Death Bringer. Derek Landy
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“He’s still in the area.”
A car sped by on the road outside the cemetery, Dragonclaw at the wheel.
They ran for the Bentley. Valkyrie had barely buckled her seatbelt when Skulduggery jammed his foot on the accelerator and they shot forward. They got to the end of the road and turned, taking the corner so tight it was like the Bentley was on rails. Dragonclaw’s car, a black Hyundai, appeared through the windscreen. It overtook a van and swerved dangerously. The Bentley was gaining fast.
The Hyundai left the road, spinning its wheels as it slid sideways, and then took off down a narrow lane, careening from wall to wall. Skulduggery braked, changed gears, swung smoothly into the lane in pursuit. The walls whipped by on either side and Valkyrie cringed, expecting the wing mirrors to be snapped off. Skulduggery, of course, would never allow that to happen.
Dragonclaw wasn’t as skilful. The Hyundai hit a broken pallet that had been discarded in a pile of rubbish and it jumped slightly, its left side screeching against the wall. He pulled away too sharply and hit the right wall, jamming the Hyundai the width of the lane. As the Bentley braked, Valkyrie could see Dragonclaw clambering over the seat and tumbling out of the car on the far side.
She got out, Skulduggery already moving for the Hyundai. They both used the air to jump the ruined car, but when they landed on the other side, Dragonclaw was gone. Valkyrie started to run, but Skulduggery reached out, grabbed her arm.
“He must have known we’d go to the Temple,” Skulduggery said. She realised he had his gun in his hand. “He must have taken into account the chance that we’d find him.”
Valkyrie frowned. “You think this is a trap?”
“I don’t know,” he said, “but I try not to underestimate my opponents, no matter how ridiculous their beards.”
A man walked into the lane from the other end. Valkyrie tensed. He walked towards them slowly, taking his time. Wary of distractions, Valkyrie splayed her left hand, doing her best to read the air. If someone dropped from the buildings above, hopefully she’d notice the disruption to the air currents before they landed on her head.
The man walked closer. He wore a frayed coat and old, ill-fitting clothes. He was unshaven, and needed a haircut. He was holding something – a photograph. When he was twenty paces away, he stopped, examined the photo, then looked up.
“Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain,” he said. His accent was thick, Eastern European, and he sounded bored. “I’ve been paid to kill you.” He put the photograph away.
“Interesting,” Skulduggery said. “Does it make any difference, the fact that I’m pointing a gun at you?”
The man shrugged.
“He doesn’t seem worried,” Valkyrie murmured.
“That’s never a good sign,” Skulduggery murmured back. He spoke louder. “We have no quarrel with you. We just want the man who hired you – we want Dragonclaw.”
“It doesn’t matter if you have a quarrel with me or not,” the man replied, raising his hand. “I’m going to kill you both.”
“Happy to disappoint,” Skulduggery said, and pulled the trigger.
The bullet hit the man in the neck, opening up a wound from which burst dazzling yellow light. He clamped a hand over the wound, shutting off the glare, and when he removed it, the bullet hole had sealed.
“You’re a Warlock,” Skulduggery said. “I thought your kind were extinct.”
For the first time, the man smiled. “Almost. Not quite. We’re growing stronger every day.”
“What are you doing here? You’re a mercenary now, is that it? Being paid to kill people?”
“This is a special favour,” the Warlock replied. “When it is over, when I am told my services are no longer required, I will return home.”
“What are you getting out of this? What is Dragonclaw doing for you in return? Or maybe it’s not Dragonclaw. Maybe it’s the Necromancers as a whole. What do they want?”
“I can’t see the point of telling you, seeing as how you will be dead soon.”
“What do you know of the Passage?” Skulduggery asked.
The Warlock shook his head. “I don’t know what that is, and we have talked enough.”
His hand bubbled and boiled, and when he thrust it forward, his palm burst open and a stream of yellow light erupted from beneath. It hit Valkyrie’s left shoulder and she spun, cursing, her shoulder tingling then going numb, and by the time she found her balance again, her whole arm was dead.
Skulduggery had used those few seconds to launch himself at the Warlock. His hat flew off as he slammed his forehead into the man’s face, followed it with three sharp elbows and then clubbed the man with the butt of his gun. The Warlock reached out, taking hold of him and launching him through the air.
Valkyrie whipped her good hand at the Warlock, and a trail of shadows sought the man out. They slashed across his face, tearing skin. More light burst from the wounds. Valkyrie whipped her hand back, pouring her magic into the next strike, aiming to take the man’s head from his body. But her opponent ducked, moving fast, and another beam of light escaped from the jagged hole in his palm. Valkyrie jerked away, the light narrowly missing her, and the man was upon her, fingers closing around her throat. The Warlock hauled her up, slammed her against the wall with one hand. His other hand, the hand with the hole in it, was inches from Valkyrie’s face.
It began to bubble again.
The Warlock straightened up, held his hand out towards Valkyrie. She swept her arm up and a sudden wind took her off her feet as the yellow light exploded, lancing the space where she had just been standing. She spun through the air, hit the ground and tumbled, finally rolling to her feet. The Warlock wasn’t looking so calm any more. He cradled his wounded hand close to his chest, flexing the fingers. He was pale, his jaw clenched. Using that kind of magic was taking its toll.
Valkyrie’s left arm was tingling now as feeling returned to it. She’d probably only get one chance at ending this fight, and she had to seize it. She broke into a sprint, barrelling right at the Warlock. She saw the man’s other hand too late, saw how the skin bubbled, and though she tried to twist out of the way, she wasn’t fast enough. The yellow light filled her vision and she lost all bearing.
She wasn’t running any more, she knew that. She wasn’t doing anything any more. She blinked, saw the sky above. She was lying on her back. Her body was numb. Unresponsive.
She heard footsteps. The Warlock. Walking slowly. Dragging his feet. Getting closer. He came into view. His hair clung tight to his scalp. He was sweating. He held his hands away from his body, the fingers curled painfully. He looked weak. He looked drained. He looked hungry.
With much effort, the Warlock straddled Valkyrie, sitting on her belly, a bent knee on either side. The wounds on his hands were trying to close, but they were too great. The Warlock didn’t move for the longest time. He was gathering his strength. Valkyrie tried to move, but she couldn’t. She tried to