Midnight

“I have not betrayed you!” he snapped.

“You betray me every day!” she shot back. “With every disappointment, you betray me! You were my loyal soldier! My favourite!”

Cadaverous snarled. “I was never your favourite. Smoke was your favourite, and then Lethe, when he came along. I’m always there, but always pushed to the back by the bright and the new. I should be your second. I should be your lieutenant. Instead, I arrange the food for the convicts and the criminals while people like Avatar and Skeiri waltz in and catch your eye.”

Abyssinia shook her head. “Jealousy does not become you, Cadaverous.”

“You’ve kept us in the dark long enough, Abyssinia. We’re starting to feel as if we’re not on this mission you told us about. We’re starting to feel that you’ve lied to us.”

“Get out,” she said quietly.

10

Tea and biscuits were already laid out when Sebastian Tao crept into the house through the back door.

It was all back doors these days – back doors and skylights and narrow windows and a lot of sneaking around. Dressed as he was – all in black, with the curved beak mask and the wide-brimmed leather hat and the flowing coat – it was difficult to walk down the street, even at this time of night, and not attract curious stares or invitations to fight. Sebastian didn’t like to fight. He hated violence. He’d had enough of that growing up.

He stepped into the living room. “Hello,” he said.

The small group turned, smiling and nodding.

“Welcome, Plague Doctor,” said Lily. “Cup of tea?”

They laughed. Sebastian chuckled politely. They knew very well that he couldn’t take his mask off. Not that he needed to. His suit provided him with all the sustenance he required – although he eyed the biscuits on display longingly. What he wouldn’t give for a taste.

But no. He had a mission.

“Let’s hurry this along,” Tantalus said, standing up from the floral couch. “Some of us have lives to get back to.”

The others went quiet. Tantalus was the unofficial leader of their little group of Darquesse-worshippers, primarily because he lacked any identifiable sense of humour. He just seemed like the kind of man people would take orders from, although Sebastian had yet to witness any actual leadership abilities.

Tantalus cleared his throat. “I hereby call this meeting of the Darquesse Society to order. Blessed be her name.”

“Blessed be her name,” the others echoed.

“We have gazed into the face of God and we found love.”

Sebastian repeated it along with everyone else.

“All right then,” Tantalus said, scowling at Sebastian, “why are we here?”

Tantalus didn’t like Sebastian, and he wasn’t shy about letting it show.

Sebastian nodded to Forby. “Tell them what you told me,” he said.

Forby, a small man with fantastic hair, cleared his throat. “Um, OK, so, the portal – the portal that all these Leibniz people are coming through. The mortal portal, I call it.” He laughed. “Anyway, I’m on the team. The investigating team.”

“Congratulations,” said Bennet. “That’s pretty high-profile. It’s good to see you getting recognition in your job.”

“Thank you,” said Forby. “It’s a real boost to my confidence, I have to admit. I’ve been working at the High Sanctuary since it opened; before that I was at the old Sanctuary for eighteen years … I mean, I’ve put in the time, you know? I’ve put in the work. It’s just really nice to have—”

“Tell me we’re not here just to congratulate Forby for doing his job,” Tantalus said.

“We’re not,” Sebastian assured him. “Forby, get to the bit about the box.”

Tantalus frowned. “What box?”

“A device,” said Forby. “I was part of the team that went through the portal to examine it. I’m fairly certain that the device opened the portal.”

Tantalus folded his arms. “So?”

“If I’m right, and I think I am, once we reverse-engineer it, once we figure out how it works, I can use the device to open a portal to wherever Darquesse happens to be, and we won’t even need a Shunter to do it.”

“This is good news,” said Lily, her eyes widening. “This is great news!”

Tantalus held up a hand for silence, and kept his eyes on Forby. “That is good news. I agree. Or it would be, if we knew where Darquesse is. But we don’t, do we?”

“Not yet,” said Forby. He glanced at Sebastian, and Sebastian stepped forward.

“We’ve been talking about this,” he said.

Tantalus scowled again. “Who’s we?”

“Forby and me,” Sebastian said.

“And what exactly have you been discussing?”

Sebastian chose his words carefully. “I don’t know a whole lot about this stuff, but I do know that while it is possible to track energy signatures through dimensions, to go looking for one, even one as powerful as Darquesse’s, would be a waste of time.”

Forby nodded. “That’s true.”

“But then I asked Forby,” Sebastian continued, “if it would be easier to track the Faceless Ones instead, seeing as how there’s a whole race of them.”

Tantalus’s eyes narrowed. “Why would we want to do that?”

“We all know that Darquesse left this reality to find a new challenge. Fighting the Faceless Ones was that challenge.”

“The Plague Doctor posited the idea that Darquesse might very well still be fighting them,” Forby said, “so to find them would be to find her.”

“And apparently, that’s entirely possible.” Sebastian paused. “We just need some Faceless Ones’ blood.”

Tantalus laughed. “Oh, is that all? Well, I’ll nip down to the shops, shall I? Anyone want anything else while I’m picking up a jar of Faceless Ones’ blood? How are we for milk?”

“I know where there’s some blood,” Lily said.

They all looked at her.

“There’s a scythe in the Dark Cathedral,” she said. “I saw it on a tour I took there. They have it sealed off with a bunch of other stuff. The little sign said that it was splattered with the blood of one of the Faceless Ones that came through at Aranmore. Would that do?”

Sebastian looked back at Forby, who shrugged.

“I don’t see why not,” he said.

“So what are you suggesting?” Tantalus asked. “That we break into the Dark Cathedral and steal this scythe right from under their noses? Do you have any idea of the amount of security they have? Do you have any idea what they’ll do to us if they catch us?”

“Probably kill us,” said Lily. “I don’t think I should go.”

“No one’s going!” Tantalus snapped. “The only way this wouldn’t be a suicide mission is if someone knew a secret way in. Do you? Do any of you?”

Beneath his mask, Sebastian smiled, and raised his hand.

11

Valkyrie woke and lay there, scrabbling for the last threads of a departing dream. It was almost within her grasp – a normal dream, this time – when her thoughts tumbled in, filled her head, sent the dream scattering. She reached for the bottle of water by the bed, found it empty. Her throat was parched.

She got up. It was cold. She pulled on her bathrobe, tied it and hugged herself as she unlocked her bedroom door. The landing was dark. Her fingers trailed across the wall, finding the three light switches. She pressed the middle one. The light came on downstairs. Hugging herself again, she went down, narrowing her eyes against the glare until she was used to it.

She left the light, walked through the gloom to the kitchen. She could see well enough. Xena raised her head when she stepped in, just to check, and then went back to sleep. Valkyrie smiled at her, opened the fridge as quietly as possible, took a bottle of water and turned to go. Abyssinia stood watching her.

Valkyrie yelled in shock and dropped the water, white lightning crackling around her fingertips. Xena leaped up, barking, came running over, ignoring Abyssinia entirely to sniff at Valkyrie’s legs, tail wagging with sudden excitement. Abyssinia looked away, her mouth moving, holding a conversation Valkyrie couldn’t hear with somebody she couldn’t see.

Valkyrie let the energy die. Abyssinia was looking down, not at Valkyrie at all. Valkyrie was seeing her, but she wasn’t seeing Valkyrie. She started to fade. In seconds, she was gone.

Valkyrie slid down to the floor, her back against the fridge. Xena came and sat beside her, then laid her head across Valkyrie’s lap. Her fur was warm and soft and reassuring.

“Good girl,” Valkyrie whispered. “Everything’s going to be all right. Good girl.”

She reached for the bottle of water, and took a swig.

She stayed like that until the sun came up.

12

Omen was a morning person. He didn’t like getting out of bed, but when he did he was invariably bright and optimistic. Mornings, he often thought, were bursting with potential. Every morning was the start of what could become the best day ever.

True, the brightness tended to dull a little once the day began to beat him down, and his optimism never lasted that long when faced with the disappointment that came with being who he was, but that didn’t change how much he liked mornings. Especially a Saturday morning, when half of the students went home for the weekend and the other half chatted and hung out and bonded as people. He imagined.

This Saturday, however, was determined to squish him before he’d even had his breakfast.

His room-mates had snored. This was not unusual. What was unusual was the sheer determination they displayed, as if they were working together to deny him sleep. From then on, it was one minor catastrophe after another. He’d dropped his toothbrush in the toilet. His phone hadn’t charged. Grendel Caste sneezed on his breakfast. And now here he was, sitting outside the Principal’s Office.

Filament Sclavi walked by, then stopped and turned round. He sat down next to Omen.

“I heard,” he said.

“Heard what?” Omen asked, even though he knew.

“You asked out Axelia Lukt, and Axelia Lukt said no.”

“Ah,” said Omen. “That’s what you heard. I’m surprised people care enough to gossip.”

“People gossip even when they don’t care,” said Filament. “It’s what people do. So how are you? How is your heart? Is it broken?”

“Naw,” said Omen. “It’s ever-so-slightly dinged. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Filament looked at him. “You don’t have to be brave in front of me, Omen.”

“I’m … not. I swear.”

Filament patted his arm. “I can see that you are fighting back the tears.”

“I’m really not, though.”

Filament smiled sadly. “Then why is your lower lip quivering?”

“I think that’s just what it does.”

“You know what? You should ask her again.”

“You think she’s changed her mind?”

“Not yet, but she might if you pursue her. Have you never seen a romantic comedy? Have you never seen the nerd get the hot girl? How does he do it? He proves himself worthy of her affection. He devotes himself to wooing her.”

“Am I the nerd?”

“Well, you’re certainly not the hot girl.”

Omen laughed a little. “Yeah, I suppose.”

“My sisters – I grew up with sisters – they love the romantic comedies. Have you seen 10 Things I Hate About You? Heath Ledger pursues Julia Stiles. You should sing to Axelia during morning assembly.”

“That’s a terrifically bad idea.”

“A Partridge Family song, maybe.”

“I’m not sure who they are.”

“They were a musical group. One of my older sisters, she loved David Cassidy when she was a teenager. David Cassidy was in the Partridge Family. According to my sister, he was the main Partridge.”

“Did they have costumes, or …?”

“I don’t know if they dressed up as partridges, I just know the David Cassidy song. But you can’t do that song – that was used in the movie. You want another one, a song that may once have been cheesy, but now is sort of cool.”

“I don’t think I’m going to sing to her, though.”

“That’s a pity,” said Filament. “It would work. I’m sure of it. But there are other ways to woo a lady. Send flowers every day. Write her poems. Or appear at her door one evening with cue cards professing your love.”

“Is that wooing, though? Or is it, you know … stalking?”

Filament frowned. “How can it be stalking? It’s for love.”

“I get that, I do, but everything you’ve just mentioned sounds a little like harassment. I’d really prefer to be the guy who, you know, is rejected and then is kind of cool about it. I don’t want her to regret knowing me – that’s basically what I’m trying to say. I don’t want to be the bad guy, or the guy who can’t take the hint. You know?”

Filament didn’t respond.

“Filament?”

“Your words have made me sad,” Filament said.

“Oh.”

“All those romantic comedies I watched.”

“It’s fine for movies.”

“No,” said Filament. “No. I shall never watch another. From here on out, it will be horror movies and only horror movies. Not even musicals.”

“Musicals are OK.”

“Maybe one or two musicals, like Grease.”

“Grease is funny.”

“It was nice talking to you, Omen, even if you did make me sad.”

“I’m really sorry about that.”

“I will try to be as brave as you.”

“I’m not being brave, though.”

Miss Wicked approached. “Filament,” she said, “it’s a Saturday morning. Do something better with it than sitting outside the Principal’s Office.”

“Yes, miss,” Filament said, and hurried away.

Miss Wicked frowned at Omen. “It’s ten o’clock. Why are you out here?”

“I, um, I haven’t been told to go in.”

“Our appointment is for ten,” she responded, striding to the door. “We go in at ten.”

She walked in and Omen hopped up and hurried after her.

He’d never been in Principal Rubic’s office before. He was immediately struck by the number of books on the shelves and the huge window behind the desk. Rubic himself sat at his desk, an elderly man with a face that longed for a beard it didn’t have. Standing before him was a tall man with dark hair swept back off a high forehead, a man who looked just like his son.

“Ah, Miss Wicked, Omen,” said Rubic, waving them in, “I was just about to call for you. Of course, you will both recognise Grand Mage Ispolin, here from the Bulgarian Sanctuary. The Grand Mage is, very naturally, concerned about Jenan’s well-being.”

“It’s been seven months,” Ispolin said, “and nothing has been done.” His accent, like that of so many sorcerers, was both distinct and soft, the result of hundreds of years of living. “My son remains missing, and this woman is still teaching at this school. I’m here to demand answers.”

“Of course,” Rubic said, “of course. Your concern is understandable.”

“For seven months, I have been met with nothing but excuses from the High Sanctuary.”

Rubic nodded sadly. “Investigations of this nature do, unfortunately, tend to take a lot of time, Grand Mage.”

“I am aware of the amount of time investigations take,” Ispolin said slowly. “What I am interested in learning is why this woman is still employed here.”

“I believe you know my name,” Miss Wicked said.

Ispolin looked up. “What?”

“My name,” she said. “I believe you know it. Please use it. Every time you say ‘this woman’ I look around, wondering who you’re talking about. I am here, I gather, because of the altercation outside the boys’ dormitories. Is that right?”

“That’s right,” Ispolin said. “When you attacked Jenan. Is this the type of teacher you have here, Mr Rubic? One who goes around assaulting your students?”

Omen cleared his throat to speak, but could only croak. Ispolin glared at him.

“Yes? You have something to contribute?”

“I’m sure Omen was about to remind you that the altercation began when your son attacked him,” said Miss Wicked.

Ispolin sneered. “So he claims.”

“Now, now,” said Rubic, “we have no reason to doubt Mr Darkly’s version of events.”

“Jenan attacked me,” Omen whispered.

Ispolin folded his arms. “And I say that you are a liar.”

Omen flushed red.

“Look at his face,” Ispolin said. “Only the guilty blush.”

“Nonsense,” said Miss Wicked. “Omen blushes at the mention of his own name. Please don’t make my student feel any more uncomfortable than he already does, Grand Mage Ispolin. Blushing means nothing, and Omen is not a liar.”

“How can you be so sure?” Ispolin fired back. “His brother is the Chosen One, isn’t he? Jenan told me all about him, and, from where I stand, this is a boy who has been starved of attention his entire life. His brother is the one people know. His brother is the one people remember. But this boy here is so desperate for a moment in the spotlight that he has fabricated this entire story.”

“I didn’t,” Omen said, shaking his head.

“You’re a liar!”

“Grand Mage!” Rubic said, rising slightly in his chair, “I must ask you to calm yourself!”

“I want him expelled.”

Rubic frowned, and sat back again. “I … Grand Mage, I cannot do that.”

“I want him expelled and I want her fired.”

“Grand Mage, please …”

Miss Wicked adjusted the sleeve of her blouse. “Are we done with this nonsense?”

Rubic held up a hand. “Just a moment—”

Miss Wicked ignored him, and focused on Ispolin. “I walked by and found Jenan choking the life out of Omen. I intervened. Jenan proceeded to physically attack me. I restrained him.”

“You nearly broke his arm!”

“It could have been far, far worse. Headmaster, you realise this, do you not? I could have hurt Jenan far, far worse than I did?”

“Of course,” Rubic sighed.

“In which case, I restrained him with an admirable amount of, dare I say it, restraint. For which I should be thanked. Of course, I don’t do this for the thanks. I do this for the love of teaching, of moulding young minds.”

“If this happened the way you say it happened,” said Ispolin, “then you won’t mind a Sensitive verifying it to be the truth.”

Miss Wicked smiled. “No Sensitive is going to poke around inside my head, Grand Mage. You are just going to have to take my word for it, as an educator.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“I’m afraid you don’t actually have a choice,” said Rubic. “Miss Wicked has been before a Review Board, and we have cleared her of any wrongdoing. Grand Mage, we have taken this meeting with you as a courtesy, but please don’t be under any illusion that you have any sort of jurisdiction here.”

Ispolin glowered, and Rubic turned to Omen and Miss Wicked.

“Thank you both for coming.”

Miss Wicked gave a curt nod, and led the way to the door.

“Not the boy,” said Ispolin. Omen turned. “She can leave, but I haven’t finished with the boy.”

Omen looked to Miss Wicked for help, but her face was impassive.

“Very well,” said Rubic, sighing. “Omen, stay behind a moment, would you?”

“I will take my leave of you,” said Miss Wicked, opening the door. “But, as I had foreseen something like this occurring, I have arranged for someone to come in and speak on the boy’s behalf.”

She left, and Omen frowned. Then he heard footsteps. Familiar footsteps.

They entered the room with a flourish – Emmeline Darkly and Caddock Sirroco, grand and good-looking and imperious. The room seemed to shrink around them, like a lens being refocused. Rubic stood up quickly and even Ispolin diminished slightly in their presence.

“Hi, Mum,” said Omen. “Hi, Dad.”

His mother threw him a sharp glance, but his father was too busy looking furious to acknowledge him.

“We were listening,” Caddock said, turning his gaze on the Grand Mage. “So you haven’t finished with the boy, have you? The boy?”

Ispolin bristled. “I have a legitimate grievance to—”

“The boy is our son,” Emmeline cut in. “The boy is a Darkly, and his brother is destined to save the world. You should be thanking him. You should be thanking us for our very existence.”

“Instead,” Caddock said, “we find ourselves being dragged from our commitments – at the weekend – to defend our son for, what, exactly? For surviving your son’s attempt to murder him?”

“How dare you—”

“How dare we?” Emmeline shot back. “How dare we what? How dare we side with the truth?”

“Jenan did not attack anyone.”

“Jenan is part of the First Wave,” Emmeline said. “That’s what they’re calling themselves now, is it not, this little group of terrorists formed here, at the Academy, by Parthenios Lilt? The headmaster has enough questions to answer about how he allowed this man to teach here, how he allowed this rot to fester in his own school, and they are questions that he will answer, but today, Mr Ispolin, we are focusing on you and your son.”

Ispolin smoothed down his tie, though it looked perfectly smooth from where Omen was standing. “Jenan is easily led. His friends pressured him into joining. It’s this teacher, this Lilt, who is responsible for what happened.”

“I don’t think you’re giving Jenan enough credit,” Caddock said. “Everything we’ve heard indicates that he’s a natural leader – and now he’s with this Abyssinia person, in a flying prison populated by convicts and criminals. He’s the enemy, Mr Ispolin. We didn’t do that to him. Our son didn’t do that to him. He did that to himself.”

Ispolin glared. “It’s Grand Mage,” he said. “Grand Mage Ispolin. You will refer to me as such.”

Emmeline observed him with a sneer on her lips, and turned to Rubic. “I presume we are done here, Mr Rubic.” It was not a question.

“Of course,” Rubic said, nodding quickly. “Thank you for coming in. Omen, would you see your parents to the gate? There’s a good lad.”

13

“I’m sorry about that,” Omen said to his parents as they walked away from Rubic’s office. “I know how busy you are.”

“We are very busy,” said Emmeline, examining everything that they passed. “Please tell that teacher not to call on us again.”

“I will,” said Omen, though he knew he wouldn’t.

“Where’s Auger?” Caddock asked. “We were hoping to see him before we left.”

“I’m not sure,” Omen said. “I can pass on a message, if you like.”

“We don’t have a message,” said Emmeline. “We just wanted to see him. Never mind.”

“I could show you around,” Omen suggested brightly. “If you have time, like. If you’re not rushing back.”

“We are rushing back,” Caddock said.

“Oh, OK. I’ll walk you out, then.”

They walked on, Caddock a few steps in front. Silence descended.

“How are your classes going?” his mother asked eventually.

“Good,” Omen responded. He wondered for a moment if they’d heard about his failed test. But no. His parents were formidable people, but they weren’t omnipotent. “Really good. They’re all going well. Even maths, and I’m terrible at maths.”

“Are you?”

“Um, yes. I’ve always been terrible at maths. Remember?”

“Of course,” Emmeline said in a tone that let Omen know she didn’t, not at all. “And that’s going well for you, is it?”

“Yep. I mean, I still don’t understand most of it, but I don’t think that’s too important.”

Caddock looked back. “You don’t think understanding maths is important?”

Omen shrugged. “Not really. As long as the numbers fit, that’s the only thing that matters, isn’t it?”

Caddock sighed irritably, a sound Omen knew only too well. “Understanding a subject enables you to master the subject. What you’re doing is skating along the surface of your education, Omen. It’s time you committed. It’s time you took it seriously.”

“OK,” Omen said quietly.

“Auger takes his studies seriously,” Caddock continued. “Wouldn’t you like to be like that?”