cult meeting, so I’m not doing anything for the next few hours.”
“Sharon’s in a cult?”
“Yeah, it’s one of those funny ones that try to get the women members to sacrifice their husbands at every full moon or something. I don’t know if that’s an appropriate atmosphere to bring a kid into, but everyone needs a hobby, am I right?”
Valkyrie didn’t quite know what to say to that, so she nodded to the unconscious fat man. “And it’s OK to leave him here?”
“He’ll be fine,” Finbar said, grabbing his jacket. “Will we take your car or mine?”
Skulduggery tilted his head. “Do you have a car?”
“Nope.”
“Then we’ll take mine.”
“Probably wise. I think I’ve forgoten how to drive.”
They left the city and for most of the journey Finbar lamented the fact that his psychic powers could not ascertain who would win the All-Ireland Championship. What good were psychic powers, he asked, if they couldn’t tell you who was going to win the Gaelic football?
They drove on until they came to a cottage, surrounded by nothing but fields and meadows and hills, rolling back as far as they could see. A light headache pressed against Valkyrie’s temples, but she did her best to ignore it.
“Cassandra’s one of the best Sensitives around,” Finbar said as they got out of the Bentley. “Skul-man knows her, am I right?”
“You are,” Skulduggery confirmed.
“Cassandra’s a nice old bird,” Finbar continued, leading them to the cottage, “and she has all these fancy little doodads that help her with her psychic mojo stuff. Wait till you see the dream whisperers, Val. They’re like something out of Blair Witch.”
Valkyrie didn’t know what a Blair Witch was, but before she could ask the cottage door opened and a woman appeared. She looked to be in her fifties, and her long hair was grey and hung loosely around her shoulders. She wore a faded dress and a light cardigan.
“Cassandra,” Skulduggery said, a smile in his voice. “You’re looking well.”
“You’re a liar,” Cassandra Pharos said, “but I don’t care. It’s good to see you again.”
“Cassie,” Finbar said, “this is Valkyrie Cain.”
“I’ve seen you in my dreams, Valkyrie,” Cassandra said. “But in my dreams you’re older than you are now. That’s a good thing.”
“Oh,” Valkyrie said. “Right.”
Cassandra ushered them into the cottage and closed the door behind them. It was an almost perfectly ordinary cottage. It had rugs, it had a sofa, a TV, a bookshelf, a guitar in the corner and doors leading off into the other rooms. But what set it apart from any other cottage Valkyrie had been in were the dozens of little wooden figures hanging from the rafters.
Each one was about the size of her outstretched hand and was made up of bundles of twigs, bound with strips of black ribbon. Two arms, two legs, a torso and a head. Cassandra saw her looking.
“My abilities don’t work the same as Finbar’s,” she said. “Mine require a lot more effort for significantly lesser results. For me, glimpses of the future can come during meditation, they can flash into my head without warning or they can come in dreams. I have all sorts of tools of the trade to help me, from every culture and country.” She took a twig figure off a shelf. “This is a dream whisperer. Dreams that you forget, that drift from your mind when you wake, they collect. They keep them as long as they have to, and when it’s time, they tell you about them. You have to be really quiet to hear their whispers though, which is why I live all the way out here.”
Valkyrie did her best to look interested and not creeped out. Cassandra was making it sound like the little figure was alive.
Cassandra smiled and held it out. “Take it,” she said. “You look like you have interesting dreams.”
Valkyrie hesitated then took it. “Thank you. It’s…lovely.”
It didn’t have any features, no mouth or eyes, but she could still feel it watching her. She smiled tentatively and put it carefully in her coat pocket.
Cassandra led them to a narrow door and they followed her down into the cellar. In stark and unpleasant contrast to the cosiness of the cottage, the cellar was an ugly room of cement brick walls and harsh lighting that made Valkyrie’s headache jab at her. The floor was a large metal grille and beneath the grille, coals. Rusted old pipes ran from a red wheel, up the wall and across the ceiling. Sprinklers protruded from the pipes and hung down half a metre below the protected lights. In the middle of the floor was a single straight-backed chair. A yellow umbrella lay beside it.
“This is the Steam Chamber,” Cassandra said as she sat in the chair. “This is where I can project what I’ve seen into images. Sometimes it’s hazy; sometimes it’s clear. Sometimes there is sound, sometimes not. At the very least, you can get an idea of what’s in my head. Before we begin, however, you have to understand something. This future you’re about to see is not set. You can still change it. All of you can.”
Even though Cassandra was speaking to all three of them, Valkyrie had the distinct impression that the comment was directed solely at her. Suddenly she wasn’t altogether certain she wanted to see what Cassandra had to show her.
“Why haven’t you gone to the Sanctuary with this?” she asked. “You and Finbar must be better than any psychics they have on the staff. They could probably use the help.”
“I don’t talk to The Man,” Finbar scowled. “The Man keeps me down.”
“In what way?” asked Valkyrie, genuinely puzzled.
Finbar hesitated. “General ways,” he said at last. “Just…general ways, keeping me down, oppressing me.”
“We’re not too fond of the Sanctuary,” Cassandra told her gently. “Any establishment as big and as powerful as that is rife with corruption. I suppose we’re still activists at heart, even after all these years.”
“Damn The Man,” Finbar said proudly.
“Now then,” Cassandra said, “to business. Skulduggery, if you wouldn’t mind…?”
Skulduggery looked at Valkyrie. “This may get a little warm.”
He clicked his fingers, summoning flame into both of his hands, and then he tossed the fireballs at the ground. They fell through the grille and he gestured, and the flames spread out and started to burn with the coals.
Cassandra closed her eyes and stayed like that for a minute or two. Valkyrie wanted to ask if she could open the door at the top of the stairs to let some air in because Skulduggery hadn’t been lying. It was getting uncomfortably warm down here.
Without opening her eyes, Cassandra reached down, picked up the umbrella and opened it. She rested it against her shoulder, open above her head, and she nodded.
“I’m
