Bedlam. Derek Landy

them up.

      One eyebrow rose on Skulduggery’s façade. “The waiter?”

      “Oberon,” she said, and took a sip of coffee. It was not good.

      “He seems capable,” Skulduggery said. He had a glass of water before him that he was never going to touch. “He threw around some of Sleave’s people without too much bother.”

      “Do you believe him?”

      “I have no reason not to. You?”

      “Yeah, I believe him.”

      “Well, OK then.”

      It was pitch-black outside, and the diner was empty of customers apart from them and a drunk guy in the corner booth who kept getting up to play sad country songs on the jukebox.

      Valkyrie took another sip of her coffee. It wasn’t getting any better. “Do you think he’ll be able to find out anything about this Crepuscular Vies?”

      “Probably not,” Skulduggery said. “Oberon’s motivations may be pure, and he could have useful contacts in the criminal underworld that might provide a lead, but we’ll probably have to devote some time to it ourselves after our show of strength for Serafina tomorrow. Once all this is out of the way, I promise we’ll come up with a way to find Doctor Nye.”

      Valkyrie nodded and took another sip, hoping he wouldn’t spot the look of guilt that flashed across her face.

      Fletcher came in. Valkyrie scooched over so he could sit beside her. “Everything good? Everyone unharmed? Sorry I’m late. Had a bit of trouble finding the place. How’s the coffee?”

      “Wonderful,” said Valkyrie. “You should get some.”

      “Naw, caffeine makes me jumpy, and I’m going straight back to sleep after this.”

      She winced. “We’re sorry for getting you out of bed. Aren’t we, Skulduggery?”

      “Absolutely,” Skulduggery said.

      “And we appreciate you doing this, don’t we, Skulduggery?”

      “Thoroughly.”

      Fletcher smiled. “The way I look at it, I’m not only helping you, I’m also helping the environment. That’s one of the great tragedies about keeping magic a secret, isn’t it? If everyone knew about us, Teleporters could transport people all round the world without a single harmful emission. Makes you wonder if we should just tell them for the sake of the planet.”

      “I’m not entirely sure that the war that would inevitably follow wouldn’t damage the environment all over again,” Skulduggery said.

      “You should have more faith in mortals,” Fletcher countered. “Not all of them are war-hungry simpletons, you know.”

      “No,” Skulduggery said, “but they do tend to scare easily and, when people are scared, they lash out.”

      Fletcher adjusted his hair slightly. “You have such a dim view of the people you fight every day to protect.”

      “I’m just waiting for them to prove me wrong.”

      Fletcher looked at Valkyrie. “Please tell me you have a cheerier outlook on life. You can’t be as miserable as him. You just can’t.”

      She smiled. “I believe that people are good.”

      “Thank you,” Fletcher responded.

      “Most of them anyway.”

      “OK.”

      “I mean, not any that I’ve met, but—”

      “You can stop there,” he said. “Wow, the two of you must have fun saving the world for people you don’t even like.”

      “I’m joking,” said Valkyrie.

      “I’m not,” said Skulduggery.

      “I believe people are good,” Valkyrie continued, “though flawed, and, given all the information and enough time, they will do the right thing.”

      Skulduggery picked up his hat from the seat, and put it on the table. “And I believe that life is arbitrary and when time moves on it will be as if we never existed. Do you want any pie?”

      “No,” said Valkyrie.

      “Then we should probably get going.”

      “You’ve changed,” Fletcher said, not moving. “The both of you. You have. Remember when we used to be a team? Remember the energy? The excitement? The laughs? Whatever happened to all that?”

      “When who used to be a team?” Skulduggery asked.

      “The three of us,” said Fletcher. “And Tanith and Ghastly.”

      “And you?”

      “Yes, me. You never took me seriously, but I was a vital part of the team.”

      “You were the bus.”

      Valkyrie laughed and Fletcher smirked.

      “I helped out more than that and you know it,” he said. “You just don’t want to admit that I’ve grown. Hey, I understand. You knew me when I was a kid. Now I’m an adult, and I have a job, educating young people, moulding young minds. I have responsibilities. Obligations. We’re both alphas. You probably feel threatened by me. Also, you’re jealous of my hair. I get it. I’d be jealous of it, too. But I propose, right now, that we leave the past in the past and, from this day on, treat each other as equals. What do you say, Skulduggery?”

      Fletcher stuck out his hand. Skulduggery observed it for a moment, then extended his own hand – and picked up his hat.

      “You’re funny,” Fletcher said, nodding as Skulduggery put the hat on and stood. “That was well done.”

      “Thank you,” Skulduggery said.

      Valkyrie left a tip and got out of the booth after Fletcher, and they went outside and he teleported them home. He dropped Skulduggery beside the Bentley, and then left Valkyrie in her living room. She gave him a hug and he vanished, and Xena came bounding in.

      Valkyrie had a few hours’ sleep, and then drove to Roarhaven to meet the Prince of the Darklands.

      

      The Fangs was quiet this time of the morning. Vampires may not have been harmed by the sun, but they weren’t known to be early risers. The only people on the streets were those coming back from a night shift.

      She followed the directions Dusk had given her and came to a theatre, a few years old and never used. She went round the back, found the opened door and climbed the stairs. With each step, she took the next one slower.

      This could be a trap, of course. This was very likely a trap. It was so likely a trap that Abyssinia would have known that Valkyrie would be thinking that and would then dismiss it because of how likely it was, so then the possibility of this being a trap became even more likely.

      Eventually, her thoughts became so confusing that she just marched up the rest of the stairs and emerged on to the roof of the theatre.

      There was a man standing here, waiting. He was thin and had tightly-shaven silver hair, and pale scars on his pale skin.

      “You must be Caisson,” said Valkyrie.

      His smile was fleeting. Uncertain.

      There was a nervous energy about him, like an animal getting ready to bolt.

      Valkyrie proceeded with caution. “How are you coping with being back in circulation?”

      “I