by Derek Landy
Once more she flew backwards off her feet, the world silent all around her.
She hit the ground. Noise rushed to her ears and she bounced and tumbled way too fast to stop. She was aware that her chin was tucked into her chest and her arms were covering her head.
That was good. It meant she wasn’t dead yet.
Her tumbling slowed and she used the momentum to push herself to her feet. The bus hadn’t tipped over, thank God. It was parked diagonally across the road, and there were people running about and shouting at each other. She was blocked from view, halfway down the dark street. Her thoughts were returning, too, the more her head cleared. She remembered fur, and fangs. Something growled ahead of her.
Oh, yeah. The werewolf.
She couldn’t see it. Everything between her and the lights of the nightclub and the bus melted into an impenetrable darkness. And that’s where the wolf moved. She shaded her eyes but it was no use. The glare was too strong. The darkness too thick.
The growling got louder. Closer.
Still dizzy, Valkyrie broke left, ran between two cars, heard the wolf bounding after her. She ran, away from the nightclub and the people, barely managing to keep herself from ricocheting off lamp posts. And then the wolf slammed into her. They rolled, the wolf and her, its jaws clamping round her right arm. The teeth didn’t penetrate the armour-weave of her jacket but still she screamed. The wolf shook its head and she kicked out, but it was crouched over her, too heavy to move.
Let me out, said the voice in her head.
Her arm was about to break. The wolf was going to rip it from her shoulder. The Necromancer ring was useless without the freedom to orchestrate the shadows. She tried pushing at the air but the pain clouded her mind. She couldn’t even breathe with the weight of the wolf pressing down on her.
Let me out.
The wolf released her arm, went for her throat, and she jerked to the side, grabbed the shadows, turned them sharp like knives and raked them across the wolf’s chest. It reared back, yelping, and she pushed at the air and it tumbled. It immediately righted itself and came at her. She threw herself backwards across the bonnet of a parked car. The whole car shook when the wolf crashed into it. Valkyrie scrambled up on to the car roof and brought the wind in to sweep her over the wolf’s head. She dropped behind a wall, started running again, saw Skulduggery in the moonlight, flying towards her.
She ducked and he flew past, collided with the wolf behind her. The wolf threw him back and Skulduggery rolled to his feet, the tranq gun in his hand, but he slipped on something in the darkness. He fell and the wolf leaped and something went skittering across the ground.
The tranq gun – mangled.
Fire flared and the wolf howled in pain, and Skulduggery came staggering out of the gloom. His hat was gone and his face was gone. His suit was shredded, and even in this light Valkyrie could see the deep grooves cut along his ribcage. He held his revolver in his hand.
The wolf growled. Skulduggery turned.
It ran straight at him, and Skulduggery brought his other hand up to steady his aim.
“Shoot,” Valkyrie cried out. “Shoot!”
But at the last moment Skulduggery dropped the gun and brought both arms down, his knees bending, and a wall of air slammed into the wolf from above, sending it to the ground. It tumbled and yelped and immediately Skulduggery straightened, swinging his arms towards the sky, sending the wolf spinning off its feet. As it was twisting and falling again, he stepped forward and punched, and a column of displaced air struck the wolf in the side and sent it hurtling back.
“Dart!” he yelled as he crouched. He touched one hand to the ground around his feet and it started to crack and buckle. He was almost thrown off as the section he was standing on shot forward like a surfboard, the ground warping and rippling beneath it like waves, and he hurtled towards the wolf as it recovered. Valkyrie grabbed the broken gun, wrenched the dart from the chamber and used the air to send it straight into Skulduggery’s outstretched hand. An eyeblink later, he collided with the wolf, stabbing the dart into the creature’s shoulder.
The wolf roared and lashed out and Skulduggery went flying, but the sedative was already taking effect. The wolf staggered, shook its head, stumbled against the wall. It looked at Valkyrie and moved towards her, could only manage three steps before its legs gave out and it crumpled. It lay there, tongue out, panting, limbs too heavy to move. Its eyes closed, its breathing deepened, and it went to sleep.
Skulduggery got to his feet. “Victory,” he said weakly.
When Ed Stynes woke up, he was strapped to a bed in a strange room with strange people looking down at him. Valkyrie almost felt sorry for him.
“Hi,” said the blue-haired girl beside her. “I’m Clarabelle. Will you be my friend?”
Confusion etched itself on to Ed’s face.
“Hi, Ed,” said Valkyrie before things got too weird. “My name’s Valkyrie. This is Clarabelle. Clarabelle’s a nurse, of sorts, and she’s going to be taking care of you.”
Clarabelle nodded. “I’m very good at medicine stuff. We had a patient, last week, who came in and I examined him and he had all the signs of bubonic plague, and I healed him.”
Valkyrie looked at her. “He really had bubonic plague?”
“Oh, yes. Well, Doctor Nye looked at him and said he just had a splinter, but I was the one who removed it, so … That still counts. Wait until you meet Doctor Nye, Ed. You’ll love him, if you love big tall scary things.”
Ed whimpered, and turned his head to Valkyrie. “What … what’s happening to me?”
“What do you remember?”
“I remember you. I remember … Oh, God, I remember wanting to eat you …”
“Yes,” Valkyrie said. “Well, the less said about that, the better.”
“I’m going mad, aren’t I?”
Clarabelle laughed. She had such a pretty laugh. “Oh, we’re all mad around here, Ed!” And then she skipped away.
Skulduggery walked in, wearing a grey trench coat over his shredded suit and a new face over his skull. He didn’t want Ed to freak out any more than absolutely necessary. “Hello, Ed,” he said. “Feeling better? You’re certainly looking better.”
“Who are you people?”
“We’re experts in this field,” said Skulduggery. “We want to help you.”
“Help me? I’m a werewolf.”
“I noticed. Hopefully, however, it’s just a phase you’re going through. Think of it as a sickness, if you like. A disease. Your dormant werewolf gene suddenly awakening is merely a symptom of the real problem, and while your situation is somewhat unusual, you’re not the only person to be afflicted. There are others, normal people like you, suddenly exhibiting unusual levels of power. But you’re one of the few cogent ones. Most of the others have been driven beyond sense. You can help us, I think. You just need to answer a few questions. Can you do that?”
“Y-yes.”
“Good man,” said Skulduggery. “Have you had anything unusual happen to you recently?”
“Yes.”
“And that was?”
“I turned into a werewolf.”
“Anything apart from that? Have you met anyone new? Have you been abroad, or visited somewhere for the first time …?”
Ed shook his head. “Everything’s been normal. It’s just been my life, the same as it’s always been. Well, apart from breaking up with my girlfriend a few months ago. Do you … do you think she put a curse on me?”
“She’s the one who ended it, wasn’t she?”
“No,” said Ed immediately. “It was a mutual thing. We both … it was decided that … we mutually agreed that she could do better, so …”
“In that case,” said Skulduggery, “I doubt she put a curse on you. Has anything else happened out of the ordinary? No matter how trivial it may seem?”
“No. Everything’s been normal. Apart from the dreams.”
Skulduggery’s head tilted. “Go on.”
“What did he want?”
“He had a gift for me. That’s what he said. He was so gentle, and warm, and he said he had a wonderful gift to give me. He appeared in my dreams for weeks, telling me to prepare for the Summer of Light, and then the last time I dreamed about him he held up his hand, and he was holding this bright, glowing energy, and he put it into my chest. Then he smiled, and said he’d be back for it later. I haven’t dreamed about him since then. Do you think that has anything to do with what’s happened?”
“Strange men giving you gifts of energy, and soon thereafter you transform into an extinct supernatural creature? I’d say it’s a distinct possibility, Ed.”
They left him in Clarabelle’s dubiously capable hands and made their way out of the Medical Bay. As soon as they were in the corridor, Skulduggery retracted his façade. His skull was still a little dirty from being thrown through the rubbish of Dublin City.
“How are the mortals in the observation ward?” Valkyrie asked.
“No change,” he answered. “Every conceivable test has been run on them and is being run again. So far, nothing. Not one clue as to what’s going on.”
“Will Ed be joining them?”
“He’ll be sedated, like the others. They already have a bed waiting for him.”
“But at least now we have a lead – even if it is just someone’s dream. Wow. When you say it out loud like that, it sounds very flimsy, doesn’t it?”
“That our only lead is a dream a werewolf had?” said Skulduggery. “Yes, I suppose as far as clues go, it’s not the most solid one we’ve ever had. But we work with what we’re given, and we really can’t afford to be choosy, not at this stage. With everything that’s been going on, we’ve barely been able to keep this out of the news. Sooner rather than later, the mortals are going to see something that cannot be explained away unless we put a stop to it. And this mystery man in Ed’s dream, this Argeddion, might be what we’re looking for.”
“Any idea what the Summer of Light is? Do you think he means this summer?”
“I don’t know. But if we’re going by the traditional Irish calendar, summer starts on May first, which gives us a week to figure it out.”
“The Summer of Light sounds nice, though,” said Valkyrie. “Maybe all of this is leading up to some really good weather, in which case we should probably let it happen so I can sunbathe.”
“What a marvellous idea. Let’s make that assumption.”
She noticed the way he was holding his side. “You’re hurt,” she said.
He looked at her. “We were attacked by a werewolf.”
“But you’re actually injured.”
“So are you.”
“But nothing major. Just bruises and strains and cuts, and I got a doctor to treat them. Your bones are damaged, Skulduggery. Why don’t you get someone to heal you? It won’t take long.”
Skulduggery straightened up as they walked. “Doctor Nye tortured my friends to death during the war with Mevolent. I’m not going to it for help.”
“Nye’s not the only doctor who works here.”
“But it is the only one who’d have the skill to repair my injuries properly. Besides, I’m not that bad. I’ll survive, just like you will.”
“You know, there’s a distinct possibility that you’re too stubborn for your own good. But hey, I’m not going to pressure you. You do what you need to do.”
She heard the smile in his voice. “Well, thank you for being so understanding. In return, I’m going to drop you home. It’s been a long few days, and you’re going to sleep in your own bed tonight.”
“Oh, thank God,” she said, sighing. “I haven’t seen my folks in ages. And Alice has probably learned to walk or something since I saw her last. She’s fifteen months old. What age do babies start walking at?”
“Depends on the baby.”
“How about a really advanced one like my sister?”
“Oh, then she should be walking any day now.”
Valkyrie grinned. They emerged from the Sanctuary and as they reached the Bentley, Skulduggery’s voice softened. “Did you hear her again? Darquesse?”
Her smile faded, and she nodded. “She wanted me to let her out. It’s been a year since she’s been in control and her voice is getting louder. We need a plan. Something to stop her if she takes over.”
He folded his arms on the roof of the car, and lightly drummed his gloved fingers. “You mean something to stop you,” he said at last.
“I’d much rather you stopped me than let me do what we both know I’m going to do. I don’t want to murder anyone, let alone my parents, or my sister, or you. If the time comes and I’m lost and Darquesse is in control—”
He held up his hands. “I’ll think of something. Trust me.”
Valkyrie glanced over at a limousine parked nearby, with two men in suits standing guard. As good a change of subject as any. “Do we have a visiting VIP or something?”
Skulduggery grunted. “Apparently we do. Here for a meeting with the Council. All very hush-hush and top secret. Only the Elders are allowed to know what they’re meeting about.”
“But Ghastly will tell us, won’t he?”
“Oh, I’d very much expect so.”
hastly had never been in this room before. It was the same concrete-grey drabness as every other room in the Sanctuary, but this one had a big table in its centre, shaped like a toad. It probably wasn’t supposed to look like a toad, it was probably supposed to resemble something grand and inspirational, but in Ghastly’s view it succeeded only in resembling a grand and inspirational toad, and that’s where he left the matter.
He sat on an uncomfortable chair to the right of Erskine Ravel, the Grand Mage. To Ravel’s left sat Madame Mist, her slender frame draped in the Elder robes they all wore, her face hidden by that black veil. They must have looked a sight. Grand Mage Ravel, looking like he should be wearing a tuxedo, flanked by a scarred man and a veiled woman. Ghastly wondered if any of the other Councils around the world looked half as odd as they did. He doubted it.
Right now, he was sitting across from representatives of two of those Councils, and they both looked perfectly normal, if perfectly solemn. Ghastly wasn’t even listening to what was being said. Small talk was not his forte. He’d had a boxer for a mother and a tailor for a father – what did he know of the small talk of politicians and bureaucrats? He waited impatiently for them to get to the point of their visit, and when they finally reached it, he wasn’t at all surprised.
“You’ve been having some problems with your sorcerers, we hear,” said Grand Mage Quintin Strom of the English Sanctuary. Like most Grand Mages, with the obvious exception of Ravel, he was grey-haired and lined and old. Still immensely powerful, though, and somewhat humourless.
“I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed,” said Ravel. “Our mages are all doing fine.”
Strom’s eyebrows rose slightly. He was a good actor. “Oh! In which case, I apologise. It’s just that we’ve had reports of disturbances in practically every corner of the country. You’re saying these reports are inaccurate?”
“I’m not saying that at all,” Ravel said smoothly. “But the problems are not our sorcerers.”
Strom nodded. “Ah yes, we heard that, too. Something is affecting the mortal population here, yes? Dreadful, dreadful business. If you need any help—”
“Thank you, but no,” said Ravel. “We have it under control.”
“Are you quite sure? I don’t mean to condescend, Grand Mage Ravel, but I have a lot more experience running Sanctuaries than you do, and there is no shame in accepting assistance when it is offered.”
“Thank you for clarifying,” Ravel said.
The man beside Strom cleared his throat politely. He was young and American, Ghastly knew that much. �
�Unfortunately,” he said, “things may not be so simple. The purpose of a Sanctuary is to oversee the magical communities and protect mortals from the truth. If even one Sanctuary fails in its obligations, the success of every other Sanctuary will amount to naught. To use a horribly overused phrase, the chain is only as strong as its weakest link.”
Madame Mist stirred. “And you are saying that we are this weak link?”
“Oh, heavens, no,” said the man. “All I’m saying is that this Sanctuary has had more than its fair share of crises to deal with. Given the pressure you’ve been under, even the strongest link will strain.”
“So you are saying we’re the weakest link,” said Ravel. “I’m sorry, but who are you again?”
“Bernard Sult,” said the man. “I’m a Junior Administrator for Grand Mage Renato Bisahalani.”
“And why are you here?”
“Sult’s here to help,” said Strom. “You know the American Elders, they always think they’re far too busy to take care of things personally. But what he says is true. It’s not something we like to talk about, but the fact is that Ireland has been the source of a great deal of anxiety around the world. It’s in our best interests, of course, to make sure you’re strong enough to withstand anything that comes your way.”
“We don’t need to be propped up,” said Ravel.
Sult shook his head. “I assure you, that’s not what we’re saying. But if everything that has happened here in the last ten years had happened somewhere else, say Germany, would you be confident in their ability to handle it alone? Or would you feel the need to lend some support?”
Ravel said nothing.
“The other Sanctuaries are worried,” Strom said. “They want reassurances that you are prepared and that you are capable. And so I am among the three they have elected to act as their representatives to—”
“I’m sorry,” Ghastly said. “What?”
