Derek Landy - Midnight

“The word you’re looking for is ironic .”

“Is it? OK. It’d be ironic.”

“That’s a good plan, Omen. Ignoring the fact that no one’s been able to even find the Sceptre since Devastation Day, that’s a wonderful plan.”

“Well, like, we have other God-Killer weapons. One little nick from the sword and even Mevolent drops dead.”

“The sword’s broken.”

“Then the spear,” Omen said irritably, “or the bow or the dagger, whatever, it’s the … What?”

“Nothing. I’m just quite impressed that you could name all four God-Killers.”

“Really? Three-year-olds can name the God-Killers.”

“Yeah, but they’re three , Omen.”

Omen nodded. “Because infants are smarter than me. Yep, I get it. That’s funny.”

Never grinned. “Feeling overly sensitive today, are we? I wouldn’t blame you. Tell you what, I won’t tease you again until you really, truly deserve it, I promise. Come on, tell me more about how you’d beat Mevolent.”

“No.”

Never laughed. “Oh, please? I was really enjoying that conversation.”

“Tough.”

“So you’d use the God-Killers on him, and …?”

Omen shrugged, looked away, happened to glance at the door just as Miss Wicked walked in. Tall, blonde and terrifying, he watched her look around, and immediately glanced away when her eyes fell upon him.

“Oh, God,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” Never asked.

“Miss Wicked caught me looking at her.”

“She’s coming over.”

“Is she?”

“Coming straight for you.”

“Are you joking? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Omen,” Miss Wicked said, and Omen yelped and swivelled in his seat.

“Hello, miss,” he said. “I mean, hi. I mean … yes?”

She looked down at him. “Omen, you have been summoned.”

He blinked. “I have?”

“Tomorrow morning,” she said, “ten o’clock, in the headmaster’s office.”

He paled. “But … tomorrow is Saturday.”

“It is.”

“But there’s no school on a Saturday.”

“The school is still open at weekends, Omen.”

“But there aren’t any classes …”

“Correct. Which means I shouldn’t be coming in. And yet I am.”

“Is … is this because of the test?”

“Why would I be coming in if this was because of a test? No, Omen, this is not about a test. Grand Mage Ispolin, of the Bulgarian Sanctuary, is visiting Corrival Academy and he has requested that both of us be present when he arrives.”

“Jenan’s dad? Why would he want me to be there?”

“Jenan has yet to return home. I’m sure the Grand Mage wants to discuss the events that led to his son running away.”

“Am … am I in trouble?”

“I really don’t know, Omen.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Grand Mage Ispolin is probably going to try to have me fired.”

“But why? You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Your vote of confidence will go a long way, I’m sure. Ten o’clock, Omen. Don’t be late. I have no truck with tardiness.”

She walked away.

This, Omen thought, was not at all the call to adventure he had been hoping for.

Valkyrie didn’t get the headaches any more. That was one good thing about working on her Sensitive side, as Skulduggery liked to call it – the more Valkyrie practised, the easier it got. And she had been practising – but not even Skulduggery knew just how much.

She’d been eighteen when her true name had walked away from her, when Darquesse had become a separate entity, a person all of her own. When Darquesse left, she’d taken Valkyrie’s power, leaving her dulled and weak and, once again, mortal.

Nature abhors a vacuum, however, and a new kind of magic had rushed in to fill the void. Valkyrie had just turned twenty-five, and they still couldn’t explain how she could control that strange energy, or how she could see people’s auras, or how she could do all those things and be a Sensitive as well. They didn’t even know what to call her.

She was a one-off, she’d been told. An oddity. In a world of weirdos, she was a freak.

She tried not to take it personally.

The truth was, her power scared her. She felt it in her blood, twisting in her veins, eager to become whatever she needed it to be. But, for all its destructive potential, it also allowed her glimpses into the future, a future of darkness and pain that had lodged itself in her thoughts. Sometimes it was all she could think about. Sometimes it was all there was to think about.

Death was coming for the people she loved, unless she could learn enough about the future to avoid it.

And so here she was again.

She pulled up and got out of the Bentley. Standing beside the door to Cassandra’s cottage was a piece of Darquesse that Darquesse had left behind when she’d departed this universe. Tall and strong and dark-haired, physically identical to Valkyrie in every way, she had taken to calling herself Kes.

“Hey,” said Valkyrie. “Sorry I’m late. I was in the Alps yesterday, doing a thing, and then we got back this morning to find out that there’s this portal that opened up at Roarhaven and … anyway. Sorry. Have you been waiting long?”

“Only a few hours,” Kes said. “Well, a day.”

“Seriously? I am so sorry.”

“It’s OK.”

“How did you pass the time?”

“Oh, that was easy,” Kes said. “I was standing over there for a few hours, then I stood over here. The time flew by.”

“We really need to get you a phone.”

“If you can find one I can hold, I’m all for it. Ah, it’s fine. It’s not like I have anything better to do with my time. You are literally the only person I have to talk to on this entire planet. I can’t interact with anyone else in any meaningful way. I can only do tiny amounts of magic before I fade away and recharge. I’m … I’m bored.”

Valkyrie smiled. “I thought you told me last week that gods didn’t get bored.”

“Well, as you took delight in reminding me, I’m not a whole god, am I? I’m a splinter of a god. A fragment of a god.”

“I believe the term I used was ‘crumb of a god’.”

“Whatever I am, I get bored, OK? But you’re here now, so let’s get to it, what do you say? Ready to see the future?”

Valkyrie sighed. “I suppose I am.”

She took the key from beneath the old pot and led the way into the house. The first time she’d come here after Cassandra died, when Skulduggery had wanted to test her burgeoning psychic abilities, she had taken a few minutes to process her feelings about being back in such a warm and welcoming environment. Today, she just walked straight through and took the stairs down to the cellar. This was her seventh time here without Skulduggery, and she had settled into a new, simpler routine.

She stood in the middle of the cellar. The floor beneath her feet was little more than an iron lattice, treated with magic to prevent it from heating up when the flames burned through the bed of coals beneath. The walls were brick, and reverberated with psychic energy, making Valkyrie’s mind vibrate like a tuning fork. The ceiling was criss-crossed with pipes, designed to spray water.

Months ago, Valkyrie had had to project her visions on to the clouds of steam that billowed upwards. But she didn’t need to do that any more.

She closed her eyes, let her thoughts scatter, and worked to find the peace within that chaos. When she found it – the quiet place – she let it grow and expand and fill her up until it pushed the noise away and, for a moment, for a single blissful moment, there was nothing in the world but her breathing.