The majority of the spells in his spell book did absolutely nothing at all. But this forger, whoever he was, corrected every mistake as he went along. I dare say this is the most important academic discovery of the last fifteen years.”
“Wow.”
“And it’s mine,” China said with a contented smile.
Skulduggery came back, carefully turning the pages of a book that had seen better days. “We need your help,” he said.
China made a face. “Small talk’s over already? Well that’s no fun. We didn’t even get to trade barbs. Oh, how I miss the old days. Don’t you, Valkyrie?”
“They had their moments.”
“They did, didn’t they? It was all ‘Sanctuary business’ this, ‘saving the world’ that, but now what is it? Now you’re on the outside, looking in at a few measly murders. Is this really a case that is worthy of the magnificent Skulduggery Pleasant?”
“Murder’s murder,” Skulduggery said, not looking up from the book.
“Oh, I suppose you’re right. So tell me, how is Guild’s man handling the Irish end of the investigation?”
“You mean you don’t know?” Valkyrie asked, genuinely puzzled. She’d learned by now that every good detective makes full use of information brokers, and China was by far the best in her field.
China smiled. “Do you really think that Remus Crux would associate with me, a person of my dubious history? Remember, dear Valkyrie, I once consorted with the enemy. I once was the enemy. Crux is a limited man of limited imagination. He has his rules, as set down by Thurid Guild, and he follows them. People who follow rules do not come to me. Which explains why I speak to both of you with such regularity.”
“We rogues have to stick together,” Skulduggery said absently.
“That kind of defeats the purpose of being a rogue though, doesn’t it?”
“Isthmus Anchor,” Skulduggery said, reading aloud from the book. “An object belonging to one reality, residing in another. Animate or inanimate. Magical or otherwise. Casts an Isthmus Stream, linking realities through dimensional portals.” He closed the book and his head tilted thoughtfully.
“So?” Valkyrie asked.
“So we have to figure out what form this Anchor takes, and find it before the enemy does. Let me muse on it awhile. China, we need to find someone. An English boy – Fletcher Renn.”
“I’ve never heard of him. Is he a mage?”
“Natural-born Teleporter.”
She arched an eyebrow. “I see. In that case, I may have heard of him after all. Three reports of a ‘ghost boy’ in three different nightclubs in County Meath. The nightclub staff either refused him entry or refused to serve him, and he grew petulant, stormed off and vanished into, as they say, thin air. Because his vanishings were only witnessed by the intoxicated, the inebriated, and the stupid, the authorities aren’t exactly taking it seriously.”
“Where in Meath?” Skulduggery asked.
China motioned to the thin man, who was standing so still that Valkyrie had forgotten all about him. The thin man disappeared for a moment, then came back with a map and spread it over China’s desk.
“Here, here and here,” China said, her manicured fingernail tapping lightly on the map.
Skulduggery took a pencil from the desk and drew a circle around the three points. “If what Peregrine says is true, and Mr Renn can only teleport a few miles at a time, then that would put him somewhere in this area.”
“That’s a lot of buildings to search,” China noted.
Skulduggery tapped the pencil against his skull. It made a pleasing hollow sound. “A seventeen-year-old boy with the power to appear anywhere. If he needs money, he appears in a bank vault. If he needs clothes, a clothes shop. Food, a supermarket. He’s not going to be just anywhere. He’s starting to see himself as better than everybody else. He’ll only stay in the best places. The best hotels.” The pencil made an X on the map, within the circle.
“The Grandeur Hotel,” China commented. “Very likely the only hotel in the area with a games console in every room.”
“That’s where he is,” Skulduggery said, wrapping his scarf around his jaw. “That’s where we’ll find him.”
The elevator doors slid open and an elderly couple stepped out. The woman looked curiously at Skulduggery as they passed. Valkyrie joined him in the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor, Fletcher Renn’s most likely location. As they started to rise, Skulduggery checked his gun.
From the elevator they walked down a long corridor. They turned a corner and almost bumped into the man coming the other way. He had blond hair and was wearing sunglasses. There was a moment of stunned silence.
“Oh,” Billy-Ray Sanguine said, “hell.”
He stepped back as his hand darted for his pocket, but Skulduggery slammed into him and the straight razor flew from Sanguine’s grasp.
Skulduggery’s elbow cracked against his jaw and Sanguine stumbled, hand reaching for the wall. Upon contact, the wall started to crumble and Sanguine began passing through, but Skulduggery grabbed him and hauled him out again.
Valkyrie heard a door open and turned to see a good-looking boy who loved his hair staring at them from the doorway of his room.
She lunged at him, pushing him into the room, and slammed the door behind them. The room was luxurious, with a couch and armchairs, a huge TV and a gigantic bed, none of which mattered in the slightest right now.
“You’re Fletcher Renn,” she said. “You’re in great danger.”
Fletcher Renn looked at her. “What?”
“There are some people who want to kill you. We’re here to help you.”
“What are you talking about?”
He had an English accent, not too dissimilar to Tanith Low’s. He was better-looking than she’d imagined and China had been right about his hair. It was spiky and carefully, meticulously untamed.
