Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 10 - 12. Derek Landy

be good at this.

       15

      “I’m terrible at this,” Valkyrie said, closing the fridge door. Xena cocked her head quizzically. “Doing my own grocery shopping,” Valkyrie explained. “Human is no good at being human.”

      Xena offered a whine of agreement.

      “Don’t worry,” Valkyrie told her. “I’ve got plenty of food for you. That’s all you care about, isn’t it? As long as you’re fed, that’s all that matters.” She opened a pouch of dog food and emptied it into the bowl on the floor. “Unless I can microwave myself some of yours. It doesn’t look that bad …”

      Xena didn’t seem impressed with that notion. She crowded her bowl, shielding it from view as she ate.

      “Fine,” Valkyrie said, shrugging into her coat. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Protect the place while I’m gone, OK? And no parties.”

      Xena ignored her.

      Valkyrie got in the car and drove the fifteen minutes to the Super Saver in Haggard. She picked up the essentials, loaded in a treat or two and took it to the till. As she was waiting to pay, she saw her mother perusing the shelves. Valkyrie stayed very still.

      Her mother looked around, eyes low, smiling as Alice came into view. Little Alice, with those dimples and that ever-present smile, showing her mum which box of cereal she’d like. Valkyrie handed over cash, didn’t bother with the change, just grabbed her grocery bags and walked quickly out of the store. To be spotted was to be hugged, was to be showered with love she didn’t deserve. To be spotted was to see the excitement and love in Alice’s eyes – eyes she had seen flutter closed five years earlier, when Valkyrie had killed her in a misguided attempt to save the world. The fact that she had clumsily managed to revive her moments later didn’t change the fact. Killing was killing. Murder was murder.

      Valkyrie loaded the bags into the back of the car and got out of there.

      She was halfway home when the phone rang. It made her jump. She pressed Answer and Skulduggery’s voice filled the car.

      “We have a name,” he said.

      “Sorry? A name for what?”

      There was a pause from the other end. “You sound like you’re in a bad mood.”

      She sighed. “I’m just hungry. I haven’t eaten since breakfast. And the fact that I now have visions has made me hugely grumpy. I don’t want to see the future, Skulduggery, especially if the future looks like that. I’m barely holding it together as it is.”

      “What do you mean?”

      Her hands tightened on the wheel. “I mean the stress.”

      “You’re sure?”

      “Yes. The stress. You know this. I talked about this.”

      “You did. But for a moment it sounded like you’ve been going through more than you’ve been letting on.”

      “No. Just the stress. So this name you’re talking about – a name for what?”

      “For a suspect.”

      “Wait, we have a name for whoever’s been recruiting from Corrival Academy?”

      “We may have.”

      Her eyes narrowed. “And where did we get this name, Skulduggery? Who gave us the name? It was Omen, wasn’t it? It was. For God’s sake, I thought we agreed on this.”

      “We do,” Skulduggery said quickly, “and I was planning on talking to him in the morning, breaking it to him in person, and then a short while ago I received his text message. I didn’t expect him to come up with a name so quickly, to be honest. I mean, it’s probably nothing.”

      “It’s undoubtedly nothing,” said Valkyrie. “He’s had half a day of being undercover and he has a name for us already? Either Omen is imagining things or he’s the greatest undercover agent in the history of the world.”

      “You may be right.”

      “So who is it?”

      “Who is what?”

      “The name.”

      “Oh. Parthenios Lilt, a history teacher.”

      “And why does our super-spy think the history teacher is a recruiter for the anti-Sanctuary?”

      “The history teacher doesn’t like mortals, for one thing.”

      “I don’t like mortals.”

      “You don’t like anybody.”

      “That doesn’t make me the recruiter.”

      “Parthenios Lilt leads a study group called Arcanum’s Scholars, a reference to Rebus Arcanum, a supposedly long-dead explorer into Realms Unknown. That’s what he called them. With capital letters and everything.”

      Valkyrie stopped at a crossroads as a huge tractor, festooned with lights, rumbled by. “Why is he supposedly long dead and not actually long dead?”

      “We never found the body.”

      “And what does he have to do with this Lilt guy?”

      “Nothing as far as I can see,” Skulduggery said. “That’s just what Lilt calls his study group. Six boys, three girls in all. Omen doubts they do any actual studying – he says they’re just not the type – so the question then becomes what is Parthenios Lilt teaching those students?”

      The tractor trundling away, Valkyrie eased out over the crossroads and continued on. “And Omen thinks he’s recruiting them for the anti-Sanctuary.”

      “Yes, he does,” said Skulduggery. “I’ve looked into Mr Lilt. I’ve just had a few minutes, but already I’m finding things that lead me to believe he’s led a varied life.”

      “He’s a sorcerer. That shouldn’t surprise you.”

      “He authored a report for the French Sanctuary on Neoteric sorcerers, nearly forty years ago. He actually coined the term.”

      “Then he should have done a better job because it means nothing to me.”

      “Neoterics are mages without recognised disciplines,” Skulduggery said.

      “Like Warlocks.”

      “Not really. Usually, they’re people brought up outside the magical community. They don’t know the rules, so they make their own, and their magic adapts to their personality.”

      “So sorcerers who didn’t know they were sorcerers,” Valkyrie said.

      “I suppose that’s a fair assessment. From what you’ve told me, Cadaverous Gant is probably a Neoteric. When his magic manifested, it fitted itself around his warped sensibilities and resulted in his unique power. They are relatively rare, thankfully, but usually unstable, unfortunately, so we keep an eye out for them. Most incursions occur because a Neoteric sorcerer has lost control and a mortal is right there to witness it.”

      “Jeremiah Wallow was probably a Neoteric, too,” she said, the car going over the humpback bridge on the way to her house.

      “Very likely, and Lilt may have had contact with them both. Valkyrie?”

      “I’m here.”

      “Did you hear what I said?”

      “Yeah. He may have had contact. So Omen might be right.”

      “It’s a possibility. I’m heading back to Roarhaven. The High Sanctuary has a copy of the Neoteric Report and I want to reacquaint myself with it. Can you meet me there