be killed.”
“It’s our best shot.”
“It’s not going to happen.”
“Then you need to help us. Even when they knew their lives were in danger, Cameron Light and the others still let down their guard. They knew the killer, Emmett, and you probably do too.”
“What are you saying? That I can’t trust my friends?”
“I’m saying you can’t trust anyone but Valkyrie and myself.”
“And why should I trust you?”
Skulduggery sighed. “Because you literally have no other choice.”
“Is there one person that all the Teleporters would know?” Valkyrie asked. “One person who you’d think you’d be safe with?”
Peregrine thought for a moment. “Sanctuary officials,” he said, “a handful of sorcerers probably, but nobody that stands out. Teleporters don’t tend to be well liked, maybe you’ve heard. Our social circles really aren’t that wide.”
“Have you made any new friends?” Skulduggery asked. “Any new acquaintances?”
“No, none. Well, apart from the kid.”
Skulduggery’s head tilted. “The kid?”
“The other Teleporter.”
“I thought you were the last Teleporter.”
“No, there’s a seventeen-year-old English kid, turned up a while back. Renn his name is. Fletcher Renn. No training, no discipline, no clue to what he’s doing – a right pain in the neck. Wait, you think he’s the killer?”
“I don’t know,” Skulduggery murmured. “He’s either the killer or the killer’s next victim. Where is he?”
“He could be anywhere. Cameron and myself went to talk to him a few months ago, to offer to teach him. Cocky little sod laughed in our faces. He’s one of those rare sorcerers, natural-born, magic at his fingertips. He has power, but like I said, no training. I doubt he could teleport a few miles at a time.”
“He doesn’t sound like a killer. But that means he’s out there alone, with no idea what’s going on.”
“I think he’s still in Ireland,” Peregrine said. “He grunted something about planning to stay here for a while, and how we should leave him alone. He doesn’t need anybody apparently. Typical teenager.” Peregrine glanced at Valkyrie. “No offence.”
“Valkyrie’s not a typical anything,” Skulduggery said before she could respond. “We’ll track him down, but if you see him first, send him to us.”
“I doubt he’ll listen to me, but OK.”
“How will we contact you if we need you?”
“You won’t, but I’ll check back every few days for an update. This would all be over a lot quicker if you’d take over the investigation. I don’t trust Crux and I don’t trust Thurid Guild. You’re in close with Bliss, aren’t you? Maybe you could get a message to him. Just tell him that there are a lot of us out here who would back him as the new Grand Mage, if he were interested. All he has to do is say the word.”
“You’re not talking about a coup, are you?”
“If a revolution is what it takes to get the Sanctuary back on track, Skulduggery, then that’s what we’ll do.”
“A little drastic, one would think. But I’ll relay the message.”
“Thank you.”
“There’s nothing else? Nothing you can think of to help us? No matter how small or insignificant?”
“There is nothing, Skulduggery. I don’t know why the other Teleporters were killed, and I don’t know how. We are exceptionally hard to kill. The instant we think something’s wrong, we’re gone. Until last month, the only time I can remember a Teleporter being murdered was fifty years ago.”
“Oh?” said Skulduggery, suddenly interested. “And who was that?”
“Trope Kessel. I barely knew the man.”
“Who murdered him?” Valkyrie asked.
“No one knows. He told a colleague he was going to Glendalough, and he was never seen again. They found his blood by the shore of the Upper Lake, but his body was never recovered.”
“Could Kessel’s murder have anything to do with what’s going on now?”
Peregrine frowned. “I don’t see why it should. If someone wanted the Teleporters dead, why wait fifty years between the first murder and the rest?”
“Still,” Skulduggery said, “it might be somewhere to start.”
“You’re the detectives,” Peregrine said with a shrug, “not me.”
“You know Tanith, don’t you?”
“Tanith Low? Yes. Why?”
“If you’re in London and need someone to watch your back, you can trust her. It might be your only chance to catch some sleep.”
“I’ll think about it. Any other advice for me?”
“Stay alive,” Skulduggery said and Peregrine vanished.
Still, at least it wasn’t yellow.
They approached the pier. Six months earlier, Valkyrie had leaped from it, followed by a pack of the Infected – humans on the verge of becoming vampires. She’d led them to their doom, since salt water, if ingested, was fatal to their kind. Their screams of pain and anguish, mixed with rage and then torn from ruined throats, were as fresh in her memory as if it had all happened yesterday.
The Bentley stopped and Valkyrie got out. It was cold, so she didn’t linger. She hurried to the side of her house and let her hands drift through the air. She found the fault lines between the spaces with ease and pushed down sharply. The air rushed around her and she was rising. There was a better way to do it – to use the air to carry, rather than merely propel, but her lessons with Skulduggery hadn’t reached that level yet.
She caught the windowsill and hauled herself up, then opened the window and dropped into her room.
Her reflection looked up from the desk, where it was doing Valkyrie’s homework. “Hello,” it said.
“Anything to report?” Valkyrie asked as she slipped off her coat and began changing out of her black clothes into her regular wear.
“We had a late dinner,” the reflection said. “In school, the French test was postponed because half the class were hiding in the locker area. We got the maths results back – you got a B. Alan and Cathy broke up.”
“Tragic.”
Footsteps approached the door and the reflection dropped to the ground and crawled under the bed.
“Steph?” Valkyrie’s mother called, knocking on the door and stepping in at the same time. She held a basket of laundry under her arm. “That’s funny. I could have sworn that I heard voices.”