frowned. “Mr Peccant isn’t going to throw me off, is he?”
“I have no more information than that, I’m afraid. You’ll have to take your chances. Off you go.”
Omen glanced at Never and got a sympathetic look in reply. He stuffed his book into his bag, headed for the door and tripped over Jenan’s outstretched foot. Omen went stumbling and the class erupted into laughter that was immediately curtailed by Miss Wicked’s arched eyebrow.
Omen left the room and dragged himself to the South Tower. Peccant may have been an excellent teacher, but he was also a terrifying man with an explosive temper, and Omen had always got the impression that teaching was just the wrong vocation for him. Maybe something like State Executioner would have been more suited to his personality. Or Puppy-Killer.
Despite his reluctance to arrive, Omen walked a little faster. To keep Peccant waiting when the teacher was already in a bad mood would not have been wise. Omen took the main stairs up and cut through the Combat Arts block. Not every Corrival graduate was going to work for a Sanctuary, but it was still generally acknowledged that being able to defend yourself was a good thing, and should be encouraged. In this block, they devoted equal time to the physical and magical sides of self-defence. Auger, of course, was the star pupil.
When Omen reached his destination, there was nobody waiting for him. He walked out on to the covered balcony that circled the tower. The wind was pretty stiff up here. He looked out over Roarhaven. From where he was standing, he could see the High Sanctuary and the Dark Cathedral, challenging each other across the Circle zone. Below him, people walked over the bridge that spanned Black Lake. He thought he saw movement beneath the water and he peered closer. The Sea Maiden had her home down there, somewhere in that sparkling darkness. A beautiful woman with long dark hair, Omen had only glimpsed her once, but that had been enough to enthral him. Below the waist she may have been a serpent, but above the waist she was divine.
“Mr Darkly,” a man said from behind. Right before he turned, Omen thought it was Peccant speaking, but it wasn’t.
It was Skulduggery Pleasant. Skulduggery Pleasant was standing there, speaking. Beside Skulduggery Pleasant stood Valkyrie Cain. Valkyrie Cain stood beside Skulduggery Pleasant, and they stood there, looking at Omen, and Omen stood there, looking at them and trying his very best not to geek out.
“I’m your biggest fan,” Omen said before he could stop himself.
Skulduggery Pleasant’s head tilted. “Thank you,” he said. He was wearing the coolest suit Omen had ever seen, and he was a skeleton. Omen had known this, of course he had, but there was a world of difference between knowing there existed a living skeleton and actually seeing him in front of you. There were no wires or strings keeping the bones together, at least none that Omen could see. He was tall, and the brim of his hat dipped low over his eye sockets.
Valkyrie Cain – the Valkyrie Cain – was almost as tall as Skulduggery, and prettier than she appeared in the photographs he’d seen – and she appeared plenty pretty in the photographs. Her black hair was a little longer. She was bigger, too. Slim, but beneath her jacket her shoulders were wide. It was weird seeing her in jeans. Like she was out of uniform.
“My name is Skulduggery Pleasant. This is my associate, Valkyrie Cain.”
“Hello,” Omen said. He sounded reasonably calm, which surprised him. His voice didn’t break, which delighted him. This was a good start, but he could feel the excitement bubbling up from his chest. He hiccuped. “Excuse me,” he said.
“Your name was given to us by one of your teachers,” Skulduggery continued. “Apparently, you are someone we could possibly trust with sensitive information. We need your help, quite frankly.”
Omen nodded. Then frowned. Then tried to smile. Then looked confused.
“This world faces a threat,” Skulduggery went on, “and we think you may be able to help us stop it.”
“Oh,” said Omen, it all suddenly making sense. “No, sorry, you’ve got the wrong brother. I’m Omen Darkly. You want Auger Darkly – he’s the Chosen One.”
“We haven’t made a mistake, Omen. It’s you we want.”
A frown creased Omen’s forehead once more. “Why?”
“Your brother would draw too much attention,” Valkyrie said. “From what I’ve heard, people notice when he walks by. We need someone who disappears in a crowd.”
Omen smiled widely. “That does sound like me.”
“What we’re about to ask you to do shouldn’t be dangerous,” Skulduggery said, “but, if it turns out that way, your skills could come in useful.”
My skills? Omen thought.
“My skills?” Omen said.
“Your brother has received the best combat training available anywhere since he was four years old. You help prepare him, don’t you?”
“I’ve … I’ve trained with him since we were kids, yes. What’s this about, please?”
They came forward. Omen had to resist the urge to step back.
“There is an organisation,” Skulduggery said, “which doesn’t have a name. We’ve been hearing rumours about it for years, an anti-Sanctuary, designed to sow the seeds of chaos and discord around the world and, ultimately, force a war between sorcerers and mortals – a war that sorcerers, presumably, would win, though not without heavy cost. We don’t know who’s in charge. We don’t know where it’s based. We don’t know how many agents it has or how powerful it may be. What we do know is that it’s been working behind the scenes for decades. We have had run-ins with only three people who we suspect were directly connected to it. The first was a man called Bubba Moon, who claimed to have been visited by a ‘being of wonderment and awe’, demanding blood sacrifice. The next two were a couple of killers with a mission to complete – Cadaverous Gant and Jeremiah Wallow.”
“What was their mission?” Omen asked.
“To kill me,” said Valkyrie.
“Oh.”
“Out of those three individuals,” Skulduggery continued, “all were American, and only Gant is alive and at large. Whether their nationality is a coincidence or means something more, I can’t say yet. In the last three years, however, the rumours I’ve been hearing have intensified. Apparently, the anti-Sanctuary is now operating out of Roarhaven.”
“OK.” Omen tried smiling again. “I still don’t know what you want with me, though.”
“An associate of mine went undercover,” Skulduggery said. “Temper Fray. He infiltrated a group of sorcerers who talk about mortals like they’re vermin. He befriended them, and started giving me names. Melior. Smoke. Lethe. Then he disappeared.”
Omen stared. “Is he dead?”
Skulduggery tilted his head. “Hopefully not. Before he vanished, Temper became convinced that the anti-Sanctuary
