Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 1 - 12. Derek Landy

it. I need your help.”

      Gordon began to pace the room. It was a big room, lined with bookcases and Gothic paintings. An oil portrait of a semi-clothed Gordon, his body rippling with muscles he had never possessed when he was alive, hung over the vast fireplace, glaring down at all who passed like a great and terrible god. Even though this house and the land around it had been left to Valkyrie, she still couldn’t bring herself to take the painting down. It was far too amusing.

      “Do you realise what this means for you?” Gordon asked, as his slow pacing took him towards the corner of the room. “A sorcerer who knows their own true name has access to power other sorcerers can only dream about.”

      His image began to fade away, and Valkyrie cleared her throat loudly. Gordon stopped and swung round, pacing back the way he had come. Immediately, he became solid again. The Echo Stone which housed his consciousness sat in its cradle on the coffee table, glowing with a soothing blue light.

      “I don’t care about any of that,” she said. “I saw one of these visions, OK? I saw a burning city and injured friends and I saw Darquesse – I saw me – kill my own parents.”

      “Now, just wait a second. From what you’ve told me about Cassandra Pharos’s vision, your future self and Darquesse seem to be two distinctly separate entities.”

      “That’s just because at no time in that vision was I ever seen hurting anyone. We saw fragments of what’s going to happen. We saw Darquesse, me, as a figure in the distance, fighting and killing and murdering, and then we saw me, my future self, close up, feeling pretty bad about it all, which was nice of her, but she’s undoubtedly a little fruitloops. Listen, it’s taken a while for me to look at this and be logical about it, but obviously someone finds out what my true name is, and they use it to control me.”

      “Then you’re going to have to seal your name,” Gordon said.

      “Do you know how I can do that?”

      “No,” he admitted. “I wrote about magic, but as you are aware, I never had the aptitude for it. Something like that, sealing your true name, is knowledge only a certain breed of sorcerer would have.”

      “I can’t ask Skulduggery,” Valkyrie said quietly. “I don’t want him to know.”

      Gordon stopped pacing, and looked at her kindly. “He would understand, Valkyrie. Skulduggery has been through an awful lot.”

      “If he’s so understanding, how come you still won’t let me tell him you exist?”

      “Well,” Gordon said huffily, “that’s different. That was never about him or anyone else. It was always about me, and my insecurities.”

      “Which you are now cured of, right?”

      He hesitated. “In theory …”

      “So you’d be fine with me telling Skulduggery that I talk to you on a regular basis?”

      Gordon licked his lips. “I don’t think that now is the perfect time for that. You have a lot on your plate, and I think I can be of more use to you without the distraction of other people.”

      “You’re scared.”

      “I’m not scared, I’m cautious. I don’t know how my friends would react. I am not actually Gordon Edgley after all – I am merely a recording of his personality.”

      “But …?” Valkyrie raised her eyebrows.

      “But,” he said quickly, “that doesn’t mean I’m not a person in my own right, with my own identity and value.”

      “Very good,” she smiled. “You’ve been working on it.”

      “I have a lot of time for self-affirmation while I’m sitting in that little blue crystal, waiting for you to drop by.”

      “Is that your subtle way of telling me I should call round more?”

      “I practically cease to exist when you’re not here,” Gordon said. “There’s nothing subtle about it.”

      The alarm on Valkyrie’s phone beeped once. “Fletcher will be here soon,” she said, picking up the Echo Stone and its cradle. “We better get you back.”

      Gordon followed as she led the way out of the living room and up the stairs. “The big meeting is this afternoon, isn’t it?”

      “Yeah,” she scowled. “Even after everything that’s been happening, with everything that’s hanging over me, I still have to waste my time at this stupid thing. Skulduggery says it’s important to see how this kind of politics works.”

      “You’re lucky,” Gordon said wistfully. “I would have loved to have been invited to something like that when I was alive.”

      “It’s going to be a bunch of people talking about what we’re going to do about setting up a new Sanctuary. What do I have to contribute to that?”

      “I don’t know. A general air of grumpiness?”

      “Now that I can do.”

      They passed into the study, but instead of following her through the hidden doorway to the secret room where he kept the most valued pieces of his collection, Gordon went to a small bookshelf beside the window. “And how is Fletcher these days?”

      “He’s grand.”

      “Has he met your parents?”

      Valkyrie frowned. “No. And he’s not going to.”

      “You don’t think they’d approve?” Gordon asked as he scanned the books.

      “I think they’d start asking all kinds of awkward questions. And I don’t think they’d like the fact that my boyfriend is older than me.”

      “He’s eighteen, you’re sixteen,” Gordon said. “That’s not drastically older.”

      “If I need to tell them, I will. Right now, Skulduggery has taken responsibility for asking every single awkward question that my parents could ever possibly ask, so you needn’t worry.”

      “This one,” said Gordon, pointing to a thin notebook. “In here there are directions to a woman who might be able to help you.”

      “She can seal my name?”

      “Not her personally, but I think she knows someone who can.”

      “Who is she?”

      “Who isn’t important. What, however, is. She’s a banshee.”

      “Seriously?”

      “Most banshees are harmless,” Gordon said. “They provide a service, more then anything else.”

      “What kind of service?”

      “If you hear a banshee’s wail, it’s a warning that you’re going to die. I’m not sure of the advantage of such a service, but it’s a service nonetheless. Twenty-four hours after you hear it, the Dullahan gets you.”

      “What’s a Dullahan?”

      “He’s a headless horseman, in the service of the banshee.”

      “Headless?”

      “Yes.”

      “Seriously?”

      “Yes.”

      “So he has no head?”

      “That’s usually what headless means.”

      “No head at all?”

      “You’re really getting hung up on this headless thing, aren’t you?”

      “It’s just kind of silly, even for us.”

      “Yet you spend your days with a living skeleton.”