Dark Days

Valkyrie waited until she was sure they were back in their own bed before she sneaked out of the window. She let herself drop, using the air to slow her descent. Her bare feet touched wet grass and she hugged herself against the freezing cold.

“He’s gone,” Wreath said from behind her.

She turned. Wreath stood, tall and handsome in a pale kind of way, dressed in black. He was as tall as Skulduggery, and as calm, but they shared other traits too. They were both excellent teachers. Skulduggery had taught her Elemental magic and Wreath was teaching her Necromancy, but they both treated her as an equal. Not every mage she met did that. Another one of Skulduggery’s talents that Wreath shared was the knack of arriving in the nick of time, for which Valkyrie was particularly grateful. “What are you doing here?” she asked. She didn’t thank him. Wreath didn’t believe in thanks.

His eyes gleamed when he looked at her. “I heard Remus Crux had been sighted in the area,” he said. “Naturally, I assumed he was coming after you. It seems I was right.”

“And why didn’t you tell me this?” Valkyrie asked, her teeth chattering.

“Bait doesn’t needs to know it’s bait. Crux might have sensed a trap and that would have sent him scurrying back into the shadows.”

“I don’t appreciate being bait, Solomon. He could have gone after my family.”

“He doesn’t want to hurt your family. We don’t know why he’s after you, but at least we now know that he is.”

Wreath wasn’t offering her his coat. Skulduggery would have done that by now.

“I don’t want this happening again,” she said. “My town is off-limits to this stuff. China Sorrows can put up symbols and sigils to make sure he can’t get into Haggard. Tomorrow that’s what I’m asking her to do.”

“Very well.”

“Solomon, next time something like this comes up, I’m expecting you to tell me about it before I’m attacked.”

He smiled. “I’ll try to remember that. It’s quite safe for you to return to your house. I’ll keep watch until morning.”

Valkyrie nodded and positioned herself beneath the spare room window.

“Oh, and the skull?” he asked. “Are you close to retrieving it?”

“We’re meeting the seller tomorrow.”

“And you’re sure he has the one you’re looking for? You’ve been disappointed before …”

“This time it’s different. It has to be.”

He bowed his goodbye then tapped his cane to the ground and invited the shadows in around him. By the time they had scattered, he was gone. It was a Necromancer trick, similar to teleportation but with far less range. It used to impress her. It didn’t any more.

She swept her arms up and a gust of cold wind lifted her up the side of the house. She climbed through the window and closed it behind her then wiped her feet on the carpet to dry them. She scrambled under the bedclothes and lay there, curled up in a shivering ball.

She didn’t get much sleep.

he next morning Valkyrie went back to her own room. It was freezing. There was glass all over the floor and the desk was in pieces. She called China Sorrows and told her what she needed. For the past six months China had been instructing young sorcerers in the language of magic, and she said she would send her students to construct a warning system around the town.

Valkyrie thanked her and hung up, then opened the wardrobe and touched the mirror. Her reflection stepped out then crawled under the bed to hide while Valkyrie dressed in her school uniform and went downstairs. It had been over a week since she’d joined her parents for breakfast and she was anxious to enjoy their company. She was also determined that today was the day she’d get Skulduggery back.

Her parents talked about the broken window – her father was confident he could replace the glass himself, but her mother wasn’t so sure – and then her dad announced his plans.

“I’m taking a half-day,” he said. “I’m off to meet a few clients, take them out for a quick nine.”

Her mother looked at him. “A quick nine what?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “It’s a golf term. Men my age say it all the time. I wanted to take them to the football final on Sunday, but golf this afternoon will have to do.”

“You don’t play golf,” his wife pointed out.

“But I’ve seen it on television and it looks pretty straightforward. Hit the ball with the thing.”

“Club.”

“What could be easier?”

“Your hand-eye co-ordination isn’t the best though, and you hate long walks and carrying things. And you also regularly say that you think golf is stupid.”

“Golf is stupid,” he agreed.

“Then why would you want to take your clients golfing?”

“Primarily, it’s the outfit. The V-neck jumpers with the diamond patterns and the trousers with the socks pulled up.”

“I don’t think people wear those any more.”

“Oh.”

Valkyrie often thought her parents were ideally suited to one another. She doubted that anyone else would be capable of appreciating just how odd they really were.

She finished her breakfast and went back to her room to change into her black clothes. The reflection took each item of school uniform as it was removed and put it on.

In a town called Roarhaven, almost two years earlier, Skulduggery had shot the reflection and killed it. Its original purpose had been to fill in for Valkyrie while she was with Skulduggery, but as a result of its overuse, it began developing certain quirks of behaviour, a problem compounded when it “died”. They had returned the body to the mirror, and the reflection came back to its imitation of life, but after that it became even more erratic. It had broken free of some of its own boundaries – the changing of its clothes being a primary example – and every now and then there were short gaps in its memory.

But Valkyrie didn’t have time to worry about any of that now. She needed to get Skulduggery’s head. Besides, someone had to go to school today and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be her.

She buttoned up her black trousers and pulled on her boots, letting the trouser turn-ups fall over them. The top was sleeveless but warm, and when she slipped into the coat, it was like she was suddenly wearing thermals. The material reacted to the environment and to her body temperature, keeping her in comfort no matter what. The coat was black, but its sleeves were the dark red of dried blood. A Ghastly Bespoke creation.

The reflection picked up Valkyrie’s schoolbag and left, closing the door behind it.

Valkyrie rang Fletcher Renn and he stepped out of empty space beside her. The phone crackled in her hand as the network struggled to compensate, then gave up. His blond hair was painstakingly untamed, and his grin was the usual mix of cocksure and mocking. He wore old jeans, scuffed boots and an army jacket, and the only problem with how he looked was that Fletcher knew he looked good.

“What happened here?” he asked, the grin vanishing as he noticed the mess.

“I was attacked.”

His eyes widened and he grabbed her, as if making sure she was still alive. “Are you OK? Are you hurt? Who did it?”

“I’m fine, Fletcher. I’ll tell you about it when I tell the others.”

“It wasn’t the vampire, was it?”

“What?”

Fletcher let Valkyrie go and stepped back. “What’s-his-name, from yesterday. Mean and moody vampire boy.”

“His name’s Caelan. And no, of course not.”

He nodded slowly. “OK then. And you’re sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“What did he say anyway? The vamp.”

“He set up the meeting, like he said he would.”

“No chit-chat then?”

“He’s not the type.”

“Strong and silent, eh?”

“I suppose. Also the sun was going down.”

“Ah, OK. He probably didn’t want to turn into a horrible monster and tear you apart on your first date.”

“I’m sensing that you don’t like him very much.”

“Well, no, on account of the horrible monster part. Do you?”

“Like him? No. I don’t even know him.”

“Well, all right then.” Fletcher seemed satisfied. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You already did.”

“Can I ask you another?”

“Can you ask me somewhere my parents won’t hear?”

He took her hand and in an eyeblink they were standing on the roof of Bespoke Tailor’s. These days, teleportation didn’t even make Valkyrie dizzy.

“Ask away,” she said.

He hesitated and then said, very casually, “Do you think things will return to normal for you when we get Skulduggery back? You and him, out solving crimes and having adventures and stuff?”

“I expect so. Don’t see why they wouldn’t.”

“That’s good,” he nodded. “It’s nice that it’s finally coming to an end, isn’t it? After everything we’ve all done and been through.”

“These past few months have been terrible,” Valkyrie admitted.

“Yeah, I know. But at the same time, like, I’ve actually been, you know, enjoying it.”

Valkyrie said nothing.

“Not in a bad way!” he added, laughing. “I didn’t enjoy the fact that he was lost, or that you’ve been so worried about him. I just mean that, for me, being part of everything, it’s been good. I’ve liked being part of a team.”

“Right.”

“So, I mean, I was thinking, I was wondering, do you think he’d let me tag along on your cases?”

Valkyrie took a sudden breath. “I … I really don’t know.”

“I’d be pretty useful, you have to admit. No more driving everywhere in that ancient car of his.”

“He loves the Bentley. And so do I.”

“I know, I know, but still, maybe you could mention it to him, when he’s back.”

“I will,” she said. “I’ll mention it.”

“Unless you don’t want me around.”

Valkyrie raised an eyebrow. “Did I say that?”

“No, but … Actually, yes, you have said that, a lot.”

She shrugged. “That’s only when you annoy me.”

“Have I annoyed you lately?”

“You’re annoying me now…”

Fletcher grinned and Valkyrie held out her hand. “Downstairs.”

He took her hand and bowed. “Yes, m’lady.”

Instantly, they were in the backroom of Bespoke Tailor’s.

“You can let go of my hand,” said Valkyrie.

“I know I can,” Fletcher responded. “I just choose not to.”

She rotated her wrist, forcing him to release her in a relatively painless manner.

They smelled coffee and heard conversation, and emerged into the shop to find Tanith and Ghastly Bespoke sitting at the small table by the wall. Ghastly was shaking his scarred head in disgust.

“What’s wrong?” Valkyrie asked.

“Dreylan Scarab got out of prison yesterday,” Tanith told her.

“Who’s Dreylan Scarab?” asked Fletcher.

“He’s the assassin who killed Esryn Vanguard.”

“Who’s Esryn Vanguard?” asked Fletcher.

Valkyrie was thankful Fletcher was around. Finally, somebody who knew even less than she did.

“Vanguard was an ex-soldier who became a pacifist,” Ghastly said. Valkyrie noticed the edge of a bandage poking out beneath his shirt collar. She didn’t mention it. “This was, what, maybe 200 years ago? He talked about a peaceful resolution to the war with Mevolent, one that didn’t require one side vanquishing the other.”

“Common sense in other words,” said Tanith. “This was well before my time, but I remember my parents talking about him.”

Ghastly said, “Mevolent grew tired of him constantly chipping away at his troops’ morale and conviction, so he sent Scarab to assassinate him.”

“And 200 years later,” Tanith said, “Scarab completes his sentence and is freed. I’m surprised he lasted that long actually. After a couple of years in a bound cell, sorcerers start ageing again. I think everyone expected old age to finish him off.”

“He should be dead,” Ghastly said quietly. “He murdered a great man.”

“Do you know who else should be dead?” Fletcher asked brightly. “Valkyrie. Someone attacked her last night.”

Tanith and Ghastly stared and Valkyrie sighed, then told them about Crux.

Ghastly narrowed his eyes. “Wreath just happened to be passing while all this was taking place? For all we know he could have orchestrated the whole thing just so he could swoop in and save the day.”

“He didn’t save the day,” Valkyrie said somewhat defensively. “I’d have stopped Crux. Somehow.”

“Ghastly’s right,” said Tanith. “We don’t know what Crux has been up to since Aranmore. That glimpse he caught of the Faceless Ones snapped his mind, Val. He could very well have fallen under Wreath’s influence.”

“Solomon Wreath’s on our side,” Valkyrie said, already tired of this argument. It was one they’d had a dozen times before.

“And why would he send Crux after me? What would he have to gain?”

Tanith shrugged. “We’re close to getting Skulduggery back, and he’s close to losing his prized pupil. He gains your trust, and your confidence, and if he’s lucky, you choose Necromancy over Elemental magic.”

Valkyrie felt the ring on her finger. She hadn’t taken it off all night. “We’ll worry about that later,” she said.

“A lunatic attacks you in the middle of the night,” Tanith said with a raised eyebrow, “a lunatic who, even when he was sane, detested you and you want us to forget about it?”

Fletcher peered at Ghastly and then said, with his usual tactfulness, “Hey, what’s with the bandage?”

Ghastly adjusted his collar. “It’s nothing,” he said gruffly.

“Did you cut yourself shaving? Did you cut yourself shaving a lot?”

Ghastly sighed. “I asked China if she could help me blend into a crowd. I’m sick of disguises. So she came up with a façade tattoo. That’s all.”

“What’s a façade tattoo?” Tanith asked.

“It’s not important.”

“Then tell us what it is so we can get on to something important.”

“It’s a false face,” he said, trying to hide his embarrassment with impatience. “She tattooed two symbols on my collarbones and when they’ve healed, in theory, they’ll make me look like I’m normal for a short period of time.”

“Normal?”

“No scars.”

“Wow.”

“Like I said, it’s not important.”

“When can you try it out?”

“Another few hours. It mightn’t work, but … it’s worth a try. It’s better than having to a wear a scarf every time I go out. I think we should get back to the matter at hand. Chabon’s plane lands in an hour, right?”

“He’d be here by now if he’d let me pick him up,” Fletcher said.

“He doesn’t trust us,” Valkyrie told him. “He buys and sells and the people he deals with aren’t always as honest and trustworthy as we are.”

Fletcher shrugged. “I’d have just nicked the skull off him and teleported back here.”

Valkyrie sighed. “Do we have the money?”

Tanith kicked a duffel bag on the floor beside her. “A bit each from our various bank accounts. Good thing money doesn’t mean a whole lot to people like us.”

“Speak for yourself,” grumbled Fletcher.

“You didn’t contribute anything,” Tanith frowned.

“Is contributing time not enough?” Fletcher replied archly.

“Not when you’re trying to buy something, no.”

“Oh.”

Tanith looked back to Valkyrie. “And Val, relax, OK? We’ve thought of everything.”

“Skulduggery told me once that only he can think of everything, but he doesn’t do it very often because it spoils the surprise.”

This raised a smile on Tanith’s lips. “Then we have thought of everything that we four are capable of thinking of, and we can’t think of anything else. There is absolutely no reason to think that this won’t be as easy as meeting up, handing over the money, getting the skull and saying thank you. This afternoon we take a trip up to Aranmore Farm and Fletcher opens the portal. Then we go in, find Skulduggery and bring him back. Easy as proverbial pie.”

“Unless something goes wrong,” Valkyrie said.

“Well, yes. Unless something goes horribly, dreadfully wrong. Which it usually does, of course.”

habon had picked a café on Duke Street for the exchange to take place. Valkyrie and Tanith sat facing the door. Fletcher was beside the window, reading a comic and drinking a Coke and doing his best to look inconspicuous – not an easy feat with that hair. Only Ghastly was absent. His scars were too difficult to conceal from the public for any length of time.

A little after midday, a man with a suitcase entered. He spotted them immediately and approached. He wasn’t what Valkyrie had been expecting. His clothes were casual and he didn’t have a pencil-thin moustache for a start.

“Afternoon, ladies,” he said, smiling politely. “Do you have my payment?”

“Show us the skull,” said Valkyrie.

Chabon put the suitcase on the table and patted it. “You’re not seeing the merchandise until I know you have my payment. That’s how it works. That’s how these things happen.”

Tanith lifted the duffel bag and opened it, allowing Chabon a peek at the money within. She closed it and held it on her lap.

Valkyrie reached for the case, but Chabon grabbed her wrist.

“You’re very eager,” he said, his voice cold. He turned her wrist, eyes narrowing when he got a closer look at the ring. “You’re a Necromancer? I thought you people didn’t even leave the Temple until you were twenty-five.”

She took her hand back. “I dabble,” she said. “Your turn.”

Chabon flattened his palm on the case and the locks sprang open. He raised the lid, enough for Valkyrie and Tanith to see what it contained.

“That’s the Murder Skull?” Tanith asked. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“If you’re lying to us …” Valkyrie began.

Chabon shook his head. “Don’t threaten me, girl. I’ve been threatened by professionals. I had this discussion with your vampire friend, and all the facts we established then are still true today. So, unless you’re planning on double-crossing me, and using that fella with the stupid hair by the window, what do you say we conduct our business and part ways? I’ve got a plane to catch.”

Valkyrie glanced at Tanith, who put the duffel bag on the table. Chabon reached in and touched the money.

“It’s all there,” Tanith said.

After a moment, Chabon nodded. “Yes, it is.” He withdrew his hand and stood, taking the bag with him and leaving the case on the table. “Been a pleasure,” he said and they watched him walk out.

Fletcher came over and Valkyrie raised the lid slightly. The case was lined and cushioned, the skull sitting comfortably within. A huge smile suddenly broke across Valkyrie’s face.

They had it. They had it, and in a few hours they’d pass through the portal and get Skulduggery back. All her hard work would pay off and, by the end of the day, her life would be allowed to resume. She closed the case.

“I just want to make sure,” she said and hurried to the door. She stepped out and saw Chabon just as he turned the corner on to Grafton Street.

“Hey!” she roared, a furious look on her face.

Chabon turned. If the skull was the Murder Skull, he would have no need to panic. If it wasn’t … Chabon panicked and broke into a sprint.

“It’s a fake!” she shouted to the others and bolted after Chabon, with Tanith and Fletcher following.

Valkyrie barged into the crowd, fighting to keep Chabon in sight. She leaped over a busker’s coin tray and dodged around a man painted silver. Chabon turned right, into a long, bright lane, the duffel bag swinging wildly.

If the lane had been empty, Valkyrie would have wrapped a tendril of shadow around his ankles and pitched him forward on to his face. But there were maybe a dozen people wandering by shop windows, and a woman begging for spare change just ahead of her. Out of the corner of her eye, Valkyrie saw Tanith dart into an alcove and run up the side of the building. Valkyrie chased Chabon to the next street, where he glanced up and saw Tanith moving over rooftops to cut him off. He knocked over an old man and ran into the Powerscourt Centre. Valkyrie took the street adjacent, moving parallel to him. Through the windows she saw him crash through the lunch crowd at the restaurant, slowing him down.

She reached South William Street as Chabon staggered out of the Powerscourt Centre. He saw her, cursed and kept running, through Castle Market and straight into the old Victorian building that housed the George’s Street Arcade. She knew she had him. He didn’t have a hope of getting away now.

The stalls were set up down the middle of the arcade, funnelling the shoppers down paths on either side. There were clothes stalls and jewellery stalls and a fortune-teller behind a red curtain. Chabon chose the left path, knocking people out of his way. He stumbled over a box of old paperbacks and Valkyrie piled on the speed and jumped, her knees slamming into his back. He sprawled to the ground and she ignored the startled looks from the people around her. He reached for the fallen bag and she stomped on his hand. He shrieked, kicking, and her feet swept from beneath her. She landed just as he got up, the bag in his uninjured hand, but she grabbed one of the straps and wouldn’t let go, and Chabon remembered too late that she wasn’t alone.

Tanith came flying over Valkyrie and her boot-heel connected with Chabon’s sternum. There was a crack and he went down and rolled a few times before curling up. Valkyrie got to her feet as Fletcher joined them, puffing and panting like someone who hadn’t needed to run anywhere in quite a while.

“Here you go,” Valkyrie said as she pressed the duffel bag into Fletcher’s arms. She smiled at the crowd. “This poor boy got his bag snatched by that nasty man.”

Fletcher glared at her as the crowd applauded, and Tanith picked up Chabon and escorted him away. Valkyrie and Fletcher followed.

“That was unnecessary,” Fletcher seethed.

“If you’d been faster,” she said quietly, “maybe you could have been the hero – but you weren’t, so you’re the innocent victim. Get over it.”

Tanith took Chabon far enough away from passing pedestrians so that they could talk without being overheard. She pressed him back against the wall. He was holding his hand against his chest, obviously in a great deal of pain.

“Where’s the real Murder Skull?” Valkyrie asked, keeping her voice low.

“I gave it to you,” Chabon tried. She prodded his hands and he hissed. “OK! Stop! I had it, I swear I did. When I talked to you on the phone, I had it.”

“So what did you do with it?”

Chabon was looking quite pale. His injury was making him sweat. “There’s a … Look, there’s a rule, in what I do. If you find something that one person is willing to pay for, odds are there’s someone else who’s willing to pay more.”

“You advertised?”

“I didn’t know anyone would be that interested, so yeah, I mentioned it here and there, and someone came to me with a better offer.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

Valkyrie made a fist and crunched it against Chabon’s hands. Tanith struggled to keep him standing upright.

“A woman,” he gasped. “I met with her an hour ago. She paid me triple. I didn’t think you’d ever know. It’s the Murder Skull. What’s so important about it?”

“What did this woman look like?” asked Tanith.