Death Bringer. Derek Landy
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“You, Valkyrie, are my sweet agony.”
She held up a hand. “OK, I’m really going to have to stop you there. You say one more thing that sounds like it’s ripped from the pages of a really bad gothic romance and I’m out of here, are we clear? You’ll have talked yourself out of ten minutes with me. Is that what you want?”
Caelan shook his head.
“Good doggy. And never call me your sweet agony ever again.”
“The good news,” the woman said, “is that we have established a pattern. If our calculations are correct, you should start to feel strong again sometime in the next twenty minutes, and this strength should stay with you for anywhere between three and four hours.”
The woman had an annoying tendency to wait for some indication that Melancholia had heard and understood, so Melancholia gave her a nod. “Four hours,” she echoed.
“You may experience some dizziness and some fatigue during those four hours, and if you do, don’t worry about it. It should pass within moments.” The woman’s name was Adrienna Shade. She was powerful, and intelligent, and had risen quickly through the Necromancer ranks. There had been rumours that she was to be made a Cleric, a virtually unheard of promotion for one so young. Melancholia used to admire her. But that was before Craven’s experiment, before the Surge. Now Adrienna Shade meant nothing to her. Melancholia glanced around the room. None of these people meant anything to her.
“But in four hours’ time,” Shade continued, “you’ll grow weak again. Very weak. We’ll have IV drips and oxygen standing by in case you sink to dangerous levels. Whatever happens, we’ll be ready for it.”
Melancholia doubted that very much, but she smiled and thanked her nonetheless, and Shade put away her charts and instruments, and left the chamber.
“Cleric Craven,” Melancholia said, “is it OK for me to be alone for the next few hours?”
He frowned. “We need to conduct more tests, Melancholia.”
“But this is a lot to take in, and I think it would really help me if I had the night to myself. I’ll submit to all the tests in the morning, I promise.”
Craven sighed irritably. He had a tendency to get irritated very easily. “Yes, very well. The night, then. Tomorrow, tests.”
“Thank you, Cleric,” Melancholia said, and bowed her head. She knew Craven responded well to things like that.
The Cleric walked from the room, ushering the guards out before him. The door closed, and Melancholia allowed herself a smile. Twenty minutes, and she’d feel that power again. Twenty minutes, and she could have herself a little fun.
“Hello,” Valkyrie said. “You’re awake, then. Did you have a good sleep? Are you rested?”
The baby looked at her and said nothing. Valkyrie took one of the bottles from the side table, teased it down to Alice’s mouth until she started feeding. Her phone rang.
It was Fletcher. “Are your folks still out?”
“Yep. Me and the kid are downstairs. Want to come over?”
“Be right there,” he said, and hung up.
She looked at Alice. “Your sister is a bad person,” she whispered. “Two-timing is not an admirable quality in anyone.”
Fletcher appeared beside her. He peered at the baby.
“Can it do any tricks yet?” he asked.
“I’m still working on it. Want to hold her?”
“God, no,” Fletcher said, laughing. “I’d drop it.”
“It’s not an it, it’s my sister. Go on, hold her. You won’t make a mess of it, I swear. Only an idiot could drop a baby.”
“You always say I am an idiot.”
“But you’re a special kind of idiot. Here.”
She passed Alice into his arms, and he stood there, rigid, a look of intense concentration on his face.
“I’ve got to support the head, right?” he asked. “And the rest of the body, obviously, but mostly the head. The head’s the important bit. Am I doing it right?”
“You’re doing fine.”
“Do you think it likes me?”
“Honestly, I think she has more taste than that. The baby’s like me – she tolerates you.” She gave him the bottle, waited until Alice was feeding again, then stepped back. “Want a cup of coffee?”
“I’d better not, I’m holding a baby.”
“Suit yourself.” Valkyrie went to the kitchen, dumped a spoonful of coffee into a mug while she waited for the water to boil. She looked up at the window, tried to peer through the blackness on the other side, but all she could see was her own face staring back at her.
Fletcher walked in on stiff legs. “Haven’t dropped it yet.”
“You’re a natural,” Valkyrie said, smiling and turning away from the window.
“Do you think so?”
“Oh, yeah. All you need is to wipe that petrified look off your face and you’ll be inundated with babysitting jobs.”
“In that case, I think I’ll keep this petrified look, thank you very much.”
She poured the boiling water into the mug and gave it a few quick stirs, but just as she was about to take a sip, they heard a noise coming from upstairs.
They froze. Fletcher looked at her.
“I thought we were alone,” he said softly.
“We were,” Valkyrie replied. She put down the mug. “Stay here.”
Fletcher shook his head, holding Alice out to her. “You stay here. I can teleport up and back again before whoever it is even blinks.”
“It’s my house. I’m in charge. I’m going up. If it’s trouble, take the baby to the twins, then get back here immediately and help.”
“Valkyrie, for God’s sake—”
“We’re not arguing about this.”
She walked past him, out of the kitchen and into the hall. The lights were on upstairs. It was brightly lit and warm and welcoming. She climbed the stairs. Shadows curled around her right hand.
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