Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 7 - 9. Derek Landy
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entered, and Valkyrie crept in behind him and shut the door with a soft click. The tranq gun was heavy. She held it in a two-handed grip, just like Skulduggery had taught her.
So far, no growling.
They stepped into the living room, sweeping their guns from corner to corner, making sure Ed Stynes hadn’t lain down to sleep on the couch. It was hard to make anything out in the gloom, but since Skulduggery didn’t shoot anything Valkyrie figured the couch was empty. She may have been the only one with eyes, but his night vision was still better than hers. They moved across the hallway, checked inside the small kitchen. The moonlight washed over the headache tablets that were spilled across the countertop. There was a sudden groan from the bedroom and Valkyrie nearly pulled the trigger in response. Skulduggery tilted his head in her direction and she glared.
He moved through the hallway like he wasn’t even there. A cat would have made more noise. Valkyrie followed, keeping close to the wall, where the floorboards beneath the carpet would creak less. Skulduggery moved past the bedroom door, took up position on the other side.
Valkyrie edged forward, using the mirror on the opposite wall to look through into Stynes’ bedroom. She heard a curse, and there was movement in the darkness, and then the bedside lamp came on. She froze, adrenaline pumping through her, but all Stynes did was push the covers away as he sat up in bed. He was unshaven, pale. Sweating. He looked to be in pain. He groaned as he stood up. Valkyrie glanced at Skulduggery, mouthing the word Hide? But he just shook his head and so she stayed where she was, eyes on the mirror.
Stynes took a step, then doubled over.
“Oh, God...” she heard him mutter.
He straightened up with a scream so sudden it made her jump. His fingers curled like his muscles were being tightened on some invisible rack, and still he screamed. She’d never heard anything like it.
The lamplight shone yellow over his skin as thick black hairs pushed through, matting and knotting across his chest and back, his arms and legs. He fell to his knees, his legs changing shape, his bones lengthening and re-forming. He stared in horror and dismay at his hands as his fingernails fell to the floor and sharper, longer claws grew in their place.
“Help me,” he gasped. “Somebody help—”
He dropped to all fours, another scream twisting up from his core, wrenching itself from his throat as his jaw dislocated. It cracked and popped and started to balloon outwards, his skin stretching over his newly formed muzzle. Fangs split his gums and his scream turned to an animal howl of rage and pain.
Skulduggery held up three fingers. Valkyrie watched him count down – two, one – and then he stepped into the doorway, tranq gun rising. She took an extra moment to follow his instruction, too stunned by what she had just witnessed to operate with any speed, and so the wolf missed her completely when it came charging out of the bedroom.
Valkyrie fell back, falling in the darkness, trying to make out what was going on just a few metres away. Something broke and something fell and the wolf was snarling and Skulduggery was cursing, and all she could make out was a huge mass of fur on two legs. She looked at her empty hand, wondered where the hell her gun had gone. She swept her arm across the carpet, fingers tapping against something metal. She lunged, gripped the handle and stood, turned, finger on the trigger—
—and something knocked her backwards into the living room. She pushed at it, whatever it was, and Skulduggery clambered off her and the wolf leaped on him again and they crashed into the sofa, turning it over and falling behind it.
Valkyrie got to her knees, started looking around for that damn gun again.
Skulduggery yelled as he was thrown across the room. He hit the TV and glass broke, and he pulled the blinds from the window, and the wolf pounced, pinning him to the floor. It slashed, again and again, and Skulduggery cried out. In the moonlight Valkyrie could see the ferocity with which it struck, its claws tearing through his clothes, raking against his ribs.
She flicked her wrist and shadows wrapped round the wolf’s neck, hauling it backwards, but she could feel the sheer strength that fought against her and could do nothing to stop it from tearing free. Its yellow eyes found her.
She bolted, sprinting back into the bedroom, the wolf on her heels. She used the air to smash herself through the window, the glass jabbing at her clothes, but at least now she was outside, falling through space, and the wolf—
—the wolf slammed into her and she lost control of the air and they spun as they fell, the wolf snapping at her, its claws trying to cut through her jacket. The wolf hit the ground with a yelp and they separated, with Valkyrie bouncing away from it and rolling across the courtyard. The wolf stood, shook itself to clear its head, and by the time it looked back at Valkyrie she was already running.
She didn’t hear any. Instead, she heard music.
Staying low, she ran to the other side of the roof. A little bit further on, a line of people waited to gain entry to a brightly lit nightclub, their laughter mingling with the deep beats of the music that throbbed into the night. To a bloodthirsty werewolf cheated of its first meal of the evening, Valkyrie reckoned it would look like an irresistible invitation to feast.
And there it was, concealed in the darkness of the alley across the street. She glimpsed it moving slowly, slipping in and out of shadow. She ran to the edge of the roof and the wind lifted her high over the passing cars. She needed another buffet to carry her all the way across, but she landed on her feet right where she was aiming for. She hurried to the side and peered down. The wolf was directly beneath her. That tranq gun would have really come in handy from this position.
Her finger twitched. To use the shadows from up here, she’d really have to go straight for a killing blow. Anything less would just make the wolf mad, maybe spur it into slaughtering a few people. But she didn’t want to kill it. Not like this. Not if there were any other choices to make.
And then the wolf charged across the street.
Valkyrie cursed, flung herself after it, angling through the air until she was on an intercept course. A few people were screaming by now and she propelled herself to ground level, curled up right before she hit the wolf. The impact knocked the breath out of her and she sprawled across the road. She heard screams and shouts, glimpsed faces and saw headlights and then a bus hit the wolf and braked, veered, its back end swinging round and crunching into Valkyrie.
Once more she flew backwards off her feet, the world silent all around her.
She hit the ground. Noise rushed to her ears and she bounced and tumbled way too fast to stop. She was aware that her chin was tucked into her chest and her arms were covering her head.
That was good. It meant she wasn’t dead yet.
Her tumbling slowed and she used the momentum to push herself to her feet. The bus hadn’t tipped over, thank God. It was parked diagonally across the road, and there were people running about and shouting at each other. She was blocked from view, halfway down the dark street. Her thoughts were returning, too, the more her head cleared. She remembered fur, and fangs. Something growled ahead of her.
Oh, yeah. The werewolf.
She couldn’t see it. Everything between her and the lights of