Skulduggery Pleasant: Mortal Cole

by Derek Landy

  The cop didn’t answer; he just slapped the phone from her hand and charged, and they hit the low wall and tumbled over into the cold, heaving water.

  There was a moment of shock that Valkyrie pushed back as quickly as she could, and then she swam for the slipway. The Guard rose up from beneath her and pulled her down. They grappled in the freezing dark. Her fingernails raked across his face and he let go. She broke free and swam. The cop was right behind her. She changed course, forgetting about the slipway now and just swimming back to the wall.

  She gripped the water and it churned, lifting her from its depths, throwing her to the barrier. She crashed against it and held on, gasping, then threw a leg over and fell to the road on the other side. She’d lost her shoes somewhere in the sea.

  There was water in her ears, so she didn’t hear the cop behind her until his arms encircled her waist. He threw her into the side of a parked van and she fell. He grabbed her ankles and hauled her back. She cried out, her dress bunched up and her shoes gone and her wet hair in her eyes. The cop dragged her some more and laughed.

  Valkyrie swept her hand behind her, and a gust of wind hit the cop hard enough to make him release her. She got up as he pulled a long baton from a deep pocket and grinned at her. A sliver of streetlight caught the side of his face – Valkyrie could see the dark veins beneath his pale skin.

  She snapped her palm against the air. The space shimmered, but the cop was already moving, dodging the strike. She clicked her fingers in his face and a flame flared. He cursed and staggered back, hands at his eyes. She kicked him square between the legs and he buckled, but he blocked the knee that came for his face and lunged at her. Valkyrie sidestepped and he went past, tripping over her foot. His face hit the side of the van with a sickening thud. He lurched unsteadily to his feet. She kicked his leg, deadening the muscle. He toppled sideways against the van, blood streaming from his shattered nose. She clicked her fingers and hurled a fireball. It hit his arm. He howled and dropped the baton, and she kicked it away.

  “No way,” said a disbelieving voice behind her, and she turned, snarling at whoever it was who dared interrupt. Then she froze.

  “Stephanie,” her cousin Carol said in astonishment, “why are you beating up that policeman?”

  33

  THE TWINS

  The cop seized the opportunity offered by Valkyrie’s distraction, and dived on her. She fell back, his hands on her throat, his face twisted. “Let go of her!” Crystal roared, trying to drag him off.

  Carol started whacking her handbag into his head. When that had no effect, she tried clawing his eyes out. The cop cursed, but didn’t take his hands from Valkyrie, and then Fletcher was there, barging between Carol and Crystal. He wrapped an arm around the cop’s throat, and all three of them managed to haul him away. Carol and Crystal let go, and Fletcher and the cop vanished.

  The twins stared.

  “Whu?” said Carol.

  Fletcher arrived back, without the cop. “They’re everywhere,” he said. “The entire club…”

  Managing to get her breathing under control, Valkyrie listened. “No more screams,” she said. “Oh my God, they got everyone.”

  “Where did you go?” Crystal asked Fletcher.

  Valkyrie picked her phone up off the ground. “Everyone hold hands. Fletcher, the pier beside my house. Go.”

  They teleported to the pier, just four miles up the coast. Carol and Crystal staggered away from them, eyes wide at their new surroundings, and in unison, they doubled over and threw up on their own shoes.

  “What’s happening?” Carol wailed.

  “You’re safe now,” said Fletcher.

  “We were outside Shenanigans!” Crystal screeched. “How are we here?”

  “I teleported you,” he said, doing his best to sound reassuring.

  Carol blinked. “Like in Star Trek?”

  “Exactly like in Star Trek,” he smiled, “without the machines.”

  Carol swung her gaze to Valkyrie. “And you. You. You set fire to that Guard. You set fire to a policeman!”

  “No,” Crystal said. “She threw fire. Stephanie, you threw fire at him. And then you pushed him away, but you didn’t even touch him. How did you do that?”

  “It’s complicated,” Valkyrie said, suddenly feeling very wet and very cold.

  Crystal stepped back, wary. “Are you a mutant?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Carol’s eyes widened. “Do you have super powers?”

  “No, I don’t. It wasn’t super powers, it was… well, magic.”

  Carol laughed suddenly, and a little crazily. “You expect us to believe that?”

  “You’d be willing to believe that Valkyrie is a super-powered mutant,” Fletcher said, “but not that she’s magic?”

  “Who’s Valkyrie?” Crystal asked.

  “I am,” Valkyrie answered. “It’s like a code name, or something. You can still call me Stephanie, though. In fact, I’d really rather you still called me Stephanie. I’ll answer your questions in a second, OK? I have to make a call.”

  She turned away, and speed-dialled Skulduggery. “Remnants,” she said when he answered.

  “I know,” he said. “What happened?”

  “They came after me in the nightclub. Hundreds of them. They’ve taken over everyone inside.”

  “Are you OK?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’m sore, and freezing, but we got out.”

  “Get to Kenspeckle’s. Ghastly’s already there.”

  “We have to warn the others.”

  Skulduggery hesitated. “You let me worry about that.”

  “What do you mean? They’re all in danger.”

  “For all we know, the Remnants have already got to them. Valkyrie, I’ll check it out. I’ll do my best to gauge if they’re still who they are, but you have got to get yourself to safety.”

  “What about my parents? If the Remnants possess someone who knows where I live…”

  “Your reflection isn’t alive – they can’t possess it. Tell it to alert you if anything happens. That’s the best you can do.”

  “I don’t like this…”

  “Just get to Kenspeckle. He’s already locking down the building. You and Fletcher stay there with Ghastly and wait for me. Do not answer your phone to anyone. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Be careful. I’ll see you soon.”

  He hung up.

  “OK,” Carol said. “Just what is going on? Explain it to us. Right now. Or we will… We will tell our parents. And they’ll tell your parents, and you’ll be in serious trouble.”

  “Don’t tell your parents,” Valkyrie said, her eyes narrowing. She forced herself to be nice. “Guys, we don’t have a lot of time here, but you know all those things Uncle Gordon wrote about?”

  “In his books?” asked Carol. “We were never allowed to read his books. Mum said there were dirty bits.”

  “I read them,” Crystal said, somewhat meekly.

  Carol looked astonished. “When did you read a book?”

  “I read a few of them,” Crystal said defensively. “They’re all about magicians and wizards and monsters. There are some dirty bits, but they’re not that bad.”

  “It’s all true,” Valkyrie interrupted, “except they’re not called magicians and wizards, they’re called sorcerers and mages. Everything Gordon wrote about was true.”

  “Even the dirty bits?” Crystal asked.

  “Well… maybe not the dirty bits.”

  Carol put her hands on her hips. “How did you become magic?”

  “Some people are born with magic inside them. All it takes is the proper training to let it come out.”

  “We’re your cousins,” Carol said. “Are we magic? Does it run in the family? Is there a test we can take to find out?”

  “There’s no actual test,” Valkyrie said slowly, desperately searching for a believable lie, “but the fact is, you’re not tall enough to be magic.”


  Crystal looked disappointed. “Really?”

  “That’s true,” Fletcher said. “There is a height requirement, and you guys are just a little under it.”

  “We could wear higher heels,” Crystal tried.

  “Not going to work,” he said with a sad shake of his head.

  “That man,” Carol said. “The thin man at Gordon’s will reading, with the ridiculous name. He’s involved in this, isn’t he?”

  “Skulduggery Pleasant,” Valkyrie nodded. “And yes, he is.”

  “I knew there was something wrong about him. I knew it the moment Mum said there was something wrong about him. I’m a very good judge of character. So, OK, you’re witches and wizards and whatever else…”

  “Sorcerers,” Valkyrie insisted.

  “…but why were you fighting with the cop?” Carol continued. “What’s that all about? And what was going on in there? The bouncers said it was full, so we were trying to sneak round the back, and then we heard all this screaming.”

  “The cop wasn’t a cop. He was a Remnant – like an evil ghost. They crawl inside your mouth and absorb your personality and possess you. If you don’t get rid of them within four days, they’re inside you forever.”

  “Gross,” Carol muttered.

  “Listen, I have to dry off and get changed. Fletcher can fill you in on everything else while I’m gone, and then we’ll take you home. Fletcher, my room.”

  “Wait,” Carol said, “you’re going to leave us here alone?”

  “Two seconds,” Fletcher smiled. He took Valkyrie’s hand, and they appeared in her bedroom.

  “Keep them calm,” she told him. He nodded, and vanished. She crept to the bathroom, stripped off her clothes and jumped in under the hot shower. She hugged herself until the goose pimples went away, then got out and found a towel. She scooped up her wet clothes and hurried across the landing, just as her mother reached the top of the stairs.

  “You’re back early, I see.”

  Valkyrie forced a smile on to her face. “Yep.”

  “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “I’m ninja quiet,” Valkyrie nodded. “Just got home there now.”

  “Did you have a good time?”

  “It was OK. The music was rubbish and the people were annoying. Apart from that it was fine.”

  “And did Fletcher enjoy himself?”

  “I suppose. I was really tired, though, so I just wanted to go to bed.”

  “Do you think you’ll be seeing him again?”

  “Fletcher? Yes. He’s great, actually. He just seems stupid.”

  “Well, I thought he was lovely,” her mum said, then frowned. “Are your clothes wet?”

  “I left the shower door open,” Valkyrie replied, as sheepishly as she could.

  Her mother rolled her eyes, then kissed her cheek. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

  “Night, Mum.”

  Valkyrie went to her room and closed the door quietly behind her. She touched the mirror and her reflection blinked, and stepped out.

  “Let me know,” Valkyrie said, “the moment anything goes wrong. Now get into bed.” She took out her black clothes and began to dress.

  “What are you going to do?” the reflection asked.

  Valkyrie looked around. “I told you to get into bed.”

  “I will,” the reflection said. “But you need someone to talk to.”

  Valkyrie laughed. “You? I’d be better off talking to myself.”

  “The Remnants know you’re Darquesse.”

  “None of that’s going to happen any more. Why are you asking questions? Every time you’re activated you have all of my thoughts and memories. You know everything I know.”

  “Actually, I know more.”

  Valkyrie narrowed her eyes. “What?”

  “I know the things that you don’t want to face. The Remnants know that you are Darquesse, so that means they have a Sensitive. It makes sense that they’d take over one, if not both, of the most powerful Sensitives in the country.”

  “Finbar Wrong,” Valkyrie said, “or Cassandra Pharos.”

  “And if they have control over one or both of them, who else do they have control over? China, maybe? Tanith? Fletcher?”

  “What are you talking about? Fletcher helped me escape just five minutes ago.”

  “And in the four minutes since he’s been out of your sight, anything could have happened.”

  Valkyrie wanted to tell the reflection to shut up, but it was speaking the truth and she knew it.

  “You can’t trust your friends,” the reflection said.

  “I can trust Skulduggery. Remnants can’t inhabit anything dead.”

  “And yet you don’t trust Skulduggery,” the reflection said casually “If you did, you would have told him that you were Darquesse months ago.”

  “You know why I didn’t tell him that,” Valkyrie said angrily.

  “Yes I do, but you don’t.”

  “I’m getting kind of sick of this snarky new attitude of yours.”

  “You were telling yourself that you didn’t want Skulduggery to look at you any differently, but that’s not the reason at all.”

  “That’s enough,” Valkyrie growled. “Just go to sleep, would you?”

  “The reason you didn’t tell him…”

  “I said, go to sleep.”

  “Is because you’re scared of him.”

  Valkyrie laughed. “I’m scared of him? That’s it? That’s your big insight? I’m not scared of Skulduggery, you idiot.”

  “You were afraid of what he’d do to you if he found out. When you were strapped to that table and you hallucinated, when you saw him take out his gun to shoot you… That’s what you’re afraid of.”

  “He would never hurt me,” said Valkyrie.

  “You don’t believe that.”

  “Actually, yes, I do.”

  “Actually, no, you don’t. Ask yourself, what if the visions don’t stop?”

  “What?”

  “If the Sensitives keep having visions of Darquesse – if sealing your name didn’t change the future. What do you think Skulduggery will do if you’re still a threat?”

  “Shut your mouth,” Valkyrie snarled, “and go to sleep.”

  “Of course,” the reflection said, and did what it was told.

  Valkyrie fumed as she pulled on her jacket over her T-shirt. She called Fletcher’s phone. “I’m ready,” she said when he answered.

  In the three seconds in which she waited for him to teleport over, she was seized by a panic. Maybe the Remnants had got to him. Maybe he was going to teleport her right into the clutches of her enemy. Fletcher appeared in front of her, and held out his hand.

  She hesitated.

  “How are the twins?” she asked.

  “I think I’ve managed to calm them down.”

  Valkyrie took his hand with her left hand, leaving her right hand free to fight if she needed to. Her heart pounded, and then they were outside again, by the pier – not surrounded by Remnants. She did her best not to make her sigh of relief too audible.

  “Carol’s having a panic attack,” Crystal said, jerking a thumb at her sister, who was walking in circles and hyperventilating.

  “I just got her to stop that,” Fletcher muttered, and hurried over to her.

  “Is he your boyfriend?” Crystal asked, once he was out of earshot.

  “He is,” Valkyrie answered.

  “He’s older than you, though. He might prefer someone like me. I’m closer to his age.”

  “Yeah, no. Don’t see that happening.”

  “Does he have a brother?”

  “Nope.”

  “He’s gorgeous.”

  “He thinks so.”

  “His hair is amazing.”

  “It defies both gravity and reason.”

  “Where did you meet him?”

  “I helped save his life.”

  “Oh,” Crystal said, nodding like suddenly the whole thing made sense. “So he�
��s your boyfriend out of gratitude.”

  Valkyrie sighed.

  34

  REMNANTS UNLEASHED

  Eamon Campbell was a hail, rain, sleet or snow kind of milkman. He took his job seriously, applying the same level of dedication to his work as his father had, and his father before him. There once was a time when Eamon had hoped that the tradition might carry on after he was gone, but unless his son lost his enthusiasm for accounting sometime soon, Eamon feared the days of the Campbell milkmen were drawing to a close. Eamon had no time for accounting. It was all numbers and digits and complicated pieces of paper. He didn’t like it and he didn’t trust it.

  He liked milk, though. Milk was simple. The best things in life, Eamon had often thought, were simple. His job. His wife. The best things.

  He didn’t mind the early starts. In fact, he liked being up before anyone else, working in the dark, bringing the milk to people’s doorsteps. He was the last of a dying breed, as he was fond of telling anyone who’d listen. These days, everyone got their milk in great big shops. Where was the personal touch? he often asked. Where was the effort?

  Eamon slowed his milk truck, careful on the icy roads. A lot of people were complaining about the weather. Eamon wasn’t. He was used to it. When you started work at three o’clock in the morning, you could get used to anything. He turned off the radio, tutting at reports of fights breaking out in a nightclub. Things were a lot different when he’d been young, and no mistake.

  He got out, opened the side panel of the truck, gathered three cartons in his hands, and left them at the doorstop of Number 11. Number 12 bought their milk in a supermarket, so all he gave them was a scowl. He left two cartons at Number 13, and the same at Number 14. He missed the clink of milk bottles as he worked. Some of his fondest childhood memories were of the clink of milk bottles in his father’s big hands.

  He saw the jogger heading his way, keeping to the grass verge along the pavements, and muttered under his breath. The jogger had appeared a few months ago, passing Eamon at the same time every morning, giving him a nod and a smile as he went by. He wore reflective armbands and belts and flashing lights on his wrists. He looked ridiculous, but that wasn’t why Eamon hated him. Eamon hated him for the simple reason that he had stolen Eamon’s alone time.