rubbed his hands together. “I like this,” he said. “The interplay. The camaraderie. It’s almost like what I have with Valkyrie, except much, much less. Cadaverous, I know we’re going to have our differences on this, but I want you all to know, from the bottom of the place where my heart used to be, that I’m really looking forward to killing Valkyrie.” He clapped, once and happily. “This is going to be fun.”
Valkyrie approached the Museum of Magical History from the east, walking quickly with her hands tucked into her pockets. It was another cold damn day in a cold damn week at the end of a cold damn month. She was tired of the cold. She was quite ready for it to be warm again. People were nicer when it was warm. Moods were lighter, and they lifted on the tides and eddies of warm air.
Her phone buzzed. A message from her mum. She opened it. A picture of her sister wielding lipstick and her father in the background, the lower half of his face smeared bright red. Her mum had written Waiting for her next client across the bottom of the image. It was funny. Cute. Valkyrie stared at the screen for half a minute, thinking up a reply. In the end, she sent off a LOL and put the phone away.
Militsa Gnosis was waiting for her at the entrance to the museum, shuffling from foot to foot in a feeble attempt to keep warm. She waved when she saw her, and Valkyrie gave an awkward wave back.
“Hi,” Militsa said. “Thanks for coming. Isn’t it freezing?”
“So cold,” Valkyrie responded. “You didn’t have to wait outside, you know.”
“Ah, just wanted to make sure you found the place OK.”
“Your directions did the job. So have you figured it out?”
“I’m sorry? Figured what out?”
“How to break Smoke’s influence over Skulduggery.”
“Oh,” said Militsa. “Well, that’s … Without being able to examine any of the …” She faltered. “That’s not why I asked you here. I’m sorry.”
The spark of hope, slight though it was, died in Valkyrie’s chest. “OK,” she said. “That’s fine. So why are we here?”
Militsa’s smile reappeared. “Come on in.”
She took Valkyrie’s hand and led her quickly up the steps and in through the door. Immediately, Valkyrie began to warm. The man behind the reception desk nodded to Militsa like he knew her well, but when his gaze flickered to Valkyrie he froze. Militsa missed it entirely, and Valkyrie ignored it.
“Would it be incredibly lame,” Militsa asked as they followed the signs to the East Wing, “to admit that museums are some of my favourite places in the world? It probably would, wouldn’t it? You don’t even have to answer that. I know it is. I wish I hadn’t said anything now. I mean, it’s not only museums that I like. I like ordinary places, too, like libraries, and I’m quite partial to a good gallery. And ice-cream parlours.”
“I like ice cream,” offered Valkyrie, and Militsa beamed.
“See? We have something in common!”
“Are we here to look at an exhibition?”
“I’ll get to that, I will. This way.”
They took the doorway to their right.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” Militsa asked. “Mementos of significant people and significant times in history all laid out for us, like knowledge waiting to be absorbed. Fair enough, it’s not as impressive as the Repository at the High Sanctuary and all the powerful artefacts that contains, but it’s still pretty mind-blowing, is it not?”
Valkyrie passed an old pair of eyeglasses that once belonged to Jorge Desesperación (1781 to 1918).
Militsa stopped suddenly, and turned. “Am I being awful? I’m being too chirpy, aren’t I?”
Valkyrie took a moment to answer. “No,” she said.
“It’s just, I don’t know what to say in situations like this. Not that I’ve been in many situations exactly like this. But you know what I mean? When I’m around people who are sad, I feel a ridiculous need to cheer them up, but I always make it worse. I think I’m just too obvious about it, and also I tend to tell people what it is I’m trying to do, like I did just there. The moment I do that it’s game over, you know? Oh, God. I just did it, didn’t I?”
“You’re doing a good job,” Valkyrie lied. “You’re distracting me from my worries.”
“I am?”
“Yes. Especially now at this moment.”
“Oh, that’s a major relief, I don’t mind telling you. I was getting worried because you’ve barely said anything.”
Valkyrie gave a small smile. “That’s just me being me. I take a while to loosen up around new people.”
“And are you loosened up yet?”
There was so much hope in Militsa’s voice that Valkyrie just had to say, “Yes. Totally.”
Militsa beamed again. “Then do you have any questions for me?”
Valkyrie nodded stiffly.
“Go ahead. Ask me anything.”
“OK,” said Valkyrie. “Right. I will. How, uh … How did a Necromancer end up as a teacher?”
“I went to university and got my degree.”
Valkyrie nodded again. “I was actually expecting a more involved story.”
Militsa made a face. “I know. It’s pretty boring. I taught English at mortal schools and that was fine and all, but then I heard that there was an actual school for sorcerers being built at Roarhaven and I moved here immediately, started teaching Magic Theory. I suppose I’ve always wanted to be a teacher. Probably the same way you always wanted to be a detective.”
“I, uh, I never wanted to be a detective.”
“Really? Never?”
“Well, I didn’t grow up wanting this. When I was a kid, I didn’t know what I wanted to be. I wanted to ride horses, then for a whole summer I wanted to be an Olympic swimmer … Then Skulduggery came along and … ta-da.”
“I keep forgetting you grew up mortal.”
“You didn’t?”
“My folks’re both sorcerers. I knew about magic from the time I knew about shapes. Mum and Dad, they’re nice people, so I was taught we’re all equal. Though I did meet some sorcerers who held quite a different opinion.”
“I suppose one group of people will always find reasons to complain about another.”
“Aye, I suppose. But this new strain of hatred … that’s only cropped up in the last ten or fifteen years. It’s scary. Insidious.”
“So the sorcerers hate the mortals,” said Valkyrie, “and the mortals would hate the sorcerers if they knew we existed. This is a story that can only end well.”
Militsa smiled. “As long as there are people like you and Skulduggery Pleasant fighting the good fight, we should be OK.”
“Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? We don’t have Skulduggery any more.”
“I realised that just as the words were leaving my mouth. Really sorry. How are you doing?”
“I’m OK.”
“It can’t be easy.”
“He’s not an easy man to