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A man was standing by their car. He had tight brown hair and a few days’ worth of beard growth. Valkyrie frowned, trying to remember if he’d been there a second ago.
“Skulduggery,” the man said. “I thought I’d find you here.”
Skulduggery nodded to him. “Emmett Peregrine, it’s been a while. Allow me to introduce Valkyrie Cain. Valkyrie, Peregrine here is a Teleporter.”
Peregrine was also a man who apparently didn’t indulge in small talk. “Who’s behind it? Who’s killing the Teleporters?”
“We don’t know.”
“Well, why don’t you know?” he snapped. “You’re supposed to be the big detective, aren’t you? Isn’t that what they say?”
“I don’t work for the Sanctuary,” Skulduggery replied. “I don’t have official sanction.”
“Then who does? Because I’m telling you right now, I am not going to that idiot Crux. I’m not putting my life in the hands of someone like that. Listen, we may not like each other, and I know we have never warmed to each other’s company, but I need your help or I’m next.”
Skulduggery motioned to the wall and all three of them stepped over to it. From here they could talk without being seen.
“Do you have any idea who could be behind the murders?” he asked.
Peregrine made a visible effort to calm down. “None. I’ve been trying to think of what anyone could have to gain by killing us all and I’ve come up with nothing. I don’t even have any random paranoid conspiracy theories to fall back on.”
“Have you noticed anyone watching you, following you …?”
“No and I’ve been looking. Skulduggery, I’m exhausted. Every few hours I teleport somewhere else. I haven’t slept in days.”
“We can protect you.”
Peregrine’s laugh was brittle. “No offence, but you can’t. If you can guard me, the killer can get to me. I’m better off on my own, but I can’t run forever.” He hesitated. “I heard about Cameron.”
“Yes.”
“He was a good man. The best of us.”
“There is a way to draw the killer out.”
“Let me guess – you want me to act as bait? You want me to sit still and let him come to me, and then you’ll pounce and save the day? Sorry, I’m not in the habit of waiting to be killed.”
“It’s our best shot.”
“It’s not going to happen.”
“Then you need to help us. Even when they knew their lives were in danger, Cameron Light and the others still let down their guard. They knew the killer, Emmett, and you probably do too.”
“What are you saying? That I can’t trust my friends?”
“I’m saying you can’t trust anyone but Valkyrie and myself.”
“And why should I trust you?”
Skulduggery sighed. “Because you literally have no other choice.”
“Is there one person that all the Teleporters would know?” Valkyrie asked. “One person who you’d think you’d be safe with?”
Peregrine thought for a moment. “Sanctuary officials,” he said, “a handful of sorcerers probably, but nobody that stands out. Teleporters don’t tend to be well liked, maybe you’ve heard. Our social circles really aren’t that wide.”
“Have you made any new friends?” Skulduggery asked. “Any new acquaintances?”
“No, none. Well, apart from the kid.”
Skulduggery’s head tilted. “The kid?”
“The other Teleporter.”
“I thought you were the last Teleporter.”
“No, there’s a seventeen-year-old English kid, turned up a while back. Renn his name is. Fletcher Renn. No training, no discipline, no clue to what he’s doing – a right pain in the neck. Wait, you think he’s the killer?”
“I don’t know,” Skulduggery murmured. “He’s either the killer or the killer’s next victim. Where is he?”
“He could be anywhere. Cameron and myself went to talk to him a few months ago, to offer to teach him. Cocky little sod laughed in our faces. He’s one of those rare sorcerers, natural-born, magic at his fingertips. He has power, but like I said, no training. I doubt he could teleport a few miles at a time.”
“He doesn’t sound like a killer. But that means he’s out there alone, with no idea what’s going on.”
“I think he’s still in Ireland,” Peregrine said. “He grunted something about planning to stay here for a while, and how we should leave him alone. He doesn’t need anybody apparently. Typical teenager.” Peregrine glanced at Valkyrie. “No offence.”
“Valkyrie’s not a typical anything,” Skulduggery said before she could respond. “We’ll track him down, but if you see him first, send him to us.”
“I doubt he’ll listen to me, but OK.”
“How will we contact you if we need you?”
“You won’t, but I’ll check back every few days for an update. This would all be over a lot quicker if you’d take over the investigation. I don’t trust Crux and I don’t trust Thurid Guild. You’re in close with Bliss, aren’t you? Maybe you could get a message to him. Just tell him that there are a lot of us out here who would back him as the new Grand Mage, if he were interested. All he has to do is say the word.”
“You’re not talking about a coup, are you?”
“If a revolution is what it takes to get the Sanctuary back on track, Skulduggery, then that’s what we’ll do.”
“A little drastic, one would think. But I’ll relay the message.”
“Thank you.”
“There’s nothing else? Nothing you can think of to help us? No matter how small or insignificant?”
“There is nothing, Skulduggery. I don’t know why the other Teleporters were killed, and I don’t know how. We are exceptionally hard to kill. The instant we think something’s wrong, we’re gone. Until last month, the only time I can remember a Teleporter being murdered was fifty years ago.”
“Oh?” said Skulduggery, suddenly interested. “And who was that?”
“Trope Kessel. I barely knew the man.”
“Who murdered him?” Valkyrie asked.
“No one knows. He told a colleague he was going to Glendalough, and he was never seen again. They found his blood by the shore of the Upper Lake, but his body was never recovered.”
“Could Kessel’s murder have anything to do with what’s going on now?”
Peregrine frowned. “I don’t see why it should. If someone wanted the Teleporters dead, why wait fifty years between the first murder and the rest?”
“Still,” Skulduggery said, “it might be somewhere to start.”
“You’re the detectives,” Peregrine said with a shrug, “not me.”
“You know Tanith, don’t you?”
“Tanith Low? Yes. Why?”
“If you’re in London and need someone to watch your back, you can trust her. It might be your only chance to catch some sleep.”
“I’ll think about it. Any other advice for me?”
“Stay alive,” Skulduggery said and Peregrine vanished.
(#ulink_ea68e76b-2e9f-5033-8dbc-1db3183caa37)
y the time they got to Haggard, the lights turning the streets of the small town a hazy shade of orange, it was almost ten. There was nobody walking in the rain, so Valkyrie didn’t have to slump down in her seat. That was the only problem with the Bentley – it wasn’t the type of car that went unnoticed.
Still, at least it wasn’t yellow.
They approached the pier. Six months earlier, Valkyrie had leaped from it, followed by a pack of the Infected – humans on the verge of becoming vampires. She’d led them to their doom, since salt water, if ingested, was fatal to their kind. Their screams of pain and anguish, mixed with rage and then torn from ruined throats, were as fresh in her memory as if it had all happened yesterday.
The Bentley stopped and Valkyrie got out. It was cold, so she didn’t linger. She hurried to the side of her house and let her hands drift through the air. She found the fault lines between the spaces with ease and pushed down sharply. The air rushed around her and she was rising. There was a better way to do it – to use the air to carry, rather than merely propel, but her lessons with Skulduggery hadn’t reached that level yet.
She caught the windowsill and hauled herself up, then opened the window and dropped into her room.
Her reflection looked up from the desk, where it was doing Valkyrie’s homework. “Hello,” it said.
“Anything to report?” Valkyrie asked as she slipped off her coat and began changing out of her black clothes into her regular wear.
“We had a late dinner,” the reflection said. “In school, the French test was postponed because half the class were hiding in the locker area. We got the maths results back – you got a B. Alan and Cathy broke up.”
“Tragic.”
Footsteps approached the door and the reflection dropped to the ground and crawled under the bed.
“Steph?” Valkyrie’s mother called, knocking on the door and stepping in at the same time. She held a basket of laundry under her arm. “That’s funny. I could have sworn that I heard voices.”
“I was kind of talking to myself,” Valkyrie said, smiling with what she hoped was an appropriate level of self-conscious embarrassment.
Her mother put a pile of fresh clothes on the bed. “First sign of madness, you know.”
“Dad talks to himself all the time.”
“Well, that’s only because no one else will listen.”
Her mother left the room. Valkyrie stuck her feet into a pair of battered runners and, leaving the reflection under the bed for the moment, clumped down the stairs to the kitchen. She poured cornflakes into a bowl and opened the fridge, sighing when she realised that the milk carton was empty. Her tummy rumbled as she dumped the carton in the recycle bag.
“Mum,” she called, “we’re out of milk.”
“Damn lazy cows,” her mother muttered as she walked in. “Have you finished your homework?”
Valkyrie remembered the schoolbooks on the desk and her shoulders sagged. “No,” she said grumpily. “But I’m too hungry to do maths. Do we have anything to eat?”
Her mother looked at her. “You had a huge dinner.”
The reflection had had a huge dinner. The only things Valkyrie had eaten all day were some bourbon creams.
“I’m still hungry,” Valkyrie said quietly.
“I think you’re just trying to delay the maths.”
“Do we have any leftovers?”
“Ah, now I know you’re joking. Leftovers, with your father in the house? I have yet to see the day. If you need any help with your homework, just let me know.”
Her mother walked out again and Valkyrie went back to staring at her bowl of cornflakes.
Her father walked in, checked that they weren’t going to be overheard, and crept over. “Steph, I need your help.”
“We have no milk.”
“Damn those lazy cows. Anyway, it’s our wedding anniversary on Saturday, and yes, I should have done all this weeks ago, but I’ve got tomorrow and Friday to get your mother something thoughtful and nice. What should I get?”
“Honestly? I think she’d really appreciate some milk.”
“The milkman always seems to bring her milk,” her dad said bitterly. “How can I compete with that? He drives a milk truck, for God’s sake. A milk truck. So no, I need to buy her something else. What?”
“How about, I don’t know, jewellery? Like, a necklace or something? Or earrings?”
“A necklace is good,” he murmured. “And she does have ears. But I got her jewellery last year. And the year before.”
“Well, what did you get her the year before that?”
He hesitated. “A … a certain type of clothing … I forget. Anyway, clothes are bad because I always get the wrong size, and she gets either insulted or depressed. I could get her a hat, I suppose. She has a normal-sized head, wouldn’t you say? Maybe a nice scarf. Or some gloves.”
Valkyrie nodded. “Nothing says ‘happy anniversary’ more than a good pair of mittens.”
Her dad looked at her. “That was a grumpy joke. You’re grumpy.”
“I’m hungry.”
