The Faceless Ones

“There are some people who want to kill you. We’re here to help you.”

“What are you talking about?”

He had an English accent, not too dissimilar to Tanith Low’s. He was better-looking than she’d imagined and China had been right about his hair. It was spiky and carefully, meticulously untamed.

“My name’s Valkyrie Cain.”

“Valerie?”

“Valkyrie. I know all about you and what you can do, and you’re going to need to teleport right now.”

His eyes flickered to something behind her. She turned to see a million little cracks appear in the plaster on the wall. Sanguine passed through into the room, his lip bleeding and his sunglasses missing.

Fletcher saw the black holes where Sanguine’s eyes used to be and swore under his breath.

Valkyrie ripped the bandage off her right hand and clicked her fingers, felt the spark generated by the friction and fed it her magic. The spark ignited into flame and grew, swirling in her palm. She hurled the fireball and Sanguine threw himself to one side, barely avoiding it.

The blade of his straight razor gleamed wickedly. Valkyrie took one step forward and extended her arm, hand open. She sank into the stance, knees bending slightly, as she snapped her palm against the air and the space in front of her rippled. Sanguine dived to one side and the displaced air hit the couch where he had just been standing and sent it crashing against the wall.

Sanguine threw a lamp at Valkyrie and the base struck her cheek. She stumbled and he moved straight towards her. Even as she was ducking the swipe of the razor, she knew it had been a feint, and he grabbed her and hauled her back as the hotel room door was kicked open and Skulduggery stormed in. His hat and scarf were gone, and Fletcher gaped as he caught his first real glimpse of the skeleton detective.

“Let her go,” Skulduggery said, the revolver in his hand, ready to fire.

“But then you might shoot me,” Sanguine said. “An’ getting’ shot hurts. Drop the gun, gimme the kid with the freaky hair-do or I kill the girl.”

“No.”

“Then I reckon we got ourselves a good old-fashioned stand-off.”

The blade of the straight razor pressed deeper into Valkyrie’s throat and she didn’t even dare swallow. Her cheek throbbed with pain and she felt a trickle of blood run down her face where the lamp had struck her.

Nobody moved, or said anything, for the next few moments.

“Old-fashioned stand-offs are mighty borin’,” Sanguine muttered.

Fletcher was staring at Skulduggery. “You’re a skeleton.”

“Get behind me,” Skulduggery said.

“What’s going on? There’s a guy with no eyes and a razor versus a skeleton in a suit with a gun. Who’s the good guy here?”

Valkyrie clicked her fingers, but had to do it softly or else Sanguine would hear. She tried again, but still couldn’t summon a spark.

“Fletcher,” Sanguine said, “unlike these two, I came here to make you an offer. My employers are very generous people and they’d like to pay you a lot of money to do one little job for them.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Skulduggery warned.

“Why would I need money?” Fletcher asked. “I teleport wherever I want to go and I take whatever I need. I don’t have to pay for anything.”

“There are other rewards,” Sanguine tried. “We can work something out.”

Fletcher shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what any of you want, or why guns and knives are being waved around, and why the girl has just been taken hostage, but everyone seems to be acting like having a talking skeleton in the room is perfectly normal. And you, where are your eyes? How can you see? How come the only people with eyes in this room are me and her?”

“Very good questions,” Sanguine nodded. “If you come with me right now, I’ll give you all the answers you want.”

“This man’s a killer,” said Skulduggery. “You can’t trust anything he says.”

“I’m not planning on it,” Fletcher replied, and he picked up his jacket and put it on. “I don’t care why you or your bosses want me to work for you,” he said to Sanguine. “The fact is, nobody tells me what to do any more. I’m going to go ahead and say no.”

“That’s a mistake, boy.”

“Come with us,” Skulduggery said. “We can protect you.”

“Don’t need protection,” Fletcher shrugged. “Don’t need anything from anyone. I’ve got this really cool power and I intend to use it to do whatever I want.”

“You’re in danger,” Skulduggery insisted. “Most of the other Teleporters in the world are dead.”

Fletcher frowned. “So I’m one of the last?” He took a moment to absorb this information, and when he shrugged, it was with the beginnings of a smile. “Then that just makes me even cooler.”

He vanished with a soft pop, as the air around him rushed in to fill the sudden vacuum.

“Damn it all to hell,” Sanguine muttered.

Valkyrie clicked her fingers and summoned a single flame into her palm, then pressed it into Sanguine’s leg. He yelped and his hold loosened. She grabbed his right wrist and held the straight razor away from her as Skulduggery moved in. Sanguine cursed and pushed Valkyrie into Skulduggery’s path.

“I really hate you guys,” he said, sinking down into the ground.

They waited for a few moments, making sure he wasn’t going to jump out at them from somewhere.

“Are you all right?” Skulduggery asked as he crossed to Valkyrie and tilted her chin to one side. “Did he cut you?”

“Not with his razor,” Valkyrie said, reclaiming her chin. She knew she’d been lucky. Scars left from that blade never healed. “We lost Fletcher. He’s probably miles away by now. After this, how are we ever going to find him again?”

There was a sound from the bathroom and they both looked at the closed door. Skulduggery walked over and knocked. A few seconds later it opened, and Fletcher Renn looked out at them sheepishly.

“Oh,” Valkyrie said. “Well, that was easy.”

Valkyrie sat opposite Fletcher, neither of them saying anything. He had adopted an air of complete boredom on the drive over, and this obvious attempt at nonchalance was starting to bug her. She dabbed a wadded clump of napkins to her cut cheek, making sure the bleeding had stopped. Her hands still stung from the dozen splinters that had lacerated them.

The diner they’d come to was a tacky attempt at 1950s America – blue and pink, miniature jukebox on every table and a neon Elvis jerking his hips from left to right on the wall. It was a little past three on a Thursday afternoon and there were more than a few curious glances at the tall, thin man with the scarf, sunglasses and hat, who joined them at the table. Skulduggery waved away the waiter even before he approached.

“The man with the razor was Billy-Ray Sanguine,” he said. “We believe that he is either working with or working for a man named Batu. Have you ever heard this name?”

Fletcher shook his head lazily.

“In the last month, there have been four murders – all Teleporters like you. Now there are only two of you left.”

“But that guy wasn’t after me to kill me. He said he wanted my help.”