Last Stand of Dead Men. Derek Landy

course they do,” Ravel said, sounding tired.

      “They believe both Vex’s group and Tanith Low’s gang were taking orders from you,” Illori said. “Two teams going after the same prizes, independent of each other – doubling the chances of success.”

      “Well,” said Ghastly, “it’s nice to see the Supreme Council thinks we’re so badly co-ordinated as to organise something as incredibly inept as that.”

      “Illori, go home,” Ravel said gently. “Tell them you approached us with this proposal and we politely declined. Tell the Supreme Council that, before he died, Grand Mage Strom agreed that their interference was not necessary. He would have recommended no further action if Tanith Low hadn’t killed him. You and your colleagues have nothing to fear from us.”

      “But that’s not strictly true, is it?” Illori asked. “You have the Accelerator. We’ve heard what it can do. Bernard Sult witnessed its potential. He saw the levels to which it can boost a sorcerer’s power. If you so wanted, you could boost the magic of every one of your mages and you could send them against us. Our superior numbers would mean nothing against power like that.”

      “That’s not something we’re planning on doing.”

      “Then dismantle it. I’m sure that would go a long way to placating the Supreme Council.”

      Ravel shook his head. “The Accelerator is powering a specially-built prison cell – the only cell in existence capable of holding someone of Darquesse’s strength. We need it active.”

      “Then give it to us as a gesture of good faith.”

      “As a gesture of naivety, you mean. We’re not giving you the Accelerator. We’re not dismantling it. We’re not turning it off. We’re not even sure if it can be turned off. If that makes the Supreme Council nervous, then that is unfortunate. Please make it clear to your colleagues that we do not intend to use the Accelerator against them as part of any pre-emptive strike.” Ravel sat forward. “If, however, the Supreme Council launches any kind of attack against us or our operatives, and if we feel significantly threatened, then using the Accelerator to even the odds is always an option.”

      “They’re not going to be pleased to hear that.”

      “Illori, at this point? I really don’t give a damn.”

      

      esmond Edgley threw back his head and sang, “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, you look like a monkey, and you smell like one, too!” and laughed like a drain as Valkyrie blew out her candles. It had been the same lyrics every year since she was old enough to know what a monkey was. She had grown up and matured. Her father had not.

      Her mum and baby sister clapped and Valkyrie sat back down, grinning. Faint trails of smoke rose, twisting, from eighteen candles, and were quickly dispersed by her mother’s waving hand.

      “Did you make a wish?” her dad asked.

      She nodded. “World peace.”

      He made a face. “Really? World peace? Not a jetpack? I would have wished for a jetpack.”

      “You always wish for a jetpack,” her mum said, cutting the cake. “Have you got one yet?”

      “No,” he said, “but you need to use up a lot of wishes to get something like a jetpack. On my next birthday, I’ll have wished for it forty times. Forty. I’ll have to get one then. Imagine it, Steph – I’ll be the only dad in town with his own jetpack …”

      “Yeah,” she said slowly, “I’ll be ever so proud …”

      Her mum passed out the plates, then stood and tapped her fork against a glass. “I’d like to make a toast, before we begin.”

      “Toast,” said Alice.

      “Thank you, Alice. Today is a big day for our little Stephanie. It’s been a big week, actually, with the exam results and the college offers. We’ve always been proud of you, and now we’re delighted beyond belief that the rest of the world will be able to see you the way we see you – as a strong, intelligent, beautiful young woman who can do whatever she puts her mind to.”

      “Toast,” Alice said wisely.

      “You’ve been in our lives for eighteen years,” her mum continued, “and you have brightened every single day. You’ve brought joy and laughter to this house, even when times were tough.”

      Her dad leaned in. “It is not easy being married to me.”

      “And today is also the day that Gordon’s estate passes into your name. You are now the sole custodian of his books, the owner of his house, and the spender of his money. And even though you’ve known that this was coming since you were twelve years old, you never slackened off. You never took anything for granted. You finished school, you got excellent results, and you made sure you faced the future on your own terms. We couldn’t be prouder of you, honey.”

      Before her mum could start crying, Valkyrie’s dad stood up. He cleared his throat, pondered a bit, and then began. “It is no secret that I always wanted a son.”

      Valkyrie howled with laughter and her mum threw a napkin at her husband, who waited until things had calmed down before continuing. “I thought that having a daughter would mean there’d be pink everywhere and I’d have to take her to ballet lessons and when she was old enough to have a boyfriend I’d be really weird around him. Thankfully, none of this turned out to be the case.”

      Valkyrie blinked. “You were extraordinarily weird around Fletcher.”

      “No, you’re misremembering. I was cool.”

      “You kept touching his hair.”

      “I have no recollection of that ever happening.”

      “Des,” her mum said, “you were really, really weird to that boy.”

      “Can I be allowed to finish my speech? Can I? Thank you. So, to recap, I never wanted daughters. But when Stephanie was born I looked into her big eyes and I was so overcome by both her cuteness and the baby fumes that I decided to let bygones be bygones, and start over. It was a noble and selfless act by me, but you were only two days old so you’re probably too young to remember it.”

      “Probably,” said Valkyrie.

      “And now look at me!” her dad said. “Eighteen years on and I have two daughters, and the smaller one can barely walk in a straight line, let alone do ballet. What age are you, Alice? Four? Five?”

      “Eighteen months,” said Valkyrie’s mum.

      “Eighteen months and what have you to show for it? Do you even have a job? Do you? You’re a burden on this family. A burden, I say.”

      “Toast,” Alice responded, and squealed as her dad scooped her up and did his face-hugger walk round the kitchen.

      “I’m pretty sure that when that speech started it was about you,” Valkyrie’s mum said, “but then he kind of got distracted. Des. Des, don’t you think it’s time to give Steph her birthday present?”

      “Present!” Alice yelled, as her dad held her over his shoulder by one ankle.

      “Fair enough, wifey. I suppose it can’t be put off any longer. Steph, now that you have large sums of money, you can of course buy one of these brand-new if you so wanted. But I like to think that a second-hand one, bought by your parents, would have a sentimental value that you just wouldn’t be able to get in a—”

      Valkyrie