Bedlam

by Derek Landy

  Omen sagged. “You’re so lucky.”

  “I know,” said Never. “But remind me – how, exactly?”

  “You’re bisexual. I wish I was bisexual.”

  Never laughed. “Feeling cheated, are we?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, it’s like I’m cutting off half my potential love interests without even thinking about it. If I liked boys as much as I liked girls, I’d at least have the chance to … to … Well, to be turned down by more people. But that’s not the point.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it, Omen. Most sorcerers eventually turn bi because they grow tired of viewing relationships from a traditional, mortal perspective. They gradually allow themselves to be free – the key word being gradually. It just takes a little time.”

  “But what if I’m not bi?” Omen asked, keeping his voice low. “What if I’m one of those sorcerers who’s, like, straight or gay their entire lives?”

  Never patted his shoulder. “It won’t be so bad. I’ll still invite you to parties.”

  “You promise?”

  “Omen, I’m going to be having so many parties you won’t know what to do with yourself, and I want you there, standing in the background, maybe handing out canapés. The dream.”

  “The dream,” Omen said, and they tapped their bottles together just as the bell rang.

  “Aw, crap,” Omen muttered.

  “You just remembered what class we have now, didn’t you?”

  Omen grumbled in reply, and got up and trudged after Never. They made it to their seats just as Miss Wicked walked in.

  Omen liked Miss Wicked. She was scary, but in a good way. Or at least a mostly good way. But this latest module was not proving to be a strong point for him.

  The class went quiet before the door had even closed behind her. She went to her desk, turned on her heels and watched them.

  Madcap Fenton, a self-proclaimed class clown, stood, a confused expression on his face, and walked to the front of the class and started to write on the board. Omen glanced at Never, then at Auger. They both looked as mystified as Omen felt.

  Madcap wrote TELEPATHY and then returned to his seat.

  Omen, and everyone else, stared at him. After a moment, Madcap blinked and said, “Whoa.”

  Miss Wicked flicked her wrist, and her telescopic pointer shot out to full length. The tip, covered with a tiny rubber ball, quivered mere centimetres from Diana Whist’s eye. Miss Wicked swept her arm back, and tapped the board.

  “Telepathy,” she said. “The transmission of information from one person to another via psychic link. This can take the form of images or words or simple feelings – or all three at the same time. Entire conversations can be held and distance is no obstacle. Minds can be read. Secrets can be unlocked. Control can be taken.”

  She whipped the pointer away from the board, and levelled it at Madcap. “Why did you write this word?”

  “I … I don’t know,” he answered.

  “You wrote it because I told you to,” Miss Wicked said. “I entered your mind and I gave you an instruction.”

  October Klein’s hand went up, somewhat tentatively. “Excuse me, miss? Isn’t that, like, not allowed?”

  Miss Wicked looked at her.

  October swallowed, but managed to continue. “Aren’t you supposed to, kind of, ask a student’s permission? Before you enter their mind?”

  “You gave me your permission when we began this module,” Miss Wicked said, “or at least your guardians did. Did none of you read the form you took home for them to sign? No one? You disappoint me, class. I thought you were strong, independent individuals. It appears I was mistaken.”

  October frowned. “My parents had no right to give permission for something like that.”

  “Indeed, they didn’t,” said Miss Wicked. “But they did it anyway, didn’t they? Because until you grow up, take responsibility for yourselves and everything that comes with it – including, but not limited to, reading the small print – then other people are going to continue to make your decisions for you. In this case, they granted me permission to enter your minds for the purposes of this module. Which means I can read your thoughts from the moment you step into this room, and I can do so without warning. So, and I mean this quite sincerely, clean up your thoughts, everyone.”

  A blush wave passed over the class, and hit Omen particularly hard. Even Auger took to just staring at his desk.

  “We’ll touch on other aspects that a fully rounded Sensitive would need in later modules,” Miss Wicked continued. “You’ll be given the chance to try out telekinesis, pyrokinesis and astral projection. But telepathy is where we begin because telepathy is where the real power lies. Apart from communication, apart from reading somebody’s thoughts and controlling their minds, you can alter an enemy’s memory, take possession of their body, and change their very personality.” She smiled. “What’s throwing a little ball of energy compared to something like that?” She whacked the pointer against her desk. “Pair up. This next hour is going to be interesting.”

  Around the corner from Decapitation Row, tucked under an arch, was a charming little café with cakes in the window. It had a bell above the door that tinkled when Valkyrie entered. The place only had five tables, and only one of them was occupied, right at the very back.

  Militsa stood as Valkyrie walked over.

  “Hey, you,” Valkyrie said, kissing her. “Am I late?”

  “Not at all,” Militsa answered.

  “Really?”

  “Of course you’re late. You’re always late. But that’s all right.”

  They sat, and Valkyrie looked around. “I’ve never been here before. Is it good?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Hello there,” the waiter said, appearing at their table. He smiled as he handed them the menus. “The soup of the day is leek and potato. Could I get you some drinks to start?”

  “I’ll have a glass of still water,” Militsa said.

  “Me too,” said Valkyrie.

  The waiter smiled again. “Absolutely. Coming right up.”

  He gave a little bow, which transformed into a turn, and then he swept away. A little dramatic for a café in the early afternoon, but fair enough.

  “How did your meeting with Temper go?” Militsa asked.

  “We haven’t had it yet,” Valkyrie said.

  “Oh, I thought it was this morning. Any idea what it’s about?”

  “None at all. He was being cagey, though.” She shrugged. “I’ll find out soon enough.”

  “And then you’re heading off to America?”

  Valkyrie nodded. “We shouldn’t be too long. We just have to find this Oberon Guile guy and work out if he’s got anything to do with that missing White House aide. Just a normal day at work, all in all.” She gave Militsa a smile.

  Militsa tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. “Something’s up.”

  Valkyrie frowned at her. “How can you tell?”

  “You just have that look about you. So what’s on your mind, pretty lady?”

  Valkyrie sighed. “Ah, I don’t know. Everything? I’ve got so much going on that it’s hard to keep it all straight.”

  “Then tell me what’s uppermost in your mind.”

  “Well, I suppose, right now, that would be Omen and Auger. I’m worried about them.”

  Militsa leaned forward slightly. “Is this the vision again?”

  “I had another one last night. It’s about to happen.”

  “Any idea when?”

  “Soon. Weeks. Maybe days. Omen’s going to be shot and killed. Auger’s going to be shot. I don’t know what happens after that.”

  “Any other details?”

  “It happens in America.”

  Militsa frowned. “OK, then we make sure they don’t go to America in the next few weeks and boom, lives saved.”

  “I don’t think it’s that easy.”

  “Of course it is,” Militsa said. “You know better than anyone how mu
ch future timelines can change because of the slightest alteration. Actively stopping them from leaving the country? That entire timeline will probably be rewritten just like that.” She clicked her fingers.

  “Maybe,” said Valkyrie.

  The waiter came back, produced the bottle of water with a flourish, and filled their glasses. “Have you decided what you’d like to order?” he asked.

  Valkyrie snatched up the menu. “Oh, sorry, let’s see …”

  “Take your time,” said the waiter. “Take all the time you need.”

  “How are the wings here?” Militsa asked.

  The waiter shrugged. “Fine.”

  Militsa smiled. “You don’t sound overly enthused.”

  He sighed. “They’re grand. Order them if you want.”

  Valkyrie raised an eyebrow.

  “OK,” Militsa said slowly. “Then I’ll have the wings, I suppose.”

  The waiter made a note.

  Valkyrie closed the menu and handed it back to him. “And I’ll have the chicken.”

  “What a wonderful choice,” he responded, smiling broadly. He bowed, backed away, turned and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “I think he fancies you,” Militsa said.

  “Oh, then that’s a wonderful way to impress me, by being rude to my girlfriend.”

  “I do like it when you call me that.”

  “I know,” Valkyrie said, giving her a smile before getting back to the subject. “So what are the Darkly boys getting up to these days?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I haven’t spoken to Omen in weeks.”

  “You really should, you know,” said Militsa. This is when the teacher in her came out – when she used that disapproving tone. “He’s such a nice lad, and it’s not really fair that you only check in on him when you’ve wrapped him up in whatever might get him killed next.”

  “I don’t only talk to him then,” Valkyrie answered, a little defensively. “I just … I don’t have a reason to talk to him at any other time.”

  “Friendliness isn’t a reason?”

  “We’re not exactly friends, though, are we? He’s fourteen.”

  “Fifteen.”

  “When did he turn fifteen?”

  “New Year’s Day.”

  Valkyrie winced. “You think I should send him a birthday card?”

  “Almost two months late? Probably not. And you don’t have to be friends in order to be friendly.”

  Valkyrie sighed. “Yeah … maybe. So are you going to tell me how they’ve been?”

  “Omen’s struggling with classwork because he doesn’t put in the effort, as per usual, and he’s also trying to figure out what he wants to do with his life. And Auger … Auger’s the Chosen One. He’s off doing Chosen One things, having adventures, risking his life, fighting bad guys …”

  “How does the school allow that stuff to keep happening?”

  Militsa shrugged. “What choice do we have? Besides, everyone – and I mean the school and his own parents – sees this as a vital part of Auger’s training and development. This is all building up to that momentous day when he’ll have to confront the King of the Darklands.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Valkyrie, “we’re keeping an eye out for anything to do with Abyssinia and, if Caisson does graduate from Prince of the Darklands to King, we’ll step in.”

  “And do what?”

  “And do something incredibly drastic and foolhardy that will alter the future so Auger won’t have to confront anyone.”

  “But that’s if you can find Caisson,” Militsa countered. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, Coldheart Prison is still flying about somewhere and none of you lot even know where to look.”

  “Finding hijacked prisons is not my job.”

  The door opened and a man came into the café. Militsa had her back to the door, but her eyes widened and she sat up straighter.

  “Death,” she whispered.

  Valkyrie reached forward, patting her hand. “It’s OK,” she said. “There’s no danger. It’s just a vampire.”

  The vampire walked over. Dark-haired, with delicate features, and a thin scar running down one side of his face. He stopped beside their table. His tone was quiet. “Please forgive the intrusion.”

  “It’s been a while,” Valkyrie said. “Militsa, this is Dusk. He’s tried to kill me a few times, and he bit me once. I didn’t turn into a vampire, though. Obviously. We’re cool now, though. I think. Aren’t we cool?”

  “We are,” Dusk said, “cool.”

  Militsa smiled up at him. “Hello.”

  “Hello,” said Dusk. “Valkyrie, even though we are … cool … I feel I must apologise for my past behaviour.”

  “You’re here to say sorry?”

  “No,” said Dusk, “but I am making amends for my mistakes, and I take my opportunities when I can.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Valkyrie said. “I mean, who hasn’t tried to kill me, really?”

  A tight smile. “That may indeed be the case, but when we first met I was undergoing a process for which we vampires don’t have a name.”

  “Oooh,” Militsa said, and then blushed.

  Dusk looked uncomfortable, and Valkyrie frowned. “What? What is it?”

  “I’ve … I’ve heard of this,” Militsa said. She winced at Dusk. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologise to him,” said Valkyrie. “He tried to kill me, remember?”

  Militsa leaned forward and kept her voice low. “For roughly three or four weeks every year, a vampire’s human side will become dominant. It’s, uh, something they don’t like to talk about.”

  “In polite society,” said Dusk.

  Valkyrie folded her arms. “So your human side was dominant when we first met? Then why were you so intent on murdering me?”

  Dusk hesitated to answer. Instead, he looked at Militsa.

  She cleared her throat. “Vampires are rather cold creatures, both physically and … emotionally. If Mr Dusk was intent on murdering you, like you say, then that was probably due more to his human side than his vampire side.”

  “Seriously?” Valkyrie said. “The worst thing about a vampire is his humanity?”

  “I’m afraid so,” said Dusk.

  “Wow,” Valkyrie said. “That’s depressing for pretty much all of the human race.”

  “I was wondering if I could have a word with you,” said Dusk. “In private, if you don’t mind. It will not take long, I assure you.”

  Militsa stood. “I have to pee,” she announced, and walked away.

  Valkyrie motioned to the chair, and Dusk sat. “What’s on your mind?” she asked.

  “A gentleman came to see me,” he said. “He said his name was Caisson.”

  Valkyrie sat up straighter. “You’re working with Abyssinia?”

  “No,” Dusk answered. “I stay out of human affairs as much as possible. The Supreme Mage uses me and my fellow vampires when she needs us, but by and large she – and, by extension, the City Guards – leaves our district alone. I like this arrangement. I do not wish to see it change.”

  “Then why did Caisson go to see you?”

  “He came to see me because he heard of our interactions, and he wants to see you,” Dusk said. “He asked me to pass on the message.”

  “Why does he want to see me?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Why does he think I’d say yes?”

  “He merely stated that you two are not actually enemies, so you have no reason not to.”

  “Huh,” said Valkyrie. He had a point.

  “He would like to meet you at ten a.m. on Saturday, in the Fangs. The directions are written here.” He slid her a folded piece of paper. “Naturally, he would expect you to come alone.”

  “Naturally.”

  He stood. “I apologise again for my behaviour in the past.”

  “Well … I suppose I’m sorry for, you know …” She indicated his face.

  Dusk smiled. “My
scar is hardly your fault. I blame Billy-Ray Sanguine and that straight razor of his, the scars from which never fade.”

  Valkyrie showed him the palm of her right hand. “Believe me, I know.”

  Dusk nodded to her, and turned to leave.

  “What did you see?” she asked suddenly.

  He stopped moving.

  “When you bit me,” she said. “You told Billy-Ray Sanguine that you saw something in my blood. He said it was punishment enough. What was it?”

  Dusk’s response was slow. Measured. “It is perhaps best if you do not know.”

  She laughed. “Well, that’s not going to work.”

  “There are secrets we hide, Valkyrie, even from ourselves. We need to, in order to survive this world.”

  “Seriously? Even now, after Darquesse, after all that? You’re saying there’s something worse?”

  “I will tell you if you truly wish to know. But I advise against it. Strongly.”

  Valkyrie had to smile. “There’s really not a whole lot left that could upset me.”

  He looked at her. “Take some time. In a few days, if you still believe you should know, come and find me. I’ll tell you what I saw.”

  The waiter came over before Valkyrie could respond, and Dusk took that opportunity to leave. The waiter dumped Militsa’s plate on her side, then gently laid Valkyrie’s in front of her.

  “There you go,” he said warmly. “Have your friends left?”

  “My girlfriend is just in the bathroom.”

  His smile widened. “In that case, can I just say, and I hope I’m not being out of line here or anything, that I am a huge, huge fan. The idea that I’m even talking to you right now is blowing my mind.”

  “Right,” said Valkyrie.

  “Could I be incredibly cheeky and ask you to sign an autograph for me? Is that terrible? It’s probably terrible.” He put his notebook and pen into her hands and waited there, still beaming.

  Militsa retook her seat. The waiter ignored her. She did her best not to laugh.

  “Sure,” Valkyrie said reluctantly. “Who’ll I make it out to?”

  “Haecce. H A E C C E. Thank you.”

  “To Haecce,” she murmured as she wrote.

  He peered at what she was writing. “And could you maybe sign it Darquesse?”