Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 10 - 12. Derek Landy

much this would hurt.

      Before he kicked, a thought struck him, and he reached forward, turned the handle. The door opened.

      OK then.

      He ran in. The first Hollow Man started to turn and Sebastian slashed it across the arm, then spun, whipping the blade along the next one’s back. He flipped the knife in his hand and flung it. It went right through the third one’s chest, embedding itself in the wall behind. The Hollow Men staggered, not even attempting to stop the gas from escaping. Protected by his mask, Sebastian watched them deflate through a fog of green.

      “Odetta!” Bennet called, hurrying in behind him. He immediately started coughing, his eyes streaming. “Is she here? I can’t see her! I can’t see anything!”

      “I’ll check,” Sebastian said, guiding him back to fresh air. “Stay here.”

      He had finished the search in less than thirty seconds, and joined Bennet outside.

      “She’s not here,” he said.

      Bennet was on his knees, blinking madly. “As soon as her kidnappers find out someone’s been here, they’ll kill her. They’re going to kill her and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

      “Hold on a second,” Sebastian said. “Whoever’s been storing those Hollow Men here, they have to be the ones behind this. You’re a connected guy, Bennet – who do you know who can find out who owns this house?”

      “None of my old connections will speak to me any more.”

      “Surely there’s someone? Surely you still have friends who could check around for you?”

      Bennet stopped snivelling. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe I know someone who can help.” He took out his phone.

      While he made some calls, Sebastian gave the small house another search. He found plates in the kitchen cupboard, and a single cup. There was a small amount of food – enough for one person.

      “I might have something,” Bennet said when Sebastian stepped out. “This house is being rented by someone. I can’t find out the name, but whoever it is is renting a second house here, somewhere in Roarhaven. Maybe Odetta is there?”

      “Maybe,” said Sebastian.

      “We’ll have to wait a few hours before I can get the address, but you’ll help me? When I have it, you’ll help me?”

      “Of course,” said Sebastian. “That was our deal, right? I help you, and then you help me.”

      “Thank you,” Bennet said, grabbing Sebastian’s hand and shaking it. “Thank you so much for all of this. I’ve got such a good feeling. We’re going to get her back. I just know we are.”

       30

      Omen’s hands were shaking.

      This was normal, he supposed, in the aftermath of a near-death experience – that and the chattering teeth were to be expected. He’d had a dose of adrenaline dumped into his system and now what was left of it was sloshing around in his bloodstream, causing all kinds of tics.

      Someone had tried to kill him. Someone had actually tried to kill him.

      A few younger boys came into the bathroom, chatting and calling each other names. One of them tried Omen’s cubicle. The lock rattled in its bracket and the kid said, “Sorry,” and went into the next one. Omen waited until they were all gone before holding up his hand again.

      Yep, still shaking. That was probably going to last a while.

      His knee hurt. It throbbed, actually. He must have injured it when he’d slammed into the wall under Peccant’s balcony.

      Peccant had saved him. Wow. Peccant, of all people. Of course, Omen had been wearing a mask, so Peccant didn’t know who it was he was saving. If he’d known, he probably wouldn’t have bothered.

      But that raised a question. Did the others know? Did Jenan, or any of the Arcanum’s Scholars, figure out who he was in the short few seconds he’d been in their sights? Probably not. No, definitely not. All they had to go on was hair colour, height and the fact that he was a Third Year. Omen was suddenly grateful that the school had a uniform and that he hadn’t been born a redhead. He figured redheads would have a harder time getting away with stuff.

      He was safe. He was pretty sure he was safe. Now all he had to do was act natural. Jenan and his friends would be on the lookout for someone behaving suspiciously around them. He could act normally. He’d been doing it all his life. The knack wasn’t about to abandon him now.

      Omen left the bathroom. He glimpsed Jenan passing in the corridor ahead and he forgot how to walk properly. He frowned as he wobbled. One foot in front of the other, right? Wasn’t that it? He leaned on the wall for support, then kind of slid sideways to the floor.

      “What are you doing?” Chocolate asked, walking by.

      “Resting,” he answered, like it was perfectly normal.

      “You’re weird,” said Chocolate, and left him there.

      He had to tell someone. Skulduggery and Valkyrie – they were the obvious choice. They were the only ones who’d understand, after all, and probably the only ones who’d actually believe him. But, of course, it was Skulduggery who’d fired him, precisely to prevent something like this from happening. He wondered if Skulduggery would be mad. Probably, he decided.

      But if not those two then who? Auger? It’d definitely be the smart move … but then everything would change. Omen could see just how it’d happen. Auger would make sure Omen was safe and then he’d talk to Skulduggery and then they’d all go and take care of it together, and Omen would become the insignificant brother again. He couldn’t go back to that. Not yet. This was his first taste of something different, of something more. He wasn’t ready to give that up.

      “Get off the floor, Omen,” said Miss Ether as she passed.

      “Yes, miss,” Omen said, and got up slowly. His legs didn’t buckle. That was promising.

      The bell rang, signalling the end of break time and the start of the next class – a class that’d have half the Scholars in it, Jenan included. This would be Omen’s first real test. He just needed to be normal. He just needed to blend in.

      It’s what he was good at, after all.

      Omen sat with his eyes closed, his legs folded under him and his hands resting on his knees.

      “Breathe,” said Miss Gnosis. “In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

      Omen breathed. He was pretty good at breathing. Certainly as good as anyone else in the room. Top marks for breathing.

      “Let your body relax,” Miss Gnosis said in that Scottish accent Omen loved so much. “Listen to my voice. My voice is the only voice. My words are the only words. Let them fill you, like water fills a jug. Let them fill you like magic. Magic is like water, is it not? It ebbs and it flows. It nourishes. It destroys. It is all things.”

      Omen could hear his classmates around him. One of them made a whistling noise when they breathed in. It was faintly distracting, but Omen did his best to push it from his mind. He was actually getting relaxed now. The adrenaline was gone from his system. His teeth no longer chattered. His hands no longer trembled.

      Miss Gnosis continued to talk. “It doesn’t matter what discipline you decide upon, if you choose Adept or stay Elemental – because magic relies on the same muscles. We draw from the Source and we give back to the Source. You can feel it, can’t you? All around us?”

      The whistling was getting louder. How come nobody else was getting annoyed by it?

      “We’re not magic’s masters,”