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morwenna-crows · 4 years

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Seasons of War: First Nine Chapters Preview

A new series of Seasons of War previews were released this morning - a prologue, and chapters 3 to 8, which follow on directly from the earlier two chapter preview.

A table of contents was also released - the book is 144 chapters total, split into Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter. There are 32 chapters in Spring, 23 in Summer, 39 in Autumn, and 50 in Winter.

I’ve put the previews under the cut, enjoy!

And all was memory. The memory of gods and people. The memory of monsters.

Prologue.

"I don't know who I am anymore.”

"OK."

"I thought I did. I was the good guy. I was descended from the Last of the Ancients. I saved the world."

"And what's changed?"

"You know what's changed."

"You think you're not the good guy?"

"I've got the blood of the Faceless Ones in my veins. How can I be the good guy when everything I've come from is murder and death and torture and hatred? You know the worst thing? It's how much sense it all makes now. Darquesse killing all those people? The reflection killing Crystal? Me killing Alice? Everyone I've hurt and all the terrible things I've done?"

"You're blaming your heritage for all that?"

"Oh, no. No, no. I'm blaming me. But I'm the way I am because of my blood."

"And what about Alice? Is she a bad guy, too?"

"She's eight."

"But you saw her in the future, about to face down her arch-enemy. Do you think she's the hero in that story, or the villain?"

"It doesn't matter. The future can be changed. I'm going to change it. Whatever road she's going down, I can head her off."

"How is she? Still crying herself to sleep?"

"Some nights. My folks took her to the child psychologist, who says it looks like repressed trauma. I should tell them. Right? I should. They need to know what's happened in order to make her better."

"If you tell them--"

"I know."

"If you tell them, they might never speak to you again. They'll definitely never let you see Alice."

"But they'll be able to help her.”

"How? How will that help her? What will they tell this psychologist? When our daughter was a baby, her big sister killed her and fractured her soul? How can any mortal psychologist make sense of that? How can... What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You have another headache?"

"It's nothing. And I don't know how it'd help, and I don't know how they'd explain it without sounding nuts, but I've kept this from them for way too long and they need to know the truth."

"No, they don't. What would be the point in ruining your relationship with your parents? You love them, they love you, and they never have to know about Alice's soul being broken. You fixed it, didn't you? You went through hell to find the pieces and put it back together. Why would you tell them what happened? Alice isn't going to. She barely understands what happened back then."

"Maybe she should tell them. I'm making her keep a huge, traumatising secret from her own parents. I damaged her years ago, when she was a defenceless little baby, and, when I try to fix her, I just damaged her some more. At least when her soul was fractured she didn't feel any sadness. What have I done? What exactly have I done to make her life better? I've just given her back that sadness, all in one go. All the pain, all the sorrow, all the trauma, all the horror, all the--"

"Valkyrie. Stop. You're doing it again."

"I've ruined her. "

"Stop it. You're spiraling."

"So what? So what if I'm spiraling? I deserve to spiral. After everything I've done, I deserve to spiral and I deserve a lot worse. You don't know what it's like to have these thoughts on your head. You don't. You don't know what it's like to have them constantly swirling and getting louder and louder. It's deafening in here. I can't hear anything else. All these voices, all these horrible, horrible voices, saying horrible, horrible things. The guilt... Jesus, the guilt. You don't know. It's everywhere. Every time I open my eyes. Every time I close my eyes. It's always there. It's underneath everything. Even when I'm with Militsa. Even when I'm with Skulduggery. I don't know... I don't know how much longer I can keep going. "

"Hey. "

"Oh, God."

"Hey. Look at me. Listen to me. You'll keep going because that's what you do. I don't know much about much, but I know you. I am you, although slightly smarter and significantly prettier."

"I don't think I can."

"You’re doubting yourself. That's fine. Everyone has doubts. You hate yourself, too. I get that. You've been out in impossible situations, forced to do unthinkable things. But this, how you're feeling now, it won't last forever. You think it will - it feels like it will - but it won't. You're in a pit, but you've climbed out of that pit before and you'll climb out of it again."

"I'm too tired."

"I don't think that matters. You're not going to stop climbing. I know you're not."

"You don't... You don't know me like you think you do. You're not me. You're a piece of Darquesse that she left behind."

"And Darquesse is a piece of you."

"So you're a piece of a piece of me, from back when I was eighteen. I've changed since then."

"I know you have. Look at all the muscle you've put on. Why couldn't you have had abs seven years ago, eh? Then I'd have them, too."

"That's not really what I mean."

"You talk like you're about to give up, but you're down at that gym how many times a week? And what food do you eat? When was the last time you had a pizza?"

"I don't..."

"If you'd given up, you wouldn't be working out. If you'd given up, you wouldn't be calculating when you're getting your next dose of protein. You'd have stopped caring about any of that stuff."

"But that's habit. That's... I dunno. That's something I do to take my mind off things. If I focus on the next rep, if I focus on lifting more than I did last week, then I have a few moments where I don't have to listen to all the horrible things going on in my head."

"You've still got a hell of a lot of fight in you, Valkyrie. I know you do. I can see it."

"I don't think you're right. I'm not a robot. I don't just keep marching on. There's only, like, so much someone can take, isn't there? There's only so many times you can fall into a pit before you think to yourself, what's the point in climbing out if I'm just going to fall back in tomorrow?"

"I... You need help. And not from me. And not from that bloody music box. You need professional help. Maybe some decent medication. You definitely need someone to talk to you who knows what they're doing."

"The music box helps."

"No, it doesn't."

"I wouldn't be able to get out of bed in the morning if I didn't have it."

"It's not healthy."

"It calms me down."

"It turns you into a zombie. I've watched you when you're listening to it. You just sit there, staring at the wall. I've actually called your name, actually shouted in your ear, and you haven't noticed I'm even there."

"You're exaggerating."

"I wish I were. It's not good for you."

"It helps."

"And what about those little Splashes of magic? Did you really think I didn't know about them?"

"I just use them when I have to."

"You realise it's a drug, right? What, nothing to say to that?"

"I don't talk to you to be judged. I talk to you because there's no one else I can talk to about this stuff. And I talk to you because, if I didn't, you know what? You'd float around, you'd walk through walls, you'd do whatever it is you do when I'm not there, and no one would see you or hear you or even know you exist. So do me one small favour, OK? Do not judge me. You're a piece of a piece of me that's a frickin' murderer. You're a piece of a piece of me that's an inhuman psychopath who was intent on killing the whole goddamn world."

"You're in a bad mood. I can tell."

"Just leave me alone, Kes. I need to be by myself."

"You'll never be left alone, you silly thing. This is the life you chose, a life of adventure. And the next one, as always, is just around the corner."

Chapter 1.

Red candles, maybe a dozen of them. Brick walls. Lot of rafters, lot of shadows, lots of big, empty patches of darkness. Wooden floor. She was in a cellar, a big one, upright against something metal. She could feel the struts digging into her back. Her arms were over her head, wrists bound with rope. Ankles tied, too.

Her tongue tasted sour. They’d drugged her. Her mouth was dry. She licked her lips. Her head was dull. She shot a little magic through her system and her mind cleared instantly.

She wondered if her make-up had been smudged. She hoped it hadn’t. It had taken ages to put on. Her shoes were gone. Good. They were awful. She was still in the dress, though, the one that was too small and too tight and not very practical. It did have one thing going for it, however – the amulet of dark metal, in the shape of a skull, that fitted against her hip like some cool- looking clasp.

She raised her head slightly, gave her surroundings a closer inspection through the hair that hung over her face. Pedestals displayed occult paraphernalia in glass cases like this was some- one’s idea of a black magic museum, and good quality – though obviously plastic – skeletons, dressed in rags, hung from shackles along the walls. The ground was sticky against her bare feet. She was positioned in the exact centre of a pentagram painted on the floorboards. She was pretty sure the dark stains had been made by copious splashes of blood.

“She’s awake,” someone said in the darkness ahead of her. “Hey, she’s awake. Get the others.”

The sound of feet on wooden steps, and then yellow light flooded in from above. A large shadow flowed across the light and then the cellar door closed and she was left with the flickering red candles and whoever had spoken.

He came forward, out of the darkness. Dressed in a red robe with the hood up.

“What’s your name?” he asked. His voice was gentle. American. Warm.

“Valkyrie,” she said.

“Valerie?”

“Valkyrie. With a K.”

“That’s a nice name. Unusual. Is it Irish?”

“Norwegian.”

“Oh. My friend said you were from Ireland.”

“I am. My name isn’t.”

“Ah.” He stepped a bit closer. She could see the lower half of his face, his square jaw and his even white teeth.

“You’re probably freaking out right now. I get that. I do. You wake up, you’re in a dark cellar, you see satanic stuff all around, you probably think you’re going to be horribly butchered in some ridiculous human-sacrifice ritual, yeah?” He pulled his hood down and his smile broadened. “Well, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

“I know you,” said Valkyrie.

“Do you?”

“You’re that actor,” she said. “From that movie. You’re Jason Randal.”

“You want an autograph?”

“How about a selfie? If you could just hand me my phone...”

He laughed. “Oh, I like you. That’s an impressive response. Usually, the girls we sacrifice are full of panicked questions at this stage, like they think they can make sense of what’s happening. Like they can’t bring themselves to believe that they’re about to be murdered.”

“What was that movie you were in, with the guy from The Big Lebowski?”

Jason tilted his head slightly. “I haven’t been in a film with—”

“No, you know the one. You both play dead cops who are still, like, solving crimes and stuff? You’re not zombie cops, or ghost cops, but... what’s it called? I want to say RIP, but...”

Jason’s smile faded. “RIPD,” he said.

“Yes,” Valkyrie said. “That was a terrible movie. Why did you make that?”

He scratched his jaw. “That was Ryan Reynolds. You’re thinking of Ryan Reynolds.”

“That wasn’t you?”

“No.”

Valkyrie frowned. “Are you sure?”

“I think I know what films I’ve been in.”

“I could have sworn it was you.”

“Well, it wasn’t.”

“It’s a terrible movie.”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen it and I wasn’t in it.”

“It’s bad.”

“Then how about we stop talking about it?”

“Are you ashamed of it because it’s so bad?”

“I wasn’t in it.”

Valkyrie looked at him. “Maybe if you had a better agent you’d get better movies.”

Yellow light flooded the cellar and shadows moved, cast by the three people coming down the steps, all dressed in red robes.

“Is the Master here?” Jason Randal asked them, annoyance pinching his words.

“He’s on his way,” the woman in front said. Her name escaped

Valkyrie, but these days she was always being cast as the girlfriend or the wife of the hero. A few years ago, however, she’d headlined a few movies herself. Not bad movies, either. The guy behind her, one of the stars of a dreadful sitcom Valkyrie had pretended to like, was the one who’d bought her the spiked drink in the crowded bar. She recognised the last person – an actor in a TV show she’d never watched who had a ridiculous name that she couldn’t remember.

The woman had an amazing smile and incredible bone structure and wonderful hair. It shone in the candlelight. “I take it Jason has explained what’s going to happen,” she said.

“Don’t bother with this one,” Jason said, somewhat grumpily. “She’s not that bright.”

Valkyrie ignored him. “I’m a huge fan,” she said.

“Aw, thank you.”

“That film where you were out for revenge on the men who’d killed your husband? That was brilliant.”

“That’s really sweet of you to say so. I did a lot of my own stunts for that one.”

“The fight scenes were excellent.”

The woman smiled at the others. “Do we have to kill her? She has such great taste!”

The others chuckled – all except Jason. He didn’t chuckle even a little bit.

“We should do it now,” he said. The woman frowned at him. Victoria, that was her name. Victoria Leigh.

“Before the Master gets here?”

“It’s almost midnight. We’ll have to do it anyway, with or without him.”

“The Master will not be pleased,” said the sitcom star.

“Then the Master should be on time for the human sacrifice,” Jason snapped back. “The rest of us are all here, aren’t we? And we have careers. I have to be on set in two hours, and don’t you have an early call tomorrow?”

“I do have an early call,” murmured the sitcom star.

Victoria checked the slender gold watch on her slender pale wrist. “OK, fine, get everything ready to go. We’ll wait till the last second. If the Master arrives in time, excellent. If he doesn’t, we’ll do it ourselves on the stroke of midnight.”

The others nodded and went off to fetch whatever they needed to fetch. Victoria stepped closer, though, brushing Valkyrie’s hair back off her face.

“You’re a pretty one,” she said. “Not leading-lady beautiful, perhaps, but definitely girl-next-door pretty. And those shoulders! Good lord! Linebacker shoulders, that’s what we call them. I can see why Tadd picked you.” Her voice softened. “Was he respectful? I’ve warned him about this in the past.”

“Pretty sure he was.”

“Good. I’ve seen far too many girls being disrespected in my business and I’d hate to be a part of something that perpetuates this behaviour.”

“Aren’t you lot going to murder me in a few minutes?”

A little laugh. “I am aware of the contradiction.”

“Good,” said Valkyrie. “Because I was worrying.”

“I have to say... What’s your name?”

“Valkyrie.”

“Ah, from Norse mythology. Very nice. I have to say, Valkyrie, you’re surprisingly calm about this whole thing.”

Valkyrie shrugged as much as she was able. “I don’t want to brag or anything, but I’ve been in worse situations.”

“You have?”

“It’s all worked out in the end.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I don’t think that’s going to happen tonight.”

“We’ll see.”

“Indeed we will, Valkyrie. That’s a great attitude to have. We will indeed see. So tell me, what brings you out to LA? Aspiring actress?”

“Actually, I’m thinking of getting into stuntwork. I like being physical, you know? Throwing people around, crashing through windows, falling off rooftops... That’s my kind of thing.”

“Oh, I admire stunt people so much, I really do. I know this great little team down in Glendale. Such a shame you’re dying tonight – someone as athletic as you, you’d have fit in perfectly.”

“Can I ask you something? This Master guy you’re waiting on – who is he?”

“You sure you want to know? Well, why the hell not – you won’t be telling anyone, right? He’s a sorcerer. He’s magic.”

“Like one of those street magicians?”

Victoria’s laugh was as pretty as her eyes. “No, no, not like those street magicians. I mean he’s actually, really, genuinely magic. He can move things just by waving his hands. He clicks his fingers and he’s holding a ball of fire in his palm.”

“No kidding?”

“I swear it’s true.”

“And why does he make you sacrifice people?”

“Well, he gets his power from Satan, you see. He’s Satan’s emissary here on earth. All of us in our little group, we’re the ones who sacrifice the girls and, as a reward, Satan grants the Master the power to fulfil our wildest dreams.”

“Golly,” said Valkyrie.

“I know.”

“And does it work? Do your wildest dreams come true?”

Victoria made a seesawing motion with her hand. “It’s not an exact science. We get a lot of callbacks during pilot season, a lot of interest from casting agents and directors... but really Satan just opens the door. It’s up to us to walk through.”

“Right, right,” said Valkyrie. “So Satan is real, then?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Wow. And that’s all he asks for? Human sacrifice?”

“Yes. And a commission.”

“A commission?”

“That goes to the Master. For living expenses, you know.”

“So the Master gets a cut of whatever you make? How big a cut?”

Victoria hesitated. “Forty per cent.”

“Seriously?”

“But it’s worth it. Tadd wouldn’t have got that sitcom if it wasn’t for the Master, and I’m on a shortlist for the role of a wartime correspondent. It’s based on a true story and the script has a lot of buzz around it right now.”

“Good luck with that one. I hope you get it.”

“Thank you.” The others came back. Tadd held a candelabra of seven long- stemmed, unlit black candles, and the other one, the actor whose ridiculous name Valkyrie couldn’t remember, carried a box of polished oak. Jason Randal opened the box, and took out a long, curved dagger. The corners of his mouth lifted when he looked at Valkyrie.

“We still have two minutes,” Victoria said.

“She needs to be dead at midnight,” Jason responded. “I know the rules.”

“We should do it now, to be sure she dies.”

“We’ll do it at eleven fifty-nine. So long as you stab her in the heart, she’ll be dead in seconds. Light the ceremonial candles.”

The ridiculously named actor put the box down and came hurrying over, digging through his robes. He produced a silver Zippo, flicked it open and ran the flint wheel along his thigh. It sparked to a flame, and he put the flame to the seven black candles. Tadd held the candelabra aloft.

“The candles,” he said, “are lit.”

“The dagger,” Jason intoned, “is sharp.”

“The time,” Victoria said, eyes on her watch, “is now.”

Chapter 2.

Jason grinned and raised the dagger and then the seven candles went out.

“Oh,” said Tadd. “Sorry.”

Jason glared. “Relight them.” The actor with the ridiculous name flicked the Zippo open again, ran it across his leg again, and lit the candles again.

Sheepishly, Tadd held the candelabra aloft once more. “The candles are lit.”

Then they went out again. “For God’s sake,” Jason muttered.

“Are you standing in a draught or something?” Victoria asked. “Move over there, and don’t hold them up so high this time. Come on, we’re running out of time. Relight them.”

The actor with the ridiculous name flicked the Zippo open. “I swear,” said Jason, “if you run that up your leg one more time, I am stabbing you instead of this girl. Do you understand? Just light the damn candles.”

The actor narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have to be a—”

“Light the candles, Maverick!” said Jason and Victoria at the same time.

Maverick. That was his name. Maverick Reels. What a silly name. Not that someone who’d called herself Valkyrie Cain could throw stones, but still.

As Maverick fumbled with the Zippo, the cellar door opened and a man swept down the stairs. “Hail Satan!” he cried.

“Hail Satan!” the others cried back.

“Hail Satan,” Valkyrie added, just to be in with the cool kids.

“Midnight is almost upon us!” said the Master, summoning fire into his hand and passing it over the candelabra, lighting each wick. “Why does this girl still live? Kill her! Deliver her soul to the Dark Lord!”

“Voldemort?” Valkyrie asked, frowning. The Master pulled down his hood. He didn’t look like a Master. He looked like a mid-level office manager with a bad goatee. He peered at her. “Do I know you?”

“Do you?”

“I’ve seen you before.”

“Have you?”

“I’ve seen your photograph,” he said.

“Where have you seen it?”

“I’m trying to remember,” he said.

“Think hard now.”

“Stop talking.”

“Maybe it wasn’t even me,” Valkyrie said. “Was it a photo taken in a burning city? Then it wasn’t me. It was a god who just looked like me.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, no.” Valkyrie’s magic crackled, white lightning dancing around her wrists and ankles, burning through the ropes.

Panicking, the Master grabbed the dagger from Jason just as one of the skeletons in rags stepped away from the wall and seized his wrist.

“Let’s not do anything hasty,” Skulduggery said, and everyone in the little group of satanic worshipers screamed and leaped away as he punched the Master right on the hinge of his jaw.

The Master’s knees buckled and he collapsed into Skulduggery’s arms, and Valkyrie broke free of the scaffolding holding her and followed the actors as they scrambled up the cellar steps.

She caught Maverick just as the door crashed open, pulling him off the steps. He flailed madly and she ducked as he spun, then clocked him right on the chin. He stiffened and pitched backwards. Valkyrie left him there and ran after the others.

She emerged from the cellar into an impressively big house – a movie star’s house. Lots of glass and exposed brick and open spaces. She followed the sounds of panic to the front door, where Jason and Victoria and Tadd were cursing each other as they tried to navigate the locks.

They heard her coming. Tadd let out a roar and came charging. He was shorter than Valkyrie, and skinnier, and she stepped into him, stopping him with a shoulder. He staggered a little and her fingers curled into his hair and she smacked his face against the painting on the wall over and over until he fell down.

Victoria ran into another room as Jason Randal dropped his robe and squared up to Valkyrie. He was big. He had muscles. He moved like he knew what he was doing, or he’d at least worked with fight choreographers – but when he threw the first punch it was stiff and awkward and badly judged, and it stopped a good hand’s length short of where it needed to land. He didn’t have a clue, and this wasn’t worth bruising her knuckles over, so Valkyrie blasted him with a little lightning that threw him back against the door. He fell in a crumpled, unconscious heap and she went after Victoria. She was standing in the huge living room holding a poker like a baseball bat.

“This isn’t going to do me a whole lot of good, is it?” she asked after a moment.

Valkyrie gave a shrug, and Victoria sighed, and put the poker down.

“Was that an actual skeleton I saw downstairs, or was it some sort of special effect?”

“It was a skeleton. He’s alive and he talks. His name’s Skulduggery.”

“Of course it is,” Victoria said, and took a seat, wearily, on the couch. “So you’re a sorcerer, too, are you?”

“Yep.”

“You a Satanist also?”

Valkyrie sat opposite, and crossed her legs. “That guy’s not a Satanist. None of us are Satanists. Magic has got nothing to do with religion. Those people you sacrificed? The devil didn’t collect their souls. Those people just died.”

Victoria took a while before answering. “But then why did the Master tell us to do it?”

“Well, seeing as how all this is about money, I’m guessing that in order to get the lot of you to really commit, the idiot you call Master made you kill a bunch of innocent people so you couldn’t change your minds and back out at a later date.”

Victoria’s face slackened. “We didn’t have to kill those girls?”

“Nope.”

“But... but our careers... How did he—?”

“There’s a trick sorcerers can do once they know the name you were born with. They can tell you to do stuff. Not big stuff, not life-changing stuff – he wouldn’t have been able to coax a whole lot of money out of you that way – but he could certainly have suggested to casting agents that it’d be a good idea to call you in for a second audition, things like that.”

“Oh my God...”

“Yep.”

“What... what’s going to happen to me now?”

“You’re going to jail.”

“I should call my attorney.”

“You won’t need an attorney,” said Valkyrie. “You’re going to one of our jails. All four of you will disappear. No one will know where you are.”

“But my family... My fans...”

“They’ll never see you again.”

Victoria stared at her. “You can’t do that.”

“By our estimation, you’ve murdered sixteen young women between the four of you. We might be wrong. You might have murdered more.”

“But the Master told us we had to.”

“Stop calling him Master. He’s just some low-level sorcerer who couldn’t be bothered doing the work of a real agent so he invented this Satanist thing to make some money out of you morons. And I don’t care what he told you. You had a choice. You could have chosen not to murder sixteen innocent young women. Obviously, that’s not the road you decided to go down.”

Victoria sat forward, elbows on her knees, hands hidden by the voluminous sleeves of her robe, evidently processing what she could. “I can’t go to jail,” she said slowly. “I’m on a shortlist. That part could win me an Oscar.” She straightened up. She had a gun in her hand. “I’m really sorry.”

Valkyrie raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t react.

“Sorcerers aren’t bulletproof, are they?” Victoria asked.

“No, we’re not,” said Valkyrie.

“I’m really sorry about this.”

“Are you, though?”

Victoria thumbed back the hammer. It made a pleasing little click. “I’m not the best shot in the world,” she said, “but I’m not bad, either. That revenge movie I was in? My firearms coach told me I was a natural. But, even if I were the worst shot in the world, I couldn’t miss from this range even if I wanted to.”

“Oh, I bet you could if you tried.”

“Will a gun kill your skeleton friend?”

“Not that gun.”

“Then I’ll just kill you.”

Valkyrie tapped the amulet on her hip and the black suit spread outwards, covering her skin and her clothes, flowing down to her feet and to her fingertips before Victoria’s eyes could even finish widening.

The gun went off. The bullet hit Valkyrie in the belly and she grunted, sitting forward slightly. She pulled the hood up as a second bullet struck her chest. Christ, that stung. Her fingers found the mask in the hood and she pulled it down and felt it turn solid over her face as Victoria stood and proceeded to empty the gun into her. Valkyrie wondered what the skull mask looked like today.

Every time she pulled it down, it was slightly different than the time before. It was like Skulduggery’s façade in that way. Victoria’s final bullet hit Valkyrie in the forehead, making the mask reverberate. Valkyrie stood up.

“I thought you said you weren’t bulletproof,” Victoria said quietly, the gun hanging uselessly by her side.

“I’m not,” Valkyrie responded, brushing a squashed bullet from her chest. “The suit is. I was going to give you the option of leaving this house in cuffs, as opposed to unconscious, but...”

“But I just tried to kill you?”

Valkyrie shrugged, took the gun away from her.

“Please,” Victoria said, “not the face.”

“Sure,” Valkyrie said, and hit her in the face anyway.

Chapter 3

Omen Darkly went to prison.

He didn’t like it much. It was big and grey and intimidating and it smelled of fear and sweat and everyone seemed to be in a bad mood and he was glad, all things considered, that he was just going to be there for half an hour or so.

He wouldn’t have lasted long in prison. For one thing, he was only fifteen, and, while he was currently experiencing his long-awaited ‘growth spurt’, it had resulted in a feeling that he simply had too many joints to fit in his body.

Omen strongly suspected, however, that his twin brother would have excelled in here. Tall and strong, a born leader, Auger would have taken down the biggest and baddest convict on his first day and then made the prison his kingdom.

But the very idea was ridiculous. Auger was the Chosen One, born with an innate understanding of right and wrong. He was a good guy, the one person you could depend on to never let you down.

And right now he was in a hospital bed after having nearly been killed, and Omen was visiting the guy who’d put him there.

Jenan Ispolin sat on the other side of the table and stared, a twist to his lips, his eyes heavy-lidded. There wasn’t a glass partition between them. Omen had expected a glass partition.

Suddenly all of his opening lines, the lines he’d rehearsed again and again in his head, that he’d muttered in front of the mirror, didn’t seem to fit the occasion. They were all tough-guy lines, designed to impress. But Omen wasn’t a tough guy, had never been a tough guy, and pretending to be one here, in a prison populated by guys who had to be tough to survive, now seemed like the silliest thing in the world.

So instead he said, “How are you doing?”

Jenan didn’t respond.

“Do they let you get much exercise here? I saw a yard on my way in. Do they let you play sports? What kind of sports?”

Jenan had liked playing sports when he was in school, Omen knew. He was good at them.

“We don’t play sports,” Jenan said.

“Right,” said Omen. That had been a stupid question. He changed the subject. “Do they let you see your folks much?”

Jenan leaned forward. “What do you want?”

“I don’t … I don’t actually know.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to confront you, I suppose. And I wanted to give you a chance to say what you needed to say.”

“What are you talking about? What would I need to say to you?”

“I’m not sure,” Omen confessed. “But there’s a reason you attacked me with that knife. Obviously, God, I know you don’t like me. I know that much! But this goes deeper than that, doesn’t it? I mean … you tried to kill me. You would have succeeded, too, if Auger hadn’t saved me. So I figure you must have some, like, unresolved issues.”

Jenan stared at him. “That’s why you came? So I could talk through my unresolved issues and get some closure?”

“Yeah,” said Omen. “We all need closure. I know I do. I wanted to come here and show you that I’m still alive, and I’m still doing well, and you didn’t manage to do whatever you were trying to do … but now that I’m sitting here, now that we’re talking, I can’t actually do any of that. You tried to kill me. That’s … terrifying. You stabbed me. I don’t have a scar any more, but it still hurts sometimes. It hasn’t healed completely yet.

“And you nearly killed Auger, too. See, I’m more mad about that than anything else. He’s had all the same healers and doctors that I’ve had, but his injury was way worse than mine.”

Jenan nodded. “I heard.”

“The stuff they had to do quickly in order to save his life, that’s been complicating his recovery. He hasn’t healed right. He’s still in the Infirmary in the High Sanctuary.”

“In here,” Jenan said, “I’m known as the guy who almost killed the Chosen One. They respect me because of that. A lot of them are scared of me.”

“I … I don’t see how that’s anything to be proud of, Jenan.”

Jenan laughed. “Of course you don’t. Because you’re a child.”

Omen’s voice dipped. “My parents wanted you to be given the death sentence.”

“Like I care.”

“They wanted you executed, dude.”

Jenan’s next laugh was more like a bark. “Dude,” he mimicked. “Dude.”

Omen sighed. “OK, whatever, laugh at me all you want. I’m just trying to understand why you did it.”

“Why I did it?” Jenan echoed. “I was part of Abyssinia’s army. I was the leader of First Wave. You and your little friends came in and ruined everything – of course I wanted you dead! We were going to change the world!”

Omen frowned at him. “You weren’t.”

“We all were!”

“No,” said Omen. “You weren’t. First Wave was going to be framed for murdering all those Navy people in Oregon. Abyssinia was planning on killing you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I do,” said Omen, “because I was there and so were you. You were never part of her army, Jenan. She used you and the others. You were a joke to her.”

Jenan sat frozen for a moment, and then lunged across the table. Before he could touch Omen, he shrieked and jerked sideways, falling off his chair.

Omen looked down at him. “No touching,” he said.

Jenan moaned, and the prison guard stepped forward.

“Everything OK here?” she asked.

“It’s fine, thank you,” Omen said. “He just wanted a hug.”

The prison guard nodded, and Omen waited until Jenan had dragged himself back into his chair.

“Your friends are in detention facilities,” he said. “Minimum-security stuff. Not like here. This is a proper prison, for proper bad guys. You’re not a proper bad guy, Jenan. You should be in school. Temper Fray – you know who Temper Fray is? He’s a sergeant in the City Guard. Anyway, Temper Fray told me the truth. They don’t respect you in here. No one is afraid of you. He told me you cry yourself to sleep most nights and every day you’re on the phone to your parents, begging them to come and see you. Your mum’s only been here half a dozen times and your dad still hasn’t come to visit. You’re miserable, dude. I’m just … I wanted to see if I could make things better.”

Jenan tried glaring back defiantly, but tears rolled down his cheeks and his lower lip quivered. “I hate you,” he said, his voice strangely high. “I hate you and I’ll always hate you. You ruined everything. You ruined my life, you pathetic little nobody. When I get out of here, I’m going to kill you. I don’t care how long it takes, how many years. I’m going to kill you, do you hear me?”

Omen watched him cry. “I hear you,” he said sadly, and got up.

Chapter 4.

Valkyrie set the alarm on her phone for sixty seconds, put it on the dashboard, and opened the lid of the music box on the seat beside her. The tune slowly filled the car, and Valkyrie’s eyes fluttered closed. It felt like the blood in her veins was slowing, her heartbeat softening. Anchors were attached to her thoughts, dragging them to a halt. Peace came over the horizon of her mind like the rising sun, until its warm comfort covered everything. She focused on her breathing. Her breathing was the only thing in the universe.

In the distance, an alarm went off, but it was dull and muted and unimportant. It slipped from her attention easily and once more there was only her breathing.

Then a voice – voices – and a laugh, and Valkyrie opened her eyes and blinked as a group of teenagers passed her car, chatting among themselves. Her alarm was going off. She closed the music box, shut off the alarm, sat there in the cold silence.

Her thoughts returned to her and she looked at the time.

“Dammit,” she said.

She pulled the handle, opened the door, lurched out of the car. Went to stuff the phone in her pocket, realised she was wearing a dress. A nice dress. Blue. Why was she wearing a dress? That thing in LA. It had reminded her that she liked wearing skirts and dresses sometimes. Not all the time. Sometimes. For special occasions. Was this a special occasion? Why was she here?

Fergus. His birthday.

“Dammit,” she said again.

She reached back into the car, grabbed her purse, and stuffed her keys and her phone into it as she hurried to the door of the Chinese restaurant. Here on time, but now twenty minutes late. Of course she was.

Through the door, smiling at the nice lady there to greet her, indicated she was with someone already inside. In she went, found the table at the back. Her parents and her sister and Fergus and Beryl and Crystal but no Carol.

“Here she is,” said Desmond, and Alice jumped up and ran over and Valkyrie laughed as her little sister hugged her round the waist.

“We’ve been waiting for you!” Alice informed her.

“You’re very good,” Valkyrie said, smiling warmly. The little bit of panic was receding into the warm ocean of calm the music box had delivered. “Sorry I’m late, everyone,” she said as Alice guided her by the hand to her chair.

She expected Beryl to say something sharp and resentful, but everyone just smiled and shrugged and said it didn’t matter.

The waiter came over, took their orders. Valkyrie turned to Alice and winked at her. “Hey, you,” she said.

“Hey, you,” Alice echoed.

“Haven’t seen you in a few days. What you been up to?”

Alice shrugged. “Things.”

“Things, eh?”

“And stuff.”

“Stuff, too? You have been busy. How’s school?”

“I got ten out of ten on my spelling test, but they were really easy, so everyone got ten out of ten except for one boy who forgot that we had a test. Well, he said he forgot, but I think he just didn’t want to learn the words. And there’s a new boy in my class.”

“Is there?”

“His name’s Dima. We all made him cards to introduce ourselves, and Mom looked up what welcome to school was in Russian and I wrote it and I gave it to him. And then today he gave me a card back, and he said he loved me.”

Valkyrie’s eyebrow arched. “Oh, wow …!”

Melissa leaned over. “He said you’re beautiful, didn’t he?”

Alice nodded. “He wrote you’re beautiful and I love you. And he’s right,” she said, “I am beautiful,” and she gave a dimpled, gap-toothed grin that made Valkyrie laugh.

The first course arrived and Valkyrie found it easier to interact with others when she had the distraction of food in front of her. It gave her time to think, to formulate responses, and an excuse to be brief when necessary.

The waiting staff came over, cleared the plates, and Alice announced that she had to go to the toilet, and slid out of her chair.

“I’ll go with you,” Beryl said, and Valkyrie suppressed a laugh at Alice’s rolled eyes.

Smiling, Valkyrie turned her attention to the rest of the table. They were all looking at her and her smile dropped.

“What?” she said.

Crystal leaned forward. “Why were you late?” she asked, keeping her voice low. “Were you saving the world?”

This was weird, sitting here with family members who all knew about magic. “No,” said Valkyrie, “I was just late.”

“We don’t talk about this in public,” Fergus warned.

“Then when can we talk about it?” Crystal asked, giving her dad a scowl. “We can’t talk about it in private because either Mum or Alice is around. Right now is the only time we can hear what’s going on. So come on, Valkyrie – what’s going on?”

“Stephanie,” Melissa corrected. “We call her by her proper name here.”

“But it’s not her proper name, is it?” Crystal countered. “It’s her given name. Valkyrie is her proper name.”

“Stephanie is fine when I’m with family,” Valkyrie said quickly. “It makes it easier to, y’know, maintain my cover or whatever.”

Crystal nodded. “Fair enough.”

Fergus shifted uncomfortably. “We shouldn’t be discussing this where someone could overhear us.”

“We’re fine,” said Desmond. “If anyone’s walking up behind you, I’ll give you the signal by coughing into my hand.”

Fergus frowned at his brother. “Do you really think this is a good idea?”

Desmond shrugged. “I reckon our family has gone long enough not talking about this stuff, don’t you?”

“If that’s a veiled reference to how I never told you that magic was real, I would respond by saying you’ve had seven years to get over it and it’s becoming quite tiresome.”

“Tiresome, is it?”

“I was protecting you.”

“You lied to me, you mean,” said Desmond. “You all lied to me – you, Gordon, Pop. The only person who didn’t lie to me was Granddad, and he’s the one you said was nuts.”

“You think it was easy?” Fergus asked, getting angry. “You think it was fun? Gordon was a lost cause, so all the responsibility fell to me to—”

Desmond coughed into his hand and Fergus shut up immediately and stared down at his plate.

When no one approached the table, he looked around, then glared. “Very mature.”

Alice came skipping back, with Beryl close behind.

“What were you talking about?” Beryl asked as they retook their seats.

“Nothing,” Fergus said sulkily.

“Crystal,” Melissa said, putting on a smile, “how is Carol doing in her new job?”

“Good, I think,” Crystal said. “It pays well, and she says the people are, um, what’s the word she used? Undemanding. So I think that means she’s settling in.”

“We don’t really hear much from Carol,” Beryl said. “She’s steadily grown more and more distant. I think, probably, that’s my fault.”

“Beryl, no,” said Fergus, covering her hand with his own.

She tried to smile. “I suppose I was never the warmest of mothers. I look at you, Melissa – you and Stephanie, and now little Alice – and I marvel at that relationship. How close you are. You’re friends more than … more than anything. I could never understand how you managed it.”

“Mum,” said Crystal, blinking back tears.

“My sweet girl,” Beryl said, reaching over, holding her hand. “I’ll never stop being sorry for the kind of mother I was to you.”

Valkyrie’s heart drummed in her hollow chest. Every beat reverberated. “Excuse me,” she said quietly, pushing herself away from the table. She managed to walk without stumbling out into the reception area, then lunged for the door.

Fresh air. She gasped it in. Her head was light. She went to put a hand against the wall and misjudged the distance, fell sideways, hit it with her shoulder. She looked drunk. She felt drunk. She needed the music box.

The door opened. Her mother walked out. Valkyrie straightened.

“Are you OK?” Melissa asked.

Valkyrie nodded. “Needed to make a call.”

Melissa handed her her purse. “Then you might need your phone.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Are you OK?” Melissa asked again. Valkyrie didn’t answer, and her mum put her arm round her. “It’s sad,” she said, “watching Carol grow apart from her family like that.”

“Beryl isn’t to blame.”

“Oh, I know. She was never the easiest woman to get along with, and we’ve had our differences, but she adored the twins. Sometimes, sweetheart, there is no reason for the things people do. They change. They grow apart. But that’ll never happen to us.”

Valkyrie smiled weakly, hugging her back, and Melissa was silent for a long, long moment. Then she said, “You just have to look at Alice to see how much people – even kids – can change.”

Valkyrie moved her head off her mother’s shoulder.

“The doctors don’t know what’s wrong,” Melissa said, turning to watch a car go by. “A shift like this, they said it could be down to trauma, but, if Alice has suffered any trauma, she’s not telling us about it. Has she mentioned anything to you?”

Valkyrie shook her head.

“I don’t know what it is. She’ll spend all morning crying. Not little sobs, either. Big, racking sobs. It’s … it’s gut-wrenching.” Melissa’s hand was shaking. She noticed it, used it to brush her hair back over her ear. “Is there anything you can do?” she asked.

The question took Valkyrie by surprise. “What?”

“Is there anything magical you can do? A spell, or a charm, or something?”

“Mum, you really don’t want to use magic for something as delicate as this.”

“But is there?”

Valkyrie looked away. “We don’t do spells,” she said, not for the first time. “But, even if we did, trying to alter a person’s emotional state, that’s …”

Melissa nodded. “No. You’re right. It was a silly idea.”

“It wasn’t silly …”

“I thought there might be a quick fix,” Melissa said. “An easy answer. I wanted to cheat, basically. I was talking to your dad a few days ago about getting in a hypnotist, and that led us on to that time you told us about using people’s names to get them to do things. We were thinking something like that might help.”

“I don’t know, Mum. That kind of thing, there’s no way of knowing the ramifications. Besides, using someone’s given name, that usually doesn’t last longer than a few seconds.”

“But you use it to get people to forget things, don’t you?”

“It’s not as easy as that.”

Melissa’s face suddenly crumpled and the tears came, and now it was Valkyrie’s turn to wrap her arms around her.

“It’s OK,” Valkyrie said, her heart breaking. “It’s OK.”

“I just don’t know what we’ve done wrong.”

Now tears were running down Valkyrie’s cheeks. “Nothing,” she managed to say. “You’ve done nothing wrong. None of this is your fault.”

It was Valkyrie’s fault, just like Carol’s behaviour was Valkyrie’s fault. All this heartbreak, all this sadness and guilt – it was all because of her.

There was bile in her throat. She wanted to drop to her knees, wanted to scream until her voice was hoarse, wanted to throw up until there was nothing left inside her. Instead, she hung on to her mother until Melissa had regained control and stepped away, smiling bravely.

“Back into the fray,” she said. “You coming?”

Valkyrie held up her purse. “Got to make that call.”

Melissa smiled gently. “OK, sweetie. See you in there.”

When the door closed and her mother was gone, Valkyrie lurched to her car. She plunged her hand into her purse, found the fob. The boot clicked and opened and she practically dived in, she was so eager. Grabbed the sports bag, yanked the zip across, pulled out the music box, held it in both hands, pressed her thumbs to each side and opened the lid.

The music swam to her and her eyes closed, the turmoil calming. The sick feeling went away. All those voices. All that screaming in her head. All went quiet.

“Thank you,” she murmured to the music. “Thank you.”

Chapter 5.

Black suit. Three-piece. Black shirt. Red tie. Black hat, with black hatband, pulled low over one eye socket. One shoulder leaning on wall. Gloved hands in pockets. First polished shoe flat on ground. Second polished shoe, crossed over, toe to pavement.

Skulduggery Pleasant. Overdressed.

“You’re still compensating for wearing those rags the other day, aren’t you?” Valkyrie said as she approached.

“It was not a highlight of my existence, this is true,” he said, “but I try not to compensate for anything, Valkyrie. I’d planned to wear this ensemble today, regardless of what disguise I wore over the weekend.”

“Right,” she said, not entirely believing him. They walked side by side into the Humdrums, Roarhaven’s mortal district. It was quieter here. Fewer shops. The people hurried by, casting nervous glances around as they went.

“How was your uncle’s birthday dinner?” Skulduggery asked.

“Strained,” she answered. “But we ended it by singing happy birthday and the staff brought out a cupcake with a candle on it, so at least Alice had a good time. Who are we looking for?”

“Our mysterious friend.”

“Which one? We have so many.”

“My apologies. The mysterious friend who sends letters to the High Sanctuary, warning of an imminent invasion by Mevolent.”

“Oh, that mysterious friend. You think he’s a mortal?”

“No, but I think he’s hiding among them. It would have been ridiculously easy for a sorcerer to slip unnoticed through the portal from the Leibniz Universe, surrounded by tens of thousands of frightened refugees.”

“And do we know roughly where to start looking? There’s quite a few doors to knock on.”

“Oh, I know exactly where we’re going,” Skulduggery said. “Our mysterious friend left a not exactly subtle clue in a letter that arrived this morning. He wants to meet.”

They stopped, looked across the street to the pub on the other side.

“So he’s invited us here,” Valkyrie said. “And how can you be sure it’s not a trap?”

“I can’t.”

“So did you bring back-up?”

“Of course.” He started across the road. “I brought you.”

He wasn’t wearing his façade, so when they walked into the pub everyone stopped what they were doing and stared. All these mortals, still suspicious of anyone with the ability to do magic. Valkyrie wondered if they’d ever get over their distrust of sorcerers after living in a world ruled by Mevolent. She doubted it.

There was a man sitting at a table near the back, his face hidden by an old baseball cap. He wore tattered jeans, a Nirvana T-shirt, and a blazer – clothes that looked like they’d been donated – and his right hand was gloved.

His right hand. Was gloved.

Nefarian Serpine looked up at them as he tilted his chair back, and smiled. “Now, I would wager that you didn’t expect to see—”

Valkyrie snatched up an empty beer bottle and threw it, and it bounced off Serpine’s head and he toppled over backwards.

“Ow,” he said from the floor.

They stood over him. He started to get up, but Skulduggery planted a foot on his chest.

“You probably have questions,” Serpine said.

“The last we saw of you,” Skulduggery said, “you were leading the Resistance against Mevolent in another reality. What are you doing here?”

“Well,” Serpine said, trying to get comfortable, “not long after you departed, it occurred to me that being the leader of the Resistance was a very dangerous title to hold. It meant a lot of Mevolent’s people wanted to kill me. Almost all of them, in fact. So, taking this into account, I regretfully stepped down.”

“Who’s in charge now?” Valkyrie asked.

“I don’t actually know,” Serpine responded. “There is a distinct likelihood that I failed to tell anyone in the Resistance that I was leaving. I don’t like goodbyes, you see.”

Skulduggery removed his foot and waved his hand, and the chair righted itself, almost throwing Serpine into the table. “Thank you,” he grumbled.

Valkyrie dragged another chair over and sat. “So you left the Resistance without a leader, ran away, mingled with all those mortals, and came through the portal.”

“And I’ve been living here ever since.”

“Doing what?”

“Assimilating,” Serpine said, taking off his cap. “I’ve been watching your mortal television and reading your mortal books. You have a lot more sources of entertainment in this dimension. It’s quite diverting. And I’ve been learning a lot about this world and its culture. I haven’t been making trouble, if that’s what concerns you. In fact, I’ve been rather helpful.”

“We know,” said Valkyrie. “All those notes you’ve been sending to the High Sanctuary have been very interesting.”

“My humble attempts to be a good citizen.”

“Tell us more about that,” Skulduggery said. “Mevolent’s plans.”

Serpine gave a shrug. “He hates you. The two of you. I would imagine he’d invade this dimension just to kill you, but he’s also become obsessed with conquering a parallel world. There’s technology here that we just don’t have over there. Machinery. Computers. Medicine.”

“You’ve got a lot over there that we don’t have here,” Valkyrie pointed out.

“This is true, but a man like Mevolent isn’t one to be content with what is in front of him. If he sees something shiny and new, he wants it. He wants your world. He wants your weapons. And at the back of it all is the fact that he can’t stand the idea of a world run by mortals. Surprisingly petty, for one so tall.”

“Do you have anything useful to tell us?” Skulduggery asked. “We’ve known that there was a high probability of an invasion, or some sort of attack – none of this is news. Do you have any idea when Mevolent will invade?”

“I would guess you have until the end of the year at the very most.”

“How do you know?”

Serpine hesitated, then smiled. “All this talking is making me feel quite weak,” he said. “Perhaps, if you buy me a drink and some food, I might be able to summon the strength to talk more.”

“Oh,” Valkyrie replied. “Oh, you think this is a conversation. You think we’re chatting. No, no. This is an interrogation. If we weren’t doing this here, we’d be doing it in a cold room in the High Sanctuary and you’d be in shackles right now.”

Serpine frowned. “But I haven’t broken any laws.”

“You’ve murdered people.”

“But not here. Not in this dimension. Isn’t there a rule that says a person can’t be held responsible for laws broken in a parallel universe? Isn’t there? There should be. Besides, we have an understanding, don’t we? Detective Pleasant doesn’t blame me for killing his wife and child because I didn’t kill his wife and child.”

“You killed the wife and child of another Skulduggery,” Skulduggery said.

“Exactly. Completely different people. That’s precedent. Isn’t that the legal, mortal term for it? I saw that on one of your TV shows.”

“That’s true,” Skulduggery responded. “And I don’t blame you for it. That was another Serpine, and he’s dead, and I felt an enormous sense of satisfaction when I killed him. I’ve had my revenge.”

“Yes. See? That’s reasonable. You and I were never enemies, Skulduggery. Can I call you Skulduggery? In fact, there’s absolutely no reason why we can’t be friends.”

“I can think of a few reasons,” Skulduggery said. “You have murdered another version of my family, after all. You have done unspeakable things in another version of my world. You’re still you. So I would recommend you answer our questions and be as helpful as you can possibly be, or we’ll drag you to a cell and talk to you there.”

Serpine straightened up. “Of course. My apologies. You asked how I knew Mevolent would be invading within a year. I suppose I don’t – not really. But I don’t think he has any other choice.”

“Explain.”

“There’s a sickness on my world,” Serpine said. “I heard reports before I came here. I don’t know anything about it other than it spreads quickly, it leaves no survivors and, the last I heard, there’s no cure. Before I left, we’d lost entire continents to it.”

“So you think Mevolent will want to flee before it reaches him.”

“I do.”

“So why this?” Skulduggery asked, indicating the pub around them. “Why not put all this in a letter and leave it for us to handle? Why the meeting?”

“This information is valuable, is it not? I daresay invaluable.”

“You’re looking for a reward.”

Serpine smiled. “I’ve lived among these mortals for long enough. I would like immunity for any and all past crimes and misdemeanours, irrespective of which dimension they were committed in, and I would like a house in a better part of Roarhaven.”

Valkyrie frowned. “You want to be a citizen.”

“Indeed I do. I would also like free driving lessons and a car, and a latte. I’ve seen people order lattes on television and they don’t sell any around here, and I would so dearly love to try one. And maybe also a puppy. I’ve always liked puppies.” His smile grew wider. “They taste delicious.”

Valkyrie glanced at Skulduggery. “Shall I hit him,” she asked, “or will you?”

Chapter 6.

Sebastian Tao sat on the couch in the living room as Lily brought out a tray of freshly baked cookies. The others each picked one out as the tray passed, making satisfied moans as they took a bite. They held their free hands under their chins to catch the crumbs that fell. Sebastian’s mouth watered. He would have given almost anything to merely smell those cookies – but for the last two years all he’d been able to smell was the inside of his beak.

He hated his mask. He hated the glass eyeholes and the ridiculous beak and the straps that kept it all in place. He hated the hat he wore with it, and the suit, and the coat and the gloves and the boots. He hated not having one centimetre of skin exposed to the fresh air or the sun or the rain. He was like the Boy in the Bubble, that kid from years ago who was so susceptible to infection that he was forced to live in a plastic cocoon from the moment he was born.

Immediately after this thought occurred, Sebastian began to feel bad about it. The Boy in the Bubble definitely had it worse.

“OK, so,” Bennet said, still smacking his lips over that cookie, “the reason we’re all here.”

“Actually, the Plague Doctor should call this meeting to order before we go any further,” Ulysses said.

“Of course, of course,” said Bennet, and everyone looked to Sebastian expectantly.

He hated this bit. “Uh, I hereby call this gathering to order.”

Everyone nodded.

“Well done,” said Kimora.

“That was a good one,” said Tarry.

“Uh,” said Forby, which was a pretty good endorsement on his part.

“Thank you, Plague Doctor,” Bennet said. “So, when we all first got together, it was to share our feelings regarding Darquesse, and what it meant to have witnessed the actions of a god. And those feelings are still being shared, because they grow and they evolve over time.”

“Yes, they do,” Lily chimed in.

“But things have changed for our little group,” Bennet continued. “The Plague Doctor travelled to an alternate dimension on our behalf – a dimension filled with Faceless Ones, no less – found Darquesse, and brought her back to us. This is, obviously, wonderful, but also terrifying.”

Kimora raised her hand. “I, personally, am terrified.”

“Thank you, Kimora. I think it’s safe to say that we’re all a little worried about having a murderous god living among us.”

“Is she?” said Ulysses. “Among us, I mean. She’s been sitting in Lily’s spare room, staring at the wall, ever since she returned.”

“The point is,” Bennet responded, “she’s here. And we have one person to thank for that. Plague Doctor, we have been talking, the others and I, and we have come to the realisation that what you have done is nothing short of a miracle.”

“Well,” Sebastian said, “I don’t know about that …”

“You found her,” said Bennet. “You brought her back. We think that makes you the First Apostle of Darquesse.”

“What? Apostle?”

“You don’t like the title?” Lily said. “What would you prefer? I suggested Pope.”

“I’m … I’m not a pope.”

“Prophet, maybe?” Kimora said, and frowned. “Does that mean we would be worshipping you, too?”

“No,” Sebastian said quickly. “No, you shouldn’t. I’ve seen how you worship people. It’s creepy.”

He’d meant it as a joke, but apparently no one was in a joking mood.

“But you must be something,” Ulysses said. “A High Priest, perhaps.”

“Or maybe we should all be dressing like you,” said Tarry. “Is that why you wear those clothes? Should all devout followers of Darquesse be Plague Doctors?”

“That’s not why I wear this.”

“Should we lose our names?” Forby asked.

“My name isn’t lost.”

“So the Plague Doctor is your actual taken name?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Obviously, you have a connection with Darquesse,” said Lily. “Maybe you didn’t realise it. Maybe she was reaching out to you in ways we don’t yet understand, telling you to wear a suit that would let you find her, to call yourself by that name, to—”

“Sebastian,” Sebastian blurted. “Sebastian Tao. That’s my name.”

They stared at him.

“Sebastian,” said Bennet.

“Yes.”

“You don’t look like a Sebastian.”

“I’m wearing a mask so you wouldn’t know, though, would you?”

Bennet took a seat, and a moment. “Sebastian,” he said again, slowly.

“I’ll ask you not to tell anyone,” Sebastian said. “Even if you had people to tell, which you probably don’t. But just … yeah. Don’t reveal my name to anyone.”

“Why not?”

Sebastian hesitated. “I can’t tell you. But it’s important that I stay anonymous.”

Ulysses scratched his beard thoughtfully. “You in trouble, Sebastian?”

Kimora’s eyes widened. “Is that it? Are you in danger?”

“I’m perfectly safe,” Sebastian responded. “You don’t have to worry about me. But I do have a mission. The first part of that mission was to find Darquesse and bring her home.”

“What’s the second part?”

“To convince her to help us.”

Bennet sat forward. “With what?”

Sebastian didn’t answer immediately.

“You’ve seen the future,” Bennet said. “You have, haven’t you? You’ve seen what’s coming.”

This wasn’t a good idea. Sharing that information was not the smart thing to do. And yet Sebastian’s mouth wouldn’t stay closed. Finally, he was telling someone. Finally, he was sharing his burden. “I’ve seen what’s coming,” he said. “I can’t tell you what it is. I wish I could. I really do. But the success of my mission – the fate of the world – depends on me keeping this secret.”

“So … so Darquesse really is going to save us, then?” Forby said.

“But if she saves us,” said Lily, “does that means bad things are coming?”

“Oh, yes,” said Sebastian.

Ulysses blinked. “But we have Darquesse, so whatever happens, and I’m fine with Sebastian not telling us what that is, she’ll protect us. Right?”

Sebastian nodded. “Hopefully.”

Now they all frowned at him.

“What do you mean, hopefully?” Bennet asked.

“Well, I just … I just mean that I don’t know. I hope she’ll help us.”

“Didn’t you see her helping us in your vision?”

“It’s not quite as simple as that.”

“So you didn’t see her helping us.”

“No,” Sebastian admitted.

“But of course she’ll help us!” Lily said. “She’s Darquesse!”

“Um …” Forby said. “The last time Darquesse was here, she tried to murder the entire planet.”

Lily gasped and pointed. “Blasphemer!”

“Is it blasphemy if it’s true?” Kimora asked.

“I don’t think it is,” said Ulysses.

“Well, OK,” said Lily, “maybe not blasphemy, but … You’ve got to be more supportive, Forby. We’ve been worshipping Darquesse for years now, and we can’t just turn round and say, yeah, she’s not that great and she did try to kill us all.”

“But she did,” he argued.

“That’s not the point, though!”

“Then what is the point?”

“I don’t know!” Lily cried.

Bennet got to his feet. “OK, listen, everyone. We all started worshipping Darquesse for our own reasons. I started worshipping because I saw what she could do and I realised she was a god. And what do you do with gods?”

“Worship them?” Forby suggested.

“You worship them, exactly,” Bennet said. “And that’s what I did. I was shown just how insignificant I truly was and I’ll admit it … I was lost. I floundered. Praying to this god we all found … it was suddenly the only thing that made sense any more. It was the only thing that got me balanced again. So that’s why I worship her. In a vast and uncaring universe, she’s given my life meaning. We all have similar stories. We may have come from different directions, but we’re all on the same journey now.

“The thing is, we’ve never actually discussed what it’d mean to actually bring her back. Not really. Not seriously. Because the fact is she’s a terrible god. I don’t mean terrible as in crappy, but terrible as in great and terrible. Her wrath is terrible to behold. That kinda thing. She’s not benevolent. She doesn’t care for the people who pray to her. I mean, she’s been sitting in Lily’s spare room for three months and she hasn’t said one word to any of us. She hasn’t even blinked.”

“Not blinking doesn’t mean she doesn’t care,” Lily said weakly.

“We should be honest with ourselves,” said Bennet. “We never thought she’d actually come back, did we?”

They all looked at each other. Guiltily.

“Of course we didn’t,” Bennet continued. “And that was fine. That was perfect, in fact. Our god was missing, which meant we could project whatever fantasy we wanted on to her. There was no way of disproving anything we said, and she had no way of disappointing us. But now she’s back, and I think it’s fair to say that we don’t have the first idea what to do with her.”

Forby spoke up. “Maybe the Plague – sorry – maybe Sebastian could, like, ask her.”

“Oooh, good idea,” said Tarry.

They were all looking at Sebastian again. Finally, he sighed, and stood. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll try.”

He went upstairs, to the spare room. He knocked, then gently pushed open the door and stepped in.

Darquesse sat in mid-air, hovering above the carpet, legs folded beneath her. Her eyes were open, her gaze resting somewhere beyond the wall.

“Hi,” Sebastian said.

As usual, she ignored him.

Chapter 7.

If, as a structure, the High Sanctuary was the embodiment of the modern sorcerer – strong, noble, and a beacon of positivity and good intentions – then the Dark Cathedral was that sorcerer’s shadow – powerful, merciless, and a balefire of intimidation and sinister intent.

They glared at each other – the High Sanctuary, planted securely in the middle of the Circle; the Dark Cathedral, perched on the east side of the zone like a great, sharp-taloned bird – and sometimes it seemed to Valkyrie that they were silently battling for the soul of Roarhaven, a city of wonder and magic that appeared to be always teetering on the edge of isolationism and paranoia.

But that was only if the High Sanctuary did symbolise all those wonderful qualities of the modern sorcerer. Valkyrie was not so sure that it did any more. Under the leadership of Supreme Mage Sorrows, Sanctuaries around the world were getting increasingly heavy-handed with those sorcerers who didn’t fall in line. China would no doubt argue that a tougher approach to such a lofty ideal – to protect the mortals from sorcerers who would do them harm – was absolutely necessary in a world shaken again and again by the threat of unimaginable horrors. Valkyrie wasn’t sure if she agreed – but then Valkyrie wasn’t sure of much any more.

There were still bruises on her abdomen from the bullets Victoria Leigh had fired into her. It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to kill her, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Violence was now such a part of Valkyrie’s life that she barely trembled afterwards. Only in extreme cases would the shakes become apparent. In the old days, she’d break down after a fight as the last remaining jolts of adrenaline spiked through her system.

Still alive, that voice in Valkyrie’s head would say. Still alive.

But she was now so numb to it all that she rarely shed a tear despite the damage she endured. Despite the damage she inflicted.

Three months earlier, she’d been beaten almost to death in a jail cell in the depths of the High Sanctuary. Bones broken. Organs damaged. Massive internal trauma. A doctor had fixed some of it, but then she’d latched on to his magic, replicating it, improving on it. She’d healed herself while he watched in disbelief.

Maybe that was it. Maybe the fact that she could heal any injury so long as there was a healer to latch on to, maybe that was dulling her to the dangers she faced.

“Million miles away,” Skulduggery said.

Valkyrie looked up. “What?”

“I said you’re a million miles away. Is everything OK?”

They were in the Bentley, deep in the underground car park beneath the High Sanctuary.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, sorry. Miles away, you’re right.”

They got out. Skulduggery wasn’t wearing his façade, but she knew he was looking at her funny.

“Just thinking about punching people,” Valkyrie said as they walked for the elevator tiles. “I’ve hit so many people down through the years, I think I might be getting kind of … sick of it.”

“Well, that’s interesting.”

“Probably not the best attitude to have with the amount of fights we get into.”

“Probably,” he agreed. “But this has been building in you for a while, hasn’t it?”

“I suppose. I’m not … I’m not turning into a pacifist, am I?”

“Nothing wrong with being a pacifist,” Skulduggery responded. “I like to think of myself as a pacifist.”

Valkyrie snorted. “You?”

“I said I liked to think it. I didn’t say I was one.”

They took the tiles up, and stepped off once they’d settled into place in the marble foyer. Cerise, the young Administrator, waved them through, and they walked the corridors. They got to a set of heavy double doors. Grey-suited Cleavers blocked their way, scythes in their hands. Before Skulduggery could even tilt his head, they stood aside and allowed them entry.

It was a big room with half a floor. Hovering over the far half of the room, over the crackling sea of energy that would fry anyone who fell into it, was the dais that housed the elaborately carved throne on which sat China Sorrows.

She looked pale. Anyone would look pale with this light show going on beneath them, but China looked especially pale, even for her. She’d told them, weeks earlier, that she hadn’t been sleeping much. Plagued by nightmares, she’d said – then immediately changed the subject, angry at herself for revealing too much.

The dais moved forward a little, closer to where they stood.

“The Sensitives have scanned him,” China said, “as much as he’d let them, anyway.”

“I imagine Serpine’s psychic defences are formidable,” Skulduggery responded.

“From what they can see, he’s telling the truth. In his estimation, we have less than a year before Mevolent launches an invasion to get away from whatever sickness is decimating his world. On one level, this information is nothing new. We’ve been expecting Mevolent to strike at us in some form or other for years now. An all-out invasion, while regarded as somewhat unlikely, was nonetheless on the cards.”

“But now that we know it’s coming, we have time to get ready,” Valkyrie said.

China shook her head. “We can’t allow the invasion to even begin. We have no guarantee that we’d be able to contain it, and no guarantee he wouldn’t choose to attack a mortal city first. The fact is, I simply refuse to be the Supreme Mage in charge when the mortals learn of our existence. It would be a lasting stain on my legacy.”

The dais drifted lower, until she was almost at eye level with them. “I have a job for you. I realise that, as Arbiters, not even I am able to issue you an order, but I would appreciate it greatly if you would give this some consideration.”

“What do you need us to do?” Valkyrie asked.

China sat back. “If Serpine is right, and Mevolent and his army will invade by the end of the year, that gives us, at most, seven months. Our preparations will continue, of course, but I would dearly like for all that work to have been for nothing.”

“Meaning what?”

“You want us to shunt over to the Leibniz Universe,” Skulduggery said.

“That’s right,” said China.

“And you want us to kill Mevolent.”

“That is also right.”

Valkyrie looked at them both. “We’re not assassins.”

“I understand that,” said China, “but drastic steps are sometimes required. And assassination is nothing new to Skulduggery.”

“I’ve killed when I have to,” he replied. “But plenty of people have tried to kill Mevolent. Darquesse even gave it a go. If she couldn’t manage it, I don’t like my chances.”

“Everyone can be killed,” said China. “For centuries, we didn’t think that the Mevolent in our universe could die – and then his own son killed him. It’s entirely possible. All you need is the right weapon.”

“The God-Killers,” Skulduggery said.

“The sword was damaged during Devastation Day, and I have devoted considerable resources to repairing it. But our greatest hope lies with the greatest God-Killer.”

Valkyrie frowned. “You found the Sceptre of the Ancients?”

“We did,” said China. “You’ll be taking that.”

Valkyrie shook her head. “It doesn’t have to be me. Once we take it into another dimension, it’s wiped clean. It’ll bond to whoever’s the first to touch it.”

“I realise that. But I want you to wield it.”

“I can’t,” said Valkyrie. “If I’m the only one who can use it, I’d have to be the one to kill Mevolent. I’m not killing anyone. And don’t bother telling me how bad he is and how much he deserves it and how much better off people will be when he’s gone. I know all this. It doesn’t change anything.”

“I’m not asking you to kill anyone,” China responded. “I’m just asking that you take the Sceptre and maybe use it as a last resort – just in case everything else goes wrong. I have every faith that Skulduggery will find a way to kill Mevolent without it.”

“Skulduggery should take it, then.”

“It won’t bond to Skulduggery. We’ve studied the Sceptre – as much as we could without taking it apart – and it would appear that it bonds with living flesh and blood. I’m afraid Skulduggery lacks the essential ingredients. It has to be you, my dear.”

Valkyrie pinched the bridge of her nose. She was getting another one of her headaches.

“When would you need us to go?” Skulduggery asked.

“We have seven months, but time is of the essence. You will be leaving in four days.”

Valkyrie frowned. “And how long would we be away?”

“If you haven’t managed to kill him in two months, come home. We’ll re-strategise.”

“Two months?”

“We’ll need a team,” Skulduggery said.

China nodded. “Take whomever you like – apart from Fletcher Renn and Temper Fray. I’ll need them here. And I’m afraid you’ll have to take Serpine. He’ll be your guide.”

“I doubt he’ll be too enthusiastic about that.”

“We’ll give him asylum if he co-operates, allow him to stay in Roarhaven – under strict supervision, of course.”

“We’d be running the risk of him betraying us. He is notoriously evil, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I trust you’ll be able to handle him if it comes to that. I know what it is I’m asking you to do. I know how difficult it will be. But I’m afraid we have little option. Meritorious had his Dead Men. I need you to be mine.”

“Ask us,” Skulduggery said.

“Pardon?”

“I just like being asked to … you know.”

China sighed. “Skulduggery Pleasant, Valkyrie Cain, will you accept this mission and save the world, pretty please, with a cherry on top?”

Skulduggery put his hands on his hips. “I shall.”

“Yeah,” Valkyrie muttered. “I shall, too.”

Chapter 8.

It’s a hell of a thing, to kill a man.

Clint Eastwood said that, in that movie with Lex Luthor and the first Dumbledore. Back when she saw that film for the first time, sitting with her dad in the living room, trying to hide the bruises she’d got from whatever fight she’d been in earlier that day, Valkyrie had just thought it was a cool line. Since then, she’d had the opportunity for a little re-evaluation.

She’d killed people. She’d weakened, allowed Darquesse to take over, and that side of her had ended lives while wearing her face. Then Valkyrie had regained control and she’d gone on with her life, not really noticing the blood that dripped from her hands. And that was before Darquesse had even split from her and killed thousands. That was before Valkyrie had killed her own sister. All that death – because of where Valkyrie has come from and what she’d been through and the decisions she’d taken down through the years.

And now she was on a team built for assassination. A hit squad.

“I wanted to be a pacifist,” she said.

“Hold on,” said Fletcher, tapping at his phone. “Almost finished. Almost … there. Sent.” He put the phone away. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I wanted to be a pacifist.”

“You? But you love punching people.”

“I don’t love it.”

“You hardly hate it.”

“I punch people if I have to punch them.”

“Does that make you a reluctant puncher, or a reluctant pacifist?”

“I didn’t say I was a pacifist. I said I wanted to be one.”

“You’d be a terrible pacifist. You’re far too violent.”

Her phone buzzed. She read the message. “New York,” she said.

“I heart New York.”

“Roof of the Flatiron Building. She’ll be there in three minutes.”

“We’ll be there in none,” Fletcher said. He took Valkyrie’s hand and now they were in Manhattan, high above the city streets. The sun was bright and the sky was blue and the warm air rushed in Valkyrie’s ears. She wandered to the edge of the roof and looked down.

“What has you thinking about pacifism?” Fletcher asked.

Valkyrie shrugged, watching the yellow cabs jerk erratically through the flow of traffic, signalling each manoeuvre with a blast of the horn.

“Is it anything to do with this top-secret mission you’re on that you can’t tell me about?”

“I can tell you about it,” she said, turning to him. “I couldn’t tell you about it in Roarhaven because I don’t know who’s listening, but we’re fine here. Do you want to know about the mission?”

“Not really.”

“You’re not the slightest bit interested in anything that doesn’t concern you, are you?”

“Why would I be?” he responded. “The problem with the world today is that people want to be in on everything. I don’t see the point.”

Valkyrie smiled, went to look down at the streets again, and jerked back. “Jesus!” she said, hand on her heart.

Tanith Low, grinning and standing on the side of the building right below her with her arms crossed. She walked up the last few strides, her body swinging from horizontal to vertical with that final step on to the roof.

“Sorry,” she said, hugging Valkyrie. “Couldn’t resist. How you doing? Doing OK?”

“Doing fine,” Valkyrie said, giving her an extra squeeze.

“Hey, Tanith,” Fletcher said.

Tanith released Valkyrie, gave Fletcher a hug, too. “Hey, Fletch. How’s life as a teacher?”

“It’s good,” he answered. “It’s nice to have a stable job, and I enjoy helping the kids, you know? It’s a chance to mould young minds. Really set them off on the right track.”

“Yeah,” said Tanith, “that’s cool.”

“I just think of all the ways I’ve changed since I met you guys,” Fletcher continued. “All the ways I’ve grown up. I was a cocky kid, wasn’t I? I was almost annoying.”

“Almost?” Tanith echoed.

Fletcher laughed. “Yeah, OK, so I was annoying. But now I’m teaching, I have a steady job, I’m moulding young minds—”

“Pretty sure you’ve already said all that,” Valkyrie pointed out. This was odd. Fletcher was suddenly – and uncharacteristically – nervous. Almost like—

He took a deep breath. “Tanith, would you like to go out with me?”

Valkyrie’s eyes widened.

Tanith stared. “I’m sorry?”

Fletcher chuckled. “Would you like to go out?” he asked. “With me? For dinner? Anywhere in the world.”

“On a … date?”

“Yes. I know it’s unconventional to be asked out by a guy whose ex-girlfriend is standing right here, but I didn’t want either of you to feel weird about this.”

“So thoughtful,” said Valkyrie.

“I mean, you’re best friends, and obviously there’s going to be some level of awkwardness there, but I’ve thought about this a lot, and I think that so long as we’re all open and honest from the very beginning, this needn’t be a problem. So, Tanith, what do you say? You know I’ve fancied you since I first met you.”

“He has,” Valkyrie said, nodding.

“Even when I was going out with Valkyrie.”

“It’s true,” Valkyrie said, nodding again.

“And yeah, I was way too young back then, but now I’ve grown up, and I think we’d be good together. What do you say? Want to give it a whirl, see what happens?”

“Uh …” said Tanith.

Fletcher gave her what Valkyrie knew was one of his most winning smiles.

“I’m kind of already seeing someone,” Tanith said.

Fletcher’s smile didn’t dim. If anything, it widened. “Is that so?”

“Oberon Guile,” Tanith said. “Valkyrie knows him.”

“I do,” said Valkyrie.

“I don’t think I’ve heard of him,” Fletcher said, frowning now with casual interest.

“You’d like him,” said Tanith.

“No, he wouldn’t,” said Valkyrie.

“Yeah, probably not. He’s a good guy. American. He helped us out with the Oregon thing and we’ve … well. We started something and we’re seeing where it takes us.”

“That sounds lovely,” said Fletcher, smiling again. “Well, OK then, so that’s a no from you on the whole dinner thing?”

“Afraid so.”

“That’s absolutely fine. I just thought I’d ask, you know. Now I’ll let Valkyrie take over, because she’s got the official Sanctuary business to talk to you about, because that’s the reason we’re here, after all. That’s the reason we came. I figured that while we’re—”

“You’re talking too much,” Valkyrie said.

He nodded. “I do that when I’m embarrassed. I’ll wait for you over there.” He smiled awkwardly, turned and walked off.

Tanith looked at Valkyrie, who held up her hands.

“I did not know he was going to ask that,” she said.

“I believe you.”

“But while we’re on the subject – how’s it going with tall, dark, and handsome?”

Tanith shrugged. “It’s going well,” she said. “No labels quite yet. We don’t really know what this is … but he’s a good guy.”

“Have you met his son?”

“I have not, nor have I met the ex. But, seeing as how he’s taken it upon himself to ensure they have a normal life, I’m not pushing for it. What about you and Militsa?”

“All good,” Valkyrie said. “She’s a bright ray of light in my otherwise dark existence.”

“Wow.”

“I know, right? Anyway – the reason I’m here …”

“Official Sanctuary business,” Tanith said, folding her arms. “And yet you know I already have a mission. Skulduggery assigned it to me himself.”

“I know, I know. Any progress?”

Tanith glared. “I’m getting there. We’re getting there, actually. I have Oberon helping me whenever he’s free … but it’s slow work, tracking down a weapon nobody will admit they’ve even heard of. It’s mostly research, going from one reference to the Obsidian Blade to another reference to another … I haven’t punched or kicked anyone in months. Months, Valkyrie.”

“That’s why I’m here. I’m offering you the chance to punch someone, and probably kick them as well. It’s got nothing to do with the Obsidian Blade or the Unnamed in the slightest, but it will entail travelling to another dimension.”

An excited smile tugged at the corners of Tanith’s mouth. “The Leibniz Universe?”

“Dimension X, yes.”

“We’re travelling into the Leibniz Universe?”

“I don’t know why you keep calling it that when its name is Dimension X but, again, yes.”

“How many of us?”

“Seven.”

“For how long?”

“Two months at the very most. I’m hoping it’ll only take a week or so.”

“What’s the mission?”

“We’re going to kill Mevolent.”

Tanith stuck her hand out. “You had me at kill Mevolent.”

Valkyrie shook it. “Literally the last thing I said.”

“And that’s when you had me.”

#skulduggery pleasant #seasons of war #spoilers #as always if you can't use the readmore hmu and ill send you a pdf #also literally everyone predicting skulduggery was gonna be upset about wearing rags #you guys were right lmao #preview #long post

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onhirel · 5 years

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Flight Class

Part of the Decades Drabbles, set two years after the Battle of Arcturus Forest. Amanda has to deal with an impertinent student...

Archive of Our Own here

It was a beautiful day at Luna Nova Magical Academy, with only a few clouds dotting the bright blue skies, the sun bringing some welcomed warmth, and a refreshing breeze blew from the northwest. All in all, a perfect day for flying, which wasn’t always a guarantee in Western England, and Professor O’Neill was a stickler for flying through any sort of weather, save for weather that could seriously injure a student, such as a thunderstorm or very thick fog. “Out there in the world, y’all might be flying in all sorts’ve conditions,” the fiery-haired professor had said in that Texas drawl on the first day of classes. “Better to learn how to fly safely now than to be grounded later, or even worse, fly in weather y’all aren’t ready for.”

That seemed to be the American professor’s style…despite her wild appearance with undercut, two-toned red hair and tattoos on her arms that she shamelessly bared to the annoyance of some of the more conservative teachers, she took the safety of her students incredibly seriously, and she watched her flying students like a hawk, her bright green and electric blue eyes missing very little, much to the consternation of-

“Miss Laveau, slow down!” Professor O’Neill’s voice cracked through the air, and Keyatta Laveau, witch descendent from a proud lineage of Cajun witches from Delacroix, Louisiana, immediately slowed down her broom before turning an annoyed grimace back up towards the walkway extending off of the Observatory Tower to see Professor O’Neill scowling down at her.

“What?!” she gave a complaining shout back up to the teacher and the other students. “Come on, I wasn’t even going that fast!”

“I know you know the rules, Laveau, keep it at the proper speed or I’ll ground you!”

Keyatta rolled her eyes before going so much slower than she was capable of going, and just to be a brat, she started doing exaggerated loop-de-loops. To her surprise, Professor O’Neill didn’t yell at her, instead sparing her one last annoyed glare before she returned her attention to the next student to fly off the end of the walkway. Later, during lunch, the African-American student and the Irish-American professor would both gripe to their peers about one another, much to the amusement of those around them. After all, anyone could see that the two of them were very similar in temperament…no wonder they didn’t get along…

For Amanda, it was Professor Finnelan to whom she complained while they ate their lunches in the staff cafeteria. “Like, I just don’t get it, she’s one of the smartest girls in her year and is a model student with the other professors, why can’t she just follow the rules in my class?”

Finnelan literally snorted into her tea at that, turning astounded blue eyes on the younger professor. “Really? You, of all people, are asking that?” she asked, voice incredulous. “As I recall, Katelyn…er, Nelson, that is, she used to say very much the same thing about a hotheaded student from Texas twelve years ago,” she said, her expression only saddening a little at the mention of her friend. But then she gave a slight, teasing grin. “Well, perhaps not the smartest girl in her year, mind…” she said leadingly, and Amanda rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said with a flippant wave of her hand before she sighed, crossing her arms and staring at the egg salad and olive sandwich on her plate. “I dunno, Finnelan, like…I’m tempted to let her do her thing, but what if she gets hurt? Then it’d be my fault, and after…after Arcturus Forest, I can’t stand the thought of losing anyone else I’m responsible for.”

The look Finnelan gave her was sympathetic. “Well, the Headmistress has given you some pretty decent leeway in your curriculum, O’Neill. Give it some thought, I’m sure you’ll think of something…”

Meanwhile, in the student cafeteria, Keyatta was having a much more spirited discussion about the matter, a scowl on her pretty face as she stabbed her spoon repeatedly into her mashed potatoes as the other two in the lavender team, Astrid Ingridsdottir from Iceland and Lihua Chang from China looked on with amusement. “I just don’t get what her damn problem is!” she snapped, the harsh tone at odds with her usually relaxed Louisianan drawl. “Like, I ain’t a damn kid, I know how to ride a broom!”

“Yes, but if a student is hurt during her class, it will be the professor’s fault,” Lihua reminded her primly before she took a drink from her water glass, and Keyatta fairly glared at her.

“I know that, but…it’s like she wants me to keep training wheels on when I don’t need them, and it’s so annoying. It’s like she doesn’t care what I’m capable of, and I just don’t know why!”

Lihua and Astrid glanced at one another. “You have heard the rumors about Professor O’Neill, right?” Astrid asked, and Keyatta huffed.

“Which ones? To date, there’s the one where when Atsuko Kagari was a professor here before she went into showbiz, O’Neill would frequently show up and have a tryst with Kagari in her office. Then there’s the one saying that O’Neill has a whole harem of witches out in Wedinburgh that she’s banging on the weekends. Or how about-”

“Not her love life, Key, but her history as a broom rider,” Lihuang said with a roll of her eyes.

“You mean like the Battle of Arcturus Forest? Lih, we learn about that in History of Magic. That’s not a rumor, that’s documented history. She was in command of the air group.”

“And how many riders did she lose?” Astrid asked. “They suffered really badly against the Silent Spring cult, surely that would make her want to be cautious…”

“Plus there’s the whole matter of her winning a bunch of broom races and she was a professional daredevil for a while…”

“Wait, what?” Keyatta asked, frowning. “She was a daredevil?”

“Yeah, it was probably like, six or seven years ago that she retired from all that, she was pretty popular on Witchtube for a long time.”

Keyatta blinked at that. Her family had been pretty traditional, and so frowned on things like Witchtube and other fancy modern spells…by the Nine, she shuddered to think about what Grand-maman would say about the magitronics courses being taught now. “I didn’t know,” she murmured to herself thoughtfully. That night, she would stay up until the wee hours of the morning, watching old footage of a woman she could scarcely believe was the stuffy flight instructor of Luna Nova. And through all of that, the resentment grew. Professor O’Neill used to fly like that and she was complaining about Keyatta going a little too fast? Merde, but that was so annoying! Her next flight class was on Friday, and she’d show Professor O’Neill then, by God! Decision made and tentative plan forming in her mind, she fell into an uneasy sleep.

xxxXXXxxx

Hannah quirked an eyebrow as Amanda came storming into the house on Friday evening, her expression thunderous. “Rough day at class?” she asked as Barbara came into the living room, drying her hands, the two of them watching as Amanda angrily toed her shoes off and making a beeline to the kitchen where they heard the fridge open and then close, followed by the sound of a beer bottle opening. Then Amanda reappeared, still scowling as she threw herself onto the couch, dropping her feet on top of the coffee table before taking a deep drink from the bottle, and Hannah and Barbara glanced at one another, slightly concerned. This was the worst mood Amanda had been in coming home from school in a long while.

Finally Amanda pulled the bottle away from her lips with a gasp for air. “I’m gonna kill her,” she muttered darkly.

Hannah rolled her eyes. “If it’s a student you’re talking about, it’s probably not allowed, love.”

“She deserves it!”

“Who was it, that Laveau girl from the US?” Barbara asked, and Amanda huffed out a wordless acknowledgment. “What’d she do this time?”

“Damn near gave me a heart attack today!” Amanda snapped before taking another drink. “For a moment, I thought she had lost control of her broom, and I went after her like a shot, but she gained control just before she hit the trees and then just smirked up at me. Little brat!”

Hannah and Barbara just looked at one another before turning almost sappily sympathetic faces on their lover. “Oh, no, Amanda, whatever will you do?” Hannah started, and Amanda shot her a sharp glance.

“Oi,” she started warningly, but Barbara was already talking.

“How awful, you’d think these kids would know to behave themselves doing something so dangerous. Honestly, the lack of self-preservation in some people. It doesn’t remind you of anyone that we know, does it, Han?”

Hannah tapped her chin thoughtfully. “It does sound familiar, Babs, but I just can’t put my finger on it…”

By now Amanda was pouting at them. “Alright, alright, I get it, no need to be so mean about it.”

“Awww, poor Amanda thinks that we’re being mean,” Hannah grinned, some heat creeping into her tone, and Barbara caught on immediately, wrapping loose arms around her, resting her cheek on Hannah’s shoulder as she fixed glittering eyes on Amanda, who was now watching them very intently.

“However shall we make it up to her?” Barbara asked, and Hannah almost laughed at the way Amanda swallowed thickly at that.

“I think I might have an idea,” she murmured as she turned her head and captured Barbara’s lips in a slow, heated kiss. The rest of the evening was spent rather successfully distracting Amanda from the issues that plagued her mind. Unfortunately it would be only a short reprieve…

xxxXXXxxx

“Miss Laveau,” came the stern voice, and Keyatta froze, wind whistling around the crowd gathered on the walkway of the Observatory, her broom propped on her shoulder.

She sighed heavily before turning slowly, facing the irate face of the other American. “Yes, Professor?” she asked, voice kept carefully free of derision.

“Look, I know you’re a skilled rider, but you have to follow the rules, alright?” Professor O’Neill asked, voice almost weary, and for a brief moment, Keyatta almost felt sorry for her teacher. Then steel crept into Professor O’Neill’s expression. “That said, you ever pull a stunt like Friday again, I’m taking your broom and giving you a D- for the semester, am I understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” Keyatta muttered, and as Professor O’Neill nodded and began to turn away, the resentment of all the scolding she had received caused the words to spill from her lips. “Pfft, like you could do any better.”

Everyone froze at that, Keyatta included. She hadn’t meant to say it, she really hadn’t! Respect for elders and those in authority had been drilled into her from a very young age, and if Papa had been there, he’d probably already be switching her backside for daring to sass her teacher. She glanced, wide-eyed and fearful, at Lihuang and Astrid who were both looking at her with horrified expressions. Then again, so were all of the other students immediately surrounding her, and she licked her lips nervously as she looked at the frozen back of Professor O’Neill. Nine preserve me, she’s going to be so furious!

But when the professor turned around, it wasn’t with an angry scowl, it was with a look of almost incredulous delight, and she gave a short, astonished laugh the molded into words. “I-I’m sorry, but what did you just say?”

“I…I…I didn’t mean…I’m so sor-!” Keyatta stammered, but Professor O’Neill cut her off.

“No, seriously. I want you to say that again, right now.”

Keyatta winced, her heart sinking into her stomach. Well, Professor O’Neill was telling her to say the words again, and she was already in enough trouble. Might as well. “I said, ‘like you could do any better,’ ma’am,” she answered meekly, head bowed.

“Okay, okay, that’s what I thought. Stay right where you are, nobody else start flying.” The rustle of clothes, and Keyatta looked up to see the red-headed flight instructor pull out her wand, all while grinning at Keyatta with an expression that would have been home on a shark’s face. “Vera Gurasare,” Professor O’Neill chanted, and she disappeared with a pop.

For a moment silence reigned, but then Astrid turned to Lihuang. “Dibs! I call dibs on her crystal ball!”

Lihuang scowled. “Damn, I wanted that, it’s got better reception than mine does. Fine, I get her potions set.”

“That’s fair. Do you want her antique shrunken head?”

“Ugh, no, that thing creeps me out. It always feels like it’s watching me…”

Keyatta frowned. “What are you doing?” she snapped, and her two teammates turned exasperated looks on her.

“Isn’t it obvious? We’re divvying up your belongings now, so we don’t fight after Professor O’Neill kills you.”

Keyatta scoffed. “She’s not gonna kill me!” she protested, but she couldn’t help some of the doubt that crept into her words. Given some of the rumors about Professor O’Neill’s kill count during the fight against Silent Spring, could she be blamed for doubting, though?

And so her two so-called friends continued to lay claim to her belongings, other students occasionally throwing in a request, and an almost festive mood seemed to grip everyone except for Keyatta. After all, no one had ever seen Professor O’Neill really angry before, and there was a lot of curiosity about how exactly the punishment would be meted out.

Then, finally, one of the girls keeping lookout cried out. “Hey! There she is!” And then, softer, with frank admiration in her voice: “Oh, damn.”

There was almost a stampede as the students crowded at the railing, getting a look at the professor now walking towards the Observatory, and Keyatta couldn’t help but silently repeat that sentiment in her head. Oh, damn.

Professor O’Neill had changed out of her teacher’s robes and into something much more informal…dark green khaki cargo pants with knee pads built into them and a tight, black sleeveless shirt that showed off her trim torso, leanly muscled and tattooed arms, and broad shoulders. A beat up pair of combat boots and flight goggles strapped across her forehead completed the ensemble. She also had one of the biggest and monstrous looking brooms resting across her shoulders, and for the first time, Keyatta realized that she may have made a mistake. She gulped nervously as Professor O’Neill jabbed a finger up at the tower and then pointed at the ground in front of her.

“Oh my God, she’s going to kill me,” she whimpered, but there was nothing else she could do. A feeling of dread sitting like concrete in her stomach, she mounted her broom and flew down to the waiting professor, feeling very much like she was going to her executioner.

When she landed, she stood meekly in front of Professor O’Neill who stared at her with unreadable eyes. Then the older witch huffed, and brought her broom around with a flourish, the broom whistling through the air before it came to a rest. “Alright, so, you’re gonna back up your words, kid, we’re going to race. And this? This…is Silver,” Professor O’Neill said as she gestured to the massive broom, and Keyatta couldn’t help the small frown that took to her face, one that the professor noticed. “What?” she asked, tone short.

“Sorry, it’s just…Silver? That’s an odd name for a broom.”

Professor O’Neill frowned. “Silver…as in the Lone Ranger’s horse. It’s a classic name!”

By some small mercy, Keyatta kept her face composed, even as that little bit of knowledge made Professor O’Neill just that little bit more relatable. Her teacher liked old-timey cowboy shows. Huh. “Of course,” she said, tone neutral, and Professor O’Neill stared at her with narrowed eyes before she continued.

“Anyway, Silver here was made by Caplett and Prague, and probably cost more than your family’s property.”

Her first reaction was to scoff. Her family was one of the more prominent families of Louisiana, but then she really processed what Professor O’Neill had said. Caplett and Prague was the Bugatti of the broom world, and she gave the monstrous broom a once over, noting the sleek design and the unique knee and foot pegs, and she remembered some of the footage she had seen where Professor O’Neill had been able to keep full control over the broom without her hands. There were also gouges cut into the wood of the broom handle, as well as scorch marks. This was the broom the older witch had taken to battle against Silent Spring. And Keyatta was so totally dead. A school broom couldn’t compare to that broom.

Thus, it came as a complete surprise when Professor O’Neill tilted the broom handle towards her. “You will be the one riding it.”

Keyatta’s eyes flared open in shock. “What?”

“If I rode this, it wouldn’t be fair. So, you get Silver, I’ll ride your broom.”

“But Professor…I-I don’t want to damage it!”

Professor O’Neill threw her head back and laughed out loud at that. “Ha! Trust me kid, you should be way more worried about this broom hurting you than you hurting it. Now come on, put your hand on the broomstick, I have to tell it that you’re allowed to fly it.” Kenyatta hesitantly put her hand on the well-worn handle, and her breath was instantly taken away. It was like grabbing onto a live wire! And Professor O’Neill was going to let her ride this thing? “Silver, this is Keyatta Laveau, she’s going to be riding you. Don’t hold anything back, do exactly what she tells you to.”

The broom seemed to pulse in her hand, and some of that intensity to it seemed to reduce, and Keyatta let out a slow breath, suddenly very nervous. She was really going to ride this monster? Yes, apparently. Professor O’Neill was already mounting Keyatta’s broom, lifting off and hovering about ten feet off the ground, looking down at her. “We’ll do one lap, and I’ll mark the course with a trail, then we can race, and whoever wins gets bragging rights. Now come on, we don’t have all day.”

Numbly, Keyatta cast Tia Freyre, and Silver hovered obediently three feet off the ground, and she mounted it, rear resting on the well-worn saddle, wrapping her legs around the pegs so that they rested behind her knees and on top of her feet, like she had seen Professor O’Neill do in the videos on Witchtube. Heart hammering nervously, she gently brought the broom up to where her professor was waiting, and it was so strange…she could almost feel the broom’s impatient potential, it was like she was driving a formula one race car at the speed limit. The broom did it, but it seriously felt like it wanted to open up and just go.

Professor O’Neill gave her a smirk before turning forward and heading off, a sparkling golden trail emitting from Keyatta’s broom’s bristles, and the course that they were to run started with a long straightaway before banking sharply to the right before it meandered all over the school, at times mere feet from the ground, other times soaring up into the sky. It circled tightly up and around the New Moon Tower before diving sharply towards the ground. It did two laps around the perimeter of the athletic field. It weaved through the spires on the roof of the main school building, and it ran a few feet over the ground, heading towards the Observatory before it shot straight up, and Professor O’Neill marked a horizontal circle just in front of the end of the walkway that would be the finish.

They stopped there for a moment, and Keyatta glanced at all of her classmates who were looking at her with wide, disbelieving eyes, and she licked her lips as she wiped sweaty hands off on her robes, and Professor O’Neill was still smirking at her. “You can back out now if you want,” she said, amusement clear in her voice, and the competitive fire in Keyatta’s heart was lit.

“No, I want to do this!” she protested, and Professor O’Neill nodded before going into a slow dive back towards the base of the tower and the start point, and Keyatta took a deep, steeling breath. Okay, she had the better broom, and she was also smaller and lighter than the older witch. She should be more able to maneuver through tight areas…right? Professor O’Neill had well over a decade of riding experience, including some very high stakes races, but she was on Keyatta’s broom, and while it was a nice enough broom, it wasn’t built for a race more intense than the Luna Nova Cup. Surely she had a chance!

With that little bit of self-reassurance, she gave one last glance at her classmates before she, too, dived down to where Professor O’Neill was now waiting, and seeing the red-headed teacher roll her multi-colored eyes, she looked behind her to see most of her class taking off on their own brooms as they headed for the best vantage points to see the race. They were going to have an audience.

Then she reached the start point, and Professor O’Neill fished a pair of goggles out of one of her pants cargo pockets and handed them to her. “Here, you’re going to want these,” she said, dropping the goggles that had been resting across her forehead down over her mismatched eyes as Keyatta put on the offered goggles, making sure that the strap was tight. Once her hands returned to the broomstick, Professor O’Neill shot her a look. “Alright, y’all ready?” she drawled, and Keyatta nodded, nerves skyrocketing, and she wouldn’t trust herself to speak. “Alright, on your mark…get set…go!”

They were both off like a shot, the air instantly roaring against Keyatta’s ears as Silver rocketed forward, easily outstripping Professor O’Neill, and Keyatta couldn’t help the exhilarated whoop that erupted from her as she tore down the golden trail…only for that excitement to disappear as she shot past the turn, and she grunted, straining with all her strength to try and turn the broom to return to the race course, lifting her head to see Professor O’Neill effortlessly make the sharp turn, legs crossed at the ankles over the broomstick as she yanked up on the broom, taking the lead. Snarling every last Cajun curse she knew under her breath, Keyatta wrestled with Silver, finally getting it to turn, and she shot after Professor O’Neill as she cursed herself for her stupidity. All the speed in the world wouldn’t help if she lost fine control of the broom. She only had to go just a little faster than she knew her broom was capable of, and she’d win!

The next leg of the race didn’t have much in the way of sharp turns, and she was able to close the large gap that had developed between her and Professor O’Neill, but she couldn’t quite take the lead before they reached the New Moon Tower, and she grit her teeth as she followed Professor O’Neill in the spiraling path up and up, and she started to get a feel of just how badly she was actually outclassed. She was able to keep the path, but her movements were slightly jerky, and she kept well away from the tower…Professor O’Neill was as smooth as silk in her flight, and had she reached a hand up, she’d be able to touch the tower whose windows flashed by in rapid blurs. By the Nine, she’s good, she breathed to herself…and then they were clear of the tower and heading into the dive, the negative G’s pulling at Keyatta’s robes, and her stomach seemed to rise up into her throat as she was able to use gravity to take the lead again…only to lose it as she slowed down well in advance of the ground so that she could make the sharp turn. Overshooting a hard bank wasn’t a problem when you had nothing but air in front of you, but not pulling out of a dive heading right for the ground…

So it was a surprise when Professor O’Neill shot past her at the same break neck speed, and she couldn’t help the cry of alarm as the Texan rocketed towards the hard and unforgiving ground, only to stare in shock as Professor O’Neill managed to pull out of the dive, the bristles of Keyatta’s broom slapping the grass before O’Neill was pulling further ahead, and Keyatta grit her teeth as she followed after, once again closing the distance as they closed in on the athletic field, but even here she was outmatched, Professor O’Neill heading into the turns perilously close to the ground, close enough that when she turned, her knees brushed against the ground, the pads built into the pants protecting them as well as providing that much more friction to have the turns be that much sharper, and frustration bit at Keyatta as the gap between her and the Professor grew that much wider. She didn’t even know that her broom was capable of flying like that, how the hell did Professor O’Neill make it look that effortless?!

Then they were on the straightaway heading towards the main building, and Keyatta tried, she really did, but the lead between her and the Professor was just too big for her to clear in the short distance they had, and all she could manage was to get within ten feet of Professor O’Neill when they entered the spires, and honestly, it was at that point that Keyatta gave up all hope of actually winning this thing. She had to slow down to a manageable speed as she wove between the towering spires, but through it all, she couldn’t help but gape at Professor O’Neill. Keyatta was confident enough in her flying ability to keep the distance between her and the spires to within a few feet as she passed them…Professor O’Neill? She kept the distance down to mere inches, and how she did it blew Keyatta’s mind.

Professor O’Neill moved her body, not the broom, and it boggled the mind to think of how much strength and coordination it must have taken, but for each spire that she passed, Professor O’Neill would literally throw her body in the opposite direction, keeping contact with the broom with only a hooked ankle and gripping hand, and the amount of control she must have had over the broom to keep from spinning out of control as she did the crazy maneuver…Keyatta wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t powerful enough to exert that much control over a broom, and probably wouldn’t for years!

Then they were clear of the main building, and Keyatta ground her teeth together as she leaned low over the broom, urging it to go faster, to close that unbridgeable gap between her and the professor, and Silver complied, leaping forward eagerly. This time, she drew even with Professor O’Neill as they shot toward the near right angle turn that lead straight up the side of the Observatory, and she glanced over to see the former daredevil flier smirk at her before Keyatta had to slow down so she could make the turn safely, and she watched as Professor O’Neill leapt up away from the broom, planting a foot on top of where the bristles met the broomstick, pulling up with all her strength, the muscles of her back flexing and swelling with the strain of it as the bristles rasped against the grass before she was shooting straight up, body perfectly in line with the broom, and her sleek form cut through the air with very little drag, giving her just enough of an edge that Keyatta, despite trying her hardest, still finished the race just behind Professor O’Neill, much to the delight of her classmates who cheered and clapped at Professor O’Neill’s victory, and as the redhead slowed down and sat properly on the broom and Keyatta caught up to her, she shot a smug look at her. “So, you still think I can’t do any better?” she laughed.

Keyatta didn’t reply as she turned and headed back to the walkway, depositing the broom silently against the railing after she landed. She wasn’t even mad, she was actually terribly impressed with how well Professor O’Neill had flown, but the knowledge that she hadn’t had a chance even while on Silver was a bitter pill to swallow. She wouldn’t participate in the rest of the lesson after Professor O’Neill corralled all the other students back and continued her teaching. Instead, Keyatta merely sat on the walkway in the bright sun and brisk wind, arms wrapped around the legs drawn up to her chest as she went through the race moment by moment, analyzing every last move that Professor O’Neill had made. The older witch was so skilled, so it still begged the question:

Why would someone who could fly like that be so opposed to any of the students really pushing their skills and abilities to the max? Was she truly so afraid of losing someone that she would continue to keep them well below what they were all capable of?

These thoughts continued to ear at her as Professor O’Neill wrapped up the lesson and the rest of the students left, Lihuang and Astrid hesitating slightly over her as she continued to sit, but with a pair of sighs, they, too, mounted their brooms and left, leaving only her and Professor O’Neill on the walkway.

“Hey, kiddo, are you alright?” Professor O’Neill asked after a long pause, and normally the nickname would have annoyed Keyatta, but Professor O’Neill never called anyone by a nickname. “I, uh, I’d like to apologize for what I said…at the end of the race. It wasn’t very mature of me, but I was so pumped up after the race…it’s not very often than I get the chance to really fly like that…”

“Professor…” Keyatta started, voice hesitant. “Why…why won’t you let use really fly?” She turned confused, sad eyes on Professor O’Neill, who shifted uneasily, a look of discomfort on her face. “I’d get so mad because you treated me like a little kid when all the other professors would treat me my age, but…”

“Little kid?” Professor O’Neill scoffed as she dropped down to sit beside Keyatta. “I wouldn’t let a little kid ride that course, and I sure as shit wouldn’t let a little kid ride Silver!” Then she paused, fingers tapping absently on the floor of the walkway. “I just…I lost a lot of close friends and a cherished mentor during the Battle of Arcturus Forest, and the thought of losing anyone else, especially for something stupid like an accident while broom riding…I wouldn’t be able to live with myself,” she said, voice almost broken, and Keyatta shot a startled glance at her teacher, who had a completely open look on her face, a deep vulnerability to her as she opened up to her student, and Keyatta wasn’t sure how to handle being the one that Professor O’Neill was so open towards.

Then she glanced at Silver and blinked as the idea struck her. “Hey, Professor, can I ask a favor?” she asked, and at the redhead’s questioning glance, she continued. “Can I…can I see you run that course, on Silver, not holding anything back?”

Professor O’Neill stared at her for a long moment before a mischievous grin split her face. “You know what, kid, I’ll do you one better. You want to ride with me while I run the course?”

Keyatta’s eyes flared open at the, and she was so very glad that her dark skin helped hide blushes as the thought of riding on Silver with Professor O’Neill struck her full force. “I-I don’t know if that would b-be a good idea, Professor,” she protested, and Professor O’Neill just grinned wider.

“Nah, it’ll be fine. I’ve had to ride double with other students before, generally witches who are really uncertain of their ability and need someone to show them the ropes.” She stood up, dusted off her pants, and offered a hand to Keyatta. “Come on, I insist.”

Keyatta hesitated for a moment before she placed her hand in the warm, well-calloused hand of her professor, and she was pulled effortlessly to her feet as her blush deepened, though thankfully it seemed as though Professor O’Neill didn’t noticed as she prepared for the flight, first telling Silver that it would bear two riders, and it flashed briefly as the saddle elongated and the pegs moved so that both riders could rest their feet on them. Then Professor O’Neill changed Keyatta’s robes that they had a harness that she would connect to her belt, for safety, she explained cheerily as she motioned to the leather strap that Keyatta had noticed wrapped around the broomstick and that was attached to the saddle. Professor O’Neill would be attached to the broom, and Keyatta would be attached to her professor, so there was no chance of falling.

They mounted, and Keyatta wrapped arms around Professor O’Neill’s waist after she attached the clip of her harness to Professor O’Neill’s belt, feeling the firm, toned muscles dancing under the black fabric of her teacher’s shirt as Professor O’Neill buckled herself onto the broom. “Alright, just remember, keep with my body as we fly. We won’t be going as fast as I can get Silver to go, but it’ll be fast. And if you do well, then maybe we can talk about starting an advanced flyer’s course. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds good, Professor,” Keyatta managed to say with a level voice, despite the heavy blush on her face.

Professor O’Neill laughed as the broom lifted off the walkway. “Of course it does, it’s my idea! Now, hold on, here we go!” They shot off into the welcoming spring sky like an arrow fired from a bow, and Keyatta couldn’t help the laugh of delight that sprang from her lips as they dove towards the ground and the waiting starting point. After the flight, which would be the fastest Keyatta had ever been on, she would resolve to become the president of the sizable Professor O’Neill Fan Club as well as to put together the framework for an Advanced Flyer’s Club to be presented to the Headmistress, but right here and now, she resolved to truly enjoy the feeling of the wind in her hair, the warm sun against her skin, and the strength of the professor she held onto and moved with as they streaked through the course.

One thing was for damn certain, though…she was never going to be a problem student for Professor O’Neill ever again!

#Little Witch Academia #amanda o'neill #hannah england #Barbara Parker #professor finnelan #hanbarmanda #professor o'neill #Keyatta Laveau #Astrid Ingridsdottir #Lihua Chang #broom race #what a decade brings

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