Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 7 - 9

She smiled with black lips, and showed him the veins beneath her skin. “I’m all out.”

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n their way into Dublin City, Skulduggery made a call, arranging for a plane to take them to Switzerland. When he hung up, he told Valkyrie that Ghastly had sounded especially harassed. The Supreme Council was making its presence felt yet again, it seemed, and new calls were coming in all the time about unusual disturbances. He took the next right.

Valkyrie sighed. “Not another incident.”

“No,” Skulduggery assured her. “Well, maybe. A missing person, one Patrick Xebec. Elemental. Last seen Friday afternoon.”

“So? People go missing all the time.”

“I think we should meet his wife, see what she has to say. This may tie in with what’s going on.”

“Why? What did Ghastly tell you?”

“Something about streams of energy in the sky. A public display of power like that could very likely be another mortal developing magical abilities. Does that pique your curiosity?”

She considered. “No. But then I’m not easily piqued. I’ll reserve judgement.”

“That’s all I ask.”

They parked near the city centre and walked for a few minutes until they came to the apartment complex where Patrick Xebec lived. They were let in by Xebec’s wife, a Frenchwoman with tired eyes.

“I was on the phone to him,” she said. “We were talking about something, the neighbour’s cat, and then he said there were these lights in the sky. He said they were energy streams. I told him to call the Sanctuary but he said you wouldn’t get there in time. He said someone was going to notice and realise it wasn’t just a light show. He told me he’d ring me back once he figured out what was going on. I... I haven’t heard from him since.”

“Do you know where he was when he saw all this?” Skulduggery asked.

“He was driving through Monkstown. But he said the energy streams were miles away. He didn’t say what direction. Patrick has never gone more than a few hours without checking in, let alone three days. Something bad has happened to him, I know it.” Her hand went to her mouth. “Please, Detective, find my husband.”

“We’ll do our best,” Skulduggery said.

They walked back to the car and Valkyrie’s arm started to ache. Skulduggery was talking about something that had just occurred to him, something to do with Greta Dapple.

“She mentioned that her birthday is this Saturday,” he said, “which means it’s May the first – the start of summer. Coincidence? I don’t think so. But what does Argeddion’s old girlfriend have to do with mortals developing magic? What does she have to do with the Summer of Light?”

The ache was spreading, turning to a dull but persistent throb that Valkyrie could feel in her chest. The world flickered and she stopped walking, suddenly dizzy. “Whoa.”

Skulduggery took her arm, steered her round the corner. “Valkyrie, look at me.”

He flickered and the whole world vanished, just for the blink of an eye. Valkyrie staggered back against the wall. “What the hell is going on? Skulduggery? Everything’s disappearing. What’s wrong with—”

And then Skulduggery was gone and the building behind her was gone and she was falling backwards, splashing into a puddle. It took her a moment to figure it out.

“Fletcher!” she called. He didn’t answer. She was sitting in a puddle in a filthy alleyway.

She didn’t recognise her surroundings.

Skulduggery was gone.

She was alone.

She got up. It had to be Fletcher. He was the only Teleporter left alive. No one else could have done that. She took out her phone. Impossibly, it told her she didn’t have a signal. But this phone always had a signal.

She walked out of the alley. The buildings were all old, old and dirty and small, made of brick and stone and wood. A man passed, dressed in dark brown, the colour of mud. A woman walked the other way, wearing the same colour. Valkyrie followed the woman to a wider street, but then stopped at the corner, hung back. Everyone here wore brown. Brown trousers, brown shirts, brown coats. They didn’t wear it as a uniform, though – it was just as if the only clothes available were all the same colour.

Valkyrie stepped into the street and suddenly people were turning around, changing direction, looking up at the sky or down at the road as they passed her. She started to feel very self-conscious dressed all in black. Two women approached, and Valkyrie walked over.

“Excuse me?”

They hurried by, heads down, pretending not to see her.

“Hey,” she said. “Hey, hello. Excuse me.”

“You should go.”

She turned. A man in his forties, in those same brown clothes as everyone else. Balding and unshaven.

“Where am I?” she asked.

“Not where you’re supposed to be,” he said. “Do yourself a favour, do us all a favour, and leave. Please.” He started walking. She followed.

“I don’t know where I am. Tell me where I am.”

“Pageant Street,” he said brusquely.

“I mean what city.”

“Dublin.”

She frowned at him. “This isn’t Dublin. I know Dublin, and this isn’t...” A thought struck her. A horrible, amazing thought. “What year is this?”

“Year?”

It made sense. The old-style buildings. The fact that there were no cars, no technology. She’d travelled back in time. “Tell me what year this is.”

He stopped suddenly and looked at her, fear in his eyes. “You’re a sorcerer,” he said.

Valkyrie blinked. “Uh...”

He backed away. “Oh, my... Oh, you’re one of them. Please don’t kill me. I only wanted to help. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

She followed, keeping her hands up, trying to calm him down. “You know about sorcerers?”

“I don’t know anything, I swear. I’m no one.”

She clapped her hands in front of his face and he jerked his head back. “Hey! Listen to me. I’m not going to hurt you. I just need to know some things. I’m not from here and I don’t know how anything works. You say this is Dublin? What century?”

He looked at her like she was crazy. “Century? The twenty-first.”