The Dying of the Light (38 page)

And then the Remnant was whole again, and her fingers closed round it, and she pulled her hand out.

It writhed and squirmed in her grip, and she almost lost it for a moment, but then she opened wide and forced it into her own mouth. She swallowed, felt it tearing at her throat. Then it was inside her, and she took it apart once more. The memories of all its previous hosts washed over her. Tanith’s were the most vivid.

Tanith lay at her feet. She was ruined. There was blood everywhere. Darquesse could sense her life about to leave her. Poor Tanith. She hadn’t wanted to hurt her. Not really. She knelt, placed her hand on Tanith’s cheek. She wasn’t at full power yet – not even close – but even so she knit those broken bones and repaired those failing organs and healed that flesh and that skin, and when she was done she stood up and almost blacked out.

She chuckled as she steadied herself against the wall. That could possibly be her last-ever act of kindness, and she would never be thanked for it. Typical.

don’t get it.”

There was a paused image on the screen, showing Valkyrie in the middle of a battle she didn’t remember. No, it wasn’t Valkyrie, it was Stephanie, and it was the Battle of Roarhaven. Around her, sorcerers fought Warlocks and Wretchlings in a frozen blur of violence and death.

“I don’t get it,” her dad said again. “What is it?”

Ice water flooded Valkyrie’s body. She was suddenly cold and sick and her head spun. No. No, no.

“When did you do this?” her mum said. “It looks real. It doesn’t even look like special effects. When did you do this? Who did this?”

The USB. Someone had given this to them. Valkyrie tried to speak. She couldn’t.

“Stephanie,” her dad said, “the stuff on this video … I’m sorry, I don’t understand what it is.” He gave a shaky laugh. “I mean, it looks real, for God’s sake. And the guy, the guy talking over it, he said you died. That you died saving us, saving the whole world.”

Valkyrie knew what she had to do. She had to grin, make a joke out of it, demand to see the footage, squeal in delight at how realistic the effects looked. She had to give herself time to come up with an excuse. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t say anything.

“He talked about Skulduggery Pleasant,” her dad continued. “Skulduggery Pleasant is that friend of Gordon’s. He was at the reading of the will.”

“You don’t forget a name like that,” her mum said.

Her dad shook his head. “No you don’t. What’s been going on, Steph? What have you been hiding from us? Gordon was mixed up with some shady characters, but I told him, I begged him, to keep all that craziness away from us. Away from you. For God’s sake, Steph, tell us what the hell is going on.”

“Dad,” she said, “I …”

Alice came in, saw Valkyrie and cheered and ran over. Instinctively, Valkyrie scooped her up, hugged her, her eyes wide, her blood still cold. Alice babbled and yapped excitedly, and eventually Valkyrie put her down.

“I have to make a phone call,” she said numbly.

Her mum shook her head. “Not until you—”

“I have to make a phone call,” she repeated, and left the room. She made two calls, actually, standing in the hall, her voice low and even. When she was done, she walked back into the kitchen, stood against the cupboard while her parents watched the video again. Every few seconds their eyes would drift up to look at her, and then return to the screen.

She heard a voice she knew from somewhere, asking a question. Kenny Dunne. The journalist. She heard her own voice saying things she’d never said. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Kenny spoke again. “I know plenty. These people call you Valkyrie, but I know you as Stephanie Edgley, eighteen years old, from Haggard, in north County Dublin. Recently left school and is considering college. According to your old teachers, you’re a bright girl who—”

There was a knock on the door, and her mum paused the video. Valkyrie left the room, coming back a few seconds later with Fergus. When they saw who it was, her parents relaxed.

“Now really isn’t a good time,” Valkyrie’s dad said.

“I know,” said Fergus. “I warned her. What did I say to you, Stephanie? I said it was a sickness. This whole thing was a sickness.”

“Wait,” her mum said, frowning, “what’s a sickness? Steph, you called him? Why? What does Fergus have to do with what’s on this video?”

“All that stuff Gordon wrote about,” said Fergus. “Sorcerers and monsters and magic. It’s real, as insane as it sounds.”

Both of her parents straightened up.

“Des,” he continued, “remember the old stories Granddad used to tell us? About the Last of the Ancients and all that? About how we were magic? Turns out he was telling the truth.”

Valkyrie’s dad took a long time to answer his brother.

“
Magic?
” he said. “This is all about magic being real? Monsters being real? Granddad was nuts, Fergus. You’ve said it yourself a million times. He went nuts. The only person who bothered listening to his rants was Gordon – and you called
him
nuts, too.”

Fergus nodded. “I was protecting you.”

“You were, were you? Protecting me from what?”

“From the sickness,” said Fergus. “Granddad had it, Gordon had it, and Pop made me promise to shield you from it if I could. You were the youngest and the smartest of us. I said I’d try, and I’ve been trying ever since.”

Valkyrie wasn’t used to seeing her dad angry. She was seeing him angry now. “I’m not sure when I’m supposed to laugh,” he said. “I’m just waiting for the punchline.”

Fergus raised his hand and clicked his fingers, and a flame leaped up from his palm. “This is all I can do,” he said. “I can summon one little flame, and that’s all. I can’t throw fire or fly or turn invisible. But even this you think is a trick, don’t you? A party trick.” He closed his hand and the flame went out. “But it’s not. It’s real magic. Actual magic. But I can’t convince you that we’re telling the truth, not with my little party trick.”

“So what are we doing here?” Valkyrie’s mum asked.

“Waiting,” Valkyrie said.

Twenty minutes of silence passed, punctuated occasionally by questions that went unanswered.

During this uncomfortable silence, her parents watched and rewatched the video.

Finally, there was another knock on the door. Valkyrie went to answer it.

She had briefly thought about calling Geoffrey Scrutinous. About having him rearrange her parents’ memories, convince them that nothing on that laptop screen was real.

But they were her
parents
.

So she hadn’t called Geoffrey.

She came back into the kitchen with a tall man in a black three-piece suit, white shirt, and black tie. His shoes were polished to a gleam. His gloves were leather. His hat was in his hand. The expression he wore on the face he wore was calm. Confident.

“Mum, Dad, Fergus … this is Skulduggery Pleasant.”

Her dad stood up immediately. “What the hell have you been doing with our daughter?”

“Desmond,” Skulduggery said, “please sit down. This will go a lot smoother if we remain calm. Before we begin, can I make tea for anyone? Desmond? Melissa? What about you, Fergus? Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Uh,” said Fergus, “yes. Please.”

“I’ll make tea for everyone,” Skulduggery said.

Valkyrie helped him. Nobody spoke while the kettle boiled. Nobody spoke while tea bags were dipped and milk added and spoons stirred. When everyone had a seat and a cup in front of them, Skulduggery sat. There was nothing special about where he sat, yet he made it seem like he was at the head of the table.

“You’re not having one yourself?” Fergus asked hesitantly.

Skulduggery smiled. “No. I don’t drink tea.”

His hat was on the table at his elbow. He adjusted its position slightly. When he was ready, he looked up. “So you know about magic.”

“Tell us what’s going on,” Valkyrie’s mum said.

“That’s why I’m here. I’m here to offer you proof that what your daughter is saying is true. But before you see that proof, I have to warn you. I’m dead.”

Valkyrie’s parents waited for an explanation. When one wasn’t forthcoming, her mum said, “Figuratively?”

“Literally. I was killed three hundred years ago or thereabouts, when I was somewhere over a hundred and thirty years old. Tortured to death and then burned, had my remains thrown in a sack and then dumped in a river. For reasons too complicated to go into right now, I was able to put myself back together. This face you see is a mask. These clothes are, for want of a better word, enchanted, giving the illusion that my body has greater mass than it actually possesses.”

“Uh,” said Valkyrie’s dad, “so what is it you think you are? A ghost? A zombie?”

“Neither. I am … unique. Even though I’m dead, it would not be inaccurate to call me a
living
skeleton.”

“You’re a skeleton?”

“Beneath my disguise, yes.”

“But … we’re all skeletons, aren’t we?” responded Valkyrie’s mum. “Beneath our skin?”

“What a wonderfully enlightened view you have,” Skulduggery said, smiling. “Unfortunately, I’m not talking in riddles. I’m going to take off my glove now. I want you to prepare yourselves.”

Valkyrie’s folks glanced at each other.

“Sure,” her mum said.

Skulduggery pinched the tip of his right thumb, pulling the glove loose. He went up the fingers, pinching and pulling at each one, and then, with unhurried elegance, he gently pulled the glove off, and laid it on the table. For a few seconds, it kept its shape, like there was a hand still in there, but then it deflated, and flattened. Not that Valkyrie’s parents were looking at the glove. Their eyes, and Fergus’s, were transfixed by the skeletal hand that clenched and unclenched for them to see.

“How are you doing that?” her mum asked, her voice breathless.

“Magic,” Skulduggery answered.

“But how do they move? There’s no muscles or …”

“If you would allow me to remove my mask?”

They nodded, and the tips of his phalanges tapped the sigils at his collarbones, and his face flowed away, revealing the skull beneath.

Her parents leaped up, their chairs sliding backwards. But once they were on their feet, they froze.

“Good God,” Fergus whispered.

Valkyrie’s parents stood there, staring. Their eyes were wide, their faces pale, but they weren’t panicking. That was good. That was a good sign.

Her mum screamed.

“Sorry,” she said immediately after. “I don’t know where that came from.”

“Quite all right,” Skulduggery said. “You’re handling this whole thing remarkably well, all things considered.”

“You’re a skeleton,” Valkyrie’s dad said.

“I am.”

“But how do you stay together?”

“Magic.”

“How do you talk?” her mum asked.

“Magic.”

“Do you have a brain?” asked her dad.

“No,” said Valkyrie. “But he has a consciousness.”

“That’s amazing,” said her mum. “Just … astonishing. Is there a God?”

“That depends on which one you mean,” Skulduggery said. “Most of the gods we’ve encountered have been insane.”

“You’ve met gods?”

“Oh, yes.”

“I’ve punched one,” said Valkyrie.

“But if you’re asking if there’s such a thing as the Judeo-Christian God, the one spoken of in the Holy Bible, I’m afraid I have no answer for you. To me, death was darkness and stillness with no sign of an afterlife.”

“My wife and I go to mass every Sunday,” said Fergus, visibly angry. “Don’t you sit there and tell me there’s no God.”

“I would never presume to do any such thing,” Skulduggery said calmly. “I believe in logic and reason, but I’ve seen wonders that defy explanation. I have had the pillars of my own belief shaken again and again as new truths come to light. Just the other day, your daughter and I saw a dragon. I had
no idea
those existed.”

“A dragon?” repeated Valkyrie’s dad.

“A big one. I could never tell you that what you believe is wrong, any more than I could tell you that what you believe is right. It seems to me that the universe holds far too many secrets to trade in absolutes, and anyone who tries runs the risk of being found out a fool. I am many things, but I like to think that a fool is not one of them. As I said, the circumstances surrounding my death were unusual, so my experience should not be held up as an example of what happens to us after we die. Desmond, Melissa, would you like to rejoin us at the table?”

Valkyrie’s parents looked down, as if they’d only just realised they were standing. They pulled their chairs back to the table, and sat.

“So it’s real,” said her dad. “But then that video … What we saw on that was real. What that man said about Stephanie was real …”

“But we saw her die,” her mum said, her voice shaking.

“May I?” Skulduggery asked, holding up his skeletal hand. The laptop spun and slid across the table to him.

“Wow!” her dad said, then caught himself. “I mean … cool.”

Valkyrie leaned in to Skulduggery as he moved the video forward. Scenes of battle were intercut with interviews. She glimpsed footage – grainy and out of focus – of the Haggard pier in darkness, recognised it as the night Caelan had died, and then Skulduggery let the video play as normal. The battle raged in Roarhaven and Kenny Dunne spoke over it.