just having him as an enemy, but … not having him as a friend. Even when I was away, I knew I could pick up the phone and he’d answer. I knew he’d always answer. I was never alone, you know? Never.”
“This may be completely presumptuous,” Militsa said, “but you’re not alone now, either. I’ll help however I can. I’m not the best at fighting, I really don’t like hurting people and I have a serious aversion to being the one who’s getting hurt, but if you need someone to stand there and lecture the enemy on Magic Theory then I am your girl.”
“Thank you for volunteering,” Valkyrie told her, “but don’t worry, I’m not going to hurl you into a pit of danger or anything like that. Helping me out here will do fine … assuming this museum visit will help me out?”
“Hopefully,” Militsa said. “Well, I don’t know how helpful it will actually be, in any useful sense, but, as my old piano teacher used to say, knowledge is power.”
“Was she a sorcerer?”
“No, just a piano teacher, back in Edinburgh. I’m really not sure what she was talking about, but it’s a good motto to live by. When we were on the phone earlier, you described what one of the anti-Sanctuary people was wearing – the guy in the mask?”
“Lethe.”
Militsa nodded. “Lethe, right. Now, I might be wrong, in which case this is a colossal waste of your time, but it sounded a lot like …”
They quickened their pace.
“It sounded a lot like …?” Valkyrie prompted.
“I thought it was closer,” Militsa said apologetically. “Ah, here it is.”
They came to a glass case, in which stood a mannequin dressed in a jumpsuit. The material on the outer layer, a deep grey, was tattered, burnt and slashed, barely held together in places. But beneath that was something that wasn’t quite leather and wasn’t quite rubber. It was black, and ribbed slightly. The boots were sturdy and the gloves were thin, and beneath the hood the mask was a shocking white against all that darkness – a stylised, angular skull with glass-covered eye sockets.
“That’s it,” Valkyrie breathed. “That’s what he wears. The mask is different, it doesn’t have the hood or the fabric over it … but that’s it. What is it?”
“It’s a necronaut suit,” Militsa said proudly. “Necromancers used them for Deep Venturing. That’s what they called it. It’s when they would explore the realms of death.”
“Solomon Wreath told me about that. Entirely dead dimensions, right? Where nothing could ever possibly live?”
“Not even Necromancers,” Militsa said. “So they wore these when they went exploring. They’re built to … I don’t know the best way to describe it. They’re built to contain, I guess. Like a Thermos flask keeping in the heat, although, when you’re Deep Venturing, you want to keep in your life. When it’s all done up like that, you don’t need food or oxygen … you don’t even need to take a pee. Which is simultaneously fascinating and gross.”
“So Lethe’s a Necromancer?”
“Maybe,” Militsa said, “but not necessarily. I’ve seen necronaut suits repurposed for a whole range of different things. Apart from anything else, they’re pretty durable. Bulletproof and fire-resistant, that kind of stuff.”
“I’m guessing the answer is probably no, but do they have any glaring weaknesses to exploit? Like the way vampires are allergic to salt water?”
“They’re not, actually.”
“I’m sorry?”
“We’ve recently discovered that it’s a certain amount of sea salt they’re allergic to, not the actual salt water.”
“Oh. Right. But … the suit?”
“No real weakness that I know about,” Militsa said, “but it’s not indestructible. It’s bulletproof, though probably not as durable as the armoured clothing you used to wear.” She frowned. “Why aren’t you wearing those, by the way?”
“They were getting a bit snug.”
“What’s wrong with snug? I like snug. They looked really good on you.”
“Thanks. So Lethe might not be using the suit for any specific purpose – he might just be using it as armour.”
“It’s a possibility.”
Valkyrie nodded as they started walking back. “Well, every little bit of information we get is useful. And what about the reason I called? As the resident expert on Magic Theory, I was hoping you had some thoughts on how to break Smoke’s hold.”
Militsa sighed. “I’m sorry, no. I’ll do more research into it, but from what you’ve told me about how it infects the aura … I don’t know if there’d be anything you could do to cleanse it. We’re not talking New Age hippies waving around cheap crystals here.”
“But Skulduggery’s different. His aura is unlike any I’ve seen.”
“Valkyrie, that might not be a good thing. Yes, it might mean that he overcomes the infection quicker than the forty-eight hours – or it might mean the opposite, or it might make no difference at all. There’s no way to tell. The fact is, we know very little about magic as it is. We’ve only just identified the gene that separates sorcerers from mortals, but we still don’t understand how it leads to us being able to access magic. Not really.”
“Is there anyone else we could talk to?”
Valkyrie could tell Militsa wanted to be able to give her hopeful news. It was in every helpless shrug and pained expression.
“Possibly,” she said at last. “There’s a team of some awesomely brilliant people running tests on the Source itself. They’ve located what they think is one of the fissures that allows magic to flow through into our reality. It’s going to take them years of study, but they might have a theory about this. If I can get in touch with them. It’s all very top secret.”
“Could you try? I could ask China to help.”
“That might not be the best thing to do,” Militsa said. “The Supreme Mage doesn’t particularly trust Necromancers any more. It was hard enough getting her to accept me as a teacher. I’d probably be better off trying to get in touch with them myself.”
“We don’t have an awful lot of time, Militsa.”
“I’ll do my best. I promise.”
Valkyrie’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the words on her screen. It was the address in San Francisco.
“Good news?” Militsa asked.
Valkyrie shrugged. “Depends on how many people I have to punch.”
They emerged into the cold again and Militsa waved down a tram. “I’m heading back to the school,” she said. “You?”
“High Sanctuary.”
“That’s where this line ends.”
“Lead the way,” Valkyrie said, and jumped on after Militsa.
The tram was, thankfully, well heated, and pretty empty. They chose the long seat down the back. A woman hugging her shopping bag to her chest glared at Valkyrie, who did her best to avoid her eyes.
“Excuse me,” Militsa said loudly. “Can we help you?”
The woman muttered something under her breath, and looked away.
“I’ll probably have to get used