Derek Landy - Mortal Coil

“She’s going to need someone to stand guard over her.”

“You think she poses a threat? She’ll be unconscious until I say otherwise.”

“And what if the assassin comes looking for her?”

“First he’d have to know who she’s with, then where to find me, and lastly he’d have to get past my defences, for which he’d need an army. Leave me now. I’ll get in touch when she’s strong enough to answer your questions.”

With nothing left for them to do, they walked back to the Bentley. Valkyrie buckled her seatbelt as they pulled out on to the road. Skulduggery was using the façade again. Ghastly Bespoke’s façade gave him his own face every time, minus the scars, but Skulduggery hadn’t been able to decide on one look, so China made it so that his façade changed every time. Same cheekbones, same jaw, but all the rest was brand-new.

“Could you drop me off at Gordon’s?” Valkyrie asked.

Skulduggery raised an eyebrow – a newly acquired skill. “You don’t want to go home to Haggard?”

“It’s not that, it’s just that I haven’t been to Gordon’s in a while, and it’s nearly Christmas. Around this time every year when I was a kid, we’d go up there, to his big house. I loved that part of Christmas, because, finally, someone would talk to me like I was a person, you know? A grown-up person, not a child. That’s what I loved about him the most.”

“Ah, there it is,” Skulduggery said, and nodded.

“Sorry?”

“That, right there. That story you just told. That little excerpt from your life. That’s the most annoying thing about Christmas. Everyone has these little stories about what Christmas means to them. You don’t get that at any other time of the year. You don’t get people telling you what Easter means to them, or St Patrick’s Day. But everyone opens up at Christmas time.”

“Wow,” Valkyrie said. “I never noticed before, but you’re a grouch.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re a Grinch.”

“I am neither a Grinch nor a grouch. I like Christmas as much as the next person, so long as the next person is as unsentimental as I am.”

“Sentimental’s nice.”

“You hate sentimental.”

“But not at Christmas. At Christmas, sentimental is a perfectly fine thing to be. It is allowed. In moderation, naturally. I don’t want anyone, you know, being sentimental around me , but in principle I have no problem with … uh …”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Um, the façade …”

Skulduggery tilted his head, and the left side of his face drooped down off his skull, looking like melted rubber.

“I think something’s going a bit wonky,” said Valkyrie.

Skulduggery felt his ear flapping against his lapel and took hold of his face with one hand and hoisted it back up again. He gathered a thick fold around his forehead, trying his best to manoeuvre an eye back into its socket. “This is a tad undignified,” he murmured. “Do please tell me if we’re about to crash into something.”

“Maybe you should let me drive.”

“I saw how you drove a few hours ago. I’m not letting you behind the wheel of this car ever again.” His voice was muffled because his lips were sliding down his jaw. “Do I look better now?”

“Oh, much.”

He did his best to keep his nose in one place.

“So will I pick you up from Gordon’s once your lapse into sentimentality is over? We have that meeting to go to, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“How could I have forgotten?” she asked dryly. “I’ve been looking forward to this incredibly boring meeting for days, I really and truly have, oh boy oh boy.”

“You appear to have found a new level of sarcasm,” Skulduggery nodded. “Impressive.”

“And no, you don’t have to pick me up. I’ll get Fletcher to pop by. Of course, if you change your mind and decide I don’t have to go to this incredibly boring meeting, I can take my time about it all, and really get the sentimentality out of my system for good.”

“And deprive you of your chance to be there? I actually think you’ll be surprised by how interesting it all is.”

“I actually think I’d be very surprised.”

“But we’ll be electing a new Grand Mage. This is history in the making, Valkyrie.”

“And how long do you think the new Grand Mage will last before he’s either murdered or imprisoned?”

“You’re too young to be so cynical.”

“I’m not cynical. I just happen to remember the last four years. You give me one good reason why I should go. One good reason why I would be even remotely interested in attending.”

“Erskine Ravel will be there.”

“Well, OK then.”

Skulduggery laughed, and let go of his face. After a dangerous quiver, it settled down and stopped misbehaving, apart from the ear that was slowly drifting towards his chin.

ith the morning sun barely making an effort to leak through the windows, Valkyrie’s dead uncle made a steeple of his fingers, and peered at her over the topmost peak. When he was alive, he would often do this while sitting in an armchair with his legs crossed, giving him the air of a wise and contemplative man. Now that he was dead and could no longer interact with the physical world, it merely gave him the air of a man in desperate need of a chair.

“You’ve discovered your true name,” he said.

“Yes,” Valkyrie responded.

“And your true name is Darquesse.”

“That’s right.”

“And Darquesse is the sorcerer that all the psychics are having visions about – the one who’s going to destroy the world.”

“Correct.”

“So you’re going to destroy the world.”

“It looks like it.”

“And when did you discover all this?”

“About five months ago.”

“And you’re only telling me about it now ?”

“Gordon, it’s taken me this long to stop freaking out about it. I need your help.”

Gordon began to pace the room. It was a big room, lined with bookcases and Gothic paintings. An oil portrait of a semi-clothed Gordon, his body rippling with muscles he had never possessed when he was alive, hung over the vast fireplace, glaring down at all who passed like a great and terrible god. Even though this house and the land around it had been left to Valkyrie, she still couldn’t bring herself to take the painting down. It was far too amusing.

“Do you realise what this means for you?” Gordon asked, as his slow pacing took him towards the corner of the room. “A sorcerer who knows their own true name has access to power other sorcerers can only dream about.”

His image began to fade away, and Valkyrie cleared her throat loudly. Gordon stopped and swung round, pacing back the way he had come. Immediately, he became solid again. The Echo Stone which housed his consciousness sat in its cradle on the coffee table, glowing with a soothing blue light.

“I don’t care about any of that,” she said. “I saw one of these visions, OK? I saw a burning city and injured friends and I saw Darquesse – I saw me – kill my own parents .”

“Now, just wait a second. From what you’ve told me about Cassandra Pharos’s vision, your future self and Darquesse seem to be two distinctly separate entities.”