Midnight

“Yes, you are,” Omen said. “You’re dead brainy.”

She laughed. “What did you want to talk about, Omen?”

They stopped walking. There was no one around. It was all suddenly very still and very quiet. Omen nodded again. He was aware of how much he was nodding. It was a lot.

“Well,” he said, trying his best to keep his head still, “in the last few months, um, I’m really glad about how we’ve become friends. You know, with our little jokes and things.”

Axelia’s brow furrowed a smidge. “We have little jokes?”

“Yes. Don’t we? The little jokes? The little …” his mouth was dry again, “jokes? That we have. You don’t notice them?”

“I’m afraid not, Omen.”

His laugh sounded panicked. “That’s OK. It’s not important. Basically, what I wanted to say was: we’re friends. Aren’t we?”

“Of course.”

“And that’s so good,” he said, both hands covering his heart. “It’s so good to have friends. Real friends, you know? And I, I think you’re great. I think you’re funny, and smart, and, like, so cool.”

“Aww, thank you.”

“You’re way cooler than me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You so are.”

“You’re cool, too.”

“Well, I’m not, but thank you for saying so.” He laughed, and so did she. This was going well. Omen felt the time was right for the part he’d rehearsed in the mirror. “I’m really glad you’re my friend – that means so much to me, you have no idea. And I don’t want to ruin that, I really don’t, and what I’m about to say … well, it’s risky. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try.”

Axelia nodded. “OK.”

“You’re probably going to say no,” he said, veering away from his script. “And that’s fine. Saying no is absolutely fine. It’s expected, actually. I’d be, to be honest, I’d be stunned if you said, you know … yes. So I realise that that’s not going to happen. So please, please don’t feel bad. The last thing I want is to make you feel bad.”

“Thank you, Omen.”

He laughed, even as the pit in his stomach opened wider. “No problem,” he said. “But, again, I have to, you know, at least try.”

“Of course.”

“So … um … The thing I was wondering was maybe, and, not expecting a yes to this at all, in the slightest, but the thing I was wondering was maybe you would, um, like to, you know …”

“Yes.”

His heart burst into fireworks in his chest. “Yes?” he repeated, laughing. “Really?”

Axelia reached out, touched his arm, a look of grave concern on her face. “What? No, I was just … I said ‘yes?’”

His laughter died instantly. “Right.”

“I didn’t say ‘yes’,” she said, “I said ‘yes?’, you know? Although it may have come out as ‘yes’, without the question mark after it. I’m sorry, Omen, English is not my first language.”

“You’re really good at it.”

“Thank you.”

“You know so many words.”

“I interrupted you,” she said. “I’m sorry. Please say what you need to say.”

Omen chewed his lip and nodded. “Uh-huh,” he said. “Right. Uh … I think we both know how it’s going to go, though, don’t we? I think we … I think we do.”

“Probably,” Axelia said. “We could stop, if you like?”

Omen nodded, doing his best to consider it even though his brain appeared to be broken. Then he shook his head. “Actually, I feel I have to try. If I don’t at least say the words, then … then it’ll be hanging over me. Are you OK with that?”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

He forced a laugh. “Hey, Axelia, will you go out with me?”

“No,” she said sadly.

His world crashed down and he said, “Yeah.”

“I do like you,” she said, “and I don’t want to say ‘as a friend’, but …”

“As a friend,” Omen said, and nodded again. “That’s fine. I expected it, I really did. I hope this doesn’t make things weird between us. Does it?”

“Of course not.”

“Because it means a lot to me that we’re friends.”

“I know. It means a lot to me, too.”

“Well, um … I suppose I’ll see you around.”

“I suppose so.” Axelia smiled, gave his arm a squeeze, and walked away. Omen went round the corner, sat on a bench and was sad.

5 (#ulink_d9b16127-f39c-5a94-8957-1bb74d2bf86f)

They came through, three abreast, the adults laden down with bulging bags and the children clutching raggedy dolls and carved wooden animals. Their footsteps were heavy, their shoulders stooped, their spines curved with exhaustion.

They weren’t too tired to look scared, however. Their eyes flickered over everything, trying to spot the differences between this reality and theirs, but avoided the gaze of Valkyrie or anyone who stood watching. This was a battered people. All they wanted was to stop walking, to lay down their packs, to get some sense of a journey completed, but that wasn’t about to happen just yet. As they came through the portal, the doorway sliced from their universe to this one, they were directed to follow a trail of flags to the makeshift town of tents that had sprung up along the outside of Roarhaven’s west wall. Shrinking away from the grey-suited Cleavers on either side, the mortals trudged onwards in a broad, unbroken line.

“Thirteen thousand in thirty-six hours,” Skulduggery said.

“What are we going to do with them?” Valkyrie asked. “China wouldn’t send them back to their own reality, would she? We send them back and Mevolent’s army will either execute them or use them as slaves. Maybe they could stay in Roarhaven. There are plenty of uninhabited districts. Loads of empty houses.”