He continued on, and her mother came next, giving her a hug and a kiss.
“Beryl is expecting you for lunch,” she said. “It’s not going to be as bad as you think.”
For a single moment, Valkyrie managed to push all thoughts of Crux out of her mind. She looked at her mother and wished she could warn her of what might be coming.
“Hope you have a great time” was all she could say, and she watched her parents throw their bags into the back of the car and reverse out of the driveway. Her dad was driving and her mum was waving. Valkyrie forced a smile onto her face and returned the wave until the car was out of sight.
Then she broke into a sprint.
It was a few seconds before she became aware of Crux behind her. She turned sideways, slipping between a fence post and a wall, to run across the grassy embankment that bordered a field of cauliflowers. She heard the fence rattle and glanced back in time to see him squeezing through.
Valkyrie left the embankment and ran across the field. Her feet were heavy, her running shoes picking up great clumps of muck. It wasn’t easy keeping her balance, but she used to do this all the time as a kid—her friends and her, racing each other home from school and taking all the shortcuts imaginable. There was a certain kind of rhythm required to traverse the deep cauliflower rows—a rhythm that Crux didn’t have. He had only crossed ten rows when a thick stalk snagged his foot and he sprawled into the dirt.
“You’re under arrest!” he screeched.
By the time he had pushed himself up, Valkyrie was halfway across the field. Running like this, with her feet so heavy and having to lift her knees so high, was rapidly draining her energy. She turned and ran up one of the rows, heading for a break in the hedge. She looked back and saw Crux go sprawling once again.
She reached the edge of the field and ran straight for the gap. When she was eight, she had tried this jump and had ended up waist-deep in ditch water, her skin slashed by thorns and briars. But that was a long time ago.
She pushed at the air behind her to add distance to her leap, and landed on the other side, her tired legs stumbling slightly.
This field was mercifully free of cauliflowers, and Valkyrie ran diagonally across it. By the time she hauled herself over the gate to the narrow road on the other side, she was exhausted. She looked back, saw Crux jump the ditch and then stagger to a halt, bending over with his hands on his knees. He looked like he was about to collapse.
She scraped her feet against the ground, shaking loose the remaining clumps of muck, and took off, heading away from town. She needed somewhere quiet and isolated to hide, and then she’d call Skulduggery and get him to pick her up. She really wanted to be there when he got his hands on Crux.
She reached the part in the road where it split into two, heard an engine, and looked back. A black van had stopped by the gate, just as Remus Crux was climbing over it. Even from this distance, Valkyrie could see the state of him—covered in muck from head to toe. He was saying something, gasping out his words probably, to whoever was inside the van, and then the side door opened and a Cleaver got out.
“Oh hell,” Valkyrie breathed.
Crux pointed, and the Cleaver’s gray helmet turned to look at her.
She ran.
She knew Cleavers were fast, but she had never been chased by one before. He was like those athletes she’d seen in the Olympics, the hundred-meter sprinters, and he got faster and faster as he came. She’d never outrun him, and if she tried to fight him, she feared he might use the scythe strapped to his back.
A tractor with a rotary tiller attached rumbled out from a nearby field. Valkyrie ran to it, relief washing over her. Cleavers were the Sanctuary’s police and army rolled into one, and she knew they would be more mindful of alarming civilians than Crux seemed to be.
The tractor stopped and the farmer got out. She knew him—he was a friend of her dad’s. He stepped between the tiller and the tractor and tightened the chains that connected them. She checked behind her, but the Cleaver had disappeared.
“Heya, Steph,” the farmer said when he saw her, half smiling and half frowning at her filthy jeans and shoes. “What have you been up to?”
“Hi, Alan,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “I’m just out for a run.”
“Ah, I see. Right then.” Satisfied that the chains were tight enough to stop the tiller from swinging as he drove, he wiped his hands on his trousers. “It’s just you’re not exactly dressed for a jog, are you?”
“It was a spontaneous decision. Didn’t really think it through.”
“That’s what I said about marrying Annie.” He nodded. “Everything’s okay, is it?”
“It seems to be,” she said.
“Your folks away for the weekend?”
“They just left.
“And you’re in trouble already?”
“What’s new there?”
“You got me. You’re sure everything’s okay?”
“Apart from the fact that I’m staying with Beryl for the weekend,” Valkyrie said, “yes, everything’s fine. You headed home? Give me a lift as far as Main Street?”
“What about your run?”
“Running’s overrated.”
“Climb aboard,” he said, and the grin was just spreading across Valkyrie’s face when she heard the black van behind her. She went cold as it stopped and Crux got out.
Alan looked at him, at the muck on his clothes and the anger in his eyes, and then stepped in front of Valkyrie.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“You can get out of my way,” Crux snarled.
“Your van can get past my tractor. The road’s not that narrow.”
“Your tractor’s not in my way, simpleton, you are.”
Valkyrie couldn’t believe this was happening. This was against every rule she had been taught.
Alan looked at Valkyrie. “This guy the reason you decided on that run, Steph?”
“I don’t know him,” she lied. “Never seen him before.”
“Would you do me a favor, Steph? Would you call the police?”
“I’m a detective,” Crux snapped, stepping forward, and Alan hit him—slugged him right across the jaw.
“You stay away from the girl,” Alan said evenly as Crux retreated, his eyes blazing.
Valkyrie grabbed Alan’s arm, holding him back. “It’s okay,” she said quickly. “We should just go. Can we go? Please, I just want to go.”
“If I were you,” Alan said to Crux, “I’d get out of town now. I don’t ever want to see you back here. Do you understand me?”
Crux glared at him. As Alan turned away, Crux snapped his hand against the air. Alan slammed into the side of the tractor and collapsed on the road. Valkyrie screamed and darted to him, but there was a flash of gray, and her arm was twisted behind her. She fell to her knees even as the handcuffs closed around her wrist, and before she could react, both hands were cuffed.
The Cleaver hauled her to her feet.
“You can’t do this!” she yelled as a second Cleaver knelt by Alan. He checked for a pulse and nodded to Crux.
“He’ll regain consciousness in a few minutes,” Crux said. “And hopefully, he’ll have learned a little lesson.”
“You attacked a civilian!”
“He attacked me. I have witnesses.”
“You used magic on him,” she said, seething, “when his back was turned. You coward.”
Crux sighed. “I was doing my duty. If a civilian gets hurt or, heaven forbid, killed during the pursuit of a fugitive, then the blame lies with the fugitive.”
“Wait till Bliss hears about this.”
Crux took hold of the handcuffs and twisted them savagely. Valkyrie yelled in pain.
Crux leaned in. “You may think Elder Bliss will come to your aid, but he is a very busy man, and sometimes my reports get mislaid on the way to his desk. There is every possibility that he won’t even know you’ve been arrested.”
“You’re going t
o regret this,” Valkyrie said. “I swear to God, you’re going to regret this.”
“I doubt that,” Crux said as he marched her to the van and threw her in. “In fact, if your capture leads me to Skulduggery Pleasant, I might even get a promotion.”
He slammed the door, shutting out the sunlight.
Twenty-nine
CELL MATES
UNFORTUNATELY,” Crux said as he led Valkyrie to the holding cells, “we’re a tad overcrowded at the moment. I suppose that’s as a result of the Sanctuary finally having a Prime Detective who is good at his job.”
“Have I met him?” Valkyrie asked, and got an angry yank on her handcuffs in response.
“What that means,” Crux continued, “is that you’ll have to share a cell.”
Valkyrie paled. “What? You can’t do that.”
“It’s not ideal, but we do what we must,” Crux said, failing to hide the glee in his voice.
She tried to pull away, but he dragged her viciously on.
“You can’t do that!” she shouted, hoping that someone would hear. “Let me talk to Mr. Bliss.”
“Elder Bliss is busy with Sanctuary matters,” Crux said. “We’ll get this sorted out, I assure you. But for now, you’re going to have to be a good girl and share your room.”
He opened a cell door and shoved her inside. The door slammed behind her, and the man on the narrow bed turned over and looked at her.
“Cain,” Scapegrace snarled.
The slot in the door opened up. “Hands,” Crux said.
“Get me out of here!” Valkyrie shouted.
“Put your hands through the slot, unless you want to stay manacled.”
Scapegrace’s right eye was swollen shut, his nose was bruised, and his lip was cut. He moved slowly, like his whole body was sore.
Valkyrie thrust her hands through the slot, and Crux removed the handcuffs. “The cell is, of course, bound,” he informed her, “so please try to behave.”
She bent low, so he could see her eyes through the slot. “Detective Crux, you cannot do this.”
He smiled at her before closing the slot. She turned as Scapegrace got to his feet.
“They broke my fingers,” he said, holding up his bandaged left hand. “Those Cleavers broke my fingers and beat the tar out of me. Did you have a good laugh, did you? You and the skeleton? Were you grinning to each other as you sent me off to distract them?”
Valkyrie’s mouth was dry. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. She couldn’t use her powers and she wasn’t wearing her protective clothing. She was an ordinary girl, trapped inside a small room with a grown man who wanted to kill her.
“I’m going to beat you to death,” said Scapegrace, nodding. “I wanted my first kill to be something artful. Something beautiful. But I suppose I could settle for something brutal. It would give me something to work up from.”
“You’ll never get out of jail,” Valkyrie said, her words thick in her mouth. “If you kill me, you’re going to spend the rest of your life in a cell like this one.”
“No, I’ll get out. Something will happen, and I’ll get out. I always do.”
“You’ll be a killer. Security’s tighter for killers.”
“And why is that? Because people are afraid of killers. People are going to be afraid of me.”
He stepped forward and she stepped back, feeling the cold steel of the door through her clothes.
“What about Skulduggery?” she asked quickly.
“I don’t see him in here.” Scapegrace smiled.
“You don’t want him as an enemy, Vaurien. You know you don’t. Once he finds out that I’ve been arrested, he’ll come for me. He’ll appear at this door just like he did yesterday, and he’ll open it and see what you’ve done. Do you really want to be standing here when that happens?”
Scapegrace hesitated. “They’ll put me in protective custody,” he decided. “They don’t much like your friend these days, in case you’ve forgotten. They’ll put me in a special cell where he won’t be able to find me.”
“He’ll find you. He’ll hunt you down.”
Scapegrace sneered. “Let him try.”
Valkyrie knew the rules. Tanith had drilled them into her often enough. With no other choice, when the onset of violence was a virtual certainty and retreat was not an option, the rule was to strike first and without warning.
Scapegrace was a grown man. He was a little over six feet tall and of average strength for a man his size. Valkyrie was a fourteen-year-old girl who was tall for her age, and she’d been working out with two of the best fight trainers around for two years. Physically, Scapegrace was still superior, but he was also injured. He was keeping his weight off his left leg, and his body was twisted slightly. She suspected cracked ribs.
Strike first and without warning.
Valkyrie kicked Scapegrace’s left leg, and he howled. She tried shooting an elbow into his face, but his arms were up, flailing. She pushed him back to give herself room, and he looped his right fist against her jaw. Her head spun and she hit the door and nearly fell.
He came in with another punch, but she swerved away and it caught her on the shoulder. If she had been wearing her black coat, the blow would have been absorbed by the material. As it was, she went stumbling.
He reached for her again, and she grabbed his bandaged hand and wrenched it. He shrieked and forgot all about his attack. She moved away from the door and, still leading him by his broken fingers, spun him in a tight circle around her. She brought his hand low, and he dropped to his knees.
“Let go!” he pleaded, tears in his eyes. “I wasn’t going to kill you, I swear! I was joking!”
She released his hand and he clutched it to his chest, and she grabbed his head and drove her knee into the hinge of his jaw. He fell over backward and didn’t get up.
The backs of her legs hit the side of the bed, and she collapsed into a sitting position. Her breathing was fast and shallow, and her eyes stayed glued to Scapegrace’s unconscious form.
Her shoulder started to ache. His punch had caught her right on the side of the head, and her ear was burning. She thanked God he hadn’t busted her in the mouth. She didn’t think she could handle breaking another tooth.
She wondered what she would do when he woke up. There was nothing in the cell that she could use to tie him up, and no one had come to investigate the sounds of struggle.
She had beaten him. She had beaten him without using magic. True, he was already injured, and she had caught him by surprise, but the fact remained: She had fought a grown man and she had beaten him.
She started to smile, and then the smile faded as she thought what would have happened if she hadn’t beaten him. She’d probably be lying dead on the cell floor right now.
She got off the bed and unwrapped the bandage around Scapegrace’s injured hand. His fingers were badly swollen, the skin blue and yellow and purple and black. He didn’t even murmur as she tied one end of the bandage around those fingers, and the other end around the iron leg of the bed. At least now he wouldn’t be able to jump her when he woke up.
She sat on the bed again, well away from him, her back against the wall. She tied her hair into a ponytail and wondered if Skulduggery had realized yet that something had gone wrong. She tried to think of what he would do.
First, he’d call her phone and get no answer. After a while he’d turn up at the house—or more likely send Tanith, someone a little more normal-looking. He’d definitely speak with the reflection, and hopefully work out what had happened. And then he’d come for her.
Valkyrie sat back and waited.
Thirty
BERYL
BERYL EDGLEY was a busy woman.
She really didn’t have the time to take in and feed abandoned waifs. But that being said, when Melissa Edgley had asked if she would take care of Stephanie while she jetted away to Paris for the weekend, Beryl had of course accepted the challenge graciously.
Her niece had a
lways been a stubborn and willful child, with a sharp tongue and an attitude that Beryl found quite distasteful. Although even she had to admit that over the past couple of years Stephanie had seemed to become a lot more subdued. Beryl liked to think that this new, quieter Stephanie was a result of her own hints and tips to Melissa and Desmond about raising well-behaved children. Beryl’s twins, Carol and Crystal, were not perfect by any means, and they had both been losing far too much weight lately, but at least they didn’t drink or smoke or hang around with loutish boys like so many of their friends.
The family, plus Stephanie, ate lunch at the kitchen table without speaking. Fergus’s eyes were glued to the television, and the twins were picking at their food without enthusiasm. In fact, only Stephanie seemed to be intent on eating what Beryl had placed before her. Which was surprising, given what had happened to her earlier that day.
The doorbell rang, and Beryl went to answer it. There was a young woman standing on the doorstep, smiling. She had tousled blond hair and was wearing a brown leather outfit that was far too tight. The poor girl was practically falling out of her top.
“You must be Beryl,” she said in an English accent. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Beryl didn’t trust new people. Ever since they had sold the gigantic boat that Fergus’s brother had left them, she’d had a niggling suspicion that everyone wanted their money.
“And you are?” Beryl asked, standing with her back straight so she could look down her nose.
“Name’s Tanith,” the young lady replied. “I was wondering, is Stephanie about?”
“She’s having lunch.”
“Could I talk to her for just a moment?”
Beryl frowned. “She’s having lunch, I said. She’s eating. She cannot come to the door while she is eating.”
The young lady, Tanith, looked at Beryl for a few moments and then she smiled again.
“Maybe she can stop eating, come to the door, I’ll be really quick saying what I have to say, and then she can go back to eating. That sound good to you, Beryl?”
“I would prefer it if you called me Mrs. Edgley.”
Tanith took a deep breath that threatened the integrity of her top. “Mrs. Edgley, be a dear and get Stephanie for me, will you?”