shook his head admiringly. “It must be some life to live, huh?”
“Must be.”
“And it must be a lot to live up to, as the twin brother.”
“You’d imagine so,” Omen said, “but I try not to try too hard. I’d hate to disappoint anyone.”
“That is probably wise, Omen.” There was a shout from down the corridor, and Filament waved, then turned back. “So hey, it was very good to meet you. I have passed you loads of times, but never had a reason to say hi. So … hi.”
“Hi.”
“And if you ever change your mind about the rugby …”
“The only way that’d happen is after a concussion playing rugby, so …”
Filament laughed. “Very well. I will see you around, then, Omen.”
The dinner bell rang, and Omen took one of the smaller staircases down. Never was sitting with his other friends, so Omen sat alone and watched people as they ate in their groups. The Sixth Year boys scared him, so he didn’t spend too long looking at them. The Sixth Year girls intimidated him, so he didn’t spend too long looking at them, either. The Fifth Year girls intimidated him, too, and so did the Fourth Years, so he pretty much stayed away from the girls completely.
His eyes settled on Jenan and his friends. They sat at the table at the far side of the hall, smirking to each other because that’s what they did – they smirked and felt superior. It was their favourite pastime.
It wasn’t a big deal, slagging off mortals. Omen didn’t like it, but it was everywhere, it happened in every part of the school, all the way up through the Years. Even some of the teachers indulged in it for a cheap joke and an easy laugh. But Jenan and his friends – Lapse and Gall, Sabre and Disdain – their comments were made of harder stuff, of sharper words. Their jokes were jagged, edged in bitterness. If a recruiter was to start recruiting in Corrival, Jenan Ispolin would be the obvious place to start.
And they were all part of a history study group, Arcanum’s Scholars, formed by Mr Lilt – a passionate teacher who, now that Omen thought about it, never had a good word to say about any mortal. Lilt sat at the staff table, chatting happily to one of the Combat Arts instructors.
Parthenios Lilt. Omen’s first suspect.
Excitement flared in his belly, as the idea registered with him that he might actually be good at this.
“I’m terrible at this,” Valkyrie said, closing the fridge door. Xena cocked her head quizzically. “Doing my own grocery shopping,” Valkyrie explained. “Human is no good at being human.”
Xena offered a whine of agreement.
“Don’t worry,” Valkyrie told her. “I’ve got plenty of food for you. That’s all you care about, isn’t it? As long as you’re fed, that’s all that matters.” She opened a pouch of dog food and emptied it into the bowl on the floor. “Unless I can microwave myself some of yours. It doesn’t look that bad …”
Xena didn’t seem impressed with that notion. She crowded her bowl, shielding it from view as she ate.
“Fine,” Valkyrie said, shrugging into her coat. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Protect the place while I’m gone, OK? And no parties.”
Xena ignored her.
Valkyrie got in the car and drove the fifteen minutes to the Super Saver in Haggard. She picked up the essentials, loaded in a treat or two and took it to the till. As she was waiting to pay, she saw her mother perusing the shelves. Valkyrie stayed very still.
Her mother looked around, eyes low, smiling as Alice came into view. Little Alice, with those dimples and that ever-present smile, showing her mum which box of cereal she’d like. Valkyrie handed over cash, didn’t bother with the change, just grabbed her grocery bags and walked quickly out of the store. To be spotted was to be hugged, was to be showered with love she didn’t deserve. To be spotted was to see the excitement and love in Alice’s eyes – eyes she had seen flutter closed five years earlier, when Valkyrie had killed her in a misguided attempt to save the world. The fact that she had clumsily managed to revive her moments later didn’t change the fact. Killing was killing. Murder was murder.
Valkyrie loaded the bags into the back of the car and got out of there.
She was halfway home when the phone rang. It made her jump. She pressed Answer and Skulduggery’s voice filled the car.
“We have a name,” he said.
“Sorry? A name for what?”
There was a pause from the other end. “You sound like you’re in a bad mood.”
She sighed. “I’m just hungry. I haven’t eaten since breakfast. And the fact that I now have visions has made me hugely grumpy. I don’t want to see the future, Skulduggery, especially if the future looks like that. I’m barely holding it together as it is.”
“What do you mean?”
Her hands tightened on the wheel. “I mean the stress.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. The stress. You know this. I talked about this.”
“You did. But for a moment it sounded like you’ve been going through more than you’ve been letting on.”
“No. Just the stress. So this name you’re talking about – a name for what?”
“For a suspect.”
“Wait, we have a name for whoever’s been recruiting from Corrival Academy?”
“We may have.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And where did we get this name, Skulduggery? Who gave us the name? It was Omen, wasn’t it? It was. For God’s sake, I thought we agreed on this.”
“We do,” Skulduggery said quickly, “and I was planning on talking to him in the morning, breaking it to him in person, and then a short while ago I received his text message. I didn’t expect him to come up with a name so quickly, to be honest. I mean, it’s probably nothing.”
“It’s undoubtedly nothing,” said Valkyrie. “He’s had half a day of being undercover and he has a name for us already? Either Omen is imagining things or he’s the greatest undercover agent in the history of the world.”
“You may be right.”
“So who is it?”
“Who is what?”
“The name.”
“Oh. Parthenios Lilt, a history teacher.”
“And
