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Playing With Fire
“I notice you haven’t mentioned how I was thrown off a tower tonight,” Valkyrie said as they crossed the road.
“Does it need mentioning?” Skulduggery queried.
“Scapegrace threw me off a tower. If that doesn’t require mentioning then what does?”
“I knew you could handle it.”
“It was a tower.” Valkyrie led the way into one of the tenement buildings.
“You’ve been thrown off higher,” Skulduggery said.
“Yes, but you were always there to catch me.”
“So you’ve learned a valuable lesson – there will be times when I’m not there to catch you.”
“See, that sounds to me like a lesson I could have been told.”
“Nonsense. This way, you’ll never forget.”
Skulduggery removed his disguise as they climbed the stairs. Just as they reached the second floor, Valkyrie stopped and turned to him.
“Was it a test?” she asked. “I mean, I know I’m still new at this, I’m still the rookie. Did you hang back to test me, to see if I’d be able to handle it alone?”
“Well, kind of,” he said. “Actually, no, nothing like that. My shoelace was untied. That’s why I was late. That’s why you were alone.”
“I could have been killed because you were tying your shoelace?”
“An untied shoelace can be dangerous,” Skulduggery said. “I could have tripped.”
She stared at him. A moment dragged by.
“I’m joking,” he said at last.
She relaxed. “Really?”
“Absolutely. I would never have tripped. I’m far too graceful.”
He moved past her and she glowered then followed him to the third floor. They walked to the middle door and a slight man with large round spectacles and a bow tie opened it and let them in.
The library was a vast labyrinth of tall bookcases, one that Valkyrie had managed to get herself lost in no fewer than eleven times. It seemed to amuse Skulduggery no end whenever she found herself at a dead end, or even better, back where she had started, so she let him lead the way.
China Sorrows passed in front of them, wearing a dark trouser suit with her black hair tied off her face. She stopped and smiled when she saw them. The most exquisitely beautiful woman Valkyrie had ever seen, China had a habit of making people fall in love with her at first glance.
“Skulduggery,” she said. “Valkyrie. So good to see you both. What brings the Sanctuary’s esteemed investigators back to my door? I’m assuming it is Sanctuary business?”
“You assume correctly,” Skulduggery said. “And I’m sure you already know why we’re here.”
Her smile turned coy. “Let me think … a certain recently-liberated Baron? You want to know if I’ve heard any particularly juicy rumours?”
“Have you?” Valkyrie asked.
China hesitated, looked around and gave them another smile. “Let us talk privately,” she said, leading them out of the library and across the hall, into her luxurious apartment. Once Skulduggery had closed the door she took a seat.
“Tell me, Valkyrie,” she said, “how much do you know about Baron Vengeous?”
Valkyrie sat on the couch, but Skulduggery remained standing. “Not a whole lot,” she said. “He’s dangerous. I know that much.”
“Oh yes,” China agreed, her blue eyes twinkling in the lamplight. “Very dangerous. He is a fanatical follower of the Faceless Ones, and there is nothing more dangerous than a zealot. Along with Nefarian Serpine and Lord Vile, Vengeous was one of Mevolent’s most trusted generals. He was assigned to their most secret operations. Have you ever heard of the Grotesquery, my dear?” Valkyrie shook her head.
“Before he was caught, Baron Vengeous was given the task of resurrecting a Faceless One from the remains found in a long-forgotten tomb.”
Valkyrie frowned. “Is that even possible? Bringing one of them back to life after all this time?”
It was Skulduggery who answered her. “Bringing a Faceless One back whole proved to be beyond his abilities, so Vengeous combined the remains with parts and organs from other creatures, forming a hybrid, what he called a Grotesquery. But even then an ingredient was missing.”
China took over. “Two ingredients actually. First, he needed a Necromancer’s power to revive it and then, once it was alive, he needed something to keep it that way.
“When Lord Vile died, Vengeous thought he could harness Vile’s power. Vile was a Necromancer, a practitioner of death magic – shadow magic. It is the Necromancer way to place most of their power in an object, or a weapon or, in this case, his armour.”
“So if Vengeous wore that armour,” Valkyrie said, “he’d have all Vile’s power …”
“But he couldn’t find the armour,” Skulduggery said. “Lord Vile died alone, and his armour was lost.”
“What about the other missing ingredient? Did he find out what that was?”
China answered. “From what I have heard, yes. He did.”
“So what is it?”
“He knows. We don’t.”
“Ah.”
“Fortunately for us, and the world at large, Skulduggery was around to foil this plot before Vengeous could find the armour and retrieve this mysterious missing ingredient. He tracked the Baron to a known enemy hideaway and brought him to justice, in what became one of the most talked-about battles of the entire war. Skulduggery was badly injured in that fight, if I remember correctly.”
Valkyrie looked at Skulduggery and he folded his arms.
“This is a history lesson,” he said. “Why are we going over this?”
“Because,” China said with a smile, “I have heard that this final missing ingredient – whatever it is – has at last been recovered, or at least located, by the Baron’s associates.”
Skulduggery’s head tilted. “Who are these associates?”
“I’m afraid not even I know that.”
“So if Vengeous now has the missing ingredient,” Valkyrie said uneasily, “can he revive the, uh, the Grow Thing?”
“Grotesquery,” China corrected.
“And no,” Skulduggery said, “it’s impossible. He’d need Vile’s armour, which he doesn’t have.”
“But if he did, and he revived this thing, what would it do? Would we be able to stop it?”
Skulduggery hesitated for a split second. “The threat the Grotesquery would pose is a little bigger than that. Theoretically, it would be able to summon the Faceless Ones back to this world by opening a portal through realities.”
“A portal?” Valkyrie said, a little doubtfully.
“Yes, but the Grotesquery would have to be at full strength to do it and that’s not going to happen.”
“Why not?”
“A heart had to be provided for it, but the only one suitable was the heart of a Cu Gealach.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Cú na Gealaí Duibhe,” China said, “to give it its full Irish title. They do still teach you Gaelige in school, yes?”
“Yes, it means … it’s Black Hound of something, right?”
“Almost. Hound of the Black Moon. Terrible creatures. They’re virtually extinct now, but they were ruthless, savage things.”
“Ruthless, savage things,” Skulduggery said, “that were only ruthlessly savage for one night every few years, at a lunar eclipse. So no matter how much power Vengeous pumps into that thing, the Grotesquery will not be strong enough to open a portal until the Earth, moon and sun line up, which won’t be for another—”
“Two nights,” China said.
Skulduggery sagged and his head drooped. “Well, that’s just dandy,” he muttered.
Later, on the motorway back to Haggard, Valkyrie turned to Skulduggery. “So,” she said, “a legendary battle, eh?”
Skulduggery turned his head to her. “I’m sorry?”
“The battle between you and Vengeous, the legendary one. What happened?”
“We had a fight.”
“But why is it one of the most talked-about battles of the war?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe people had nothing else to talk about.”
“China said you were badly injured. Is that why you don’t like him? Because you were injured?”
“I don’t like him because he’s evil.”
“So it’s got nothing to do with him injuring you?”
“It’s because he’s evil,” Skulduggery said grumpily.
They stayed on the motorway for another five minutes, then took the slip road. The roads became narrower and curved between darkened fields and lone houses, and then orange streetlights appeared on either side and they were driving into Haggard. They reached the pier, and the Bentley stopped.
“Tomorrow’s going to be a big day,” Valkyrie said.
Skulduggery shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. If we can keep Vengeous out of the country, we’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“And if we can’t?”
“Then we have a whole lot to worry about, and I’m going to need you rested and alert.”
“Sir, yes sir,” she said, raising a mocking eyebrow. She opened the door and got out, and moments later the Bentley’s tail lights disappeared into the darkness.
Valkyrie stood beside the pier for a moment, watching the dark sea churn at the rocks and play with the small boats moored nearby. She liked watching the sea. Its power made her feel safe.
Back when Valkyrie Cain’s name had been Stephanie Edgley, she didn’t know much about life outside of Haggard. It was a small town, tucked into the east coast of Ireland, and things there were always so quiet and peaceful and so, so dull.
That all changed when Nefarian Serpine murdered her uncle. Gordon was a bestselling novelist, a writer of horror and fantasy, but he was also a man who knew the Big Secret. He knew about the subculture of sorcerers and mages, about the quiet little wars they had fought. He knew about the Faceless Ones – the terrible dark gods, exiled from this world – and the people who wanted them to return.
In the days that followed, she had met the Skeleton Detective and learned that she had a bloodline that could be traced back to the world’s first sorcerers, the Ancients. She was also faced with taking a new name. Everyone, Skulduggery had told her, has three names – the name they are born with, the name they are given, and the name they take. The name they are born with, their true name, lies buried deep in their subconscious. The name they are given, usually by their parents, is the only name most people will ever know. But this is a name that can be used against them, so sorcerers must take a third name to protect themselves.
And so Stephanie Edgley became Valkyrie Cain, and she started on the road to becoming an Elemental – she started to learn magic.
Valkyrie sneaked behind her house, stood directly beneath her window and concentrated. Until a few weeks ago, she had needed a ladder to climb up to her room, but every lesson with Skulduggery gave her more control over her powers.
She took her time, felt the calmness flow through her. She flexed her fingers, feeling the air touch her skin, feeling the fault lines between the spaces. She felt how they connected, and recognised how each would affect the other once the right amount of pressure was applied …
She splayed her hands beneath her and the air rippled and she shot upwards, just managing to grab the windowsill. She still missed it occasionally, but she was getting better. She opened the window and, grunting with exertion, pulled herself through. Moving as quietly as she could, she closed the window behind her and turned on the light.
She ignored the girl who sat up in her bed, the girl who was an exact replica of herself. She went to the door, put her ear to it and listened. Satisfied that her parents were sound asleep, Valkyrie shrugged off her coat as her replica stood up.
“Your arm,” it said. “It’s bruised.”
“Had a little run-in with a bad guy,” Valkyrie answered, keeping her voice low. “How was your day?”
“School was OK. I did all the homework, except the last maths question. I didn’t know how to do that. Your mum made lasagne for dinner.”
Valkyrie kicked off her boots. “Nothing strange happened?”
“No. A very normal day.”
“Good.”
“Are you ready to resume your life?”
“I am.”
The reflection nodded, went to the full-length mirror and stepped through, then turned and waited. Valkyrie touched the glass and a day’s worth of memory flooded into her mind as the reflection changed, the clothes Valkyrie was wearing appearing on it, and then it was nothing more than a reflected image in a mirror.
She sifted through the new memories, arranging them beside the memories she’d formed on her own. There had been a careers class in school. The teacher had tried to get them to declare what they wanted to be when they left school, or at least what they’d like to study in college. Nobody had any idea of course. The reflection had stayed quiet too.
Valkyrie thought about this. She didn’t really need a regular career after all. She was set to inherit Gordon’s estate and all his royalties when she turned eighteen anyway, so she’d never be short of money. Besides, what kind of career would interest her outside of magic? If she’d been in that class, she knew what she would have answered. Detective. That would have garnered a few sniggers around the room, but she wouldn’t have minded.
The main difference between her and her friends was not the magic, she knew, and nor was it the adventure. It was the fact that she knew what she wanted to do with her life, and she was already doing it.
Valkyrie undressed, pulled on her Dublin football jersey and climbed into bed. Twenty seconds later she was asleep.
He landed on one leg on the edge of a rooftop and stayed there, his lanky body curled. He looked down on to Charing Cross Road, at the people passing below him, at the cars zipping by. His cracked lips pursed, his small eyes moving, he browsed the selection on offer, making a choice.
“Jack.”
He turned quickly to see the young woman walking towards him. Her long coat was closed and the breeze played with her tousled blonde hair, teasing it across her face. And such a pretty face. Jack hadn’t seen as pretty a face in many a year. His lips parted, showed small yellow teeth, and he gave her his best smile.
“Tanith,” he said in a voice that was high and strained, in an accent that was a cross between East London and … something else, something unknowable. “You’re lookin’ ravishin’.”
“And you’re looking revolting.”
“You are too kind, I’m sure. What brings you to my neck of the woods?”
Tanith Low shook her head. “It’s not your neck of the woods any longer, Jack. Things have changed. You shouldn’t have come back.”
“Where was I gonna go? Old Folks’ Home? Retirement Village? I’m a creature of the night, love. I’m Springheeled Jack, ain’t I? I belong out here.”
“You belong in a cell.”
He laughed. “Me? In captivity? For what possible crime?”
“You mean, apart from murder?”
He turned his head so he was looking at her out of the corner of one eye. “That still illegal then?”
“Yes, it is.”
She opened her coat, revealing the sword against her leg. “You’re under arrest.”
He laughed, did a flip in the air, landed on his right foot and grinned at her. “Now this is new. You were always pokin’ your nose where it wasn’t wanted, always dealin’ out what you thought was justice, but you never arrested anyone. You a proper copper now, that it? You one of the constabulary?”
“Give up, Jack.”
“Bloody hell, you are. Consider me impressed.”
He dipped his head, looked at her with those small eyes of his. “What was it you used to say, before things got all rough and tumble? ‘Come and have a go—”
“If you think you’re hard enough.”
He grinned. “Do you?”
She withdrew her sword from its scabbard. It caught a beam of moonlight and held it, and she looked back at him without expression. “I’ll let you decide that.”
And Springheeled Jack sprang.
He flipped over her and she turned, ducking the swipe of hard nails, moving again as he landed, narrowly avoiding the return swipe and twisting to face him as he came at her.
He batted the sword to one side and his right foot went to her thigh, his toenails digging in, and he clambered up, kneeling on her shoulder. She grabbed his wrist to avoid the nails. She stumbled, unable to support his weight, but he jumped before she hit the rooftop, landed gracefully as she rolled to a crouch and then he dived at her again.
They went tumbling. He heard the sword clatter from her grip, and felt her foot on his belly as she kicked. He did a flip and landed, but her fist was right there, smacked him square in the face. He took a few steps back, bright lights dancing before his eyes. She kicked his knee, and he howled in pain, then there was a grip on his wrist and a sudden wrenching. He pushed her away, his vision clearing.
“You should be leavin’ me alone!” he spat. “I’m unique, me! They don’t even have a name for what I am! I should be on the Endangered Species list! You should be protectin’ me!”
“You know how they protect Endangered Species, Jack? They put them in a special enclosure, where no one can harm them.”
His face twisted. “Enclosure’s a fancy word for a cell, innit? And you’re not takin’ me anywhere near a bloody cell.”
And then it drifted up to them, the sound of a baby crying. Jack’s expression softened and he smiled again.
“Don’t even think about that,” Tanith warned.
His smile turned to a grin then a leer.
“Race you,” he said.
Jack ran to the edge of the building and then there was nothing beneath his feet but air, and the next rooftop swooped to meet him. He landed and ran on without missing a step. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Tanith Low trying to keep up. She was good, that girl, but this was something Jack was made for. He was the prince of London City. It let him go where it let no one else. He knew it like he knew his own face.
The baby’s cry came again and he changed direction, heading away from the busier areas, tracking it over the streets and the alleyways. His powerful legs propelled him through the darkness and he spun and dug his feet into brick. He ran sideways, the length of the building. He saw Tanith moving on a parallel course, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, trying to intercept him before he reached his goal.
One last cry from the baby and Jack zeroed in on an open window, high above street level. He made a series of small jumps, building his momentum. He saw Tanith out of the corner of his eye, sprinting to catch up. Too slow, he thought to himself. He leaped from one side of the street to the other and dived straight in, clearing the window and going for the crib.
But the crib held only blankets, and the room was dark and unfurnished, not like a baby’s room at all, and why had the window been open? It wasn’t warm enough to have the window open—
The baby’s cry, much louder, was coming from a small device that sat near the window.
It was a trap. She had tricked him.
He moved to the window, but she had walked up the side of the building and was climbing through.
“Out there,” she said, “in the open air, I didn’t have a hope of catching you. But in here, in a confined space? You’re all mine, ugly.”
Jack panicked, went to the door, but it wouldn’t budge; there was a sheen to it he could see, even in the darkness, and he knew it would withstand whatever he had to throw at it. He whirled. The only way out was the window- the window that Tanith Low now guarded. She laid her sword on the ground, and took off her coat. Her tunic was sleeveless and her arms were strong. She rolled her neck, loosening up her shoulders, and nodded to him.
“Now,” she said, “finally. Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough.”
Jack roared and went for her and she kicked him. He swiped and she ducked, and smacked him across the jaw. He tried to flip over her, but the ceiling was too low and he bellyflopped into it, felt his breath leave him and crashed to the floor. After that, all that registered was a whole lot of fists and elbows and knees, and a wall that kept running into his face.
Jack collapsed. He breathed hard and groaned in pain. He stared up at the ceiling. He could see the cracks, even in the dark. Tanith stepped into view, looking down at him.
“You ready for your nice warm cell now?”
Jack whimpered.
And then that voice, drifting up the stairs like the whine of a dentist’s drill, and the pebble fell back into her hand. Muttering to herself, Valkyrie stood up and walked into the bathroom, her practice done for the day. She took a shower then pulled on her school uniform before heading down to the kitchen.
Her mother was there, and sitting beside her was Valkyrie’s shrill, sharp-featured aunt, Beryl.
“Morning,” Valkyrie said as she passed them, going straight for the cupboard.
“Hi, love,” her mother said.
“Good morning, Stephanie,” Beryl said primly.
“Beryl,” Valkyrie said in greeting.
“How is school going for you?”
Valkyrie poured some cereal into her bowl and added milk. She didn’t bother sitting. “It’s OK.”
“Are you studying hard? My girls are always studying. They get it from my side of the family, I have to say. It’s a valuable work ethic I’ve instilled in them.”
Valkyrie murmured and scooped a spoonful of cereal into her mouth, doubting the validity of just about everything Beryl had just said. Her aunt didn’t like her and Valkyrie didn’t like her aunt. Her aunt didn’t like her because Valkyrie had inherited her late uncle’s estate, and Valkyrie didn’t like her aunt, or her aunt’s husband Fergus, because they were dislikeable people.
Her father came in, dressed in smart trousers, vest and a tie around his bare neck. He winked at Valkyrie then noticed his sister-in-law.
“Beryl,” he said, utterly failing to hide his dismay.
“Desmond, good morning.”
“Beryl, what are you doing here? It’s not even 8 o’clock. You know I don’t like seeing you before I’ve had my first cup of coffee.”
Beryl laughed that hideous fake laugh of hers. “Oh Desmond, you’re such a messer! I’m just here to talk to Melissa, that’s all. We’ve got a lot to organise for tomorrow night.”
“Oh, dear God, the family reunion thing.”
“It’ll be wonderful!”
“But you’ll be there,” her dad said, puzzled, and Valkyrie nearly choked on her cereal.
