Skulduggery Pleasant: Kingdom of the Wicked (2 page)

Doran was the first to cut off his beam. He lowered his hand with a gasp. Kitana followed soon after, and then Sean, and finally Elsie. She was tired, like she’d poured all of her strength into that beam, but every part of her was tingling. Sean and Doran were both smiling, too. Only Kitana’s eyes were narrowed, like she hadn’t really wanted Elsie to be able to do it.

A car pulled up on the road below, and a man got out. He looked furious. “Get down from there!” he shouted.

“We’re allowed up here,” Kitana called out. “We have the owner’s permission. Unless you are the owner, in which case get lost or we’ll kill you.”

“Let’s use him for target practice,” Doran whispered.

Before Elsie could object, the man swung his arms. A strong wind suddenly blew and he rose upwards like he was flying. Sean cursed and they all jumped back, and the man landed in front of them.

“Do you have any idea how risky this is?” he raged. “You’re out in the open, for God’s sake. How stupid are you kids?”

“You’re... you’re like us?” Kitana asked.

“I could see your damn lightshow from miles away. What were you trying to do? Were you
trying
to get noticed?”

“We didn’t think there was anyone else,” Kitana said.

The man stared. “Anyone else? What? What do you mean?”

“I mean other people like us, people with super-powers.”

“What? What are you talking about? Listen to me, all right? You’re not superheroes, you’re sorcerers, and sorcerers don’t use their powers where normal people can see. You’ve got to be very careful. Secrecy has got to be the number-one rule for you from this moment on.”

“We’re very sorry, mister,” said Kitana.

He sighed. “My name is Patrick Xebec.”

“That’s a stupid name,” said Doran.

“Doran,” Kitana said, her tone scolding.

“We don’t have time to get into this now,” said Xebec, “but you need to take on a new name, otherwise other sorcerers will be able to control you.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m always serious. I’ve never had a very good sense of humour, and I’ve never been particularly good with children.”

“We’re not children,” said Doran, flipping up his hoodie. “We’re seventeen.”

“Anyone below the age of ninety is a child to me,” Xebec said. “Sorcerers live longer than mortal people.”

“Cool,” said Sean.

“So your name wasn’t always Xebec, then?” Kitana asked.

“This is a name I took. It felt right, so I took it, and it’s been my name ever since.”

“And if I changed my name from Kitana Kellaway to, like, Kitana Killherway, that would stop me from being controlled?”

“If you want that as your taken name, sure.”

Doran grinned. “I’ll be Doran Kickass.”

“That’s the stupidest name ever,” Kitana said, giggling. “Sean, what about you?”

“I don’t know,” Sean said. “How about Sean Chill? Or Sean Destiny, or something? Sean the King.” He laughed. “Yeah, I’ll be Sean the King.”

All three of them laughed. Kitana didn’t ask Elsie what her name would be.

“Look,” said Xebec, “pick whatever names you want, I don’t care. I’m not qualified to take you through this. I don’t get involved in any of that Sanctuary stuff. I just live my life and get on with it.”

“What’s the Sanctuary?”

“It’s like our own private government. It has cops and soldiers and they’re always saving the world or getting themselves killed. You need to go to them, they’ll tell you everything you need to know. But if you want my advice, the moment that’s done with, walk away. Don’t become part of it. You’ll just wind up dead.”

“Magic cops,” Kitana said. “I don’t like the sound of that. Can they do what we do?”

“There are all different disciplines of magic,” said Xebec. “I’m an Elemental. What can you do?”

“We don’t know yet,” said Kitana. “We keep on finding new things. Like, at first we were just strong, but then we could move things without touching them. And now today we can fire beams of energy from our hands.”

“I figured out how to do that,” Doran said proudly.

Xebec frowned. “You can do all those things?”

“Probably more, as well,” said Doran. “Every day there’s something new.”

“I don’t know what you are,” Xebec said. “You should only have one of those abilities, two at the most. But even then you’d have to train for years.”

“Maybe we’re naturals,” Kitana said, smiling. “So the cops can’t do the things we can do?”

“No,” said Xebec. “No one can, as far as I know.”

Kitana bit her lip. “Oh, that’s good to hear.”

“I’ll call the Sanctuary,” said Xebec. “They’ll be able to figure out what’s going on. Come on.”

He turned, walked to the edge of the roof. Sean went to follow, but Kitana tapped his arm, holding him in place.

“I don’t think you should make that call,” she said.

Xebec turned. “Listen, kid, I don’t know what to do. I wouldn’t be of any use to you.”

“Actually, you’ve been a great help already. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done. But we can’t let you tell the magic cops about us.”

Doran raised his arm and his hand glowed. Xebec stepped back, eyes wide, didn’t even have time to say anything before a beam of energy burned through his leg. He fell, screaming.

Kitana took a deep breath, narrowed her eyes, and Xebec stiffened and collapsed, as dead as anything could get.

Sean looked at Kitana. “What did you do?”

“I squashed his brain with my mind,” Kitana said, and she started laughing.

EPIGRAPH

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

–
The Tyger
, William Blake

’m a butterfly!” screamed the fat man as he ran, flapping his arms like two really flabby, really rubbish wings.

“You’re actually not,” Valkyrie Cain told him for the eighth time. He ran around her in a big circle, bathed in moonlight, and she just stood there with her head down. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and moments earlier she’d had to drag her eyes away from his wobbling bosoms before they made her feel queasy. Now that his trousers were starting their inexorable slide downwards, she was averting her gaze altogether. “Please,” she said, “pull up your trousers.”

“Butterflies don’t need trousers!” he screeched. A moment later, those trousers landed by her feet.

She took out her phone and dialled. “He’s in his underpants,” she said angrily.

Skulduggery Pleasant’s smooth voice sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. “I’m sorry? Who is in his underpants?”

“Jerry Houlihan,” she said. “He thinks he’s a butterfly. Apparently they don’t wear trousers.”

“And
is
he a butterfly?”

“He isn’t.”

“You’re quite sure?”

“Quite.”

“He could be a butterfly dreaming he’s a man.”

“Well, he’s not. He’s a big fat man dreaming he’s a big fat butterfly. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

There was another hesitation. “I’m not sure. You don’t happen to have a large net handy, do you?”

“I want to hit him. I want to hit
you
, but I also want to hit him.”

“You can’t hit him. He’s an ordinary mortal under some kind of magical influence. It’s not his fault he’s acting this way. I assume you have him out of public view at the very least? Valkyrie? Valkyrie, are you there?”

“I’m here,” she said dully. “He’s started leaping with every third step. It’s kind of mesmerising.”

“I can only imagine. The Cleavers should be with you in half an hour or so. Can you contain him until then?”

She gripped the phone tighter. “You’re not serious. You can’t be serious. We’ve saved the world. I, personally, have saved the world. This here, right now, this is not something I do. This is something other people do and then you and me laugh about it later.”

“We do what needs to be done, Valkyrie. Once you’ve handed him over to the Cleavers, meet me in Phibsborough.”

She sighed. “Another busy night?”

“It certainly looks that way. I really must go. Sally Yorke has just set fire to her knees.”

The line went dead. Valkyrie gritted her teeth and stuffed the phone back in the pocket of her black trousers. This was not how a seventeen-year-old girl was supposed to spend her evenings. She blamed the Council of Elders for making this a priority. Yes, she accepted that it was a major problem that previously unremarkable mortals were suddenly developing magical abilities – aside from the threat they posed to themselves and others, they also risked exposing the existence of magic to the general public, and that was not something that could be allowed to happen. But why, out of all the cases that were popping up all over Ireland, did Valkyrie have to deal with the weird ones who thought they were butterflies? There were a few dozen sedated mortals back in the Sanctuary and not one of those was as weird and unsettling as Jerry Houlihan in his underpants.

Valkyrie frowned, and wondered why she couldn’t hear Jerry’s footsteps any more. Then she looked up and saw him flying through the night sky, flapping his arms and squealing with glee.

“Jerry!” she shouted. “Jerry Houlihan, get down here!”

But Jerry just giggled and jiggled, unsteady in the air but flying – definitely flying. He reversed course, flapping back towards her. Stupidly, she looked up as he passed directly overhead. The image seared itself into her mind and she felt a little piece of herself die.

Jerry veered off course, drifting from the safety of the park towards the bright streetlights of Dublin City. Valkyrie reached up, felt the air, felt how the spaces connected, and then she pulled a gust of wind right into him, knocking him back towards her. She needed a rope or even a piece of string, just something to anchor him in place like a fat, man-shaped kite.

“Jerry,” she called, “can you hear me?”

“I’m a butterfly!” he panted happily.

“I can see that, and a very pretty butterfly you are, too. But aren’t you getting tired? Even butterflies get tired, Jerry. They have to land, don’t they? They have to land because their wings get tired.”

“
My
wings
are
getting tired,” he said, puffing heavily now.

“I know. I know they are. You should rest them. You should land.”

He dipped lower and she jumped, tried to grab his foot, but he beat his arms faster and bobbed up high again. “No!” he said. “Butterflies fly! Fly high in the sky!”

He was gasping for air now, losing his rhythm, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep himself from dipping lower once more. Valkyrie jumped, grabbed him, closed her eyes and tried to send her mind to a peaceful place. Jerry was sweating from all that exertion, and his skin was warm and sticky and hairy. Valkyrie remembered the good times in her life as she pulled him out of the sky, handhold after handhold. He made a last-ditch effort to soar away and she had to grip the folds of flesh on his hips to hold him in place. Then Jerry gave up and stopped flapping, and Valkyrie fell screaming beneath his weight.

“I’m not a butterfly,” Jerry sobbed, as Valkyrie squirmed and wriggled beneath him.

The Cleavers arrived on time, as they usually did. They escorted Jerry Houlihan into their nondescript van, treating him surprisingly gently for anonymous drones with scythes strapped to their backs. Valkyrie hailed a cab, told the driver to take her to Phibsborough. They pulled over beside Skulduggery’s gleaming black Bentley.

Skulduggery was waiting for her in the shadows. His suit was dark grey, his hat dipped low over his brow. Tonight he was wearing the face of a long-nosed man with a goatee. He nodded up to a dark window on the top floor of an apartment building.

“Ed Stynes,” he said. “Forty years old. Lives alone. Not married, no kids. Recently split from his girlfriend. Works as a sound engineer. Possibly a werewolf.”

Valkyrie glared at him. “You told me there were no such things as werewolves.”

“I told you there were no such things as werewolves
any more
,” he corrected. “They died out in the nineteenth century. Unlike certain other creatures of the night that I could mention but won’t, werewolves were generally good people in human form. So appalled were they by their carnivorous lunar activities that they actively worked against their darker selves. They sought cures, isolation, whatever they needed to make sure that they didn’t spread the curse to anyone else.”