Skulduggery Pleasant: Mortal Cole (4 page)

“Then you’re going to have to seal your name,” Gordon said.

“Do you know how I can do that?”

“No,” he admitted. “I wrote about magic, but as you are aware, I never had the aptitude for it. Something like that, sealing your true name, is knowledge only a certain breed of sorcerer would have.”

“I can’t ask Skulduggery,” Valkyrie said quietly. “I don’t want him to know.”

Gordon stopped pacing, and looked at her kindly. “He would understand, Valkyrie. Skulduggery has been through an awful lot.”

“If he’s so understanding, how come you still won’t let me tell him you exist?”

“Well,” Gordon said huffily, “that’s different. That was never about him or anyone else. It was always about me, and my insecurities.”

“Which you are now cured of, right?”

He hesitated. “In theory…”

“So you’d be fine with me telling Skulduggery that I talk to you on a regular basis?”

Gordon licked his lips. “I don’t think that now is the perfect time for that. You have a lot on your plate, and I think
I can be of more use to you without the distraction of other people.”

“You’re scared.”

“I’m not scared, I’m cautious. I don’t know how my friends would react. I am not actually Gordon Edgley after all – I am merely a recording of his personality.”

“But…?” Valkyrie raised her eyebrows.

“But,” he said quickly, “that doesn’t mean I’m not a person in my own right, with my own identity and value.”

“Very good,” she smiled. “You’ve been working on it.”

“I have a lot of time for self-affirmation while I’m sitting in that little blue crystal, waiting for you to drop by.”

“Is that your subtle way of telling me I should call round more?”

“I practically cease to exist when you’re not here,” Gordon said. “There’s nothing subtle about it.”

The alarm on Valkyrie’s phone beeped once. “Fletcher will be here soon,” she said, picking up the Echo Stone and its cradle. “We better get you back.”

Gordon followed as she led the way out of the living room and up the stairs. “The big meeting is this afternoon, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she scowled. “Even after everything that’s been happening, with everything that’s hanging over me, I still have
to waste my time at this stupid thing. Skulduggery says it’s important to see how this kind of politics works.”

“You’re lucky,” Gordon said wistfully. “I would have loved to have been invited to something like that when I was alive.”

“It’s going to be a bunch of people talking about what we’re going to do about setting up a new Sanctuary. What do I have to contribute to
that?
”

“I don’t know. A general air of grumpiness?”

“Now
that I
can do.”

They passed into the study, but instead of following her through the hidden doorway to the secret room where he kept the most valued pieces of his collection, Gordon went to a small bookshelf beside the window. “And how is Fletcher these days?”

“He’s grand.”

“Has he met your parents?”

Valkyrie frowned. “No. And he’s not going to.”

“You don’t think they’d approve?” Gordon asked as he scanned the books.

“I think they’d start asking all kinds of awkward questions. And I don’t think they’d like the fact that my boyfriend is older than me.”

“He’s eighteen, you’re sixteen,” Gordon said. “That’s not
drastically
older.”

“If I need to tell them, I will. Right now, Skulduggery has taken responsibility for asking every single awkward question that my parents could ever
possibly
ask, so you needn’t worry.”

“This one,” said Gordon, pointing to a thin notebook. “In here there are directions to a woman who might be able to help you.”

“She can seal my name?”

“Not her personally, but I think she knows someone who can.”

“Who is she?”

“
Who
isn’t important.
What,
however, is. She’s a banshee.”

“Seriously?”

“Most banshees are harmless,” Gordon said. “They provide a service, more then anything else.”

“What kind of service?”

“If you hear a banshee’s wail, it’s a warning that you’re going to die. I’m not sure of the advantage of such a service, but it’s a service nonetheless. Twenty-four hours after you hear it, the Dullahan gets you.”

“What’s a Dullahan?”

“He’s a headless horseman, in the service of the banshee.”

“Headless?”

“Yes.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“So he has no head?”

“That’s usually what headless means.”

“No head at all?”

“You’re really getting hung up on this headless thing, aren’t you?”

“It’s just kind of silly, even for us.”

“Yet you spend your days with a living skeleton.”

“But at least Skulduggery has a head.”

“True.”

“He even has a spare.”

“Are we going to get past this now?”

“Yes. Sorry. Carry on.”

“Thank you. The Dullahan drives a carriage, the Coach-a-Bowers, that you can only see when it’s right up beside you. He is not a friendly fellow.”

“Probably because he has no head.”

“That may have something to do with it.”

“So this banshee,” Valkyrie said, “is she one of the harmless ones, or the harmful?”

“Now
that
I do not know. Banshees are an unsociable bunch
at the best of times. If she isn’t too pleased to see you, though…”

“Yes?”

“I’d recommend putting your hands over your ears if she opens her mouth.”

Valkyrie looked at him. “Right,” she said. “Thanks for that.”

“When do you plan to approach her?”

“Soon, I suppose. I mean, as soon as I can. I want this over with. I think I’ll… Tonight.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I have to, Gordon. If I put it off, I’ll never do it. I’ll give Skulduggery some excuse. He won’t miss me.”

“Valkyrie, from what I know of it, sealing your name is a major procedure. You have to be sure, going in, that this
is
the best thing to do.”

“I’m
going
to be sure. You remember when Dusk bit me? He tasted something in my blood, something that marked me out as different. I think that whatever he tasted has to do with Darquesse. So I’m going to get a second opinion.”

Gordon frowned. “You’re going to get someone else to taste your…? Oh, I see. You’re talking about
him.
”

“Caelan will be able to tell me what Dusk sensed. If it’s bad,
I won’t need any more proof or prodding. I’ll know this is something I have to do.”

“Right,” Gordon said gently.

Valkyrie nodded, feeling an unwelcome mixture of apprehension and uncertainty. She left the Echo Stone in the hidden room and took the notebook from the shelf, flicking through the pages until she got to the part about the banshee. She put the notebook in her jacket pocket and went down to the living room. Her phone beeped again, and a moment later Fletcher Renn appeared beside the fireplace. Blond hair standing on end, lips always ready to kiss or smirk, one hand behind his back, the other with a thumb hooked into the belt loops of his jeans.

“I’m gorgeous,” he said.

Valkyrie sighed. “Are you, now?”

“Do you ever just look at me and think, God he’s gorgeous? Do you? I do, all the time. I think
you’re
gorgeous too, of course.”

“Cheers.”

“You’ve got lovely dark eyes, and lovely dark hair, and your face is all pretty and stuff. And I love the way you dress in black, and I love the new clothes.”

“It’s a jacket, Fletch.”

“I love the new jacket,” he insisted. “Ghastly really made a lovely, lovely jacket.” He grinned.

“You look wide awake,” she said. “You’re never wide awake at this hour of the morning.”

“I’ve been researching. You’re not the only one who likes to read books, you know. Apparently, my power will increase if I work at it a little, so I thought I’d give it a try. I was told there was this book in Italy, written by a famous Teleporter – dead now, obviously – that could really help me, so I went there and got it.”

“Good man.”

“But it was written all in Italian, so I left it on the shelf and went to Australia for ice cream.” He brought his other hand out from behind his back, holding an ice-cream cone. “Got one for you.”

“Fletcher, it’s winter.”

“Not in Australia.”

“We’re not
in
Australia.”

“I’ll take you to Sydney for five minutes, you can eat the ice cream while we watch the sunset, and then we’ll come back to the misery here.”

Valkyrie sighed. “Your power is wasted on you.”

“My power is brilliant. Everyone wishes they had my power.”

“I don’t. I quite like being able to hurl people away from me just by moving the air.”

“Well, every
non-violent
person wishes they had my power, how’s that?”

Valkyrie frowned. “I’m not a violent person.”

“You punch people every day.”

“Not
every
day.”

“Val, you know I think you’re great, and I think you’re the coolest chick I’ve ever met, and the prettiest girl ever – but you get into a hell of a lot of fights. Face it, you lead a violent life.”

She wanted to protest, but no argument sprang to mind. Fletcher stopped holding out the ice cream, and started licking it instead, already forgetting what they’d just been talking about. Valkyrie checked the time, forcing her attention back to the here and now.

“Are you getting me anything for Christmas?” Fletcher asked, and Valkyrie found herself grinning despite everything.

“Yes. You better be getting
me
something.”

He shrugged. “Of course I am.”

“It better be amazing.”

“Of course it is. Hey, this time next year, you’ll have someone
else
to buy presents for. When’s your mum due?”

“Middle of February. I’m going to be asked to babysit, you know. How am I supposed to do that?”

“Get your reflection to do it.”

“I’m not leaving the baby with the
reflection.
Are you nuts? But I don’t even know how to hold a baby. Their heads are so big. Aren’t babies’ heads abnormally large? I’m not sure I’m going to be a good big sister. I hope she doesn’t take after me. I’d like her to have friends.”

“You have friends.”

“I’d like her to have friends who weren’t hundreds of years older than her.”

“Have you realised that you’re referring to the baby as ‘her’?”

“Am I? I suppose I am. I don’t know. It just feels like it’s going to be a girl.”

“Do you think she’ll be magic?”

“Skulduggery says it’s possible. Of course, that doesn’t mean she’ll
ever find out
about magic. Take my cousins, for example.”

“Ah, the infamous Toxic Twins.”

“They’re descended from the Last of the Ancients the same as I am, but we’ll never
know
if they can do magic, because they don’t know magic even
exists.
”

“So if you don’t want your sister involved in this crazy life of
yours, you can just not tell her. And in twenty-five years, she’ll be looking at you, going, ‘Hey, sis, how come we look like we’re exactly the same age?’ Will you tell her
then
that magic slows the aging process?”

“I’ll probably just tell her that my natural beauty makes me look eternally young. She’s my little sister – she’ll believe anything I tell her.”

“To be honest, Val, I love the fact that this is happening. Once you have a sister, or a brother, that looks up to you and needs you, it might make you stop and think before rushing into dangerous situations.”

“I do stop and think.”

“And then you rush in anyway.”

“There’s still stopping and thinking involved.”

Fletcher smiled. “Sometimes I just worry about you.”

“Your concern is touching.”

“You’re not taking me even a little bit seriously, are you?”

“I can’t take you seriously, Fletch, you have a dollop of ice cream on your nose. Besides, we can have this conversation a thousand times – it’s not going to stop me going out there and doing what I do.”

Fletcher finished off the cone and wiped the ice cream from his face.

“Are you so determined to be the hero?” he asked softly.

She kissed him, and didn’t answer. He was wrong, of course. It wasn’t about her being the hero – not any more. It was just about her trying not to be the villain.

S
neaking up on someone who can see into the future is not as impossible a task as many people think. For one thing, the future changes. Details shift, circumstances alter, and while the universe is struggling to realign itself into some semblance of balance, opportunity has its moment to present itself. The trick is to be a constant destabilising influence in a world that really just wants to be left alone.

Solomon Wreath was confident that he could be just such a destabilising influence. Leaving many of his decisions open to chance, he had approached the tattoo parlour three times
already and by the toss of a coin he had walked on by. The fourth toss of the coin, however, brought him to the door, and had him climbing the narrow stairs, black bag in one hand, cane in the other. No sound coming from above him. No whine of the tattooist’s needle. No chat, laughter or yelp. He could practically sense the trap waiting for him, but this didn’t slow his step.

At the top of the stairs he turned and walked through the doorway, and that was when the skinny man with the Pogues T-shirt came at him with a cushion. Not being the world’s deadliest weapon, the cushion bounced softly off Wreath’s shoulder, and the skinny man did his best to run by. Wreath dropped his cane, caught the man and threw him against a chair that looked like it belonged in a dental surgery. The skinny man fell awkwardly over it.

“Finbar Wrong,” Wreath said, putting the black bag on a nearby table. “May I call you Finbar? I assume you know who I am.”

Finbar sprang to his feet, hands held out in front of him, fingers rigid. “I do,” he said, “and I feel I have to warn you, man, you can’t beat me. I’ve seen this fight already, and I know every move you’re gonna make.”