Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 7 – 9: The Darquesse Trilogy. Derek Landy
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drew closer to her bare skin.
Valkyrie bit Margaret’s face and Margaret turned and dragged Valkyrie across her hip and flipped her. Valkyrie slammed down on to a table, people jumping back and shouting, but all Valkyrie cared about was keeping that spike away from her face. Margaret pressed down. She was stronger than she looked.
The big man stepped in, tried to separate them, and Margaret jabbed him in the eye with her free hand. He fell back, cursing, and Valkyrie tried to get a knee between them. Margaret raised her up then slammed her down again, the table almost toppling, the spike almost nicking her chin, but now Valkyrie had one leg wrapped round Margaret’s head. She dragged the hand with the ring to one side, then hooked her other leg over her foot, caught Margaret in a triangle choke. People stood and stared. The only sounds were the music, the table rocking on its struts and the older woman’s strangled grunts.
Margaret heaved herself to one side and they both fell to the floor. But Valkyrie kept the choke on. Margaret’s face was bright red. She was sweating. Spittle flew from her lips. She was close to passing out. She brought her legs in, got her feet under her. Any second now. Any second now she was going to pass out. Margaret lifted Valkyrie off the ground. Any second. And then this frumpy, dowdy, middle-aged woman straightened her back, lifted Valkyrie high in the air, turned around, and dropped face down. Valkyrie hit the ground and her legs flew apart and Margaret rolled out, sucking in lungfuls of air.
Valkyrie focused on a shocked face staring at her. Poor Alan, frozen where he stood, probably vowing not to chat up another girl in a coffee shop ever again.
Still trying to get her breath back, Margaret grabbed Valkyrie’s leg, going for the ankle. Trying to find bare skin. There was a commotion, and then two men in luminous yellow jackets were there, pulling Valkyrie and Margaret to their feet. Guards.
Even as the Guard holding Valkyrie was telling everyone to just calm down, Margaret swung an elbow into her cop’s throat and ran, barging through the onlookers.
“I’m really sorry,” Valkyrie said as she turned and drove her knee between the legs of the cop holding her. He doubled over and she let him fall. The crowd parted for her as she hurried to the girl behind the counter. “Where are the security logs? I don’t have time to argue, just tell me where they are.”
“Backroom,” said the girl, her eyes wide. “To your left.”
Valkyrie rushed in, found the monitor hooked up to the CCTV. She clicked her fingers and fried the hard drive. Then she ran out into the street, scanning the faces of the people passing by until she saw Margaret’s scarf by an open door. Obviously a trap.
She crossed the street, passed through the door into what had once been a shop. Now it was just empty, with a ladder and a few tins of paint. There was a sound behind her and she turned. Margaret stepped in, a gun aimed directly at Valkyrie’s head.
“Do not raise your hands,” she said. “Keep them by your sides, away from your face. Those clothes of yours are bulletproof, I take it? Pretty fancy, but I suppose I should have expected that. Only the best for Skulduggery Pleasant’s favourite little pet.”
“Who are you?” Valkyrie asked, backing away slowly.
“You won’t care what my name is when you’re dead. I just want to say that I had planned to do this low-key. You wouldn’t have felt even the tiniest of pinpricks. And the poison? It wouldn’t have hurt. You’d have gone to sleep tonight and just not woken up in the morning. Painless. Subtle. But what happens instead? A fight in a coffee shop in front of dozens of witnesses. And cops! There were even cops!”
Wherever Valkyrie moved, that gun tracked her. “And you’re blaming me for this?”
“Yes, actually, I am. I’m a professional. I fly under the radar. A fight in a coffee shop is not under the radar. I have a reputation to maintain, for God’s sake. If I can’t take care of one teenage girl, what use am I?”
“Funny,” said a voice behind her, “that’s exactly what I was thinking.”
Margaret turned and a blade flashed. She dropped the gun, took a step and crumpled face down. Her last breath escaped her body and then she was completely still.
The woman standing over her wore boots, brown leather trousers and a brown leather waistcoat. She was blonde and pretty and her arms were strong, her shoulders wide. Tanith Low wiped the blood from her sword and smiled. “Hey, Val. Missed you.”
The fallen gun sped towards Valkyrie’s outstretched hand but a man in a suit and sunglasses shot out of the wall, snatching it before it reached her.
Shadows wrapped round Valkyrie’s fist but Billy-Ray Sanguine backed off.
“We’re not here to fight,” Tanith said, hands up. “Well, we are, but not here to fight you. Her, your would-be assassin there, that’s another matter entirely. Although you were pretty much taking care of business without us. Up until the end.”
“You sent me the text,” Valkyrie said.
“What are friends for?”
“You’re not my friend. You’re a Remnant.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not a good person,” Tanith said. “Well, hold on, no, actually that’s exactly what it means, but that’s no reason why we can’t still be mates. I miss talking to you, Val. I miss all the gossip. How’s Fletcher?”
“What do you want, Tanith?”
“Just to save your life, Val. Some Americans want you dead. Christophe Nocturnal and his funky little church of idiots demanded that this lovely lady be sent after you. Seems they didn’t appreciate you killing their gods.”
“What? That was years ago. They’re just getting around to revenge now?”
Tanith shrugged. “I think they might be lazy.”
“And how did you hear about it?”
“We were hired to protect you,” said Sanguine. “Someone over on Nocturnal’s side, and I ain’t sayin’ who, figured that the skeleton would hunt down whoever killed you, and whoever paid them, and everyone they knew, and probably their dogs and cats too for good measure, and this someone figured it just wasn’t worth the hassle and eventual death. So we were called to swoop in and save your little life. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“But none of that’s important,” Tanith said. “What’s important is that we’re back, Val, you and me. We heard what’s been happening with mortals getting magic. Need any help with that? I’m stronger and faster than I was before, and I was plenty strong and fast back then.”
“You can’t help, Tanith.”
“Sure I can help,” said Tanith. “Just point me at the bad guys.”
“You can’t help because you are a bad guy.”
“One of these days, you’re just going to have to get over that little fact.”
“If you want to come back, then come back. Come back to the Sanctuary, let the doctors figure out a way to cure you. I miss you.”
“I’m right here.”
“No, you’re not. You look like my friend and you sound like my friend but you’re not her. You’re someone else. Do you have any idea what that’s like, to look at a face you know so well and not actually recognise the person behind it? You used to say we were like sisters, Tanith. Prove it. Do this for me. Get cured.”
“There is no cure, Val. There’s no getting the Remnant out. It’s bonded to me now.”
“I miss you. Ghastly misses you.”
Sanguine slung an arm round Tanith’s shoulders. “And he can go on missin’ her. We are, in case you’ve failed to notice, what you might call an item.”
“Billy-Ray,” Tanith said gently, “don’t embarrass yourself.”