shrugged. “What do you think I do at night while you’re sleeping? I asked Cassandra Pharos to let us know if she senses anything.”
Valkyrie’s smile faded. “Oh.”
“Do I detect reluctance? What’s wrong with Cassandra? You’ve only met her once.”
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with her. It’s just... You know that dream whisperer she gave me? I burned it.”
“You did what?”
“Oh, come on!” she exclaimed. “It was Blair Witch creepy and you know it! A little man-shaped bundle of sticks that whispered to you at night? How could you not burn something like that?” She quietened again. “But the problem is, with Cassandra being a psychic and all, the next time she sees me she’ll know instantly what I did.”
“She can’t read minds, Valkyrie.”
“She’d be able to read mine. I just know it.”
“I’m sure she’d understand.”
“Well, of course you think that. You have no idea about presents or what they mean. The last present you gave me was a stick.”
“You wanted a weapon.”
“It was a stick.”
“It had a bow on it.”
“It was a stick.”
“I thought you liked the stick. You laughed.”
“I laughed because I thought the stick was a joke and you were about to give me my real present, but then you went home and I was standing there with a stupid stick with a stupid bow on it.”
“You’re welcome, by the way.” Skulduggery stopped, turned his head. “Hear that?”
“What?”
He didn’t answer, he just changed direction and she followed. Gradually she heard the rhythmic slap of flesh on leather, and they walked into a sparse room with only a punchbag hanging from the ceiling. Ghastly Bespoke moved around it, wearing jogging bottoms and nothing else, sweat running over his scars as he made the punch bag regret the day it had come into existence. They stood watching him until he saw them, and he finished with a flurry and stepped away, breathing hard.
“Hello, underlings,” he said.
“Elder Bespoke,” Skulduggery responded, leaning against the doorframe. “Did that bag do something to upset you in any way?”
Ghastly wiped his face with a towel. “It was mocking my choice of friends.”
“Aha, so you were defending our honour.”
“Actually, I was trying to make it shut up before someone passed by. I’m a respected member of the Council of Elders, I can’t be seen to be taking advice from large bags of sand.”
Skulduggery shrugged. “I can see how that might give the wrong impression.”
“I heard you’ve the word out for someone called Argeddion,” said Ghastly. “Any luck?”
“None so far.”
“Any idea how he’s mixed up in all this? We’re getting a lot of pressure from the international community to get this solved and squared away.”
“Is that who the VIPs were last night?” Valkyrie asked.
Ghastly looked at her. “That was official Sanctuary business. I’m sorry, but I can’t be talking about that with you. I can’t say, for instance, that Quintin Strom turned up on our doorstep as the voice of the Supreme Council, elected by a virtual conglomerate of other Councils around the world, to voice their concerns over matters of Irish security.”
Skulduggery tilted his head. “Simply to voice their concerns?”
“Oh, yes,” Ghastly said. “No other agenda than that, he assured us. And please ignore the fact that he brought a small army of mages with him as bodyguards, an army that stands ready to act at a moment’s notice, or that we have a week to resolve this situation with the mortals or something unspecified will happen.”
“Ah,” said Skulduggery. “An unspecified threat. The worst kind.”
“Indeed,” said Ghastly. “Thank God we’re all friends, that’s all I can say. A more suspicious man than I might grow paranoid with all these foreign agents hanging around, especially with most of our own operatives spread out around the country to try and contain this magical outbreak. Why, if the Supreme Council got it into their little heads to launch an attack, we’d be completely defenceless.”
“It’s a good thing we’re all friends, then,” Skulduggery murmured.
“Indeed it is. So you see how finding this Argeddion person is suddenly very high up on our list of things to do and do quickly.”
“Then we’ll get back to it,” Skulduggery said. “Oh, did you get that jacket I left in to be repaired?”
Ghastly’s eyes narrowed. “I told you to be especially careful with that suit, didn’t I? I told you I was especially proud of my work on that suit. And what did you do? You wore it werewolf-hunting.”
“I only did it to help you, Ghastly. I fear this job robs you of the simple pleasures of tailoring that you need to remain true to your roots.”
“You’re so thoughtful.”
Skulduggery doffed his hat. “Always thinking of others, that’s me.”
They left Ghastly and headed for the main doors. Valkyrie chewed her lip a moment before asking, “Are we in danger?”
“Constantly,” Skulduggery replied.
“I mean from the Supreme Council.”
He looked at her. “Why would we be in danger from them?”
“Something Ravel said last year. If the other Sanctuaries try to take over, you and me would be the first people they’d kill.”
“Ah, yes, because of our wonderful propensity for causing trouble.”
“So? Are we in danger?”
They passed a Cleaver standing guard. “I honestly don’t know,” Skulduggery said. “If they do want to take over, and I’m confident they do, there are different ways to go about it. If they had chosen a hostile takeover, then absolutely, one of their first moves would be to have us killed. But the route they appear to have chosen is far more insidious – they’re using logic and reason against us. The fiends.”
“But they do want to take over?”
“They’ve wanted to for some time now.”
Valkyrie kept her voice down so passing sorcerers wouldn’t hear. “So do you think they’re behind this Argeddion stuff? If they wanted an excuse to stick their noses in, mortals turning magical
