The ambulance slowed so much it looked like it had stopped, but Cadaverous could still see the wheels turning, could still see the little pine car freshener – in the shape of a strawberry – caught in time-compressed limbo as it tried to swing from the rear-view mirror. The faces of the men inside, frozen into grimaces, didn’t register Razzia strolling up and opening the driver’s door.
She reached in, unbuckled the driver and hauled him out. His fall was a fall through treacle, but Razzia was already kicking the passenger out of the other side. Then she settled in behind the wheel, and gave Destrier a thumbs up.
Destrier dropped his hand, and time around the ambulance returned to normal. The driver and passenger hit the road – hard – and flipped and rolled, and Razzia brought the ambulance to a gentle stop.
Cadaverous approached the back of the ambulance. The driver and passenger were groaning, moaning, trying to get up. Razzia hopped out of the van, broke the driver’s neck and opened her hand towards the passenger, now stumbling to his feet. Her palm opened, and the parasite shot out, spearing the passenger through the neck before retracting.
The ambulance doors burst open. A woman lunged at Cadaverous, fire in her hands. Nero teleported her away before she could actually do anything, and Cadaverous climbed in.
Caisson lay strapped to a gurney. He was tall, thin and malnourished. His skin was waxy, his silver hair cut short, clumps of it missing, showing his scalp. His eyes were closed. He looked dead.
Cadaverous pulled away all the tubes and electrodes and undid the straps. Grunting slightly with the effort, he pulled Caisson on to his shoulder and crab-walked to the door. He dropped down.
“I could help,” said Razzia.
“No, it’s OK,” Cadaverous said, nodding behind her. “You’re going to need your hands free.”
Three sorcerers stood there, legs apart and fists clenched. They looked impressively intimidating.
“We’re going to need that back,” said the biggest one.
“You mean Caisson?” Cadaverous responded, as Destrier and Razzia moved to stand beside him. “No, no, no, we’re not taking him. We wouldn’t take him without asking. How rude! We’re just borrowing him. We’ll bring him back, honest.”
“He is the property of Serafina.”
“Then where is she? If he’s so important to her, let her come and present her case. We will absolutely return him to you if she does that. If Serafina gets on her knees and begs.”
The big one’s eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t say the things you’re saying.”
“Why does she want him, anyway? Why is she doing this? Torturing someone for sixty years – that’s a commitment few people would be willing to make. What’s he done that’s so terrible?”
“You can ask Serafina yourself, providing we let you live long enough.”
“I hate the talking bit,” Razzia mumbled.
“Sorry?” the big one said, his irritation rising. “What was that?”
“The talking bit,” she repeated. “I hate it. It’s boring. Can we get to the killing bit? That’s where the fun is.”
“Take it from me, beautiful, you don’t want us to get to the killing bit.”
Razzia swivelled her head. “Did you just call me beautiful?”
The big one smiled. “What can I say, sweetheart? I have a thing for lunatic blondes.”
“Sweetheart. Beautiful. Lunatic blonde.” Razzia shook her head slowly. “I have a name. I know I have a name because I picked it myself. Now, while I may be a sweetheart, and I sure am beautiful, and I am undoubtedly both a lunatic and a blonde, my name is Razzia, and that is what you’ll be gurgling as I kill you.”
Razzia ran at them. Destrier moaned reluctantly but joined her, and Nero appeared right behind Serafina’s people.
Cadaverous just turned, and carried Caisson away from the ambulance.
The breeze was picking up as he lay Abyssinia’s son on the ground and once again sat in the shade. He faced away from the fighting. He didn’t need to see it. No matter how good Serafina’s crew were, he had faith in his own. They’d been through a lot together. For years, they’d worked behind the scenes, carrying out Abyssinia’s commands when she was nothing but a heart in a box. Yes, back then they’d had Smoke and Lethe to bolster their strength, and yes, their loss had weakened the team considerably. But they were more than a match for their opponents.
Cadaverous took a gun from his jacket and flicked off the safety. It was a pity, what was about to happen.
When the last moan of pain was abruptly cut off, he stood and turned. Destrier, Nero and Razzia: triumphant, as expected, walking away from the dead bodies of their enemies.
“My friends,” said Cadaverous as they came forward, “I would just like to take this opportunity to tell you how much I appreciate your talents. We may have had our disagreements over the years, we may have exchanged angry words, we may have said things we each regret …”
“I haven’t,” Nero muttered.
“But there is no one else I would have even attempted this with,” Cadaverous continued. “You are some of the best, the most loyal, and the stupidest people I have ever had the pleasure to know.”
Nero frowned. “What?”
Cadaverous struck Destrier on the temple with the butt of his gun and grabbed Nero before he could react, jamming the muzzle under his chin.
“My dear Razzia,” he said, “if I see you raise an arm, I pull this trigger and Abyssinia loses her only Teleporter.”
Nero tried to pull away, “What the hell are you doing, old man?”
“Shut up, boy,” Cadaverous said, spinning him round and pressing the gun into his back.
“I don’t get it,” said Razzia, looking genuinely confused.
“Sincerest apologies,” Cadaverous said, “but Caisson isn’t being returned to his mother. If she wants him, she’ll have to come to me.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“She doesn’t care about us, Razzia. We’re disposable. She doesn’t care if we get hurt. She doesn’t care that Skeiri lost a pet. Not really. You can’t see it because you don’t want to see it, but she lied to us, she misled us, she tricked us into finding her heart and bringing her back to life. Those plans of hers, where we topple the Sanctuaries and do as we please? That was never going to happen. She was always going to rule over us all – her and her son. She betrayed us, Razzia.”
“Kinda like how you’re betraying me right now.”
“I am sorry about that. You’re not my enemy – unless you try to stop me. Are you going to try to stop me, Razzia?”
“Not when you’ve got a gun, no.”
“People always think you’re crazier than you actually are.”
“Oh, I’m pretty crazy all right,” Razzia said, “but I’m not crazy enough to steal Abyssinia’s kid. She’s gonna blow a gasket, mate. She’s gonna rip you apart.”
“She’ll try.”
Razzia made a face. “Nero’s crying.”
“Is he?” Cadaverous said. “Nero? Are you?”
“You’re gonna kill me,” Nero sobbed. “You are, aren’t you? You’re gonna make me teleport you somewhere and then you’re gonna shoot me to stop me from bringing Abyssinia to you before you can escape. I don’t want to die, Mr Gant. Please don’t kill me.”
“Oh, I won’t kill you, Nero. Why would I do that? After all we’ve shared? Remember that gentleman we killed in France, the man with the three eyes?”
Nero managed a happy gurgle. “The Three-Eyed Weirdo, yeah.”
“Those are special moments for me, Nero. I’m not going to kill you. You’re going to teleport Caisson and me to that three-eyed gentleman’s airfield, remember it? I have a small plane waiting for me there.”
“What are you going to do with me then?”
“I’m going to have to render you unconscious.”
“You’re gonna hit me?”
“A mere tap. You’ll wake with a headache, nothing more.”
“You don’t kno
w that,” Nero argued. “You might give me brain damage.”
“I guess that’s true – but it’s either that or I shoot you.”
Nero sagged. “You can hit me.”
“Thank you.” Cadaverous looked back to Razzia. “Don’t come after me.”
“I won’t have to.”
“You take care now.”
“Enjoy being alive,” she said. “While it lasts.”
30
Valkyrie opened her eyes.
“Welcome back,” Reverie Synecdoche said, barely raising her gaze from the chart at the foot of the bed.
“Hey,” Valkyrie muttered, her tongue heavy. They were in Reverie’s clinic, a building Valkyrie was getting to know well. She had a bandage taped to her chest. She was hooked up to a drip. The bed was comfortable, the pillow cool. It occurred to Valkyrie that the pillows in the clinic were always cool.
“Skulduggery told me to tell you that he’s over at the High Sanctuary, waiting to talk to the Supreme Mage,” Reverie said. “He doesn’t fancy his chances.”
“Do you have magic pillows?” Valkyrie asked.
“Why would we have magic pillows?”
“Because they’re always cool.”
“We flip them a lot. How are you feeling?”
“Disappointed about the pillows, but otherwise OK.” She frowned. “I feel drunk.”
“That will fade. You had quite a nasty injury.”
“Oh, no.”
“You were lucky. It missed your heart.”
“I’m very lucky.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I went into her mind.”
“Did you?”
Valkyrie nodded. “Abyssinia’s mind. I went in. Saw her memories.”
“That’s nice.”
“It wasn’t really. I’m not used to feeling drunk, you know. I don’t drink. Well, I mean, I have drunk, you know. I have imbibed the alcohol. I’m just not used to it. I don’t like being drunk.”
“Of course you don’t,” Reverie said, coming closer and checking the drip. “You’re a control freak.”
Valkyrie’s eyes widened. “I am offended. I am not a control freak. How very dare you. I just like being in control of the situation at all times. Is that bad? Is that wrong?”
“Not at all,” Reverie murmured, making a note on the clipboard.
“Things have a habit,” Valkyrie continued, “of spiralling out of control. You think everything is one way, and then it goes poof, and it’s all everywhere. I like to keep a handle on it. Try to keep it all together. You know what happens when things go all everywhere? Bad things happen. I’ve seen it. So I try to scoop it all back into the basket. Did I mention the basket? There was a basket somewhere in this anatomy. Anatomy?”
“Analogy.”
“Analogy, yes, thank you. There was a basket that I forgot to mention. The basket was holding everything and then …” She sighed. “Anyway. I’m not a control freak.” Her eyes widened. “I cut off one of Skeiri’s thingies.”
“That doesn’t sound nice.”
“Her thingy. Her … thing. With the snapping and the biting. The same as Razzia. Razzia has the same snappy and bitey thing.”
“This is an interesting conversation.”
Valkyrie waved her arm like a snake, her hand snatching at the air.
“Ah,” said Reverie. “The parasite.”
“Yesssss,” said Valkyrie. “I cut it off. I feel so bad. Do you think it’s like I killed her pet? I don’t want to kill her pet. I love animals.”
Reverie replaced the chart at the end of the bed, checked her watch, and looked at Valkyrie. “Was the parasite trying to attack you?”
“Oh, yes, Reverie, it really was. It was all …” She made a scary face.
“Well now,” Reverie said, “it sounds to me like you had no choice.”
“But I love animals.” Valkyrie started to cry.
Reverie patted her head. “It’s OK. You did the right thing.”
“Do you think it’ll grow back?”
“The parasite?”
“Do you think it’ll grow back, like a foot?”
“Feet don’t grow back, Valkyrie. You’re thinking of lizard tails. The parasite won’t grow back, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, noooo.”
“You were defending yourself. If this Skeiri person really cared about her parasites, she wouldn’t have sent them to attack you, would she?”
“I suppose not.” Valkyrie sniffled, and wiped her nose. “When can I leave?”
“I’ll have a nurse come by in about twenty minutes, take the tube out of your arm, and you’ll be free to walk out of here.”
“Cool. Can I take the pillows with me?”
“No. They’re ours.”
“Just one of them, then. This one.”
“No.”
“What about that one?”
“No.”
“Both?”
“Neither.”
“Half?”
“A nurse will be in soon.”
“You’re mean.”
“They’re not your pillows, Valkyrie.”
“You’re still mean.”
Half an hour later, Valkyrie was feeling a lot less drunk. She got dressed and the nurse gave her fresh gauze to change her dressing.
Militsa Gnosis was waiting in the lobby when Valkyrie walked out.
“I heard you’d been injured,” she said. “Thought I’d call round. I was going to bring flowers and grapes, but it occurred to me that you don’t really seem like a flowers person.”
“I’m really not,” said Valkyrie. “But I do like grapes.”
“I should have brought grapes, then. You want to go for a coffee?”
“To be honest,” Valkyrie said, “I would love to.”
They stopped at the first coffee shop they came to and took a table at the back.
“So what was it that injured you?” Militsa asked. “Bullet? Knife? Arrow?”
“Tentacle.”
“Seriously?”
“A tentacle with teeth that shot out of a lady’s hand.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. It’s a parasite. It’s called a … well, it’s called whatever it’s called, but most people just call it a parasite.”
“She hot?”
“The parasite?”
“The lady.”
“Um … I suppose. Although Razzia’s hotter.”
“That’s the Australian?”
“Yep. They both have the parasites, but Razzia has the most beautiful mouth. I think you’d like her.”
“I have always been partial to a bad girl,” Militsa said, and sipped her coffee. “You want to talk about it?”
“About what? Getting injured? I’m always getting injured.”
“Well,” said Militsa, “you were always getting injured, but then you went away and you didn’t get injured for years.”
“Ah, I still got injured,” Valkyrie said. “I still trained. My instructor didn’t exactly take it easy on me.”
“Or you didn’t take it easy on yourself.”
“Meaning?”
Militsa took another sip. “I’ve known you, what, six months? Seven? Around that? I might be way off here, but when you left Ireland you were so wrapped up in guilt over what Darquesse had done, over what you yourself had done, that you were looking for exciting new systems of punishment. So you hid for five years from the people who loved you, and … what? How did you spend your time?”
“I fixed up an old house.”
“OK.”
“I got a dog.”
“Good.”
“I read a lot.”
“Excellent.”
“And I trained.”
“You fought?”
“I trained. I worked out. I sparred.”
“And you got hurt?”
“You can’t train to fight without the risk of getting hurt.”
Militsa shrugged. “OK. I get that. Who was your instructor
?”
“Someone I found.”
“You found someone good enough to train you, after you’d spent years training with Skulduggery? That’s a high bar to match.”
Now it was Valkyrie’s turn to shrug.
“I get the feeling you don’t want to talk about this,” Militsa said.
“My mind’s just not on it, that’s all. There’s a lot going on – and not just with me. Like, wherever you look there’s drama. What do you think of this whole refugees-from-another-reality thing? Isn’t that nuts?”
“Have you seen it? The portal?”
“Yeah. I usually view dimensional portals as a bad thing, but the people coming through just look so scared …”
“We’re helping them out at the Academy,” said Militsa. “It started with food and blankets, but the High Sanctuary seems to have handed us full responsibility for their well-being – which, you know, because they’re still coming through is a lot more than we can handle.”
“Are you in charge?”
“Well, I’m spearheading it, yes, but there’s a load of volunteers.”
“Then it’ll be fine,” Valkyrie said. “So long as you’re involved, they’ll be all right.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Militsa said, smiling. “But it is not what I signed up for. I’m a researcher and a teacher. I can barely organise my desk, let alone relief aid for thousands of terrified mortals. I keep imagining that one of these days I’ll grow up and become someone who knows what they’re doing, but so far that hasn’t happened. Do you ever think about that? Growing older, I mean?”
Valkyrie shrugged. “That’s the good thing about magic, isn’t it? Growing older isn’t something we’ll have to think about for another few hundred years.”
“That’s growing old. We won’t have to worry about growing old. Growing older is different. We still do that.”
“I suppose,” Valkyrie said, her mind drifting to Alice – wondering what it would be like to watch her little sister grow up and age naturally, reaching her thirties, her forties, while Valkyrie still looked nineteen.
“Sometimes I look at people like the Supreme Mage,” Militsa was saying, “or the headmaster, or even Skulduggery … All of these people are hundreds of years old and, I don’t know, I start to wonder what effect that has on them.”
Valkyrie drank her coffee. “I’m not sure I get what you’re talking about.”