Last Stand of Dead Men. Derek Landy
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“Not that I can remember. Whenever Madame Mist was around, I didn’t go near the three of them.”
“Three?”
“Sorry?”
“You said the three of them.”
“Yes. The Torment and Madame Mist and the other guy.”
“What other guy?”
“I don’t know who he was.”
“Do you remember what he looked like?”
“Sure. He was … well, he was regular height. Might have been taller. Or maybe below average. But anyway, his hair was … there. I think. He had a … face …”
“Do you remember anything specific about him?”
Scapegrace furrowed his brow. “It’s like … it’s on the tip of my tongue, but …”
“Don’t worry,” Valkyrie said. “We’ve been hearing a lot of that lately.”
“Would you be willing to sit down with a Sensitive?” Skulduggery asked. “They can enter your mind and might be able to lift that block.”
“My mind?” said Scapegrace. “No. God, no. That’s the only original part of me I have left.”
“We need to know who that man is.”
“Ask Madame Mist. They were always together. But no psychic is going rooting around in my brainspace, you got that? I have a secret identity to protect.”
Valkyrie frowned. “What secret identity?”
Scapegrace went pale. “None. No secret identity.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about?”
Thrasher grabbed something from behind the bar and hurried over. “Um, Valkyrie, I don’t want to distract you or anything but, uh, this came for you …”
He handed Valkyrie an envelope addressed to the pub, but with her name on top. She opened it, unfolded the letter halfway and read.
“It’s from Cassandra Pharos,” she told Skulduggery. “She’s had a new vision. She wants us to go over there tonight. There’s no date, but … when did this arrive?”
“Yesterday,” said Thrasher.
Valkyrie frowned. “So are we late?”
“We’re dealing with a Sensitive who can see into the future,” Skulduggery said. “She knew when you’d read that. She means tonight.”
Valkyrie opened the letter fully. Her frown deepened. “She says say hello to the vampire for her. What does that mean?”
“Oh, yes,” Skulduggery said. “I’ve been meaning to tell you …”
That was a rule Valkyrie introduced right after Caelan had tried to kill her. It wasn’t possible to obey it at all times, of course – there were occasions when talking about vampires was sadly necessary – but for the most part they avoided the subject whenever possible. It wasn’t that Valkyrie had developed a phobia about them, either. She wasn’t scared. The fact of the matter was that she’d fallen into the arms of a gorgeous, brooding vampire, and he’d revealed himself to be a possessive, obsessive psycho.
The reason she didn’t talk about vampires wasn’t simply because of the sheer embarrassment of it all.
And now here she was, accompanying Skulduggery to Faircourt Flats, where vampires were all anybody ever talked about.
To the best of her knowledge, the situation here was unique. The ordinary tenants of the flats provided a constant supply of blood for Moloch and his pack, and in return the vampires kept the area clean from drugs and crime. Moloch’s apartment was on the thirteenth floor, and it was barely furnished. Deep grooves carved the walls. Moloch himself sat in the throne that was his couch, wearing tracksuit bottoms and a silver chain around his scrawny neck. His face was pockmarked but his skin was healthy. He must have fed recently. His eyes never left Valkyrie from the moment she stepped in the door.
“You killed Caelan,” he said.
“He died because of me,” Valkyrie clarified. “So what? You would have killed him yourself if it wasn’t for the vampire code.”
“Maybe,” Moloch said, “but I didn’t kill him, did I? You did. And so you’ve officially joined the ranks of the Fearless Vampire Killers, up there with Blade and Buffy and other anti-vampire propaganda. You must be so proud.”
“I didn’t want him to die.”
“I’m sure you did everything in your power to save him,” said Moloch, and looked at Skulduggery. “Is that why you brought her? To send a message or something? Is this your version of a sneaky little threat?”
Skulduggery shook his head. “Sneaky little threats are not my thing. I threatened someone once, but I was too subtle about it, so when it came time to throw him off the cliff, he looked awfully surprised. These days when I threaten someone I do it loud and blatant, just to make sure my point has been taken. It could be argued that Valkyrie is responsible for the death of a vampire, but how many have I killed over the years? Vampires die, Moloch, and it’s usually people like Valkyrie and me who are around to make sure it happens. May I sit?”
“The armchair’s for friends.”
“Do your friends ever wash? That cushion looks like someone congealed into it. I’ve changed my mind – I’ll stand. Thanks for the offer, though.”
“I didn’t offer.”
“But it’s the thought that counts and that’s the important thing. Moloch, you must know why I’m here.”
Moloch chewed on something. Valkyrie didn’t want to guess what it could be. “This war thing.”
“This war thing, exactly. We have a lot of trouble headed our way.”
“What’s this we business, pale-face?”
“We’re all in this together, I’m afraid.”
Moloch laughed. “We don’t have anything to do with you sorcerers. We keep to ourselves, we don’t bother no one, and no one bothers us.”
“And what if the Supreme Council takes over?” Skulduggery asked. “Do you think you’ll be able to continue with your peaceful co-existence? You know who’s one of the driving forces behind the Supreme Council? Grand Mage Wahrheit. And you know how much he loves you bloodsucking types.”
Moloch scratched himself. “Looks like I’ll just have to cross my fingers and hope you wand-waving types save the day at the last minute, then.”
Skulduggery shrugged. “And if we fail?”
“We’re all screwed.”
“You could help make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Moloch laughed again. “This is rich, this is. You people hate us. You despise us. Most of you don’t even rate us as anything above animal.”
“How about we change that? I’ve come to you with a proposition.”
“This’ll be good.”
“We’ll help you with your serum supplies.