Skulduggery Pleasant: Mortal Cole (12 page)

Tenebrae sat back. “Solomon, for all we know, the Remnant will leave the psychic’s body and fly off somewhere to be alone, and never bother anyone ever again. Why invite scrutiny and derision when we don’t have to? If it makes a nuisance of itself, and if the Skeleton Detective or anyone else comes here asking questions, we can feign surprise and shame upon learning of this terrible, accidental oversight on our part.”

“What did he see?” Quiver asked.

Wreath looked at him. “What?”

“The Sensitive. What did he see when you put the Remnant in him?”

Wreath sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nothing. Nothing useful. He got sidetracked.”

“By what?” Tenebrae asked.

“He saw a vision of Darquesse. Seemed quite enamoured with her.”

“So he saw nothing about the Cain girl?”

“Actually, I think there’s a reason Darquesse intruded upon his vision. I think Valkyrie is going to be the one to defeat her. I think that will be the start of her journey to becoming the Death Bringer.”

Craven cleared his throat, pleased with the anger that flashed in Wreath’s eyes. “If I may, High Priest?”

Tenebrae waved a hand. “Of course.”

“Cleric Wreath, I admire your tenacity, and I admire your faith in Valkyrie Cain. I do think, however, that you have allowed yourself to focus on her to the exclusion of all others. You say it is now your opinion that Miss Cain defeats Darquesse. And yet every vision we have heard about has Darquesse
killing
both Cain and Pleasant, before starting in on the rest of the world.”

“The future can be changed,” Wreath growled.

“Oh, yes, indeed it can. I’m not arguing with you there. I’m just wondering about your interpretation. Have you considered the possibility that the Sensitive saw a vision of Darquesse because there
was
no Valkyrie Cain to see? She is obliterated. Wiped from existence. That, to me, would seem the logical interpretation.”

“Cleric Craven makes a valid point,” Tenebrae nodded. “Solomon, I wanted proof that Cain is strong enough. We have not had that proof.”

“What we
have
had,” Quiver said, “is a warning. We can’t waste any more time on candidates who are going to fall short of what is required. This Darquesse woman is coming. Unless we find our Death Bringer before she arrives, this world will be destroyed.”

Wreath’s jaw clenched and his face flushed. Craven’s grin was itching to spread.

“And the Remnant?” he asked. “We’re just going to let it go free?”

“What would you have us do?” Tenebrae asked, almost laughing. “Form a search party? Track it down? Cleric Wreath, that is not the Necromancer way. The Remnant, at this moment, is not our problem. Let others deal with it, if they have to.”

“Your Eminence—”

“You are not to involve yourself in this matter any further. Do you understand me, Cleric?”

Wreath stopped himself, and bowed. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

Craven walked into the depths of the Temple, allowing the grin to consume his face. That had been most enjoyable. That had been altogether
thrilling.
Not only had Solomon Wreath been humbled before him, but also permission had been given, in a way, for Craven’s own plans to commence. The need was apparent. The time frame inescapable. Tenebrae didn’t know about it, of course, but then His Eminence was too cautious a leader. In times of strife, victory favoured the bold.

Craven came to a section of the Temple that he had quietly, and secretly, sequestered for his own use over the years. This was the darkest and dankest and coldest part of the Temple, at its lowest point beneath the graveyard. He took a long key from his robes, slotted it through a door and turned. A heavy
clunk
rewarded him, and he stepped in. Melancholia was already standing beside the chair he had given her. She waited with her head down, hands by her sides.

“You may raise your eyes,” Craven said. “Cleric Wreath has returned. His mission, unfortunately, a failure.”

Melancholia’s eyes sparkled. “Then Cain isn’t the Death Bringer?”

“We can’t be sure, and my fellow Cleric has not been forbidden to continue her lessons… but it is looking increasingly unlikely. You never believed she would be the one, did you?”

Melancholia hesitated. “No, sir, I’m sorry. I didn’t.”

“Neither did I.”

She frowned. “Cleric?”

“Even if Valkyrie Cain does have the power to usher in the Passage, I don’t think she would. She’s the wrong person. Just like Lord Vile was the wrong person. But you, Melancholia, you might just be what we’ve all been waiting for.”

“Me?”

“You may not have Cain’s natural gift, but you make up for it in passion and dedication – attributes I value much more highly. What age are you?”

“Twenty, sir.”

“And you haven’t reached the Surge yet.”

“No, sir.”

“You’re sure it’s Necromancy you want, then? When your
power surges, in a month, in a year, whenever it happens, your choice is over. From that point, you will be locked into one, and only one, discipline, for the rest of your life.”

“Necromancy is all I’ve
ever
wanted.”

“Good. Good. I have been waiting for someone with the right qualities, of the right age, on the cusp of the Surge. I’ve been waiting for
you,
Melancholia.”

“You really think I can be the Death Bringer?”

“With my help, yes. I do. We will need to work hard. It won’t be easy and it will be painful. We’re going to have to prepare you, so that when the Surge happens, you will be infused with shadow magic.”

“Is that… is that possible?”

“I’m not going to lie to you. This has never been done before. It’s never even been thought of. My research into the language of magic has opened up possibilities that we had never considered. But I’ve grown tired of waiting. My patience has ended. If we can’t find someone powerful enough to assume the mantle of the Death Bringer, then we will
make
someone powerful enough. You, Melancholia, will be the one to save the world. Do you accept?”

“Yes, sir,” the girl said, her eyes gleaming. “Oh yes, sir.”

I
t always surprised Valkyrie whenever she realised just how close the weird and the wonderful, and the fierce and the frightening, lived to the rest of the non-magical,
mortal
world. She’d visited Dublin streets where every house held a sorcerer. She’d been thrown from the balcony of a block of flats that was home to a dozen vampires. She’d had tea with a psychic in a tattoo parlour, fought a blade-wielding assassin beneath the Waxworks Museum, and she’d dodged bullets at a football stadium. And the latest example of how close her two lives ran came in the form of an address for a
banshee who, apparently, lived within a half-hour’s drive of Dublin.

Valkyrie had decided that she was going to take a taxi to see her – so all she had to do was make her excuses to Skulduggery and leave. It would have been simple if, when she followed Tanith into Ghastly’s shop, Erskine Ravel hadn’t been there to greet them.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” Ravel said when he set eyes on Tanith.

“I think I would have remembered,” she replied, smiling as they shook hands. “I’m Tanith Low. You must be the notorious Erskine Ravel. I’ve heard stories about you.”

“Did any of them paint me in a flattering light? Because if they did, they are probably lies.”

“Just the usual Dead Men tales.”

Despite her pressing need to be elsewhere, Valkyrie frowned. “Dead Men?”

“That’s what they called us during the war,” Ghastly said, carrying a broken mannequin into the backroom. His shirtsleeves were rolled back off his thick forearms. His muscles, added to the ridges of scars that ran vertically down his entire head, plus the glare he sent Ravel’s way, would have been enough to make practically any man back away from Tanith. But it only made Ravel’s smile widen.

“They were legends,” Tanith told her, missing the glare completely. “Skulduggery, Mr Ravel here, Shudder, Dexter Vex. And Ghastly of course. They called them the Dead Men because they went on suicide missions and always came back alive.”

“Not all of us,” Skulduggery reminded her as he came in behind them. “Erskine, so good to see you again after so short a time.”

“I was in the neighbourhood,” Ravel shrugged. “I thought I’d drop in and say hi to Ghastly. I kind of hoped you’d stop by, actually. Has it sunk in yet?”

“Has what sunk in?” Skulduggery asked. “The insanity of what Corrival asked, or the stupidity?”

Ravel shook his head. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? I was just thinking that and… It
is
ridiculous. The two of
us,
on the Council of Elders? Do you realise how boring that job would get? We’re not used to jobs that… peaceful.”

“I hear Elders don’t even get to punch anyone,” Skulduggery said miserably. “Apparently, we’d have people to do that for us.”

“We’re just not suited to it. We’ve commanded people on the battlefield, we’ve issued orders during investigations… I mean, being a leader is one thing, but…”

“But being mature is something else entirely,” Skulduggery nodded. “I agree completely.”

“So you’re not going to do it?” Tanith asked. “Really? You’re both going to turn this down?”

“What would we be turning down?” Skulduggery asked. “It’s only a nomination. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“What about Corrival?” Valkyrie asked. “If he’d said no to the Grand Mage position, would you have accepted that?”

At that, both men hesitated. Finally, Ravel shrugged.

“I don’t know. The chance to make a difference? To make some real and lasting changes? He’s perfect for the job.”

“And it’s going to be really nice to have someone in the Sanctuary we can trust,” Skulduggery said. “If he said no, I wouldn’t have stopped until I’d convinced him to change his mind.”

“So you’re saying that you wouldn’t have
allowed
Corrival Deuce to turn down this opportunity,” Tanith said, “but the pair of you are just too
cool
to say yes?”

“Well, we’re rogues,” Ravel informed her.

“Mavericks, one might say,” Skulduggery added. “Also, we don’t appreciate our own arguments being used against us. It’s self-defeating in the worst possible way.”

Tanith raised an eyebrow. “And also tremendously hypocritical?”

“If I’m a hypocrite,” Ravel announced, “I haven’t noticed. I’ve never cared much for introspection. I’ve done my best to leave that for the bleakest of poets and the most self-pitying of vampires.”

Valkyrie was going to point out that not all vampires were self-pitying, but she didn’t feel like getting a glare from Tanith. Also, she wasn’t entirely sure she believed it.

Ghastly came out of the backroom. “When are you going to tell him you’re saying no?”

“I’m planning on delaying it,” Skulduggery said. “The longer it goes on, the more ridiculous it will seem, and the more people will complain about it. They’ll do my job for me. Erskine, of course, doesn’t have that luxury.”

Ravel looked at him. “What? Why don’t I?”

“Because not enough people dislike you. And Corrival trusts you implicitly – he always has. Erskine, to be brutally honest, it doesn’t sound like a completely stupid idea to have you as an Elder.”

“Take that back,” said Ravel.

“He’s going to need your help. As he goes on, he’s going to make a lot of enemies. He’s prided himself on being a man
of
the people,
for
the people. His greatest priority has always been the safety and protection of the mortals. I can see him restricting sorcerer activity even more than it already has been. That’s probably a wise move, too. The way things have been going, it’s only a matter of time before one of our secret little battles explodes across the mainstream media, and then not even Scrutinous and Random will be able to smooth things over.”

Ravel shook his head. “Not everyone is going to be as understanding as you, Skulduggery. I’ve been by his side for the last hundred years, and even I’m going to have trouble with some of the things he’ll introduce. He has this glorious vision of sorcerers as humanity’s guardian angels – silent, invisible…”

“Exactly what they need.”

Ravel laughed. “I suppose you’re right.”

“The new Council needs to be strong,” Ghastly said. “Without a strong leadership with a clear purpose, I have a feeling that our friends around the globe won’t be content to just sit back and watch.”

“They’d try to take over,” Skulduggery said.

“Could they?” Valkyrie asked. “I mean, would they be allowed?”

“Who’d stop them? The fact is, they don’t trust us to take
care of our own problems. They’re not our enemies. If the Americans
were
involved in the destruction of the Sanctuary, it’s not because they want to destroy us – it’s just because they think that things would be better if they were in charge.”

“So… they’d invade?”

“It would be quiet, vicious, and sudden.”

“You two would probably be the first to be killed,” Ravel said.

Valkyrie stared. “What?”

“Sorry, but it’s true. The amount of damage the pair of you have inflicted on anyone who’s crossed you over the past few years? They’re not going to take a chance on leaving you alive.”

“He’s right,” Skulduggery said. “We’re just too good at our job.”

“Damn it,” Valkyrie scowled. “I hate being too good at our job.”

The conversation drifted. Ravel was charming and funny, and he certainly amused Tanith, even if Valkyrie sensed a hesitancy in her laugh whenever Ghastly walked by. Valkyrie checked the time, and the butterflies began fluttering in her belly. She’d have to leave soon. Her phone rang.

“Marr will be ready to be moved in the morning,” Kenspeckle told her.

“Is she conscious?”

“She regained consciousness and I sedated her. I have no intention of talking with that woman. Tell the detective he can collect her first thing. I don’t want her here one second longer than she has to be.”

“Is everything OK?” Skulduggery asked when she’d hung up.

She nodded. “Kenspeckle says we’re to pick up Marr in the morning.”