Skulduggery and Valkyrie drove in silence. Gradually, the streets became dirtier and the buildings smaller. The rain added to the grey effect of their surroundings as they swung into a large, run-down residential estate, the car drawing curious gazes from the few locals who were out tonight. The house they stopped outside was abandoned. The walls were defaced with graffiti, none of it any good. Skulduggery wrapped his scarf around his jaw and pulled his hat down low. They left the car and walked through the open door.
The streetlight shone through the cracked and dirty windows, enough to see by. The house had been stripped bare. There were remnants, here and there, of wallpaper. The floorboards were old, and they were damp. Valkyrie let Skulduggery go on ahead and wandered into the living room. There was no graffiti in here, as if the brave souls who had scrawled their slogans so inelegantly on the outside were not quite bold enough to venture indoors.
She turned to go and a figure stepped through the door, blocking her exit. Valkyrie looked at him. He didn’t move. It had got even gloomier in the room, like the man had brought a cloud of shadows with him.
“I’m with Skulduggery Pleasant,” she said, but got no response. Valkyrie took a step closer, as much to see his face as to indicate her desire to leave. His hair was dark, but his eyes were so bright they almost gleamed. He was dressed in black, a finely tailored suit that she couldn’t appreciate in this light. He held a slender cane in his hand.
“Are you Solomon Wreath?” she asked, refusing to be intimidated by his silence.
“I am,” he answered and gave a little bow of his head. “I’ve heard about you. You helped take down Nefarian Serpine and Baron Vengeous. You stopped the Grotesquery. Such talent. Such potential. Has he corrupted you yet?”
“He corrupts everyone he meets. Have you noticed that? Have you noticed how much you’re changing, simply by being around him?”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“You will,” he promised.
He stepped into the room and she saw the shadows moving with him. She knew very little about Necromancers, but what she did know was that they preferred to place most of their power in objects or weapons. Lord Vile had placed his power in his armour. By the way the shadows were coiling, Solomon Wreath seemed to have placed his in his cane.
“This house has had a rather bland life,” he said. “It was built and people lived here. They ate here and slept here. They grew old. Someone, an elderly man, passed away peacefully in the bedroom, a little over ten years ago. A very, very ordinary house.
“Until two years ago. You may remember this from the news actually. Four people were murdered – three were shot; one was stabbed. Two people died here, in this room. The third was killed in the kitchen. The fourth in the hall, within arm’s reach of the front door.”
Valkyrie looked at him, noticing the way his eyes glittered as he described the scene.
“Who killed them?” she asked, determined to keep her voice steady.
He laughed. “Ah, you think all this is a preamble to me announcing that I’m the killer? I’m afraid not. I’m fairly certain that the police caught him, whoever he was, and put him in jail. But violent death lingers in a place.” He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. “A murder can imprint itself on the walls. You can taste it, if you try. You can drink it in.”
Valkyrie stepped away, her mind conjuring images of all that horrible dark energy swirling around him. She knew she shouldn’t have been surprised. Necromancy was death magic, shadow magic – it was only natural that its practitioners would be drawn to places that reek of death.
And then, as if he was remembering he had company, Wreath stopped, opened his eyes and looked at her again.
“My apologies. For our first meeting, I should have chosen a more civilised spot.”
“Don’t feel too bad,” Skulduggery said as he walked slowly in. “Valkyrie is my partner. You can treat her like you’d treat me.”
“That’s a shame,” Wreath said. “I actually liked her.”
“What do you want, Solomon? Our time is precious.”
“All time is precious, but you’ll want to hear what I have to say none the less. Or maybe you would rather I go to Remus Crux with this? I hear he’s running all over town, desperate for something with which to impress the Grand Mage.” Wreath shook his head. “His actions are deplorable. As one detective to another, Crux is a man who values a progress report over actual progress.”
“If you’re hoping we can bond because we share a distaste for the man, you will be disappointed.”
“That’s not all we share actually. We have a common enemy.”
“Is that so?”
“Your investigation into the Teleporter murders, however unofficial it may be, coincides with an investigation I have been running for the past few years, into the Diablerie.”
Skulduggery didn’t say anything for a moment, then turned to Valkyrie. “The Diablerie was a group of the sickest fanatics Mevolent had at his disposal. A group that China founded and led.”
“China?” Valkyrie echoed.
“She had a misspent youth,” Wreath smiled.
Skulduggery ignored him. “When China left and became, to use her own word, neutral, Baron Vengeous took over, but it’s been 120 years since they’ve been considered a real threat. It’s been over 80 years since they were actually heard of.”
“All that’s about to change,” Wreath said. “Jaron Gallow, Murder Rose and Gruesome Krav reunited two years ago. I have found evidence that they have since hired Billy-Ray Sanguine, to add to their ranks. The Diablerie are back, Detective, and they are killing Teleporters.”
“And Batu? What do you know of him?”
“I suspect Batu doesn’t even exist,” Wreath said. “It’s a name taken to divert attention. The real leader is Jaron Gallow. He just pretends to answer to a mysterious master. He’s been at it for years – it keeps everyone off balance.”
“That still doesn’t make any sense,” Valkyrie said. “Batu, or whoever was using that name, killed Trope Kessel after he found out how to bring back the Faceless Ones. But since they need a Teleporter to open the gate, why kill them all?”
“They need a Teleporter?” Wreath asked. “How many?”
“Just one.”
“And how many Teleporters are left?”
“Two,” Skulduggery said. “Emmett Peregrine and one more. We’re not going to be sharing either his name or location with you, so don’t bother asking.”
Wreath frowned. “You obviously haven’t heard. Peregrine is dead. He was murdered an hour ago.”
Valkyrie’s mouth went dry. “What about Tanith?”
“Who?”
“The girl who was with him,” Skulduggery said quickly.
“Ah, the English girl. I don’t know all the details, but from what I have heard, she was attacked by Krav and Murder Rose, and escaped with her life. Which is an admirable feat in itself.”
Valkyrie closed her eyes. Thank God.
“Now,” Wreath continued, “if there is only one Teleporter left, and since all the Teleporters I know about are dead, then he must be new. Which makes sense.”
“How does it make sense?” Valkyrie asked.
“None of the seasoned Teleporters would co-operate with the Diablerie,” Skulduggery said. “They’d be too experienced, too powerful. The chances of escape would be much too high.”
“But why kill them?”
“Because if the gate opens, they’d be able to close it. The Diablerie have taken out the biggest obstacles to their success before we even knew what was happening.”
“Those in the Necromancer temples have taken an oath not to involve ourselves in the trivialities of your affairs,” Wreath said. “But there are those who share my view, that the Diablerie’s plans affect everyone, Necromancers included. You will have my help should you need it, Detective. Me and three others.”
“Of course not, but like I said, we have a common enemy. I think we should put our differences aside, don’t you? For old times’ sake, if nothing else?”
Skulduggery hit him so hard and so fast that Valkyrie didn’t even register the punch; she just saw Wreath slamming back against the wall.
Wreath wiped the blood from his lip. “You certainly hit as hard as you ever did, and that’s no mistake.”
When Skulduggery spoke, his voice was even and without anger. “Solomon, so glad to have you onboard. Welcome to the team.”
“A delight, sir, as always.”
Skulduggery nodded his farewell and walked from the house, out into the rain. Valkyrie followed.
“What was that?” she demanded as they approached the Bentley.
“History,” Skulduggery replied.
“You never told me you had a history with the Necromancers.”
“I’m over 400 years old,” he said. “I haven’t told you a lot of things.”