Are you being honest?”
“You won’t go after my family or my dog. You don’t want me wasting my time worrying about the things I love. You want me focused.”
“Yes,” said Skulduggery. “Yes. You know me well, Valkyrie. I’m going to have fun with you. Your death … it isn’t going to be quick. And your life isn’t going to be painless. From this point until the end, it’s going to be … excruciating.”
She hung up.
Valkyrie’s throat was raw, her mouth haunted by the bitter aftertaste of the dried leaves she’d been given to ease the pain of the gunshot wound. Her leg was stiff, but numb, and already healing. She was so incredibly tired, though – like she’d already burned through a day’s worth of energy.
“It’s temporary,” she said to the room. “It’s temporary.”
And it was. It was temporary. Smoke’s corruption, it hit and overwhelmed and then it faded. She hadn’t lost him. Skulduggery wasn’t gone. Not forever.
She lowered her hands, looked at them while they trembled. She’d get him back. She didn’t give a damn what Lethe or the anti-Sanctuary wanted out of all this, but she was going to stop them and get Skulduggery back, and the corruption would fade and that’d be that. Easy. Simple. Straightforward.
She forced herself to breathe deeply, to calm down. Eventually, her hands stopped trembling.
“Can’t leave you alone for a second, can I?” Darquesse said, walking in.
Valkyrie ignored her, and carefully swung her injured leg off the bed.
“It’s true, then? He really has turned?” Darquesse asked, and sat on the bed beside her. “You must be terrified. Are you? You must be. You’re all alone now.”
Valkyrie experimented with putting some weight on to her foot.
“He shot you,” said Darquesse. “He actually shot you. Yes, he’s under the influence of a bad, bad man, but even so – that has to sting, doesn’t it? The fact that he is fully capable of hurting you? You’ve gone all this time thinking the bond between you was so strong it would survive anything … but he fails at the first real test of your friendship.”
“He hasn’t failed,” said Valkyrie.
“Tell that to your leg.”
“And our friendship has been tested before.”
Darquesse dismissed the notion with a wave. “You mean when you found out that he was Lord Vile? That’s nothing. He sinned. Sins are committed in order to be forgiven. But this … this was a real test.”
“Don’t you have someone else to haunt?”
Darquesse smiled. “Just you. So do you think he’ll go after Alice? Do you think he already has her?”
“He won’t. He told me.”
“You believe him?”
“Skulduggery wouldn’t lie to me.”
“So he’d shoot you, but not lie to you? Well, I suppose boundaries are important.”
“He doesn’t want me distracted,” Valkyrie said.
“Who’s distracted?” Reverie Synecdoche asked, walking in.
Darquesse moved out of the way and Reverie walked right by her.
“I am,” Valkyrie said. “Sorry. Just talking to myself.”
“First sign of madness,” Reverie said. “Can you stand?”
Valkyrie pushed herself off the bed. Her leg didn’t buckle, but Reverie was too busy making notes to notice her grimace.
“The scar should be gone completely in two or three days,” she said. “You’re lucky the bullet didn’t nick an artery, though. It could have been a lot worse.”
“Hear that?” Darquesse said. “You’re a lucky girl.”
Valkyrie stuffed her feet into her trainers and crouched to tie the laces. Her jeans were new. The old ones, bloodstained, with the left leg slit up the middle, were in a plastic bag somewhere, waiting to be thrown out or burned or whatever it was they did with ruined clothes here in Reverie’s clinic.
“I don’t know why she bothered, though,” Darquesse continued. “Wouldn’t it have been better to just let you die? I mean, it’s not like Skulduggery is not going to kill you. Your death is as inevitable as it is imminent.”
One of the nurses passed in the corridor and Valkyrie straightened and focused her attention on Reverie. “Clarabelle not working here any more?”
“Fine,” Darquesse sighed. “Ignore me.”
“Clarabelle?” Reverie said, finally looking up. “No, no. She’s busy being the worst bartender in the world. She stares into space half the time and for the other half cannot, for the life of her, remember what anybody ordered.”
“Everyone’s thinking it,” Darquesse said. “I’m just the only one brave enough to say it.”
“How are Scapegrace and Thrasher?” Valkyrie asked.
Reverie shrugged. “They come in here two or three times a year and I sew bits of them back on. Thrasher is still besotted, Scapegrace is still oblivious, and Clarabelle loves them both without measure. The pub’s quiet, but does OK. Thrasher is surprisingly good at bookkeeping, as it turns out.”
“I’m glad,” said Valkyrie, pulling on her coat. “I’m glad things are working out for them.”
“The doctor raises an interesting point, though,” Darquesse said, folding her arms. “About talking to yourself being the first sign of madness. Maybe you are mad.”
“By the way,” said Reverie, “I got a call from the High Sanctuary enquiring as to why you were not availing yourself of their medical facilities. I get the impression that Supreme Mage Sorrows would rather you spend your time where she can keep a closer eye on you.”
“I’m sure she would,” Valkyrie responded. “Thank you, Reverie.”
“It’s what I’m here for,” Reverie said, and Valkyrie shook her hand and limped from the room.
“Maybe you should ask her to take a look at your head,” Darquesse said, trailing after her. “Perform a brain scan or something. I just don’t think you’re playing with a full deck of cards, that’s all.”
Valkyrie limped on. Darquesse stayed right behind her.
“Let’s face it, you’re not exactly a poster child for mental health,
