Skulduggery Pleasant

“Of course. Wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know. It’s a bit … drastic, isn’t it?”

“War is a drastic thing,” said Never. “Ooh, that should be on a bumper sticker.”

“I think I’d keep the nuclear bombs as a last resort,” said Omen. “We have the Sceptre of the Ancients, don’t we? Skulduggery and Valkyrie stole it from Mevolent’s dimension, too, so using it to push back his army would be … uh …”

“The word you’re looking for is ironic.”

“Is it? OK. It’d be ironic.”

“That’s a good plan, Omen. Ignoring the fact that no one’s been able to even find the Sceptre since Devastation Day, that’s a wonderful plan.”

“Well, like, we have other God-Killer weapons. One little nick from the sword and even Mevolent drops dead.”

“The sword’s broken.”

“Then the spear,” Omen said irritably, “or the bow or the dagger, whatever, it’s the … What?”

“Nothing. I’m just quite impressed that you could name all four God-Killers.”

“Really? Three-year-olds can name the God-Killers.”

“Yeah, but they’re three, Omen.”

Omen nodded. “Because infants are smarter than me. Yep, I get it. That’s funny.”

Never grinned. “Feeling overly sensitive today, are we? I wouldn’t blame you. Tell you what, I won’t tease you again until you really, truly deserve it, I promise. Come on, tell me more about how you’d beat Mevolent.”

“No.”

Never laughed. “Oh, please? I was really enjoying that conversation.”

“Tough.”

“So you’d use the God-Killers on him, and …?”

Omen shrugged, looked away, happened to glance at the door just as Miss Wicked walked in. Tall, blonde and terrifying, he watched her look around, and immediately glanced away when her eyes fell upon him.

“Oh, God,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” Never asked.

“Miss Wicked caught me looking at her.”

“She’s coming over.”

“Is she?”

“Coming straight for you.”

“Are you joking? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Omen,” Miss Wicked said, and Omen yelped and swivelled in his seat.

“Hello, miss,” he said. “I mean, hi. I mean … yes?”

She looked down at him. “Omen, you have been summoned.”

He blinked. “I have?”

“Tomorrow morning,” she said, “ten o’clock, in the headmaster’s office.”

He paled. “But … tomorrow is Saturday.”

“It is.”

“But there’s no school on a Saturday.”

“The school is still open at weekends, Omen.”

“But there aren’t any classes …”

“Correct. Which means I shouldn’t be coming in. And yet I am.”

“Is … is this because of the test?”

“Why would I be coming in if this was because of a test? No, Omen, this is not about a test. Grand Mage Ispolin, of the Bulgarian Sanctuary, is visiting Corrival Academy and he has requested that both of us be present when he arrives.”

“Jenan’s dad? Why would he want me to be there?”

“Jenan has yet to return home. I’m sure the Grand Mage wants to discuss the events that led to his son running away.”

“Am … am I in trouble?”

“I really don’t know, Omen.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Grand Mage Ispolin is probably going to try to have me fired.”

“But why? You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Your vote of confidence will go a long way, I’m sure. Ten o’clock, Omen. Don’t be late. I have no truck with tardiness.”

She walked away.

This, Omen thought, was not at all the call to adventure he had been hoping for.