Death Bringer (33 page)

Chapter 49
The Pre-Emptive Strike

e crouched in the bushes with the others, all fourteen of them, black-robed and scared, watching the people come and go from the Requiem Ball. Craven refused to allow his own fear to show through. Great leaders did not get scared, after all. Plus, he had an advantage that none of the others did – he had the White Cleaver to protect him should anything go wrong.

“This is highly dangerous,” Cleric Solus whispered. “We must leave now. If they find us—”

“We are done discussing this,” Craven snapped. “I have made my decision, Solus. You will obey.”

“You are not the High Priest,” Solus said.

“Do you wish to test me? Do you wish to test my resolve? You say we are surrounded by the enemy. I say we have the enemy right where we want them.”

“And how do you plan to get us inside the house?” Solus asked. “Did you happen to have the zombies steal another disc that would make the Rippers abandon their posts?”

“Of course not,” Craven answered. “I have something much more rudimentary planned.”

There was a gunshot from inside the house. They watched the Rippers run towards the sound. Once the path was clear, the White Cleaver led the way from the bushes to the side door of the house. Craven darted back through the trees, found her waiting there with her back to him.

“It's time,” he said softly.

She turned slowly, and took down her hood, releasing her blonde hair, letting the moonlight fall across her scars. Melancholia allowed him to take her hand, and he guided her into the house behind the other Necromancers.

Once they were inside, and the music started up again in a far-away room, the White Cleaver killed two Rippers and four guests, and the only sound was the soft splatter of blood on walls. The bodies were hidden and they continued on, Craven keeping Melancholia close to him as they moved.

They found the cellar empty. Craven led them down the steps, three Necromancers remaining behind, dressed in ill-fitting tuxedos. They were Temple-born and got nervous easily, but all they had to do was stop anyone from entering. Even
they
couldn't mess that up.

The cellar was filled with glorious darkness. The caves were beneath them, and provided a last-resort exit in the unlikely event of things going disastrously wrong. There was a secret door somewhere in here, he knew, but it was so well disguised it would take a less intelligent man weeks to find. But Craven had all the angles covered. He took a stone from his robes, gave it to Adrienna Shade.

“Walk with this held close to the ground,” he instructed her. “When it glows blue, tell me.”

“Yes, Your Eminence,” she said, and did as she was told.

Amid the junk that had been collected in the cellar, there was an old table upon which Melancholia sat. She closed her eyes and breathed, preparing herself for what was to come. Craven considered it best to leave her alone. He turned to find Solus looking at him.

“
Your Eminence?
” Solus said, mocking. “Is that how we address you now? You're a Cleric, Vandameer. The same as me.”

“Be careful, Cleric Solus,” Craven said. “The last man to question me like you do was Solomon Wreath, who then tried to assassinate me. If you continue to act like him, I might start to fear for my life. And then the White Cleaver would be forced into action.”

At the mention of the Cleaver, Solus's face went slack. To cover his fear, he nodded to Shade. “And what do you have her doing? Walking around with a stone?”

“Below us,” Craven said patiently, “the zombies are standing at the secret door, having made their way through the caves. Once the stone comes into close proximity with its twin, in the possession of the zombies, it will glow. In the case of an emergency, therefore, we know where to blast through in order to make our escape.”

“It's still reckless,” Solus said, but speaking without gusto. “If they find us here, all our plans will be for nought.”

“No matter where the Death Bringer is when she initiates the Passage,” said Craven, “the Sanctuary forces will converge on her. They may even stop her before the Passage is complete. We can't risk that. All my plans have been born out of necessity. We needed someone to tip them off as to our whereabouts, so Melancholia told Wreath he was in danger. We needed to make them think Melancholia was dead, so I killed her reflection before any seasoned sorcerer could get a good look at her. We need to take out our enemies before the Passage begins, so we come to
them
, and allow the Death Bringer to use her wonderful new talents to snatch their lives away. No fighting. No violence. No chance of defeat. I have thought of everything, Cleric Solus. All you need to do is trust me. So I ask – do you trust me?”

The White Cleaver stepped beside Craven, and Solus swallowed thickly.

“I trust you,” he said.

“You trust me…?”

Solus cleared his throat. “I trust you, Your Eminence.”

Craven smiled. “I thought you might.”

Chapter 50
China's Ally

hina hated mingling, but it was a necessary evil to which she had grown both accustomed and excessively proficient in. Even without her ability to make people fall in love with her, she could charm a room as easily as shrugging. A little light laugh, a touch on the arm, a lingering look, the right words at the right time, they could all get her what she wanted, providing she had an agenda she wished to fulfil.

And tonight, she had such an agenda.

The drawback of being notorious, as China could well attest, was the ripple effect. When she had been at the peak of her notoriety, she could walk into any room and every head would turn and every conversation would grow quiet. Hushed whispers would spread outwards from the epicentre, ensuring that everyone would know where she was and who she was talking with.

Even as little as ten years ago, China would have had that effect on this room. But thanks to a growing, and somewhat puzzling, aura of respectability that had surrounded her lately, this year the Most Notorious honour went to Eliza Scorn.

China drifted from conversation to dance to anecdote, always with Eliza in sight, keeping note of who she spoke to and, just as importantly, who she ignored. Gallow had promised to furnish China with the list of benefactors, but he was running late.

“China,” a deep voice rumbled behind her. Frightening Jones was a large man with ebony skin who fitted into his tuxedo exceedingly well. “Always a pleasure,” he said, bowing slightly.

“Frightening,” China replied, “how good to see you again. The last time I saw you, you were trying to kill me.”

“I doubt I would have posed much of a threat to one such as you, China, even with a Remnant inside me.”

“You flatterer,” China said, manoeuvring slightly so that she kept Eliza in view. “But you're quite right. I almost killed you, in fact. It was only your ex-girlfriend who stopped me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Tanith? How is she? Have you heard anything?”

“Nothing at all,” China said, doing her best to sound as if she was sad about that. “She's on the run with that dreadful Texan. You should talk to Ghastly about it – he'd know much more than I.”

“Ah,” Frightening said, looking uncomfortable, “maybe later. Elder Bespoke is a busy man.”

China smiled, amused. “And you're sure it has nothing to do with you being in love with the same woman?”

“In love, perhaps, but at different times, and that's the important part. My love for Tanith has faded somewhat since we parted, so I now only have a deep, deep affection for her. Ghastly, however, is neck deep in love.”

“I will never understand the taste of certain otherwise intelligent men.”

“You don't approve of Tanith, I take it?”

“I never have. She's always been too… brash for my liking.”

“Some people like brash.”

“And they are welcome to it.”

“Of course,” Frightening said with a smile, “some people like other things as well.”

China laughed. “I admire your audacity, Frightening. It is completely wasted on me, but I admire it nonetheless.”

A pale, fleshy hand clamped on to Frightening's shoulder – not an easy task, as the owner of that hand had to reach up to do it. “Frightening!” boomed Quintin Strom, lurching slightly into him, “aren't you going to introduce me to your beautiful friend?”

Frightening sighed. “Elder Strom, you already know China Sorrows.”

“I know I do,” the British Elder grinned, “but it never hurts to make a second first impression. Hello, Miss Sorrows, you are looking ravishing tonight.” He was, quite clearly, drunk.

“Elder Strom,” China said, nodding politely. “How have you been? I have heard no scandal about you at all in the past few years.”

“Because I've been behaving myself !” Strom laughed. “It hasn't been easy, but I've been keeping out of trouble. Unlike yourself, my dear. For someone who is apparently neutral, you find yourself fighting by the Skeleton Detective's side an awful lot. Is there something I should know? Should every man in this room be jealous?”

Frightening sighed, smiled at China and backed away, leaving her to cope with Strom alone.

“There's no need for friends to ever be jealous,” she told him.

He clasped her hand in his. “And what of those who could be more than friends?”

“My darling Quintin,” China said, “you will always be very special to me. A very special friend, with a very special wife. Where is she, by the way?”

Strom shrugged. “Somewhere over there. We have an understanding.”

“That must be wonderful for you both,” China said, realising she'd lost sight of Scorn. Her phone rang, and she disentangled herself from Strom's hand. “Excuse me for just a moment.”

“It's me,” Gallow said when she answered. “I have her list. Twelve people, most of whom should be with you right now.”

China smiled tightly at Strom and walked away from him, speaking quietly. “Where are you?”

“Parked in the woods to the north-east of the house. I can't get any nearer without setting off the alarms.”

“Stay there,” China ordered. “I'll be with you in a few minutes.”

She paused to check around her, making sure Scorn wasn't anywhere about. Then she slipped by the Rippers at the door and walked quickly between the rows of cars, sticking to the shadows as much as possible. Her shoes, magnificently elegant though they were, had not been designed for walking across gravel, and were totally unsuited to walking across grass or, indeed, through woodland. But China had grace, and poise, and where a lesser woman would already have toppled, China remained upright. The real trick, of course, was to make it look effortless, even when there was no one around to appreciate it.

She cracked twigs and speared leaves with virtually every step, and there were certain kinds of branches that only wanted to snag her dress as she passed. She stepped from the treeline into a clearing. Gallow's car sat quiet and dark, and China was already scowling as she approached. She banged her fist on the passenger side window. She doubted it would give Gallow a scare, but she had to at least make the effort after walking all this way. She opened the door and stooped to get in, froze when she realised Gallow wasn't moving. She took a breath, bent lower. Gallow's chin was resting on his chest. The upper half of his head was sitting on his lap.

There was a note on the dashboard, illuminated by a strip of moonlight.
Too late, sweetie.

China stayed where she was. If anyone was sneaking up behind her, they weren't making a sound. If anyone was watching from the trees, they weren't making a move. She straightened up slowly. If this was a trap, then she was already at a disadvantage, and she wasn't going to make things any better by losing her composure.

Her heart was beating so fast and so loud she swore it was audible. Resisting the urge to spin round, she smoothed down her dress and turned. No one jumped out at her. Back through the trees, back the way she had come, she could see the lights of the house. A house filled with sorcerers who didn't exactly trust her, perhaps, but it was still a refuge. Skulduggery and Valkyrie were there, and Ghastly and Ravel. She would be safe there. At least she'd be able to see who was going to attack.

But if the roles had been reversed and it had been China who had planned this trap, then she would be lying in wait somewhere along that trail. Lure the prey in, scare the prey, and attack when the prey tries to run to safety. An ambush as simple as it was effective. Her options were clear. Take the quickest route out of the woods and probably run right into the attack, or turn and go the other way. Deeper into the woods.

Neither option appealed to her, but as much as she despised the idea of walking for an hour in these shoes to get away from an attacker who may not even be there, she despised the idea of having her head cut off even more.

So she quelled her pride, turned, and stalked away through the trees.