Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 10 - 12. Derek Landy
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Omen was confused. Was magic water or wind?
“It comes to us from the Source and it seeps into our universe,” Miss Gnosis said. “How much of our reality has been defined by magic? How much mortal technology is dependent on the energies it produces?”
Omen cracked one eye open. It was Gall. Gall and his musical nostrils preventing Omen from finding his centre or whatever it was he was supposed to be finding. He frowned. Was it his centre he was looking for? Was it something else? Had he missed it? He probably hadn’t been paying attention. He was always doing that.
“Once we respect magic,” Miss Gnosis was saying, her own eyes closed, “truly respect it and everything it can do … only then can we possibly hope to direct it, however briefly, to our own ends.”
Omen looked around. Everyone had their eyes shut. They had weird looks on their faces, like they were close to inner peace. He wondered if they were, or if they were just faking it.
“The Surge that you will experience in four or five years’ time – maybe six, maybe three – that’s just the beginning of your journey to becoming a true sorcerer.” Miss Gnosis smiled gently, though only Omen could see. “You have wonders ahead of you, experiences you have not yet even imagined. But first comes work, and preparation and, most of all, patience. I’m going to count backwards from ten now. The closer I get to one, the more alert you will feel, until you open your eyes and you’re fully awake and ready to take on the rest of the day.”
She started counting down, and Omen yawned. He swivelled his head as he did so, and found Jenan Ispolin staring straight at him.
Omen snapped his head back round and squeezed his eyes shut, very possibly the worst, most suspicious thing he could do under the circumstances. He wondered if Jenan was still looking at him. He cracked an eye open, turned slightly.
Yep, still looking. This was not good.
Miss Gnosis reached one, and everyone else opened their eyes and started getting to their feet. Omen’s left foot had pins and needles that took him by surprise as he stood. He stumbled but Never caught him, steadied him. He shot him a look of thanks and Never sighed and rolled his eyes.
“We all live hectic lives,” Miss Gnosis said. “Some of you live more hectic lives than others.” At this, everyone chuckled and glanced at Auger, who looked around innocently. “Take a moment out of every day to close your eyes and just … feel. Experience what it is to be you. Experience the moment. Experience happiness. That’s where true magic lies.”
She clapped her hands gently, signalling the end of class.
Omen tried engaging Never in conversation, but he was already heading out of the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Omen saw Jenan coming for him, fists clenched by his sides. Omen tried smiling. It didn’t work.
And then Auger stepped between them.
“Hey, Jenan,” he said, and Jenan froze, uncertainty flickering across his features.
“Hi,” Jenan responded, like it was a trick question.
“Have you decided?” Auger asked. “What discipline are you going to specialise in? Do you know?”
“Uh …”
“I’m thinking Energy Thrower,” Auger said. “Ergokinesis, I mean. I do like exploding things. Or maybe Enhancement, maybe try to be the next Mr Bliss. What about you? Or Omen, how about you?”
“I … don’t know,” said Omen. “Maybe a … a Signum Linguist? I’ve always liked the languages.”
Auger looked genuinely surprised. “Really? You?”
“They’re pretty cool,” Omen said defensively. “You can do anything if you master them, like the Supreme Mage.”
“Well, yeah,” said Auger, “but it probably took her decades to even get the basics down.” Auger thought about it some more as Omen started to go red, and then he shrugged. “Although, to be honest, if anyone could do it, Omen, it’d be you. You’ve always been able to focus, you know? Better than I ever could.”
Omen tried not to look astonished as Auger turned back to Jenan. “What about you?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” Jenan said gruffly. “Ergokinetic, maybe. I don’t know. I’ve got a lot of options. My father says I’m gifted.”
Auger nodded. “And he should know, right? As a Grand Mage and all, he should know.”
“Well, of course,” said Jenan, adopting the tone he always adopted when talking about how important his family was. “If there’s anyone who has the undisputed experience to spot a gifted sorcerer, it’s – excuse me.”
He took out his buzzing phone, and his eyes widened when he read the message.
Auger shot a quick glance at Omen. “Jenan? You OK there, buddy?”
“What?” Jenan mumbled, then blinked and pressed his phone into his chest, protecting the screen. “Yes. I’m fine. I have to go.”
He walked quickly out, barging into Omen without even meaning to. Now the room was empty save for the Darkly boys.
“What was that about?” Auger asked, keeping his voice low.
“Don’t know,” said Omen. “Did you see who it was from?”
Auger frowned. “Who what was from? I’m talking about Jenan coming over like he was about to rip your head off.”
“Oh,” said Omen. “I’m not sure. He doesn’t really like me.”
“I know that,” said Auger. “Everyone knows that. But any particular reason he’d want to rip your head off today?”
“It’s a Wednesday?”
“Actually, it’s Thursday.”
“Aw, man,” said Omen, grabbing his bag. “I’m missing maths again. I have to go.”
Auger laughed and waved him away, but, instead of turning right to go to maths class, Omen turned left, following Jenan as he hurried towards the dorms.
He managed to stay unseen – largely because Jenan seemed far too preoccupied to check behind him. He watched Jenan go into his room and sneaked towards the door as voices were raised inside. There was movement and Omen flattened himself against the wall, eyes wide, mouth open, nowhere to hide, as Jenan shoved his room-mate out into the corridor.
“I’m sick!” his room-mate complained, clad in his pyjamas. “The nurse told me to stay in bed!”
“I need privacy,” Jenan snapped, pushing him further away as Omen slid along the wall behind him, and slipped into the room. It was bigger than his own, even though it only had two beds. Omen dived to the floor, crawled under the first bed and waited.
Jenan ignored his room-mate’s curses and walked back in, slamming the door after him. Omen held his breath as he watched Jenan’s feet pace up and down. He heard the tapping of a phone, and, a moment later, someone teleported into the room. Omen peered at stylish shoes.
“Mr Nero,” said Jenan. He sounded nervous. Scared. This made Omen happy. “Good to … good to see you again.”
“Name’s just Nero. No mister attached.” The Teleporter sounded impatient. Angry, even. “Did anyone notice you sneak off?”
“No. No chance. What, um, what’s up?”
A slight silence followed, and Omen risked a peek and saw Jenan blush. He could only imagine the withering look Nero must have been giving him.
“What’s up?” Nero echoed, starting to walk around the room. “I’ll tell you what’s up. You let a spy into our little meeting, Jenan. Those stupid gold masks of yours could end up costing us everything.”
Jenan’s