Last Stand of Dead Men. Derek Landy
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a witch?”
She nodded.
“You’ll do fine, don’t worry. Witches are more afraid of you than you are of them.”
“I thought that was bees.”
He blinked. “You might be right. Yes, you are right. Bees are fine, witches are horrible. Always get those two mixed up.” He was wearing baggy jeans and a faded Star Wars T-shirt. Valkyrie imagined that he had a special nerd room at home where he kept all of his weird clothes that referenced old movies, and she imagined him standing in the middle of that room for hours, slowly rotating on the spot, an unsettling smile on his face. By contrast, Donegan Bane, a tall and slender Englishman, favoured sports coats and narrow ties with his skinny jeans.
He glared at Gracious. “I can’t believe you fell asleep.”
“I didn’t fall asleep.”
“Then do you know if she’s home or not?”
“I haven’t a clue,” Gracious admitted. “I fell asleep.”
Valkyrie had first met them only a few months earlier, but she felt she knew them well enough by now to know that, if given the opportunity, they would stand on this hill and bicker for hours. So she turned and walked down to the cottage, and after a moment they followed her.
They arrived at the door and Donegan knocked three times. They waited and the door was opened by a frowning girl.
“Hello,” Donegan said with a smile she didn’t return.
“Do you know what time it is?” the girl asked. Valkyrie judged her to be around her age, maybe seventeen or eighteen. She had pale skin and full lips and luxuriant red hair that framed her face.
“Why no,” Donegan replied as if it were a game. “What time is it?”
She scowled. “What do you want?”
“My name is Donegan Bane and this is my colleague Gracious O’Callahan – we’re Monster Hunters. We’re here with our associate Valkyrie Cain, and we were wondering if your grandmother was home.”
“You’re Monster Hunters?”
“Indeed we are. You’ve probably heard of us. Writers of Monster Hunting for Beginners,The Definitive Study of Were-Creatures, and The Passions of Greta Grey, our first work of romantic fiction.”
“And you want my grandmother?”
“If your grandmother is Dubhóg Ni Broin, yes.”
“Are you going to kill her?”
“I’m sorry? Oh, no! No, nothing like that. We just want to talk to her.”
“So you’re not going to kill her?”
“No,” Donegan said with a laugh. “I assure you, she’s quite safe.”
The girl’s eyes narrowed. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“We came here unarmed,” Donegan said cheerfully, and Gracious looked at him.
“You’re unarmed?” he asked, surprised.
“Yes,” Donegan said. “Aren’t you?”
“Well, I suppose so. Apart from my gun.”
Donegan glared at him. “What? Why did you bring a gun? I told you to come unarmed.”
“I thought you were joking.”
“Why would I be joking?”
“I don’t know, I thought that’s what made it funny.”
Donegan looked like he might strangle his partner, but then forced the smile back on his face and turned once again to the girl.
“I’m sorry, miss, I didn’t catch your name …?”
“Misery,” the girl answered, suspicious.
“Misery, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My friend here has many problems; he’s quite bright in his own way, but likes taking guns to inappropriate places. Let me assure you that we mean your grandmother no harm. We just want to talk to her.”
“Why?”
Valkyrie stepped forward before either of the Monster Hunters could make the situation worse. “We’re looking for a friend of ours. Maybe you’ve seen him? Tall? Skinny? Wears nice suits? Also he’s a skeleton? His name’s Skulduggery Pleasant and he’s wandered off on his own and we think your gran might know where he is.”
“Why would my grandmother know that?”
“Because he came to see her, and that’s the last we heard of him.”
“We don’t have much to do with sorcerers,” Misery said. “They don’t like us and we don’t like them. I don’t recall seeing your friend, either. What did you say he was? A zombie? A mummy?”
“A skeleton.”
“A skeleton, yeah. No, haven’t seen one of those in ages.”
“I think you’re lying,” Valkyrie said.
Misery smiled coldly. “What if I am? What are you going to do about it?”
“Whatever I have to.”
“Ah, there it is, the arrogance that my grandmother is always talking about. And what kind of sorcerer are you, then? Let me guess. Standing here, dressed all in black … Are they armoured clothes you’re wearing? They are, aren’t they? And that big ugly ring on your finger – that’s from that death magic thing, isn’t it? Necromancy? But you … you’re my age. You’re too young to have had the Surge. You’re probably still experimenting with your little sorcerer disciplines, like a good little girl. So I’d say you’re an Elemental. I’m right, amn’t I? See, witches don’t have disciplines. Real magic isn’t about choosing one thing over the other. Real magic is about opening yourself up to everything.”
“Yeah,” said Valkyrie. “That’s really interesting. Is your granny home? Could we talk to her?”
“She’s home,” said Misery. “She’s busy, though.”
“Doing what?”
“Witchy things.”
“Could we come in?”
“Nope.”
“We’re coming in, with or without your permission.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“No, you really wouldn’t.”
“I think,” Gracious said quickly, “that the wrong foot has been gotten off of. Misery, you seem to me to be a lovely girl, and I sense a sort of kindness in your eyes which reminds me of a newborn fawn, or the noble hedgehog. We’ve been looking for your grandmother for days now, and yesterday our dear friend Skulduggery went missing. We’re very worried, as you can imagine, and some of us, without naming any names, might be a little more short-tempered than usual.”
“I’m not short-tempered,” said Valkyrie.
“Then how did you know I was referring to you?”
“Because you pointed.”
“Getting back to the subject at hand, Misery, we would really appreciate it if you’d let us in. Please?”
Misery looked at him, but didn’t respond.
“Um,” said Gracious, “hello?”
“Quiet,” she said, “I’m thinking.” She chewed a plump lip, then sighed. “I don’t really get along with my grandmother. She’s stuck in her ways and … I look at her and she’s all withered and stuff and I don’t want to end up like that, you know? I don’t want to live in a cottage in