Bedlam. Derek Landy

around? Well … Jesus. I mean, how do we stop Creed from finding them?”

      “Oh,” said Temper, “he’s already found them.”

      “What?”

      “He found thousands of them before his experiments were shut down. Tens of thousands. More, probably. He’d been conducting experiments for centuries. We didn’t have the terminology we do now, but essentially what he was doing, even back then, was Activating these latent genes. There’s someone out there, statistically there has to be, with a strong enough DNA strand to become the Child of the Faceless Ones. Once they’re Activated, they’ll be able to call their cousins home. Creed just hasn’t found the right subject.”

      “And what happened to all the people he’s experimented on?”

      “We call them the Kith,” said Skulduggery. “Creed Activated their genes, which led to a certain transformation. Their faces were … lost.”

      “Lost?” Valkyrie echoed.

      “They melted away,” said Temper. “They were left with, I don’t know, smoothness. No hair, no features, no eyes or ears, no mouth. And, from what we could tell, their minds were wiped. After they were Activated, they didn’t need to eat or drink. They didn’t communicate. They just … stood there. Some of my best friends are still standing in a bunker somewhere.”

      “Your friends?”

      Temper smiled weakly. “I was a Disciple. You knew that already, right?”

      “Pretty much.”

      “I followed Creed. I was young, and stupid, and I needed somewhere to belong. Out of all my friends, he said I was one of his favourites. This gene had been detected in us, and it was strong. We were prime specimens. Creed would Activate others, develop this technique or that approach, and then take what he’d learned and apply it to us, one by one. He failed, over and over again. Like I said, my friends … I watched them being led away, excited at the possibility of being turned into the Child of the Faceless Ones. Next time I saw them, they’d be standing in a row, without a face, and the Activations and the experiments would continue. So I left. I renounced it all and ran.”

      “Years later, in order to take over the Church,” Skulduggery said, “Creed had to prove that he’d left his old ways behind. No more Activations. No more Kith.”

      “But he’s doing it again,” said Brate. “This Religious Freedom Act that was passed last year? It’s letting him get away with more and more.”

      “Where is it happening?” Skulduggery asked. “If we can catch him in the act, or at the very least find some of these new Kith, Supreme Mage Sorrows will have all she needs to have Creed arrested.”

      “We wouldn’t arrest him ourselves?” Valkyrie asked.

      “We could, but for something like this, something this big, it would be wise to have the support of the Sanctuaries.”

      “I don’t know that I can be of any, like, assistance, man,” said Brate. “I don’t know where the latest Activations are taking place. It might be in the Dark Cathedral; it could be in a whole different country. The Church of the Faceless, they got, like, places everywhere.”

      “Can you poke around?” Temper asked. “Nothing too aggressive. Just chat to people. See what they think. No one in the Church will speak to me any more, and they certainly won’t speak to these two.”

      “He has a point,” said Skulduggery. “Adam, we need to make this quite clear – we are not asking you to put yourself in any danger. We’re not even asking you to be a spy. We’re asking you to have a few casual conversations with people who might know something. Do you understand?”

      “I understand, man,” said Brate. “So do I need, like, a code name?”

      “I don’t think you understand.”

      “No, I get it, I do.”

      “OK.”

      “But …”

      “No.”

      “But,” Brate continued, “I think a code name might be a good idea. Like … Condor. Or Rattlesnake. Or, uh …”

      “You won’t need a code name because you’re not a spy,” Valkyrie told him.

      “I could wear a disguise.”

      “No.”

      “I’m really good with disguises. I bet if I wore a disguise you wouldn’t even recognise me. I’m not talking about sunglasses, even. I’m talking about a proper, full-on disguise. Like a moustache, or something.”

      “You don’t need a disguise,” said Valkyrie, “because you’ll be chatting to people who already know you. They wouldn’t chat to you if they didn’t recognise you, would they?”

      “Ah. Yeah. I guess not.”

      “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Skulduggery murmured.

      “No, dude,” Brate said quickly. “I can do it. I can. I won’t mess it up. No one has ever believed in me. No one has ever trusted me with something this important. No one has ever trusted me with anything, man. But you guys do. You guys see something in me. Potential, maybe. True courage, perhaps. A steely-eyed determination, no doubt. I will not let you down. Skulduggery, Valkyrie and Temper – you’re, like, my Three Musketeers, you know? And I would be honoured to be your d’Artagnan in this time of need.”

      Temper looked at Skulduggery, and Skulduggery looked at Valkyrie, and Valkyrie looked fed up.

      “Fine,” she said. “You can be our d’Artagnan.”

      “One for all!” Brate cheered.

      “Don’t do that,” said Skulduggery.

      “Sorry.”

      

      “Empty your mind,” Miss Wicked said, and someone muttered, “That was fast.”

      Omen grinned as the class chuckled. Everyone shut up quickly and Omen knew that Miss Wicked had just used one of her glares. He couldn’t see it, of course. He was too busy sitting there with his eyes closed.

      He heard them all around him. The shuffling of feet. The creaking of desks. The entire class was watching Auger and him sitting opposite each other, trying to speak to each other without making a sound.

      All he had to do was concentrate, Miss Wicked had said. Focus. Twins had a higher chance than most of getting this right. For once, Omen could be ahead of everyone else. If he could just manage this one simple thing.

      Oh, God. He wasn’t concentrating. He was thinking too much.

      He stopped thinking.

      Stopped.

      It wasn’t easy.

      Every time he tried to stop thinking, it was like a thousand thoughts were knocking on the door of his mind, screaming to be let in.

      He was doing it again. He was thinking about his thoughts. Dammit. OK. He was definitely going to stop now. Definitely.

      Was Miss Wicked reading his thoughts right now? Was she checking on him? No. That could interfere with what they were trying to do. She wouldn’t do that. He hoped she wasn’t doing that. He hoped.

      But what if she was?

      So many thoughts about her, so many images, getting worse, filling his mind, one after the other, an unstoppable flow of images and thoughts and—

      Take a breath.