Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 1 - 12. Derek Landy

Valkyrie shouted. He looked over, cutlass frozen in mid-swing. “Put the sword down.”

      Vengeous laughed. “Or what? You’ll cut Sanguine’s throat? Go ahead.”

      “I’m not kidding. I’ll do it.”

      “I believe you.”

      “I’ll do anythin’,” Sanguine pleaded. “I’ll go away, I’ll never come back, I’ll never see you again, I swear.”

      Vengeous looked faintly disgusted. “Try dying with some dignity, you godless wretch.”

      “Shut up, old man!” Sanguine shouted.

      Vengeous laughed. “Look up, girl. It’s almost time.”

      Valkyrie looked up at the clear night, at the full moon. The Earth’s shadow had almost covered it.

      “Can you feel it?” Vengeous asked. “The world is about to change.”

      Valkyrie felt a hand close over her own and suddenly Sanguine was twisting and she went right over his shoulder, landing in a tumble, the straight razor gone from her grip. She turned, ready to defend herself, but Sanguine took a look at the situation and then looked back at her, folded the razor into his pocket and sank through the ground.

      Vengeous smiled at her then looked down at Skulduggery. “The eclipse is almost upon us, abomination. The Faceless Ones are coming. Everything I have planned, everything I have dreamed of, is being realised. You have failed.”

      “Not yet I haven’t,” Skulduggery muttered.

      “What are you going to do?” Vengeous mocked. “Have you a clever surprise in store for me, up your sleeve? Be careful now, you only have one left.”

      “Then for my next trick,” Skulduggery said and then faltered. “Ah, sod it, I couldn’t be bothered thinking up something smart to say. Valkyrie.”

      Valkyrie clicked her fingers and hurled a fireball. It struck Vengeous in the chest, and the clothes he wore under the armour were set alight. Vengeous cursed and used the shadows to douse the flames. The revolver skimmed across the ground into Skulduggery’s left hand and he fired.

      The cutlass fell. Blood started to trickle from Vengeous’s burnt chest. Vengeous could only stare down into Skulduggery’s empty eye-sockets.

      “But … but this isn’t how I’m supposed to die,” he said weakly. “Not … like this. Not by your hand. You’re … you’re an abomination.”

      “I’m a lot of things,” Skulduggery said and dropped his gun.

      Vengeous staggered back. He saw Valkyrie, reached for her. There was no strength in his grip. She pushed him and he fell.

      Vengeous crawled to the Grotesquery. “Tell them I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ve failed them …”

      The Grotesquery moved its hand so that it touched Vengeous’s face. It looked almost tender, until the hand gripped and wrenched and the Baron’s head snapped to one side. The Grotesquery let go and the body crumpled.

      The Grotesquery struggled to its feet. The last of the moon’s brightness slipped into shadow. The Grotesquery stood, and although it looked unsteady, it didn’t fall.

      Skulduggery tried to rise, but couldn’t. He snapped his fingers but no spark came. “Fireball,” he said to Valkyrie. His voice was strained, sounded weak. “Shoot a fireball into the sky. It’s our last chance.”

      She frowned, not understanding the request, but obeying nonetheless. Her thumb pressed to her index finger and they slid off each other with a click. The friction made a spark, she caught the spark in the palm of her hand and then it was a flame. She poured her energy into it, made the flame bigger, dipped her shoulder for the wind up and then threw. The fireball went straight up into the night, burning brightest at its peak, and then faded to nothing. She looked back at Skulduggery.

      “That should do it,” he mumbled and let himself collapse.

      “What do I do now?” she asked, but he didn’t answer.

      She picked up Tanith’s sword and looked over at the Grotesquery.

      “Hey,” she said. It turned to her and her mouth went dry. Everyone else had fallen. She was on her own.

      “I overestimated you,” a voice said and Valkyrie turned. The Torment approached, stepping over the prone bodies of the Cleavers. “I overestimated all of you. I thought you’d be able to manage this on your own.”

      The fireball. It must have been a signal, calling upon the last piece of back-up they had. Valkyrie briefly wondered what Skulduggery had had to agree to in order to enlist the Torment’s services. She was pretty sure it wasn’t anything cheerful.

      “Leave,” the old man said. “I don’t like being this close to you. Leave me to take care of this creature.”

      “I’m not going anywhere,” Valkyrie said, her words scraping from her throat.

      “Then stand aside,” he snapped, “and allow me to clean up your mess.”

      “My mess?”

      “This monstrosity would not be alive if it wasn’t for you and the blood that is in your veins. Your very existence is a threat to every living thing on this world.”

      It was an argument she didn’t have the time nor the inclination to win, so Valkyrie backed off. She watched as the inky liquid leaked from the old man’s eyes and ears and nose and mouth. She watched his arms and legs turn black and grow long, and the spider legs burst through his already-ripped shirt. She watched an eye open in the middle of his forehead and his torso lift off the ground, and she watched the Torment-spider look down at the Grotesquery with a pitiless gaze.

      “Hello, monster,” he said and vomited blackness.

      The blackness hit the Grotesquery and it stumbled as the blackness grew and became spiders. The Grotesquery reeled, spiders all over its body, attacking as one.

      The Grotesquery caught one of the spiders in its massive right hand and squeezed, the spider burst. The Torment-spider scuttled after it, swiping with his front leg, catching the Grotesquery across the back. The Grotesquery hit the ground, bursting the spiders beneath it, and the Torment-spider stabbed downwards. The tips of two legs pierced the Grotesquery, pinning it where it lay.

      And then it vanished and the air above the Torment-spider opened up. The Grotesquery dropped on to the Torment-spider’s back. The Torment-spider reared up, trying to dislodge his attacker, but the Grotesquery had him in its grip now. Valkyrie saw the stinger dart out, but its point had been severed and it rebounded uselessly off the Torment-spider’s armour plates.

      The Torment-spider was cursing, the panic turning the curses into shrieks. The Grotesquery’s right arm unravelled, the strands wrapping around his throat, pulling him back, making him rear up higher. The Torment-spider stumbled over the bodies of the Cleavers and the Grotesquery yanked back hard, and he tipped over. He landed on his back, his eight legs kicking in the air. The Grotesquery was slow to get up, but it was getting up nevertheless. The Torment-spider, however, was unable to roll on to its side.

      “Help me!” the Torment-spider screeched.

      Valkyrie felt the sword in her hand. If she could get to the Grotesquery before it stood, she might have a chance. But her legs wouldn’t move.

      The Torment was shrinking. His spider legs were retracting into his body, his own arms and legs reforming, the blackness absorbed through the pores of his skin. Valkyrie watched the race between the Torment, trying to reassert his human guise in order to get up, and the Grotesquery, who was now on one knee and struggling to stand.

      The Grotesquery won the race by three seconds. It looked down at the Torment, now a pale and weak old man, helpless at its feet. Its huge right hand reached down, picked the old man up by his long hair, held him off the ground. The Torment moaned in pain.