The Dying of the Light (42 page)

Jeremiah is licking cream from his moustache. “How’s that trunk working out for you?” he asks, grinning.

“It’s cold,” Danny says. “Where are we going?”

“Mr Gant’s house.”

“Is it far?”

“Far enough.”

“How long will I have to stay in that trunk?”

Jeremiah shrugs. “We might be there by morning. We might not. From here on out we travel by back roads. Things are gonna get a sight bumpier for you.”

Danny puts the sandwiches on the counter beside the till. “Jeremiah, can I ask you a question? Who are you? Why are you doing this? Why are you so interested in Stephanie?”

“That was three questions,” Jeremiah says. “Four, if you count the asking of the first question as a question. I’ll answer one of them. Which one you want answered most?”

Danny hesitates. “Why are you so interested in Stephanie?”

“Because she’s special. She’s not like you regular people. She’s special like I’m special, and Mr Gant is special. Special people are littered through this world and some of them are nice and some of them are nasty. Mr Gant and I, we are unashamedly nasty, and it’s our job to find the nice special people, like Stephanie, and pluck them from this earth like you’d pluck a flower from a garden.”

“What makes you special?”

Jeremiah’s tongue finds that last dollop of sugared cream on his whiskers, and he sucks it in between his soft pink lips. “Everything,” he says.

Danny looks at him, and the stillness of their surroundings suddenly veer from strange to unnatural. “Where is everyone?”

Jeremiah looks back at him innocently. “Everyone?”

“The people who work here,” says Danny. “The people who own those cars outside.”

Jeremiah’s head twitches towards the backroom. “They’re all in there,” he says. Says it like it’s nothing. Says it like it isn’t even something worth saying.

Moving slowly, Danny steps round Jeremiah, and limps behind the counter. Jeremiah doesn’t try to stop him. His mouth dry, Danny puts one foot into the backroom, glimpses the bodies stacked in the corner, and immediately steps back.

“She’s following us,” Jeremiah says, eating one of the sandwiches Danny has left on the counter. “Mr Gant has seen that pickup of hers, way back in the distance. Mr Gant talks about fishing sometimes. He says this is like reeling in a fish once it’s hooked. You bring it closer and closer until it’s out of the water and flapping around on the deck of your boat. Course, in this case she doesn’t even know she’s got a great big hook in her mouth. That just makes it funnier.”

There’s a loud honk from outside. Gant getting impatient. Jeremiah takes his gun from his pocket, points it at Danny’s belly. “Time to go. Want to take your other sandwich?”

“I’m not hungry any more,” Danny says, his voice quiet.

Jeremiah gives another little shrug. “Suit yourself. Back in the trunk for you.”

arquesse stood in the rain until she was nice and wet. Levitt was watching her. She liked Levitt. He was a quiet man even when he had a Remnant inside him. She appreciated the fact that he never spoke. The ability to shut up was something she respected in a man.

When she was wet enough, she walked up and knocked on the door. Knocking on the door was nice. She could have smashed through it. She could have made it disappear. She could have turned it into a million bubbles. But she knocked, and she waited, and it was nice.

Movement. Sounds. A latch being lifted. The door opened and a man in his early thirties stood there, a pleasant expression on his face. Argeddion.

“Hi,” said Darquesse. “I’m so very sorry for disturbing you, but my car broke down and I don’t have my phone with me. Could I possibly use your phone to call home?”

“Of course,” Argeddion said, stepping to one side. “Come on in. The phone’s on the table there.”

Darquesse gave him a grateful smile and hurried over to the phone. She started dialling a non-existent number as he left her alone in the hall.

“Hi, Mum,” she said. “Car’s broken down. Yes, I know you did, and you were right. Could you come and pick me up? I’m at a house opposite the park entrance – you know the one with the big iron gate? No, it’s fine. His name is …” She took a step sideways, peering into the kitchen. “Excuse me, could I have your name?”

Argeddion came back, smiled as he handed her a towel. “I’m Michael Tolan.”

She took the towel, started drying her hair one-handed. “His name’s Michael Tolan. No, Mum. He’s normal. He’s not scary.”

Argeddion chuckled. “I’m a teacher, not a serial killer.”

“Hear that, Mum? A teacher. Yep. I’m fine. OK. OK, thank you. Love you. Bye. Bye bye bye bye bye.” She put the phone down. “Thank you so much. She’ll be here in ten minutes.”

“You can wait in here if you want.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t. I’ll wait in my car.”

“It’s lashing out,” he said, “and I’ve put the kettle on.”

“Well,” said Darquesse, “a cup of tea does sound nice.”

He smiled, and she followed him into the kitchen. “Excuse the mess,” he said while he poured the boiling water into a mug. “I’ve just moved into the area, and I’m not used to visitors.”

She sat at the table. “How long have you been a teacher?”

He laughed. “Too long, but I just started at St James’s last September.”

“And how do you find it?”

“It’s a great school. Did you go there?”

“Naw, but a lot of my friends did.” He handed her a mug of tea. “Thank you, Mr Tolan.”

“Outside the classroom, people call me Michael.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Michael. You don’t look like a teacher.”

“No?” he said, leaning against the cooker. “What do I look like?”

“I don’t know. A doctor. Or a scientist.”

“I must look intelligent.”

“Or a magician, maybe.”

“Wow. Well, that’s new. I look like a magician?”

Darquesse shrugged, and sipped her tea. “Magicians come in all shapes and sizes.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Ever tried doing magic?”

He shook his head, amused. “Not that I can recall.”

“You’re missing out.”

“Oh, really? You sound like you know what you’re talking about. Can you do tricks?”

“Illusions, Michael. I can do some. Do you have a deck of cards handy?”

“I should have,” said Argeddion, looking around. “I remember unpacking them here, putting them …”

She watched him search through a few drawers. Finally, he uttered a small cry of triumph, and came back to her with a box of playing cards, still in its clear plastic wrapping.

“Perfect,” she said, taking it from him. He sat down as Darquesse peeled off the plastic, her favourite part, and opened the box, sliding the cards into her hand. She shuffled them thoroughly and fanned them out. “Pick a card,” she said. “Any card.”

Argeddion drew one from the pack, glanced at it, and kept it close to his chest. Darquesse shuffled the pack again, then laid them face down on the table and splayed them with one gentle sweep of her hand.

“That was a brand-new pack?” she asked.

“It was,” he said.

“You bought it? You put it in that drawer?”

“Yes.”

“There is no possible way for me to have interfered with that pack?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Please hold up your card.”

Argeddion did so.

“The seven of clubs,” she said. “So, if every single one of the cards on this table turns out to be the seven of clubs, you’d have to be pretty impressed, wouldn’t you?”

He laughed. “I suppose I would.”

Grinning, she swept the splayed cards right-side up.

“Um,” said Argeddion, “I don’t think it worked.”

Darquesse looked at the perfectly ordinary pack of cards before her. “Oh, that’s right,” she said. “I hate card tricks. Here’s something else.”

She clicked her fingers and every one of Argeddion’s fingers on his right hand snapped backwards. The seven of clubs fluttered to the floor as he fell out of his chair, screaming.

She went to the window, waved, and a moment later the front door was kicked open, and Levitt walked in. Darquesse didn’t bother with words. She took hold of the back of Argeddion’s shirt and grabbed a handful of his hair. She turned him towards Levitt and pulled his head back. He tried struggling, but he was no match for her.

Levitt’s throat bulged as the Remnant climbed out. Levitt himself collapsed, and the Remnant flitted across the space between them and latched on to Argeddion’s face. Within seconds, it was forcing its way down his throat. She released him and he fell to his knees, the screams replaced by gagging. Another moment and even the gagging was forgotten.

She returned Levitt to his essence while she waited, just for something to do.

Argeddion rose, black veins running across his face. “Interesting,” he said.

“How much can you remember?” Darquesse asked.

He frowned. “I remember everything as Michael Tolan. These false memories they implanted, false experiences … they’re really very good.”

“What about your memories as Argeddion?”

“They’re … hidden. Obstructed. But I can … I can get through them if I …”

His eyes widened suddenly, and he smiled. “There,” he breathed. “There …”

Darquesse gave it as long as she possibly could, and then she grabbed him, rammed her hand into his mouth and forced it down his throat.

Argeddion struggled. He wasn’t strong yet, but she could feel his power returning to him. It wouldn’t be long now.

She drew the Remnant into her hand, closed her fingers round it, and yanked it out.

It squirmed and squealed in her grip and Argeddion collapsed, his throat in ruins and his jaw smashed. Darquesse opened wide, forced the Remnant into her own mouth. She swallowed, feeling its little claws ripping her insides to shreds. She smiled, healing everything instantly. The Remnant struggled inside her, tried to escape, but she kept it where it was. After a few moments, its natural processes took over, and she felt it try to slink into her mind. Instead, she pulled it in, isolated it, extracted its memories. Once she was done, she burned it, fed on its power.

So many memories. It would take time to sort through them. Luckily Darquesse had plenty of experience with this. In some ways, it was a lot like Valkyrie absorbing the reflection’s experiences, back in the old days.

She was brought back to the present by Argeddion getting to his feet. His power was returning. She could see it. Within moments, he would remember how to heal himself.

She poured her magic out through her eyes. A beam of energy, no thicker than a pencil, burrowed through Argeddion’s heart. He stepped back, then fell. She watched his life leave him, watched his essence rejoin the Great Stream, as the Necromancers called it – a stream that would soon be bursting its banks.

reyfon Signate flickered and disappeared, leaving Valkyrie and Skulduggery alone to creep through the darkness.

Redhoods stood guard, surrounding the remains of this dimension’s Sanctuary. Their scythes looked every bit as nasty as the Cleavers back home, but somehow their red uniforms were even more unsettling than the grey. Grey was the colour of neutrality. Red was the colour of violent, passionate intent.

“Can’t see any survivors,” Valkyrie whispered. “I count seven dead Cleavers, three dead sorcerers. No sign of Ravel.”

“If they caught him, he’s either dead or already on his way to Mevolent,” said Skulduggery. “Come on.”

Staying low, they moved away, seeking refuge in the night’s darkness.

“What do you think Mevolent will do to him?” Valkyrie asked.

“Torture,” Skulduggery said. “But after what Ravel’s been through, mere torture would be a blessing. He’ll be interrogated. He’ll eventually tell Mevolent everything he wants to know about our reality. And if Mevolent has a Shunter on staff, and there’s no reason to think he doesn’t, that could spell trouble for us.”

“You think Mevolent would invade?”

“Possibly. The last time he received a visitor from our dimension, it was Darquesse, and she proved to be quite a threat. Mevolent’s not the type to sit around and wait for trouble to strike.”