winced. “Damn. That’s supposed to be a secret.”
“That’s why we’re here,” Skulduggery said. “Could you let us in? We’re looking for someone.”
“Can’t do it,” Cormac replied. “Wish I could. You and me go way back, and I always look out for my friends – but this is my job, Skulduggery. Do you know how hard it is for a faerie of my size to find gainful employment? First, I have to overcome the stigma of being a faerie in the first place. You think that’s easy? That was hard even when I was people-sized. You know the problem? There are so few faeries left in the world that nobody knows a thing about us or our culture. All they have to go on are tired old tropes and stereotypes, with the clapping and the fairy dust and the constant Tinkerbell references. I struck it lucky with this job. Yeah, the clientele are not exactly my kind of people, but you gotta do what you gotta do.”
“So how do we get in?”
“You really want to do this? There’s a whole thing. You want to do this?”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” said Skulduggery.
“No, we can do it. I can pretend I don’t know you, we’ll go through the process, and, if you pass, you get in. Fair’s fair.”
“What do we do?”
Cormac put his tiny hands on his tiny hips. “One of you has to fight me.”
23
Skulduggery tilted his head. “Really?”
“If you don’t have a member to vouch for you,” Cormac said, “it’s trial by combat, yeah.”
Skulduggery looked at Valkyrie. “Do you want to do it?”
“No, thanks,” she said.
“Are you sure?”