Midnight. Derek Landy

taken to calling him “the Whistler”. He signalled his arrival with a tune. Most of the time it was ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me’. Twice, it was ‘Blue Moon’.

      Today, he was whistling as usual, and, for only the second time, Valkyrie could see his outline. He was maybe her height, maybe six foot, and slender, but that was all she could discern. His outline was solid, but everything within that swirled and flipped too quickly to identify.

      “Bring him closer,” said Kes.

      “I can’t,” Valkyrie answered. She took a few steps towards him, but the Whistler stayed at the same distance. Out of all the elements in her visions, all the bloodshed and death that was to come, his presence was the thing that unnerved her the most.

      The vision moved on.

      “You actually think you’re going to win?” someone said behind her, and she turned, and a burning town built itself up around her. Dead bodies littered the streets. Car alarms wailed.

      Auger Darkly fell to his knees in front of her, clutching his shoulder. Blood soaked his shirt. Omen ran out, picked him up, his brother gritting his teeth against the pain. Together they hurried on. They were being chased. There were people chasing them. People with guns.

      Valkyrie moved in. This time she’d see their faces. This time she’d find out who they were so she could stop them before this happened.

      They came round the corner, guns up, and passed right through her. Dressed in black, wearing body armour. Helmets. No insignias. Moving like soldiers, or SWAT teams, relentlessly tracking their prey.

      She watched them spot the Darkly brothers. They opened fire. Bullets punched Omen in the back and he flopped on to the pavement as Auger went stumbling. Valkyrie did her best to ignore it. It was a scene she knew well, and it tore at her insides each time. But today she didn’t curse or cry out – she just listened. Waited. Waited for one of them to say something. Anything.

      “Target down.”

      The vision swept away and Valkyrie was confronted with the Plague Doctor, who held a child in his arms. Valkyrie stepped closer and the child vanished and the Plague Doctor’s hands went to his mask and he pulled it off, but before Valkyrie could see his face he was gone, and Saracen Rue was lying dead on the ground.

      “There’s Tanith,” Kes said softly, and Valkyrie turned to watch her friend back away from an unseen enemy, her sword in her hand.

      Then Tanith was gone and China was lying in that field of broken glass Valkyrie had seen again and again. Just a flash of that, and then they were standing in the Circle, in Roarhaven. Smoke and flames billowed from the High Sanctuary and the Dark Cathedral was in ruins, and marching towards them was an army with Mevolent leading the way.

      Valkyrie had glimpsed this before, but the vision stayed with Mevolent longer this time. She didn’t know what that meant. Was this future more likely now? Was it closer?

      The army was almost upon her, and her heart hammered in her chest.

      She looked away and Cadaverous Gant walked by, holding a rag doll in a blue dress. A house appeared, tall and pointed and radiating darkness, and Cadaverous went into the house and the door stayed open, like it was inviting Valkyrie to follow.

      Valkyrie started to walk, but Kes pointed. “There,” she said.

      A figure was slowly coming into focus on the other side of the room. A woman with silver hair, standing with her head down.

      “Leave,” Kes said.

      “Not yet.”

      “You have to.”

      “There’s something about that house.”

      “Valkyrie,” Kes said, “leave now or she’ll see you.”

      Valkyrie hesitated, but she knew she had no choice.

      She let it go, let it all go, and the house vanished and the vision washed away and the cellar came back.

      Kes looked at her. “You OK?”

      “No,” said Valkyrie, walking for the stairs. “I hate seeing the future.”

       9

      For a solemn occasion such as an execution, the mood in Coldheart Prison was something approaching a festival.

      The convicts lined the tiers, eager for the show and struggling to contain themselves. Every so often an excited whisper would drift down to the broad dais that hovered above the energy field. On that dais the teenage members of First Wave stood in the costumes that Abyssinia had ordered to be made for them – black, with shiny belts and polished boots – to give them the false sense that they were an elite military unit. To Cadaverous, they were scared little children, no matter what they happened to be wearing.

      He stood with Razzia and Destrier and Nero. Beside them, and yet apart, were Avatar and Skeiri. Abyssinia’s new favourites. The up-and-comers. Cadaverous despised them even more than he despised First Wave.

      The only member of First Wave not dressed in her finery was the annoying girl with the habit of constantly flicking her hair out of her eyes. Dressed in civilian clothes, she stood on the very edge of the dais, a mere step away from a lethal plunge to the force field below. The bracelet she wore was cheap but solid and needed a key to remove it. It also bound her magic.

      “Please,” she said through the tears that were streaming down her face, “I just want to go home.”

      Abyssinia stood beside Parthenios Lilt, their heads down, seemingly consumed by disappointment. They didn’t answer the girl. That wasn’t down to them. That was down to First Wave’s leader, the arrogant whelp Jenan Ispolin.

      He strode forward awkwardly, as if his knees had locked. The bravado that he usually carried with him – even here in Coldheart, surrounded as he was by genuine threats – seemed to be missing at this moment. He was pale, and afraid, and he looked as young as he was.

      “Isidora Splendour,” he said, his voice trembling slightly, “you have been found guilty of betraying your true family.”

      Isidora shook her head. “I didn’t betray you, I swear.”

      Jenan continued. “We are destined for greatness. We have been chosen to change the world. This is the highest honour.”

      “Jenan, please.”

      “And yet, you jeopardised this sacred mission with your cowardice.”

      She turned. “I don’t want to kill anyone,” she sobbed. “None of us do. Mr Lilt, please. You’re my teacher. Please help me.”

      Lilt shook his head sadly.

      “Abyssinia,” Isidora tried, “I’m begging you, we don’t want to do this, but we’re too scared to tell you. Please don’t make us. We’re only children. We don’t want to hurt anyone.”

      Abyssinia looked to the rest of First Wave as they huddled together. “Is this true?” she asked gently. “Have you reconsidered? Have you had second thoughts? We are training you, making you stronger, better, more powerful. Your old classmates would barely recognise you, you have advanced so much. You have evolved. You are my dream made flesh.” Her smile faltered. “But if this traitor’s words are true, if you do indeed see yourselves as only children, you must tell me. Please, I beg you – be honest. Open your hearts. If you doubt me, if you doubt my plan and you have lost faith in our future together, a future that is on the horizon, now is the time to make this clear. Speak, my loves.”

      It was as if the entire prison held its breath and was silent.

      Isidora fell to her knees, crying.

      Abyssinia nodded slowly to Jenan. “Continue,