switched on her aura-vision, reducing her sister to a dark outline, throbbing weakly with a dim, almost imperceptible orange. It was so spread out, so diffused, that it was barely there at all.
She switched off the aura-vision before it made her sick with guilt, pulled Alice in and wrapped her up in a hug. “You know what love is, don’t you?”
“Of course,” said Alice.
“And you love me?”
“With all my heart.”
“And I love you, too, with all my heart.”
They sat there, hugging.
“Is it OK that I don’t get sad?” Alice asked softly.
Valkyrie kissed her head. “I’m going to fix that. You don’t have anything to worry about. I’m going to find someone who can help you, and I’m going to fix everything.”
Alice nodded and didn’t respond, and Valkyrie hugged her closer and tried not to cry.
“It’s nice here, isn’t it?” Axelia Lukt said.
Omen looked up. He’d been daydreaming about being good at things, about being as cool as Skulduggery or as tough as Valkyrie or as capable as Auger. He hadn’t even noticed the tram emptying the closer they got to the Humdrums. It was only Axelia and him left on it now.
He looked out of the window. “I suppose,” he said, although to him this part of Roarhaven looked pretty similar to most of the other parts – apart from the fact that it was right beside the enormous wall that encircled the city. Was that what Axelia was talking about? Did she like walls?
“The wall’s pretty,” he tried.
“The wall’s ugly,” Axelia said immediately. “It’s horrible and grey and horrible.”
“That’s what I meant.”
“It blocks out the sun in the mornings for this whole part of town.”
“It’s so horrible,” Omen agreed.
“But the rest of it,” said Axelia, “it’s so nice. It’s peaceful, isn’t it? Quiet.”
Omen nodded, but he wasn’t quite sure that was true. The Humdrums were where the mortals lived, the more than 18,000 refugees who had trudged through the portal from the Leibniz Universe to escape their very own Mevolent, who was still alive and terrorising the ones left behind over there. Roarhaven had taken them in, mainly because there was nowhere else to keep them, and the High Sanctuary had assumed responsibility for turning them into productive members of society.
Axelia had grown up in a magical community in Iceland, where she’d had very limited interactions with mortals. Omen was beginning to think that maybe she viewed mortals, and these ones in particular, as quaint, somewhat primitive beings. It was ever-so-slightly condescending, he felt. And possibly ever-so-slightly racist.
The tram stopped and off they got. The Humdrums was definitely quieter than other parts of the city. No one here had cars, because no one could drive yet. Back in their own dimension, these mortals had been the serfs to the ruling class of mages. They’d lived in huts and hadn’t had access to technology.
Here they were free. They worked and were paid. They’d been introduced to the delights of television and the Internet. They could walk the streets without being accosted by sorcerers.
“Hello,” said Omen to a passing mortal. “Would you like a pamphlet?”
The mortal shrank back, but took a pamphlet and hurried on.
The bag over Omen’s shoulder was weighed down with these pamphlets. This week, they were handing out information about the First Bank of Roarhaven, China Sorrows’s pride and joy. Even mortals could save their money there, according to the pamphlets – it was perfectly safe and truly wonderful. Omen doubted this would work. The mortals here were more inclined to stash their money under their mattresses than hand it over to some huge institution where they didn’t know the rules.
But volunteering for this stuff got Omen out of the last class of the day, so he didn’t mind too much.
They folded pamphlets and stuck them through letterboxes and chatted whenever they regrouped at the end of a street. Axelia had already handed in her Senior Years Agenda. She wanted to be an Elemental, she said. There were a lot more of them flying these days, like Skulduggery did. She’d always wanted to fly.
Flying would be cool, Omen admitted. But he was wary of the fact that it required so much concentration. His mind was inclined to wander, after all.
They made their way to the square in the middle of the sector. It didn’t have a name yet – the mortals intended to vote on one in the coming months. The High Sanctuary even offered to have a statue erected to someone they admired, mortal or mage. They were still deciding on that as well.
Aurnia was waiting for them with a few other mortals. She waved as they approached. Her companions, one girl and three guys, left her to it. As they passed, one of the guys rammed his shoulder into Omen’s.
Before Omen knew what was happening, he was being loomed over and forced backwards.
“What?” said the guy who’d rammed him. “What?”
Omen blinked up at him. “What?”
“What?” demanded the rammer, his teeth bared, his eyes wide.
“I’m sorry?”
The guy’s friends were pulling him back, and Axelia was suddenly standing between them and Aurnia was running up.
“Hey,” Axelia said. “Hey! Back off!”
The guy glared at her, glared at Omen, and allowed himself to be dragged away.
“Are you OK?” Aurnia asked. “Omen, did he hurt you?”
“No,” Omen lied, rubbing his shoulder. “Who was that?”
“That’s Buach.”
Axelia frowned. “Boo-ock?”
“Buach, yes,” said Aurnia. “He’s … I don’t know. He doesn’t like sorcerers, and he wants everyone to know it. He just gets very angry sometimes. Living here, surrounded by magic people … it makes him unhappy.”
“Well, I’d stay away from him, if I were you,” said Omen. “You really don’t want to be around someone who’s that volatile.”
“He’s my boyfriend,” Aurnia said, wincing.
“That’s your boyfriend? I thought your boyfriend was nice and sweet and happy. Didn’t you tell me that?”
“And
