Bedlam

“You’ve changed,” Fletcher said, not moving. “The both of you. You have. Remember when we used to be a team? Remember the energy? The excitement? The laughs? Whatever happened to all that?”

“When who used to be a team?” Skulduggery asked.

“The three of us,” said Fletcher. “And Tanith and Ghastly.”

“And you?”

“Yes, me. You never took me seriously, but I was a vital part of the team.”

“You were the bus.”

Valkyrie laughed and Fletcher smirked.

“I helped out more than that and you know it,” he said. “You just don’t want to admit that I’ve grown. Hey, I understand. You knew me when I was a kid. Now I’m an adult, and I have a job, educating young people, moulding young minds. I have responsibilities. Obligations. We’re both alphas. You probably feel threatened by me. Also, you’re jealous of my hair. I get it. I’d be jealous of it, too. But I propose, right now, that we leave the past in the past and, from this day on, treat each other as equals. What do you say, Skulduggery?”

Fletcher stuck out his hand. Skulduggery observed it for a moment, then extended his own hand – and picked up his hat.

“You’re funny,” Fletcher said, nodding as Skulduggery put the hat on and stood. “That was well done.”

“Thank you,” Skulduggery said.

Valkyrie left a tip and got out of the booth after Fletcher, and they went outside and he teleported them home. He dropped Skulduggery beside the Bentley, and then left Valkyrie in her living room. She gave him a hug and he vanished, and Xena came bounding in.

Valkyrie had a few hours’ sleep, and then drove to Roarhaven to meet the Prince of the Darklands.

(#ulink_72cc19de-139d-521a-9026-d6af0eb4aa4b)

The Fangs was quiet this time of the morning. Vampires may not have been harmed by the sun, but they weren’t known to be early risers. The only people on the streets were those coming back from a night shift.

She followed the directions Dusk had given her and came to a theatre, a few years old and never used. She went round the back, found the opened door and climbed the stairs. With each step, she took the next one slower.

This could be a trap, of course. This was very likely a trap. It was so likely a trap that Abyssinia would have known that Valkyrie would be thinking that and would then dismiss it because of how likely it was, so then the possibility of this being a trap became even more likely.

Eventually, her thoughts became so confusing that she just marched up the rest of the stairs and emerged on to the roof of the theatre.

There was a man standing here, waiting. He was thin and had tightly-shaven silver hair, and pale scars on his pale skin.

“You must be Caisson,” said Valkyrie.

His smile was fleeting. Uncertain.

There was a nervous energy about him, like an animal getting ready to bolt.

Valkyrie proceeded with caution. “How are you coping with being back in circulation?”

“I have good days and … bad ones,” he said. He had a soft voice. “I’m having a good day now, in case you were wondering. I’m not going to attack you, or anything like that. I keep thinking I should attack you because … because we’re on different sides.”

“I keep thinking that, too.”

“Isn’t that odd? How we think that? How we’re almost ready to … to do that? For no reason other than the people we associate with.”

“It is strange, yes.”

Caisson’s eyes dipped. “You’re friends with the skeleton,” he mumbled.

“I am.”

“The skeleton murdered my mother.”

“He killed her, yes. But she came back.”

His eyes flickered up, and he gave another faltering smile. “I’m very confused,” he said.

“I don’t blame you.”

He was seized, all of a sudden, by an intensity that made Valkyrie want to step back. “The skeleton took my mother away from me!” he raged. “When I needed her! He hurt her! He killed her! She’s only alive today because he was too weak to finish the job! I hate him and I want to kill him and everyone he knows!”

And, as suddenly as it had arrived, the rage passed.

He started crying.

Valkyrie waited a moment. “What can I do for you, Caisson?” she asked softly. “Why are we here?”

It took him a moment to answer. It was a moment he spent wrestling with thoughts she’d never be able to understand.

“My mother,” he said eventually, “she has spies. I heard one of them say that you’re looking for someone. Something. A Crengarrion.”

She frowned. “Doctor Nye. Yes.”

“I know where it is. I heard my mother say.”

Valkyrie forced herself to wait.

“Is it important that you find this creature?” Caisson continued. “If it’s important, then I’ll tell you, but you need to tell me something first.”

“It’s important. I need Nye to help my sister. What do you want to know?”

“Greymire Asylum,” Caisson said. “Where is it?”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“But you can find out, can’t you? You’re a detective. You can ask someone. Maybe the skeleton knows.”

“I can find out, sure. You tell me where Nye is and I’ll find where—”

“No!” Caisson screamed. “You tell me where Greymire Asylum is and then I help you! You first! You!”

Valkyrie held up her hands. “OK! OK, I’ll do that. I will.”