Midnight. Derek Landy

Give me a challenge.”

      The prisoner’s jaw clenched. It was a remarkably square jaw. “You won’t get anything from—”

      “That’s the spirit,” Abyssinia said, and the prisoner’s face contorted. He clutched his head and let out a whine, his knees buckling. He dropped to the ground, face still stricken, and then, as soon as it began, it was over, and he sagged.

      “My son is in a private ambulance,” Abyssinia said. “They’re keeping him sedated and moving. Right now they are somewhere in Spain. He’s accompanied by five of Serafina’s sorcerers.” She looked down at the prisoner. “You disappoint me. That was far too easy.”

      He shook his head, the colour returning to his face. He murmured something and Abyssinia hunkered down.

      “Pardon?” she said. “What was that?”

      He met her eyes. “I wasn’t ready.”

      “Oh!” she said. “I do apologise. Are you ready now?”

      He cried out, face twisting, hands clutching at his head.

      “You’re three hundred and fourteen years old,” Abyssinia said. “You watched your childhood friend die in a freak accident. The smell of tequila makes you physically sick. You’ve had a song you hate running through your head for the last three days, a song called ‘Uptown Girl’.”

      The prisoner gasped and fell forward, and Abyssinia placed her hand on him. “Were you ready for me then?”

      She drew the life out of his body, his skin cracking, his bones creaking, and his strength flooded her and she stood, kicking the empty husk of him to one side. She took a moment, shivered with her eyes closed, and calmed herself. She looked at Avatar. “Find this ambulance. Do not act until I say so.”

      “Yes, Abyssinia,” Avatar said, bowing.

      She walked back to the window. “Cadaverous.”

      She had a task for him. He was surprised. He straightened. “Yes?”

      She waved a hand. “The body.”

      He frowned. “Yes?”

      “Get rid of it.”

       7

      “Chicken or fish?” the man in the hairnet asked, tongs hovering.

      Omen pursed his lips, looking closer at the options available. The dining hall was filling up. There was a queue of students waiting behind him. He knew they were getting annoyed, but he couldn’t help it. Lunch was one of the most important meals of the day – he had to get it right.

      “What kind of fish is it?” Omen asked.

      “The dead kind,” said the man in the hairnet.

      “Is it fresh?”

      “Does it look fresh?”

      “I don’t know,” said Omen. “You’ve covered it in breadcrumbs.”

      The man in the hairnet shook his head. “We didn’t do that. It swims around in the ocean like this, covered in breadcrumbs and missing its head. We just catch ’em and cook ’em.”

      “I, uh, I don’t think that’s right.”

      “I wouldn’t lie to you, boy. I’m a Food Service Assistant. We take an oath.”

      “Hurry up,” said someone in the queue.

      “Yeah,” said the man in the hairnet, “hurry up. Make a decision, short stuff. Fish, chicken, vegetarian or vegan.”

      “What’s the vegan option?”

      “Spiralised Asian quinoa salad.”

      “And what’s the vegetarian option?”

      “Vegetables.”

      Omen’s stomach rumbled. “I don’t really like vegetables.”

      “Then it’s a good thing you’re not a vegetarian.”

      “I’ll … um … OK, I’ll have the chicken.”

      “The chicken? After all those questions about the fish?”

      “Well, you see, I don’t really like fish.”

      “Then why did you ask about it?”

      “I thought I might try it. Then I changed my mind.”

      “You’re the reason I hate my job,” said the man in the hairnet, and he dumped Omen’s lunch on to a tray and handed it over. “Next!”

      Omen sat at one of the long tables. Across the hall, Axelia was chatting with her friends. They laughed. He wondered if they were laughing about him.

      Never joined him at the table, sitting opposite. She had her hair down, and she was wearing a hint of make-up that really brought out her eyes.

      “Lunch guy does not like you,” she said, digging into her salad.

      “You were in the queue?” Omen asked.

      “I’m the one who told you to hurry up.”

      “Oh, cheers for that.”

      “I made a promise to myself to interact with you in public at least three times a day. I figure it’ll make you more popular with people.”

      “So I can expect a third interaction this evening?”

      Never took a swig from her bottle of water. “This is our third interaction. Me telling you to hurry up was our second. The first one was when I threw that ball of paper at your head this morning.”

      “That was you?”

      “You should have opened it up. It had a picture inside, a caricature of Mr Chicane that was quite satirically brilliant, if I do say so.”

      “What do you think of him anyway?” Omen asked.

      “Chicane? His eyes are a bit too close together, a feature I captured splendidly in my artwork, but he’s OK.”

      “You don’t think he’s a bit … off?”

      “In what way?”

      “Like … he only teaches for a few weeks every year.”

      “Because he has a speciality,” Never said. “He only gives a few modules every couple of terms.”

      “I think he’s up to something.”

      Never put down her fork. “Omen, as your only friend, I have no choice but to be the one to tell you – stop.”

      “Stop what?”

      “Stop this,” said Never. “Stop looking for bad guys and conspiracies. Yes, Lilt was working for Abyssinia, but that doesn’t mean any other member of the faculty is involved. Yet you think there’s something about Chicane, just like you thought there was something suspicious about Peccant, and before him it was, what, the ground staff, wasn’t it? For the last seven months, you’ve been searching for an adventure.”

      Omen blushed. “No, I haven’t.”

      “I get it. You were part of something huge. We both were. But it’s over.”

      Omen gave a little laugh. “No, it’s not. Skulduggery said he’ll call me when he needs me.”

      “Why would he need you? You’re fourteen, and you’re not exactly at the top of your class, are you? They don’t need us, Omen.”

      “That could change at any moment.”

      “Yes,” said Never,