Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 7 - 9

“And when I have fulfilled my end of the bargain...?”

“We’ll hand over the final container. So you see, Doctor Nye, you’re not dealing with some amateur here. I am the Zombie King. I am the Killer Supreme. And you will drop everything right this second and go find me another body or you will never see that—”

Nye took a plastic container from its pocket, and placed it on the table in front of the jar. It was filled with what looked like pieces of brain.

Scapegrace blew a bubble as he whimpered.

“Your friend Thrasher,” Nye said, “is every bit as much of an idiot as you make him out to be.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Scapegrace said.

Nye flicked the jar with one long, bony finger. “Have patience, zombie. When I find a suitable body, work will begin. Do not presume to threaten me again.”

Taking the container, it ducked back out through the door, and Scapegrace’s head slipped a little further askew.

“Smooth,” Sanguine said.

“Shut up.”

“Are you ignorin’ me now? Is that what you’re doin’? Givin’ me the silent treatment? Oh, no, the decapitated zombie isn’t speakin’ to me – whatever will I do? How will I cope? The shame, the shame, to be shunned by a head.”

Scapegrace murmured something.

“Sorry? What was that?”

“I said at least I have eyes!”

Sanguine laughed, and Tanith walked in.

“You two seem to be having fun,” she said, picking up a towel and covering the jar with it. She ignored Scapegrace’s cries and sat on the edge of Sanguine’s bed. “How are you feeling?”

Sanguine gave her the grin. “You actually sound like you care.”

“Of course I care, honey-bunny,” she said, squeezing his hand. “But if you could possibly manage to heal a little faster, that would be super-fantastic.”

“It’s gettin’ worse out there, is it?”

She sighed. “This place is crawling with sorcerers. It’s not safe for people like us. I keep expecting Skulduggery to come walking through that door or for Ghastly to call my name...”

“You give me the word, darlin’, and I’ll take care of that scarred freak in a heartbeat.”

Tanith smiled, and tapped Sanguine’s chest. “You leave Ghastly alone. He is not to be harmed, you hear me? Don’t be mean.”

“I don’t know, Tanith. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you still had a soft spot for that guy.”

She leaned in and kissed him. “What’s all this? Are you getting jealous again?”

Sanguine was about to answer when he saw movement over Tanith’s shoulder. He stiffened and she turned as Madame Mist entered the room.

Sanguine didn’t even have time to sit up before Tanith ran at her, sword out. Mist raised her arm and a torrent of tiny spiders shot out from her voluminous sleeve, catching Tanith full in the face. She stumbled to her knees, spitting and gagging, gradually lost under the growing mound. There were thousands of them. Tens of thousands. More. And then Mist’s arm fell back to her side. Sanguine caught a glimpse of the black veins that spread beneath Tanith’s skin, and she snarled and leaped from the mountain of spiders. Mist caught her, a slender hand closing round Tanith’s throat as she swung her overhead and slammed her to the ground. The sword fell and Mist picked her up like she was picking up a doll and flung her to the other side of the room. Tanith crashed through a set of curtains, bringing the whole frame down with her, and landed somewhere behind the bed, tangled and cursing.

The spiders returned to their mistress, forming lines that flowed beneath the hem of Madame Mist’s long black dress.

Nye swept in, looking like a giant spider itself. “What seems to be the problem?” it rasped.

Sanguine waited for Mist to alert the Cleavers or call for help or something, but all she did was stand there, very still, and Sanguine realised Nye had been addressing him.

“She’s an Elder,” he explained, feeling like there was a huge part of this situation that he hadn’t been filled in on.

“Madame Mist is my patron,” said Nye. “We have nothing to hide. The debt you owe to me for healing you is now owed to her.”

Sanguine took a moment to figure it all out. “Right,” he said. “OK. In that case, Tanith, it might be better if you didn’t kill her.”

Nye looked up to where Tanith crouched, upside down on the ceiling directly above Mist’s head, a scalpel in either hand. She still wore the black lips and black veins of the Remnant inside her. Mist, to her credit, didn’t even glance upwards.

Tanith jumped, flipping to the ground. Without taking her eyes off the woman in the veil, she passed the scalpels to Nye, and held out her hand to Mist. Their fingers touched, forming a bridge, and a trail of spiders trickled along Tanith’s arm and disappeared up Mist’s sleeve.

“Is that all of them?” Tanith asked, and Mist nodded. Tanith picked her sword up off the floor, her face returning to normal.

“So Madame Mist has a secret agenda,” she said. “Who would have guessed?”

“The others suspect,” Mist said softly, “but they have no proof. And so we have time.”

“Time to do what?” Sanguine asked.

“To prepare,” said Mist. “To arrange. You owe me a favour. I want you to kill someone.”

“We figured that much,” Tanith said. “Who?”

“Stay close, and stay hidden, and I will tell you who your target is when the time is right.” Mist glided away so smoothly that Sanguine had visions of a carpet of spiders beneath her feet.

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oran Purcell’s friends were quickly identified as Kitana Kellaway and Sean Mackin, all three of them seventeen years old and all pupils of St Brendan’s Secondary School. Their parents hadn’t seen them in days, and no one else had heard from them. There was a fourth member of their group, a girl called Elsie O’Brien. She was unaccounted for. Valkyrie didn’t much care about that. Elsie O’Brien hadn’t tried to kick her to death, after all.

She didn’t remember much of it. The pain had sent jagged spikes through her mind, cutting her off from the details of whose boot came in first, or who had kicked her more, or how long she’d endured before the blackness started to seep into her vision. But she did remember the moment the air quaked, and the way Doran and Sean hurtled into Kitana. Skulduggery lifting her up was pretty clear in her head, as was the back door bursting open. She blacked out before they rose into the air, and only regained consciousness once she was back in the Sanctuary.

She was patched up by Reverie Synecdoche, a Sanctuary doctor who shivered whenever Doctor Nye passed behind her. Nye was working on Skulduggery, much to Skulduggery’s irritation. The injuries he’d sustained had only aggravated his earlier ones, the bones the werewolf had damaged. Now he had to lie back and let Nye work its magic. He did so with no small amount of complaining.

Ravel dropped by at his first opportunity, heard Skulduggery moaning and stayed over beside Valkyrie. “We’re looking for them,” he told her. “We have mages combing the city, with strict instructions not to engage unless absolutely necessary. How are you?”

She chewed on the leaf that melted her pain away. “Mad,” she said. “They took my jacket. What about the witnesses?”

Ravel expelled a deep breath. “We’re doing our best,” he said. “Geoffrey and Philomena are on it, we have clean-up crews and reconstruction going on... I won’t lie, Valkyrie. This is a big one. This could be seen as a major mistake.”

She looked at him. “Skulduggery will tell you, we did everything right. We kept our distance until we lost sight of Doran Purcell. Skulduggery went into the café after him, saw him there with the other two. The girl, Kitana, was hurling insults at some random woman. She went to melt her face and Skulduggery stepped in. Next thing he knew he was flying backwards through the window. These aren’t sorcerers we’re dealing with. They don’t know the rules about public displays of power and if we don’t find them fast, things are going to get a whole lot worse.”

“Hopefully, their inexperience will work to our advantage,” Ravel said. “They won’t know where to hide or how to disappear. They’re just teenagers.”