The Dying of the Light (13 page)

Stephanie blinked. “You don’t think
that’s
relevant?”

“He’s not a kaiju, is he? Not technically. He’s just a giant ape.”

“Where does Valkyrie enter into all this?” Skulduggery asked.

“Ah, yeah, right, OK, so there we were, me and Sharon, and we were fighting these people made from broccoli, which I’m pretty sure was a dream nod to a Warren Ellis comic, and then Rodan came thundering towards us and it all looked bad, it looked like we were about to die, and then the ground, like, exploded, and there was this … this thing … with all these tentacles, bursting up and grabbing Rodan, and it threw him away, over the skyscrapers. And then it turned to me, and I couldn’t see a face, but I heard its voice, and it was Valkyrie. She called my name and said, ‘Help me.’ And then I woke up.”

“That’s it?” Stephanie asked, frowning.

“Well,” Finbar said, “there was a bit more action with the Fiery Phoenix and some mechs, but I don’t think you’d be interested in any of that unless you’re a big anime fan. Are you?”

“I meant,” Stephanie said, “is that it as far as Valkyrie’s concerned?”

“Oh,” Finbar said. “Yeah, it is.”

“Then I must be missing something. You had a dream where you were fighting Godzilla and you heard Valkyrie talking. You’re not saying it’s a premonition, are you? Because there’s no such thing as Godzilla, and you’re not a Power Ranger.”

“Not a premonition, no. But I think Valkyrie was trying to communicate with me.”

“How do you know it wasn’t just another part of the dream?” asked Stephanie.

Finbar answered her frown with one of his own. “Because I’m a psychic. I know the difference. I usually know the difference. Sometimes I know the difference. I’m sure it was her, that’s what I’m trying to say.”

“But Valkyrie’s gone,” said Stephanie. “If you heard her voice, that was Darquesse.”

“But why would Darquesse be asking for my help?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” said Stephanie. “Maybe it was just part of the dream.”

“It
was
part of the dream,” Finbar said. “And it was also Valkyrie trying to communicate.”

“How sure are you?” Skulduggery asked.

“Relatively,” Finbar said.

Skulduggery took Finbar’s arm. “Come with me,” he said, leading him out of the lobby.

“But my Doc Martens …”

“You can pick them up in a minute.” Skulduggery pushed open a door, made sure the room was empty, and closed it once Finbar and Stephanie were both inside. He pulled out his phone, dialled and put it on speaker.

Cassandra Pharos answered. “You just can’t stay away from me, can you?”

“Be warned, Cassandra, you’re on speaker.”

“Oh, phooey.”

“I’m here with Stephanie and Finbar.”

“Good morning, Steph. Finbar, what has you up this early on a weekday?”

Finbar frowned. “It’s a weekday?”

“Valkyrie came to him in a dream,” Skulduggery said. “She said ‘help me’ and disappeared.”

“I see,” Cassandra said. “Finbar, it was really a communication? You’re not getting confused again, are you?”

“I’m sure,” Finbar said. “The TV wasn’t even on this time.” He glanced at Stephanie. “Last time I thought someone was contacting me, it was William Shatner.” He looked back at the phone. “But this time I’m sure, Cassie. It was her. It was Valkyrie.”

“How would Valkyrie even
know
how to possess someone?” Stephanie asked. “If the dream was real, how do we know it’s not someone pretending to be her? Either a Sensitive or Darquesse herself? Maybe they want to lie to us or distract us or just spy on us. We don’t know it’s Valkyrie. Valkyrie’s gone.”

“I’m not entirely convinced of that,” said Cassandra. “There is a possibility that Valkyrie could merely be subdued, in the same way that Darquesse was when Valkyrie was in control. If that’s the case, it’s entirely reasonable to assume that she’s diverting some of Darquesse’s power to contact us without Darquesse even being aware of it.”

“But Valkyrie doesn’t know how,” Stephanie said.

“She knows everything Darquesse knows,” said Skulduggery. “And Darquesse learns, adapts, and acquires new abilities at a remarkable rate.”

“Is this what you think,” Stephanie asked, “or what you hope? You’re all acting like Valkyrie is still there to be saved. I’m here to tell you, as the only one who could possibly know, that there
is
no Valkyrie any more. I know how strong Darquesse is. She would have swallowed Valkyrie whole.”

“Is that what you think or what you hope?” Skulduggery murmured. She glared at him as he spoke into the phone. “If it is Valkyrie, and I’m not saying it is, how do we use that to help her?”

“I don’t know,” said Cassandra. “There are two distinct viewpoints within her mind, and yet they’re the
same
personality. Theoretically we could push one aspect down, suppress it, using some of the techniques we employed with Argeddion. But we’d need some very powerful Sensitives to do it.”

“This is insane,” said Stephanie. “If we go after her with the intention of subduing her, she’ll kill us. We agreed on this, Skulduggery. We agreed that if I had the shot, I’d take it.”

“If we have no other choice.”

“We don’t.”

“We have this,” he said. “This is a choice. If that
is
Valkyrie, she’s reaching out to us.”

“You’re putting the world in danger for someone who’s already gone.”

“I’m not giving up on her unless I absolutely have to.”

“Even if it works, what then? Darquesse is pushed back down into the dark corners of Valkyrie’s mind. So what? She’ll rise to the top. She’ll emerge. She’ll take over. Just like she’s done before. If she can be saved, then the only way to do it would be to do what was done to Argeddion. Push everything down. Repress everything, and rewrite her personality. Give her a new mortal identity and send her away where she’ll never bother anyone ever again.”

“She could be right,” Cassandra said quietly. “That might be the only way to save Valkyrie’s life.”

Skulduggery didn’t answer.

ife as a Monster Hunter was not without its perks.

There was the opportunity to travel, for one – though as a Teleporter, travel was pretty much Fletcher’s thing anyway. But then there were other perks, too, like being part of an internationally recognised and respected team of adventurers. Although they weren’t quite as recognised and respected as Fletcher had been led to believe. Most of the sorcerers they spoke to around the world had only a passing notion of who they actually were, being more familiar, in fact, with the books they wrote than their actual real-life escapades.

Gracious O’Callahan – the short, strong one with the muscles and the T-shirts – and Donegan Bane – the tall, dapper one with the skinny jeans and the skinny ties – spent most of their time signing autographs and posing for photos while Dai Maybury stroked his beard and looked on with envy and Fletcher was ignored altogether.

The reason they’d got as far as they had in their search for the renegade sorcerers had nothing to do with the Monster Hunters at all, and everything to do with the two men who accompanied them. Dexter Vex, he of the chiselled abs and the scuffed boots, and Saracen Rue, of the winning smile and the designer suits, had a reputation that all but guaranteed straight answers to their many questions. The Dead Men were taken seriously wherever they went.

And now they were back in a small town in Ireland with a new set of targets – the Remnants. Even Gracious had looked apprehensive at the idea of taking on those sneaky little bodysnatchers. Vex and Saracen, of course, hadn’t batted an eyelid, and gradually their sense of calm had spread throughout the group, and the casual nature of the team returned. Unfortunately.

“I remember
my
first girlfriend,” said Gracious as they prowled the town’s quiet back streets.

“Stephanie is not my first,” Fletcher responded.

Gracious ignored him. “A farmer’s daughter, she was, though back then nearly every girl was a farmer’s daughter. Or a farmer. She had hair as long as rope, and a nose. All her eyes were blue and she had a smile like a radiant hole in the ground, with teeth. God, she was beautiful.”

“She sounds terrifying,” said Donegan.

“Hush, you. I will hear no bad word spoken of your sister.”

“Stephanie is not my first,” Fletcher repeated. “I really don’t need any advice.”

“Lads,” said Gracious, “any words of wisdom for Fletcher here?”

The others closed in.

“Honesty is, honestly, the best policy,” said Saracen. “But when honesty doesn’t work, lie, and lie convincingly.”

“Treat her right and with respect,” said Vex from up ahead. “Even when it ends, you want to remain friends.”

Donegan pondered. “My advice would be to go for someone better than you are. Stops you from getting complacent.”

“Grow a beard,” said Dai.

Fletcher frowned back at him. “Sorry?”

“A beard,” Dai said. “Women love beards. Grow one like mine. Mine is a manly beard.”

“I suppose it is kind of … manly.”

“I’ve had it since I was twelve.”

“You must have been a very hairy child.”

“The hairiest.”

“Hold on a second,” said Donegan, waving around a forked branch. “My divining rod is picking up something.”

“It’s not a divining rod,” Saracen said. “It’s a twig. You broke it off a tree.”

“It does work, though,” Gracious said. “It’s not one hundred percent accurate, it doesn’t lead you straight to the source of magic, but it gets you into the general area.”

“This way.” Donegan led them down a narrow alley. “Something’s close. Very close.”

“How sure are you?” Vex asked.

“Pretty sure,” Donegan called back. “This isn’t an exact science.”

“It’s not even
remotely
a science,” said Saracen.

“Aha!” Gracious said, picking up speed and passing Donegan. He pointed to two chocolate bar wrappers as they skipped along on the breeze.

“I’m missing something,” said Fletcher.

“One of the strongest urges a Remnant has once it takes a new host is to sate its appetites,” Vex told him. “It needs sensation. It needs to experience pleasure or pain. Food is an instant source of pleasure.”

“So all these sweet wrappers …”

“Classic signs of a Remnant possession. Look. More.”

They followed the trail to a loose pile of wrappers beneath an open window. Fletcher peered in. A small office with a single desk and cheap trophies on a shelf.

“A dojo,” said Saracen.

Fletcher looked back. “What?”

“A martial arts school. Looks like our Remnant might be an instructor.”

They walked round the corner to the street entrance. It was an unimpressive building with a cheap sign showing a badly-drawn man executing a flying kick. Fletcher followed the others inside. They passed a framed photograph of a man with a ponytail in a black karate uniform. The name under it was Noonan.

They pushed through another set of doors, entered the hall. Parents sat at one end while their kids stood to attention in the main space. The uniforms they wore were black and red. Only the man in charge, the one called Noonan, had a black belt around his waist.

A teenaged student hurried to the top of the class and faced him. The student settled into a fighting stance, and at Noonan’s nod he stepped in with a right punch. Noonan moved, blocking with a quick exhalation, and then he pivoted, shouting out a “
Ki-yah!
” as his fist sank into the student’s side. The student dropped to his knees, wheezing.

Noonan swung round to address the students and their parents. “A basic defence against a straight punch!” he announced. “Now I will demonstrate a defence against a knife attack!”

He gestured to another student, and Fletcher saw the trepidation in the girl’s eyes as she picked up a rubber training knife and approached the mat. Noonan said a few words to her, the student nodded, and Noonan readied himself.

A curt nod to the student, who stepped in with a wild slash. Noonan dodged back and kicked, his foot connecting with the student’s wrist. The knife went flying, and Noonan continued the technique with a series of whirling kicks that sent the student slamming back into the wall.

“Is this guy always so rough?” Saracen whispered to a parent.

The parent glowered. “Every time. He’s a bully and a thug.”

“Questions?” Noonan said loudly. “No? No one? Our system speaks for itself, doesn’t it?” He laughed. There were a few uneasy chuckles from his students. “But anyone can do it, regardless of age or fitness level. I can teach any student to defend themselves and their loved ones. Would one of the parents like to volunteer for a demonstration? No? Are you a little nervous of being shown up in front of your kids?” He laughed again.

Vex walked forward.

“A volunteer!” Noonan said. “Give this brave soul a round of applause, ladies and gentlemen!”

Everyone clapped. Fletcher joined in.

“I’m just going to demonstrate some simple defences against a right punch,” Noonan told him. “I’ll go easy on you, don’t worry! Just take your shoes off and – no, just remove your shoes. Take your shoes off when you’re on the mat. Take them—”