“He’s eighteen, you’re sixteen,” Gordon said. “That’s not drastically older.”
“If I need to tell them, I will. Right now, Skulduggery has taken responsibility for asking every single awkward question that my parents could ever possibly ask, so you needn’t worry.”
“This one,” said Gordon, pointing to a thin notebook. “In here there are directions to a woman who might be able to help you.”
“She can seal my name?”
“Not her personally, but I think she knows someone who can.”
“Who is she?”
“Who isn’t important. What, however, is. She’s a banshee.”
“Seriously?”
“Most banshees are harmless,” Gordon said. “They provide a service, more then anything else.”
“What kind of service?”
“If you hear a banshee’s wail, it’s a warning that you’re going to die. I’m not sure of the advantage of such a service, but it’s a service nonetheless. Twenty-four hours after you hear it, the Dullahan gets you.”
“What’s a Dullahan?”
“He’s a headless horseman, in the service of the banshee.”
“Headless?”
“Yes.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“So he has no head?”
“That’s usually what headless means.”
“No head at all?”
“You’re really getting hung up on this headless thing, aren’t you?”
“It’s just kind of silly, even for us.”
“Yet you spend your days with a living skeleton.”
“But at least Skulduggery has a head.”
“True.”
“He even has a spare.”
“Are we going to get past this now?”
“Yes. Sorry. Carry on.”
“Thank you. The Dullahan drives a carriage, the Coach-a-Bowers, that you can only see when it’s right up beside you. He is not a friendly fellow.”
“Probably because he has no head.”
“That may have something to do with it.”
“So this banshee,” Valkyrie said, “is she one of the harmless ones, or the harmful?”
“Now that I do not know. Banshees are an unsociable bunch at the best of times. If she isn’t too pleased to see you, though …”
“Yes?”
“I’d recommend putting your hands over your ears if she opens her mouth.”
Valkyrie looked at him. “Right,” she said. “Thanks for that.”
“When do you plan to approach her?”
“Soon, I suppose. I mean, as soon as I can. I want this over with. I think I’ll … Tonight.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I have to, Gordon. If I put it off, I’ll never do it. I’ll give Skulduggery some excuse. He won’t miss me.”
“Valkyrie, from what I know of it, sealing your name is a major procedure. You have to be sure, going in, that this is the best thing to do.”
“I’m going to be sure. You remember when Dusk bit me? He tasted something in my blood, something that marked me out as different. I think that whatever he tasted has to do with Darquesse. So I’m going to get a second opinion.”
Gordon frowned. “You’re going to get someone else to taste your …? Oh, I see. You’re talking about him.”
“Caelan will be able to tell me what Dusk sensed. If it’s bad, I won’t need any more proof or prodding. I’ll know this is something I have to do.”
“Right,” Gordon said gently.
Valkyrie nodded, feeling an unwelcome mixture of apprehension and uncertainty. She left the Echo Stone in the hidden room and took the notebook from the shelf, flicking through the pages until she got to the part about the banshee. She put the notebook in her jacket pocket and went down to the living room. Her phone beeped again, and a moment later Fletcher Renn appeared beside the fireplace. Blond hair standing on end, lips always ready to kiss or smirk, one hand behind his back, the other with a thumb hooked into the belt loops of his jeans.
“I’m gorgeous,” he said.
Valkyrie sighed. “Are you, now?”
“Do you ever just look at me and think, God he’s gorgeous? Do you? I do, all the time. I think you’re gorgeous too, of course.”
“Cheers.”
“You’ve got lovely dark eyes, and lovely dark hair, and your face is all pretty and stuff. And I love the way you dress in black, and I love the new clothes.”
“It’s a jacket, Fletch.”
“I love the new jacket,” he insisted. “Ghastly really made a lovely, lovely jacket.” He grinned.
“You look wide awake,” she said. “You’re never wide awake at this hour of the morning.”
“I’ve been researching. You’re not the only one who likes to read books, you know. Apparently, my power will increase if I work at it a little, so I thought I’d give it a try. I was told there was this book in Italy, written by a famous Teleporter – dead now, obviously – that could really help me, so I went there and got it.”
“Good man.”
“But it was written all in Italian, so I left it on the shelf and went to Australia for ice cream.” He brought his other hand out from behind his back, holding an ice-cream cone. “Got one for you.”
“Fletcher, it’s winter.”
“Not in Australia.”
“We’re not in Australia.”
“I’ll take you to Sydney for five minutes, you can eat the ice cream while we watch the sunset, and then we’ll come back to the misery here.”
Valkyrie sighed. “Your power is wasted on you.”
“My power is brilliant. Everyone wishes they had my power.”
“I don’t. I quite like being able to hurl people away from me just by moving the air.”
“Well, every non-violent person wishes they had my power, how’s that?”
Valkyrie frowned. “I’m not a violent person.”
“You punch people every day.”
“Not every day.”
“Val, you know I think you’re great, and I think you’re the coolest chick I’ve ever met, and the prettiest girl ever – but you get into a hell of a lot of fights. Face it, you lead a violent life.”
She wanted to protest, but no argument sprang to mind. Fletcher stopped holding out the ice cream, and started licking it instead, already forgetting what they’d just been talking about. Valkyrie checked the time, forcing her attention back to the here and now.
“Are