by Derek Landy
“Are you OK?” the Darkly kid asked whoever it was.
The Chosen One came to a stop beside them. “Nero,” he said. “You seen him? Do you know where he is?”
The tubby one shook his head. “Haven’t a clue. What’s going on?”
The Chosen One hunkered down beside them. He tore off his jacket and bundled it just like his brother had done. Then he gently lifted Razzia’s head off the ground and slipped his jacket under her as a pillow.
“Abyssinia’s son is hurt,” he said. “Like, dying. She was chasing me, and there was a whole thing where she couldn’t see me, but she got over that, and she grabbed me, and then she had this psychic flash that Caisson was hurt. She’s panicking. I said I’d help her find Nero.”
This didn’t make sense to Razzia. She frowned. “But she … she wants to kill you.”
“Yeah,” said the Chosen One.
“But she wants to kill you.”
“Well, yes,” said the tubby one, “but her son is dying.”
Razzia looked at them both. The Chosen One, with his great hair and square jaw, was just a kid. Just a teenage boy. And the tubby one … well, was he really that tubby? He had a few extra pounds on him, and he wasn’t chiselled like his brother, but he was just a normal kid. Two normal kids helping people who’d had every intention of killing them just a short time ago.
“You’re both weird,” Razzia decided.
Nero appeared, turned unsteadily and saw the Darkly brothers crouching over a bleeding comrade, and he lunged. Before Razzia could speak, the Chosen One grabbed him, spun him into a chokehold.
“Abyssinia needs your help!” the Chosen One said quickly. “Please don’t panic!”
“Calm down, Nero,” Razzia said. She was slurring her words. That wasn’t good.
Nero stopped struggling and the Chosen One released him – warily.
“Caisson is hurt,” the Chosen One explained. “Abyssinia needs you to take her to him.”
“Where is she?” Nero asked, eyes narrowed. His face was pale. He looked sick.
“She needed a little peace and quiet to get a fix on his position. She said she’ll meet us here when she has it.”
Razzia’s gaze moved beyond them and above them, and she watched Skulduggery Pleasant drop from the sky.
“Where’s Valkyrie?” Skulduggery asked before he’d even landed. His suit was dirty and torn at the shoulder and he didn’t have his hat.
“She’s OK,” the Chosen One said. “I mean, she’s hurt, but I led Abyssinia away before things got too serious.”
“And what’s happening here?”
“I, uh, I think we’ve called a truce,” said Omen. “Caisson is hurt and Abyssinia’s searching for him. You know, psychically.”
Skulduggery knelt beside them, started examining Razzia.
“It’s not good, is it?” she asked softly.
“It isn’t.”
“I’m going to die, right?”
“Yes,” he said, without hesitation. That’s what she liked about him. No nonsense.
“What’s going to happen to my pets? This isn’t fair. Not their … not their fault their mum got herself killed.”
Skulduggery brushed her hair off her face. “You’re in pain. I can end it for you now if you’d like.”
She managed a smile. She was sure she had blood on her teeth, but she didn’t mind a little blood. “No, thanks,” she said. “I’ve survived this long without rushing towards death. Figure … why should I change the habit of a lifetime now?”
He tilted his head. “I always liked you, Razzia.”
“Always liked you, too.”
Everyone looked round as someone new approached. Valkyrie’s voice: “Glad to see you’re still alive.”
“Same to you,” said Auger.
Valkyrie came into view, holding her side and looking all beaten up. She stopped behind Skulduggery, put a hand on his shoulder as she leaned over to peer at Razzia.
“Hey,” she said.
Razzia wriggled her eyebrows because she didn’t have the strength to do anything else.
“Your tuxedo rocks.”
She didn’t know where the strength to give a goofy smile came from, but it came from somewhere very deep.
Valkyrie straightened and Skulduggery stood, and Razzia knew Abyssinia was approaching.
Skulduggery held up both hands. “A truce has been called,” he said. “We won’t stop you.”
Abyssinia hurried into view. “I want you to come with me,” she said. “There are people around Caisson, I don’t know who they are.” She saw Razzia and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, my child …”
“Omen and Auger,” Skulduggery said, “stay here. Find Tanith and Dexter, help them round up the First Wave kids. Nero, the rest of us are ready to teleport. Abyssinia, where are we going?”
“A church,” said Abyssinia, “or a temple. Made of black stone and black metal.”
“The Dark Cathedral,” said Valkyrie, taking Omen’s place by Razzia’s side. “Roarhaven.”
“They’re outside,” Abyssinia said. “On some sort of platform.”
Nero nodded, and vanished. A few seconds later, he was back. “Found them,” he said, looking unsteady on his feet.
They waited. Nero’s hands went to his head. Nobody said anything.
“I’m ready,” Nero said, and teleported.
Night in Ireland was very much like night in America except the clouds were blocking out the stars and it was colder and it was raining. Still, at least Razzia now had a new surface to bleed on, so that was nice.
There were a load of people talking and arguing and making threats and a whole lot of movement. Only Razzia and Valkyrie stayed still and stayed quiet.
The hostile voices calmed. Most of them. From where she lay, Razzia couldn’t see Solace, but she could hear her wails of anguish. There was a large, brutish-looking man with a shaven head standing around, and Skulduggery was freeing Temper Fray from a big wooden table. And there was Abyssinia, kneeling by Caisson, his head cradled in her arms.
“My boy,” she said. “My beautiful boy.”
Caisson’s eyes were closed. Razzia knew a soon-to-be-corpse when she saw one. If she’d had a mirror, she’d have pointed to herself – but right now Caisson was ahead of her in the race to the finish line. The blood that spilled from the wound in his chest had slowed to a trickle. Abyssinia wrapped her arms round him and sobbed, her forehead pressed against his.
“I’m sorry,” she said, as Solace’s wails dipped to a strained sobbing. “I’m sorry, my beautiful boy. I’m so sorry. My beautiful little boy.”
She held him so tightly that Razzia expected to hear his bones pop. She’d never been the sentimental type, or the type to really understand other people’s emotions, but she wished she could have gone over there and held Abyssinia as she held her son. Instead, all she could do was lie there and watch with the others as Abyssinia’s heart tore itself in two.
The last signs of strength left Caisson’s body, and Razzia knew he was dead.
Abyssinia raised her head to Nero. She didn’t have to say anything. He nodded and teleported away.
“Don’t,” said Valkyrie.
Abyssinia glared, and Valkyrie stood up slowly. Temper came over, took Valkyrie’s place by Razzia’s side. Razzia smiled at him, and he smiled back.
“Don’t,” Valkyrie repeated. “Don’t do it. Let your son rest. Doesn’t he deserve that? Doesn’t he deserve to be allowed to rest after a lifetime of suffering?”
“He’s dead,” said Abyssinia, her teeth bared.
“So let him stay that way,” Valkyrie replied. Her voice was gentle. “The promise you made to your father … you don’t have to be bound by it. You don’t have to do it. You’re not alone, Abyssinia. You have grandchildren. They probably have children of their own. You could have a huge, loving family out there and they can help you heal.”
“My beautiful boy didn’t deserve to die like this.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“He should be breathing. He should be walking around.”
“Putting your father’s soul into Caisson’s body will not bring Caisson back.”
“I just want to see his eyes open.”
Nero appeared, holding a Soul Catcher that pulsed with a soft, swirling grey light.
“You never loved your father,” Skulduggery said, stepping forward. “You told us that. You were scared of him. Everyone was scared of him. If you bring him back, you’ll bring back that fear. That fear will never replace the love that you have for your child. It won’t fill the emptiness, any more than anger would, or vengeance, or hatred. Abyssinia, please, let Caisson go. Hold your love for him in your heart and keep him alive in your thoughts but don’t – do not – do this.”
Abyssinia sniffed, and slowly let her son’s body lie flat on the ground. “My father saved my life,” she said. “And I made him a promise.”
She snatched the Soul Catcher from Nero’s grip and, before Valkyrie could unleash her lightning or Skulduggery could push at the air, she crushed it with one hand.
The grey light, suffused with swirling smoke, exploded outwards and dived straight into Caisson’s chest.
Valkyrie watched Caisson’s eyes snap open.
But of course it wasn’t Caisson. It was the King of the Darklands. It was the Unnamed.
He stood up slowly, the broken shards of the Soul Catcher falling from his shirt. Abyssinia stood, too, and took a step back. Valkyrie and Skulduggery also took a step back. Everyone did.
The King held his arms away from his sides, his fingers splayed, like he didn’t want his body parts to touch. But gradually the arms lowered, and the fingers relaxed, and he released the breath he’d been holding.
Valkyrie’s aura-vision showed that grey light struggling to fill the King’s new body. Abyssinia’s aura, deep and strong and brimming with power, throbbed beside her father’s weakness. She was watching him with wide eyes. There was no relief on her face at seeing her son’s eyes open once again. There was only trepidation.
The King licked his lips. He blinked. His brow furrowed as he looked down at the wound in his chest. Blood was starting to spill again.
He looked up, to Abyssinia. “Daughter,” he said.
“Father,” Abyssinia responded, and stepped into his arms.
He breathed in, and Abyssinia gasped, and Valkyrie watched the power leave her body and flow into his.
She switched off the aura-vision in time to see Abyssinia stagger backwards, eyes glazed, while the King’s new body repaired itself instantly. In that cave, hundreds of years ago, he had given his power to his daughter. Now he had taken it back.
He looked at Abyssinia as she stumbled. Nero grabbed her, kept her up. He looked at Creed, and at Skulduggery, and at Valkyrie. He narrowed his eyes at Valkyrie.
Then he rose into the sky and kept going, until he was claimed by the darkness.
Abyssinia managed to stand. “Flanery,” she snarled to Nero.
And they vanished.
Flanery flicked off the TV in the Residence for the sixth time that night. He couldn’t focus on it. On any of it. The news pundits talked about policies and leaks like the American people cared about any of that stuff. They tried to turn everything he did into some sort of scandal, tried to paint him as the bad guy when really they should have been chanting his name.
They’d regret these criticisms. He’d make sure of it. Martin Flanery was a man who remembered his enemies. Even after they’d all fallen in line, as they surely would, he’d remember all the times they opposed him.
Nothing they said tonight mattered, of course. Tomorrow it would all be swept away with the news coming out of Whitley. That’s what the headlines would be about. That’s what the whole country – the whole world – would be talking about. And then it’d be about him. Then they’d all be looking to Martin Flanery to guide them through the terror of the wizards, the horror of the witches.
He checked his watch, a Vacheron Constantin that he’d worn for his inauguration. They cheered for him that day. They’d cheer for him again.
The operation would be well under way by now. It was a risk, having all those people killed, but you didn’t get very far in life without taking risks. He’d learned that from his father.
And what a risk he was taking now. If handled incorrectly, it could be disastrous. If the war happened and people found out how he’d been involved, he could be impeached. Maybe even jailed. He was sure they’d try to find some way to pin the deaths of anyone who died on him. Of course they would. The mainstream media hated him.
But if he handled it correctly, if he did everything right, then no one could stop him. He’d win a second term and there probably wouldn’t even be anyone to run against him. The country would insist that he stay on for a third term, and a fourth. He’d never have to give up this power. America wouldn’t want him to.
He was hungry. He needed some chicken.
He got up and went to the phone, but Abyssinia and the man with the bleached hair were standing in his way.
Flanery froze. She was supposed to be dead.
He spun on his heel, ran for the panic button. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d run. It was a long time ago.
The man with the bleached hair appeared in front of him and Flanery stumbled away. Nero, that was his name.
“I’m going to kill you,” said Abyssinia, walking over. Her silver hair was plastered to her head. They were both drenched. They dripped on the carpet.
Flanery backed away. “Why? What happened? I don’t know what happened.”
“Did you really think it would be easy?” she asked. “Did you actually think it would work?”
“What would work? I don’t know what happened.”
“Were you actually sitting here, expecting those mercenaries to succeed in killing me?” Abyssinia asked.
“What mercenaries?” Flanery asked, bumping up against the wall.
“Their weapons,” the crazy woman said, “and their uniforms … You’ve been working on this for a while. You had this planned. You. The idiot. The moron.”
She knew he’d ordered it. She knew because obviously he’d ordered it. There was no escaping the truth. He may as well come clean.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“You can’t help but lie, can you, Mr President?”
“I’m not lying. I don’t know what—”
She touched him, her fingertips to his shirt, and he felt a rush of coldness, like all the warmth was draining from his body.
She took her hand away and he sagged.
“In a lot of ways,” she said, “you were the perfect president for my little scheme. Narcissistic. Corrupt. Completely amoral. But in other ways you were the worst. You’re too stupid to hold a thought. Too limited to be truly cunning. With Tucker, at least, I had to infiltrate his mind. But you? You were ready to betray your country, to betray your world, for the first offer that came your way.”
“I’m not stupid,” said Flanery, trying to straighten up. “I’ve got one of the great brains.”
“Then you should put it back where you found it.” She raised her hand to his face, like she was going to drain the warmth out of him again, but then lowered it. “Skulduggery said you had help. What did he mean by that? Who has been helping you, Martin?”
Flanery found the courage to smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
She slapped him. Hard. Right across the face. It snapped his head round. His legs buckled and he peed a little and he found himself on the floor, looking up at her, thoughts all jumbled.
“I helped him,” Crepuscular Vies said from across the room.
Flanery was suddenly overcome with gratitude – not a sensation he was used to. He liked the way the freak drifted from the shadows. He liked his casual walk. He liked the way he oozed confidence. He especially liked the way Abyssinia and Nero regarded him warily.
But alongside his gratitude, there was also a part of Flanery that hated Crepuscular for being able to be that ridiculously intimidating. Those were qualities Flanery wanted for himself.
“I don’t know you,” said Abyssinia.
“But I know you,” said Crepuscular.
Abyssinia watched him. “You gave Blackbrook their orders.”
“And you survived,” Crepuscular responded. “Did they?”
“Your soldiers are either dead or being led away by Cleavers as we speak.”
Crepuscular shrugged. “That’s unfortunate. A lot of training went into that squad. But they don’t know anything that would lead back to me, so I suppose I don’t really care. But there is the small matter of killing you …”
“I’ll take care of this guy,” Nero said, and in the blink of an eye he was behind Crepuscular, but Crepuscular was already turning, and Nero made a sound and his eyes went wide. He lurched back, the knife in his hand falling. There was another knife, though, and this one was sticking out of his belly.
When Abyssinia saw this, she made a sound like a wounded animal and ran to him. Crepuscular shoved Nero into her arms and she held him, and lowered him to his knees.
“Oh, no,” Nero said.
“You’ll be OK,” Abyssinia told him. “You’ll be all right. Can you teleport? Can you focus?”
“Oh, no,” was all Nero said.
Crepuscular’s eyes were on Abyssinia. “You’ve lost your strength.”
She stood, and didn’t answer.
“I have one of those guns,” Crepuscular continued, “the kind that binds your magic? I thought I’d need it to take you down. But look at you. You’re not even a fraction of the woman you once were.”
“I’m strong enough to kill you,” Abyssinia said.
She lunged at him and he stomped on her knee and it cracked loudly. Flanery burst out laughing as Abyssinia went down, screaming. Finally, Flanery got to see her scream.
“You’ve been strong for too long,” Crepuscular said. “You’ve forgotten how to be vulnerable.” She reached for him and he grabbed her wrist and twisted. “No, no,” he said. “You’re not going to steal any of my strength. I’m going to need it for what I have planned.”
