Bedlam. Derek Landy

go to work.”

      “With Skulduggery?”

      “Yep. But I couldn’t pass without calling in to say hi to the best little sister in the world.”

      “Do you want to see me dancing?”

      “I’d love to, but I don’t really have time. Did you learn any more moves?”

      “Yeah, a few,” Alice said. “Do you want to see them?”

      “Tomorrow or the next day,” said Valkyrie. “And bad dreams?”

      Alice laughed. “You always ask me that!”

      “I know I do. I’m interested.”

      “I never have bad dreams.”

      “Not even about the horrible man?”

      “Ew,” said Alice, making a face. “No. I don’t think about him. He was smelly. I still haven’t told Mum or Dad about him. It’s still our little secret.”

      Valkyrie forced a smile. “Thank you,” she said, feeling the guilt start to weigh down on her. She quickly walked over to the hamster cage, eager for a change of subject. “So how’s SpongeBob?”

      Alice laughed. “That’s not his name.”

      “Is it not? Are you sure?”

      “It’s Starlight.”

      “Starlight the hamster … yes, I think I remember something about that. Where is he? Is he hiding?”

      “There he is,” said Alice, pointing at a lump of fur in the corner of the cage.

      “Hello, you,” Valkyrie said, hunkering down. She poked a finger through the cage and petted little Starlight. He was cold.

      “He’s dead,” said Alice.

      Valkyrie stopped petting him. She withdrew her finger and said, “Oh.”

      “He died during the night sometime,” Alice continued. “Last night I fed him – well, Dad fed him – and I cleaned out his cage and I put new hay in and new newspaper because he likes playing in newspaper and he rips it all up sometimes, and then he died, I think.”

      Valkyrie let herself sit, her back against the wall. “And when did you find out that he’d died?”

      “A few minutes ago,” Alice said. “Like, ten. Or five. I can show you my dancing, if you like.”

      “Let’s just wait a moment, sweetie. How are you feeling?”

      Alice shrugged. “I’m fine.”

      “Did you love Starlight?”

      Alice nodded.

      “Did you love him a lot?”

      “Like, loads,” said Alice. “I used to close my bedroom door and let him out so he could run around and then he’d come over to me and climb on to my lap and I’d pet him. Like, I didn’t love him as much as I love Mum and Dad and you, but I still loved him.”

      “Will you miss him?”

      “Um, yes.”

      “Are you sad?”

      “Yes,” Alice said, and nodded again.

      Valkyrie held out her hands, and when Alice took them she pulled her gently down. “Come here,” she said. “Sit.” When Alice was seated, Valkyrie gave her a soft smile. “When you say you’re sad, do you actually mean you’re sad, or are you saying it because you think I’m expecting you to say it?”

      Alice didn’t answer.

      “It’s OK,” whispered Valkyrie. “You’re not in trouble. I’m just interested.”

      “Um,” Alice said, “I’m not really sad.”

      Valkyrie nodded, and kept nodding, waiting for the panic in her chest to settle down. “OK,” she said. “OK, thank you for telling me. Will you miss him?”

      “Yes,” Alice said with absolute certainty. “I’m going to miss him loads.”

      “And do you know what missing him means? Have you ever missed anyone before?”

      A shy smile broke out. “Not really,” Alice said.

      “Missing someone is when you get sad that somebody isn’t there any more. Do you think you’ll get sad now that Starlight isn’t alive and you can’t pet him and cuddle him?”

      The tip of Alice’s tongue came out and took up temporary residence at the corner of her lips. “Um … maybe.”

      Valkyrie switched on her aura-vision, reducing her sister to a dark outline, throbbing weakly with a dim, almost imperceptible orange. It was so spread out, so diffused, that it was barely there at all.

      She switched off the aura-vision before it made her sick with guilt, pulled Alice in and wrapped her up in a hug. “You know what love is, don’t you?”

      “Of course,” said Alice.

      “And you love me?”

      “With all my heart.”

      “And I love you, too, with all my heart.”

      They sat there, hugging.

      “Is it OK that I don’t get sad?” Alice asked softly.

      Valkyrie kissed her head. “I’m going to fix that. You don’t have anything to worry about. I’m going to find someone who can help you, and I’m going to fix everything.”

      Alice nodded and didn’t respond, and Valkyrie hugged her closer and tried not to cry.

      

      “It’s nice here, isn’t it?” Axelia Lukt said.

      Omen looked up. He’d been daydreaming about being good at things, about being as cool as Skulduggery or as tough as Valkyrie or as capable as Auger. He hadn’t even noticed the tram emptying the closer they got to the Humdrums. It was only Axelia and him left on it now.

      He looked out of the window. “I suppose,” he said, although to him this part of Roarhaven looked pretty similar to most of the other parts – apart from the fact that it was right beside the enormous wall that encircled the city. Was that what Axelia was talking about? Did she like walls?

      “The wall’s pretty,” he tried.

      “The wall’s ugly,” Axelia said immediately. “It’s horrible and grey and horrible.”

      “That’s what I meant.”

      “It blocks out the sun in the mornings for this whole part of town.”

      “It’s so horrible,” Omen agreed.

      “But the rest of it,” said Axelia, “it’s so nice. It’s peaceful, isn’t it? Quiet.”

      Omen nodded, but he wasn’t quite sure that was true. The Humdrums were where the mortals lived, the more than 18,000 refugees who had trudged through the portal from the Leibniz Universe to escape their very own Mevolent, who was still alive and terrorising the ones left behind over there. Roarhaven had taken them in, mainly because there was nowhere else to keep them, and the High Sanctuary had assumed responsibility for turning them into productive members of society.

      Axelia had grown up in a magical community in Iceland, where she’d had very limited interactions with mortals. Omen was beginning to think that maybe she viewed mortals, and these ones in particular, as quaint, somewhat primitive beings. It was ever-so-slightly condescending,