Skulduggery Pleasant: Mortal Cole

by Derek Landy

  The wind was getting stronger, threatening to mess her hair. She moved her hand discreetly, diverting the gusts around her. Standing in a bubble of calm, Valkyrie hoped nobody would notice that her hair was now still and her dress was staying down. Thankfully, they all seemed to be far too busy shivering.

  They reached the front of the queue and passed in through the doors, into the warmth, just before the doormen announced that the club was full. Fletcher turned to her and she grinned, kissed him, then took his hand and led the way to the dance floor.

  31

  THE FIRST WAVE

  Ghastly parted the blinds and looked out on to the quiet street. Still dark. Still empty. Still glistening.

  “You look like you’re waiting for someone,” Ravel said from behind him. “Anyone I know?”

  “I’m just looking, Erskine.”

  Ravel took a sip from his mug of tea. “You know who I’d like to meet again? Tesseract. And this time we’d be ready for him.”

  Skulduggery, not bothering to lift his gaze from his newspaper, said, “I wouldn’t be too eager for a rematch, if I were you.”

  Ghastly lifted a swatch of material to a small table, and sat at the sewing machine. “It’s been a while since I faced anyone that good. It was only a few seconds, but it was enough.”

  Ravel smiled. “You boys have lost your sense of adventure. There was a time when we’d have raced headlong into something like this.”

  “We’re not young men any more.”

  “Be honest, though – doesn’t the thought of the Dead Men getting back together fill you with a dangerous kind of glee?”

  “The Dead Men aren’t getting back together,” Skulduggery said. “It’s just us, sitting around at Christmas because we’ve got nothing else to do.”

  Ghastly pressed his foot to the pedal. The low whir of the machine caught his thoughts and settled them. He was always calmer when working. “Besides, I don’t go looking for fights any more, especially against people like Tesseract. I have responsibilities now. I have this shop. And you two are going to have to grow up sooner or later, you know. People expect a certain level of maturity from Elders.”

  There was the sound of fingers digging into newspaper. “Do not joke about that, Bespoke,” Skulduggery said.

  Ghastly smiled as he fed the sleeve of the jacket through the machine, making minute adjustments as it went. “You haven’t changed your mind about taking it on?”

  “I think I would be a horrifically bad choice. Maybe Corrival can be convinced to ask someone who is less controversial than I am – China, perhaps.”

  “Oh, everyone would love that,” Ravel laughed. “A founding member of the Diablerie and a devout follower of the Faceless Ones.”

  “Ex-follower.”

  “That will make such a difference to the people with long memories.” Ravel sat back. Then he said, “Your friend Tanith is an interesting girl.”

  Ghastly hissed as the sleeve bunched up under the needle. He corrected the mistake and nodded. “That she is.”

  “How long have you known her?”

  “A few years,” Skulduggery said. “Not long. Bliss brought her in to help out against Serpine. She’s been a good friend to Valkyrie, and a good ally to the rest of us. And you, Erskine, are to stay away from her.”

  Ravel laughed. “And why is that?”

  He looked at Skulduggery and Skulduggery tilted his head, but said nothing. Ravel’s smile died away, and he glanced over at Ghastly. “Oh,” he said. “Right. Sorry.”

  Ghastly raised an eyebrow. “Sorry about what?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. Tanith’s great, but she’s not my type. I mean, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with her. She’s amazing. But, you know, not for… not for me, basically. For someone else, though, I’d say she’d be, uh, perfect. If, you know, if someone else liked her.”

  Ghastly concentrated on sewing, and Ravel changed the subject pretty fast.

  “I was thinking, actually, about this Council thing. Maybe it won’t be so bad. It could be a new start for everyone. New Council, new Sanctuary… The slate wiped clean. I think it’s time you had a clean slate, Skulduggery.”

  Skulduggery folded the newspaper and put it down. “Meaning what?”

  Ravel hesitated. “Whatever burden it is you’re carrying around, whatever you did during the war that was so terrible, maybe it’s time you let it go. It might be good for you, to reclaim your family crest. Sooner or later, you’ll have to forgive yourself and move on.”

  Skulduggery was silent for a moment. “Is that so?”

  Ghastly stopped sewing. “I agree with Erskine. The fact is, I think Valkyrie might be your way to do just that. I think she’s a good influence on you, to be honest. She makes you a better person.”

  “You didn’t always see it that way. She told me about the vision your mother had – about Valkyrie and myself fighting side by side, and falling.”

  “And the world falls with you,” Ghastly said. “I think my mother was the first Sensitive to foresee the arrival of Darquesse, but I don’t think that future will happen. Not any more. The two of you, together, are strong enough to change what’s to come.”

  “You sound uncharacteristically optimistic, Ghastly.”

  “It’s Christmas. I’m allowed my optimism.”

  Someone knocked on the door, and Ghastly got up to answer it.

  Ravel smiled. “Who could that be, I wonder? Who would venture out on such a cold, unforgiving night as this? A certain young Englishwoman, perhaps?”

  Ghastly glared at him. “Do not say anything.”

  “Not a word.”

  Ghastly opened the door, but instead of the shapely figure of Tanith Low, he was greeted with the portly figure of Corrival Deuce. “Grand Mage,” Ghastly said, slightly dismayed.

  “Don’t sound so bloody enthusiastic,” Corrival sighed, shuffling by him. “Oh, it’s nice and warm in here. Hello, lads.”

  Skulduggery and Ravel stood.

  “What’s wrong?” Skulduggery asked.

  Corrival laughed. “Why must something be wrong? Can I not visit old colleagues without some dastardly ulterior motive? It’s the holiday season, for God’s sake.”

  Ravel frowned. “So… there’s nothing wrong?”

  “Nothing. You can relax now. That’s an order.” Corrival picked up a wooden chair, brought it closer to the others. “So what’s going on? Three old friends sharing war stories, is that it? No ladies? No other company?”

  “Just us,” Ghastly said.

  “Not ideal,” said Corrival, “but it’ll do.”

  Corrival slammed the chair into Ghastly’s back. The skylight exploded in a shower of broken glass, and Solomon Wreath dropped down into the shop at the same time as the door crashed open and Anton Shudder strode in. Ravel charged at Wreath and Skulduggery went for Shudder.

  Corrival’s lips were black and dark veins spread beneath his skin. He pushed at the air and Ghastly was lifted off his feet. He hit the wall, breaking shelves.

  Shudder was holding his right arm like it was broken, but his gist was darker and more furious than ever. It flew at Skulduggery and he barely had time to dive out of its path. Tackling the gist itself was futile – the only way to fight Shudder was to take the fight directly to him. Skulduggery clicked his fingers and hurled a fireball, but the gist swooped down to intercept.

  At the other end of the shop, Ravel was doing his best to avoid the sharpened shadows that Wreath was firing at him. He sent the Necromancer stumbling with a wave of air, then lunged, trying to wrestle the cane from his grip.

  Ghastly dived and rolled to avoid another wall of air, and he came up beside Corrival and swung a punch that would have felled someone twice his size. But Corrival merely grunted, and Ghastly was reminded of his mercifully short fight against Tesseract – an enemy who did not seem to feel pain. Corrival hit him and the world spun. Ghastly fell back.

  The gist screeched as Skulduggery reached for one of
the massive rolls of fabric that Ghastly kept along the wall and yanked it out. The fabric, a very expensive deep red, unspooled with a rumble, and the gist flew straight into it and became tangled. Before it could shred its way clear, Skulduggery used the air to fling himself at Shudder. He got behind him, wrapped an arm around his throat, and tightened. The gist shrieked as it was pulled back into Shudder’s chest.

  Ghastly snapped his palm at the air and Corrival hurtled backwards. He looked over at Ravel, who had taken Wreath’s cane and was using it to beat the Necromancer senseless. There was movement at the broken skylight, and a Remnant flitted down, attaching itself to Ravel’s face. Ravel jerked away and fell to his knees. Ghastly ran to help but it was too late – black veins were already spreading across Ravel’s skin.

  “Skulduggery!” Ghastly shouted. “We have to go!”

  He turned to the door as Tesseract walked through.

  Skulduggery grabbed Ghastly. “Hold on,” he said, and they flew upwards, up through the skylight and into the cold night air.

  32

  SHENANIGANS

  Shenanigans was packed. Valkyrie and Fletcher went up to the second floor, where there were huge mirrors on one side, perhaps in an effort to convince the dancers that the dance floor was bigger than it was. The mirrors were a distraction. Fletcher kept glancing at his reflection as he danced, checking his hair. Valkyrie didn’t laugh at his vanity, though – she took a few glances at the mirrors herself, just to make sure she looked as good as she reckoned she did.

  There were two steps leading down to the dance floor. No alcohol was being served, but even so, three people had already stepped off them without realising they were there, and fallen flat on their faces. Valkyrie remained amused by the whole thing.

  They danced, and laughed, and talked loudly over the music, and then Fletcher went to the bar to get her a Coke. Valkyrie stood by the edge of the dance floor, and a boy approached. He was Fletcher’s age, with brown hair cut short, and a nice smile.

  “Hi,” he said.

  Valkyrie gave him a polite smile back. “Hi.”

  He leaned in so he could be heard. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  She shook her head. “My boyfriend’s getting me one.”

  “That’s your boyfriend?”

  She nodded.

  “He’s a lucky guy.”

  She smiled again.

  “Name’s Owen. What’s yours?”

  “Valkyrie,” she answered.

  “Sorry?”

  She blinked. “Stephanie,” she said loudly. “My name is Stephanie. Hi, Owen, how are you?”

  “Oh, I’m good,” Owen said. “I’ve been watching you all night.”

  Valkyrie nodded again and leaned in. “Yeah, that’s a little creepy.”

  He laughed. “I was wondering if I could have your phone number.”

  “I’ve got a boyfriend, Owen.”

  “I’ve got a girlfriend, Stephanie. That doesn’t mean you can’t give me your number.”

  “Very true,” she said, patting his arm. “It just means I won’t.”

  Valkyrie slipped by him and didn’t look back. She pushed her way into the crowd, eventually breaking through. She went straight to the ladies’ toilets. For once, there wasn’t a line of girls waiting to get in, but Valkyrie still had to wait a minute for a cubicle to become empty. She stepped in and locked the door behind her.

  The music was muted in here, enough to hear the chatter of the girls around her. When she finished, she undid the latch on the door, and went to the sinks to wash her hands and check her make-up. Not one smudge. Whenever she felt like the dancing was about to result in perspiration, Valkyrie and those around her would suddenly be caught in a mysterious but welcome blast of cool air. Magic was astoundingly handy at times.

  A crowd of girls came in behind her and she turned to leave, but they blocked her path.

  “That’s my fella you’re chatting up,” the first one said, a pretty blonde with an ugly sneer and too much make-up.

  Valkyrie stepped back. “I’m not chatting up anyone,” she said. “I’m here with my boyfriend.”

  The blonde’s three friends closed in around her, girls in low tops and short skirts and high heels. Valkyrie recognised one of them from school, but didn’t know her name.

  “Looked like you were chatting him up to me,” the blonde said, her head tilting with the attitude of someone who’s starting a fight.

  “You’re talking about Owen?” Valkyrie asked. “We had a very short chat, that’s all. I have no interest in him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  The blonde jabbed a finger into Valkyrie’s chest. “Do I look like I’m worried? You think I’m scared he’ll go with you, do you?”

  Valkyrie smiled patiently. “I like how you do your make-up. Do you use a brush, or just dip your head in the bucket?”

  The blonde’s head shot forward. Valkyrie managed to turn her face just in time, and got a whack into her cheekbone instead of a broken nose. She stumbled back against the sinks as all four girls came at her. Two of them grabbed her hair and she cried out as she was pulled forward. She fell to her knees and the blonde, she was pretty sure it was the blonde, slammed a kick into her ribs. The breath left her body. They were all around her, cursing her, kicking her, not letting her get up.

  The blonde kicked again and Valkyrie blocked it, held it, and with her other hand she scooped the blonde’s supporting leg from under her. The blonde screeched as she fell, taking one of her friends with her. Valkyrie reared back, driving the point of her elbow into the muscle of another girl’s thigh. The fourth girl, now temporarily alone, stood back as Valkyrie got up. Valkyrie punched her, hard, across the jaw, and she went down.

  Valkyrie held her ribs, struggling to breathe. Kicks like that would have been easily absorbed by Ghastly’s clothes if she’d been wearing them – but she wasn’t wearing them. She was in a nightclub toilet, fighting in a dress that was too damn short.

  The girl Valkyrie had hit in the thigh flung herself at her. Valkyrie deflected the fingernails that were aimed at her face and gave her a shove, and the girl’s head cracked into the wall.

  The blonde and her one remaining friend were on their feet now. Valkyrie ducked under a swipe and her fist sank into the friend’s soft belly. She wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist and flipped her over her hip. The blonde was struck by her mate’s flailing legs, and staggered back against the closed door of a cubicle.

  Valkyrie faced the blonde, surrounded by the sobbing, groaning forms of her other attackers. She slipped off her right shoe. Fury distorting her face, the blonde launched herself forward, and Valkyrie’s bare foot hit her square in the chest and drove her back. The cubicle door crashed open, the blonde landing on the terrified girl within.

  “Sorry,” Valkyrie called. She put her shoe back on and grimaced as pain shot through her ribs. The light flickered weirdly and threw shadows across the walls. She turned to go, and was just leaving when she heard one of the girls gagging. She stopped. If anything she’d done resulted in serious injury for anyone in the bathroom, as detestable as they may be, she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep for a month. So she turned, walked back in, and froze. All four girls she’d fought, plus the other girl who’d been in the cubicle, were now standing, and they looked at her and smiled with black lips.

  “No,” Valkyrie whispered.

  “You can’t get away,” the blonde said. Black veins spread over her face. Valkyrie had seen that happen before, back when Kenspeckle had been possessed, back when he’d tortured Tanith.

  “We’re all out of that little room,” the blonde continued. “Every single one of us. And one of us has seen the future. We know you’re going to kill the world, Darquesse.”

  Valkyrie paled. “That’s a lie. That’s wrong. That isn’t the future any more. I changed it.”

  “Then we’re going to change it back. We’re not here to fight you. We’re here to join you. We want to help.”
<
br />   “Don’t come any closer.”

  “You’re frightened. You’re confused. We understand. That’s why we’re here. We’re here to guide you and to serve you. We love you, Darquesse.”

  Valkyrie spun and bolted.

  She ran for the first set of stairs, barging through a crowd of the young and the beautiful. Someone screamed, and then someone else screamed, and Valkyrie looked up to see a cloud of black streaming down over the bar. Remnants, hundreds of them, diving at the people as they panicked below. She watched the shadow creatures crawl up to screaming mouths, impervious to the desperate attempts to keep them out. Throats bulged as the creatures forced their way inside.

  Valkyrie looked around for Fletcher, saw him across the room, shouting for her. The crowd surged, knocked him over, and he was lost to sight. She forgot about the stairs and ran for the edge of the terrace. She vaulted over the railing and fell, the Remnants swirling all around her as they attacked the people on the dance floor beneath.

  She used the air to slow her descent, but still landed heavily on top of a young couple who were trying to get away. All three of them collapsed, and immediately half a dozen Remnants attached themselves to the young man’s back and shoulders. Valkyrie had to leave the girl to scream as her boyfriend was taken over, and then the music was cut off and all she could hear was screaming.

  She ran past terrified dancers, avoiding the grabs of those the Remnants had already overcome. She dodged into a Staff Only area and ran the length of it, out through the open door, finding herself at the rear of the club. Seawater sprayed over the edge of the concrete barriers, making the ground dark and wet. Valkyrie took out her phone to call Skulduggery, and saw she had three missed calls from him. She heard footsteps and looked up. A Guard was hurrying over.

  “What’s going on in there?” he asked. “What’s happening?”

  “There’s a fight,” Valkyrie said, struggling to think of something. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”