Derek Landy - Last Stand of Dead Men

The screen went blank.

“Turn it off,” said Ravel, his voice low, his jaw clenched. “Tipstaff. Activate the shield.”

“The shield is up, sir.”

“Out. Everyone out.” The room emptied quickly, until there were only the Elders left. “We’ll go to war over this,” he said. “This is everything they needed. This is the excuse they were looking for. A public execution of one of their people. Any sympathy we may have had, any, was washed away the moment that blade touched his skin.” Ravel turned to Mist. “Those two don’t do anything without your permission.”

“So I had thought,” said Mist. “Obviously, I was wrong. You are suspicious of me?”

“You could say that.”

Mist’s veil made it impossible to read her face. “That is unfortunate. Please allow me to repeat myself – I had nothing to do with this. They acted without my knowledge and certainly without my permission. I cannot, and I will not, be held responsible for their actions.”

“They’re Children of the Spider,” said Ghastly. “Just like you.”

“And that makes me culpable? Preposterous. Are you to be held responsible every time an Elemental commits a crime?”

“Children of the Spider are an especially tight-knit bunch.”

“We are no closer than family,” said Mist, “and yet siblings are not held accountable for each other, are they? I had no idea Portia and Syc were going to do what they did, and unless you have evidence beyond mere suspicion, we should be concentrating on bringing them to justice and dealing with the ramifications of this terrible act.”

She moved for the door, but Ghastly blocked her way. “You can’t just walk out of here.”

“On the contrary,” she said, “I can and I am about to. Administrator Tipstaff may not be able to track them, but someone has to, and by the looks of things the rest of you are too busy blaming me to do anything constructive. So if you will excuse me.”

She stepped round Ghastly and walked on, and he just stood there.

assandra Pharos greeted them from her front door with a warm smile. Her grey hair was pulled back in a plait today, and she wore a loose shirt over faded jeans. She hugged Valkyrie and ignored Skulduggery’s protests until he allowed her to hug him, too.

The inside of the cottage was just as Valkyrie remembered it – a bookshelf against one wall, a guitar tucked into the corner, a large rug on the wooden floor and a sofa that had seen better days. And hanging from the rafters, dozens of bundles of twigs, shaped like little men. Dream whisperers. Cassandra had given Valkyrie one as a present the first time they’d met.

“Do you still have yours?” Cassandra asked, catching Valkyrie’s uneasy look.

“Yes,” Valkyrie said automatically, before she even had a chance to consider telling the truth. She ignored Skulduggery’s tilt of the head, and motioned to the guitar. “Do you play much?”

“Not as much as I used to,” Cassandra said. “I was pretty good, once upon a time. I picked up an old one in the sixties and I was taught by one of the best guitarists of the era.”

“Jimi Hendrix?”

“Angelo Bartolotti. This was the 16 60s.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.”

“It was a whole different instrument back then. But you didn’t come here to talk about my musical past as a Baroque chick, did you?”

“You’ve had a vision?” Skulduggery asked.

“Yes,” said Cassandra. “Or at least I will. In a few minutes.”

Valkyrie frowned. “You haven’t had it yet?”

“No. But I dreamed that I was going to have it, and that it involved the two of you.”

“Wait. So … you had a vision that you were going to have a vision?”

“Fortune-telling is a strange business. Come down to the cellar.”

She led the way downstairs to a large room with cement walls and a metal grille for a floor. Rusted pipes ran up the walls and across the ceiling like infected veins. It was cold and it was bleak. Cassandra sat in the straight-backed chair in the middle of the chamber, picked up the yellow umbrella and held it across her lap. “So how have you both been?”

“Uh, fine,” Valkyrie said. “Are you having your vision now?”

“It’ll come when it comes,” Cassandra told her. “How’s that boyfriend of yours?”

“Fletcher?”

“No, the other one.”

Valkyrie felt a scowl rise. “Caelan?”

“No, the other one. Or … wait. Maybe that hasn’t happened yet.”

“What? You’ve seen a future boyfriend of mine? Who is he? What’s his name? Is he hot?”

Cassandra smiled. “I’m afraid I can’t say.”

“Just tell me if he’s hot.”

“If I give you any details about him at all, it could change what happens. The future is uncertain. It’s always changing. If you know who he is, he might never become your boyfriend.”

“She’s annoying when she has a boyfriend,” Skulduggery said. “Please do me a favour and tell us who it is.”

Cassandra laughed. “I’ve said too much already. The only reason I’m showing you this vision I’m about to have is because it relates to the one you’ve already seen.”

“The ruined city,” Valkyrie said.

“Aha,” Cassandra murmured, her eyes closing. “It’s starting. If you wouldn’t mind?”

Skulduggery clicked his fingers and Valkyrie did the same, and they each summoned a ball of fire into their hands. They dropped the fireballs to the grille – within seconds the coals underneath were glowing orange. Heat rose, filling the chamber. Valkyrie stood with her back against the wall.

Cassandra opened the umbrella, and Skulduggery turned a little red wheel. Water gurgled through the pipes and sprayed from the sprinklers, and immediately clouds of steam began billowing. Cassandra sat in the middle of it all, the umbrella keeping her dry. When she was lost amid the swirling steam, Skulduggery cut off the water.

Valkyrie stepped forward, and Skulduggery joined her. It was quiet. The steam was as thick as fog. Even the slow dripping from the sprinklers sounded distant.

The first time she’d been down here, an image of Ghastly had run at her. But this was different. A shape moved. Staggered. There were walls around them now, in the steam, and a table, a big one. She knew this place. The conference room, in the Sanctuary. The figure stumbled into view. Erskine Ravel, dressed in his Elder robes, falling to his knees with his hands shackled behind his back, screaming in unimaginable agony.

He fell forward and the image swirled, and now they were in a city, smoke rising from the ruins. Valkyrie looked for something familiar, some way to identify what city this was – even a street sign – but the steam was lending everything a hazy quality. The city was an out-of-focus photograph, a blurred representation of reality.

Ghastly ran by, just like he had the first time, and then the street started moving around her like the whole thing, Ghastly included, was on a treadmill. It was hugely disorientating and Valkyrie had to hold Skulduggery’s arm to steady herself. Ghastly turned a corner and the corner whipped by so fast that Valkyrie jerked back. He eventually slowed his run and the street slowed its movement, and when he stopped the street stopped.

Ghastly glanced behind him, getting his breath back.