LITMIR.BIZ

       13

      A shadow in the billowing steam. Valkyrie narrowed her eyes. “Did you see that?”

      “I saw something,” Skulduggery said.

      “What was it? It looked like—”

      Something flared in the distance, a sudden fire or explosion. Valkyrie walked towards it.

      “Careful,” said Skulduggery, but he sounded so far away. “There’s a wall in front of you.”

      She knew that. Behind the steam and the shadows, she knew there was a solid wall. She knew she was still in the cellar. She knew what was real and what wasn’t.

      Only there was no wall. Frowning, she kept walking, hands out in front, and with each step she expected to come into contact with the wall and yet each step brought her deeper and deeper into the steam. She turned, looked back.

      “Skulduggery?” she called.

      He didn’t answer. She couldn’t see him.

      She heard something, though. Someone whistling a tune. A familiar tune. Something old. Sweet yet sad. ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me.’ It moved from right to left. She went to investigate, but something about the tune made her pause, and she realised she didn’t want to know who the whistler was. She stayed still, listening to the tune fade.

      A line of people trudged out of the nothingness, walking right into her, dissipating upon contact. She watched them, their heads down, their footsteps heavy. Men and women and children, bags on their backs, bags in their hands. Faces tired and anxious. Scared, even. A continuous line. So many of them.

      The steam stole the people away, and she turned and there were flames all around her. A town was burning. Screams mixed with car alarms. Before her, two figures, side by side. She recognised Omen Darkly, his face older, and bleeding. Beside him, a handsome boy, clutching his injured shoulder. She became aware of figures behind her and she turned, saw their forms without faces, felt their anger, their hatred, their aggression. Omen and the other boy, his brother perhaps, clicked their fingers and summoned fire into their hands.

      “You actually think you’re going to win?” somebody asked, and she turned, saw the Plague Doctor a moment before the steam stole him away. She looked back and the burning town was gone and Saracen Rue was dead on the ground, his throat torn open.

      Valkyrie held her hand over her mouth. “Skulduggery!” she called. “Skulduggery, where are you?”

      Cadaverous Gant emerged from the steam, holding a rag doll in his left hand, a rag doll in a blue dress. He walked so quickly that she put out a hand to stop him and his image broke apart, and beyond him she saw Tanith Low, her blonde hair cut to above her shoulders, backing away from something, fear in her eyes.

      She turned, the clouds swirling, and she glimpsed China Sorrows lying in a field of broken glass, blood drenching her blouse, her eyes open and unseeing. Valkyrie turned away to shouts, to jeers, and saw a stream of energy blast through the chest of a girl, saw her fall back, hair covering her face, and when Valkyrie went to catch her the images swirled away and Valkyrie could see herself, on her knees, tears running down her face. Defeated. Alone.

      And she knew she was watching her own death.

      Valkyrie’s legs gave out and she collapsed. She didn’t try to get up again. She stayed where she was, her eyes tightly shut, hands over her ears.

      “Make it stop,” she muttered. “Make it stop.”

      A fingertip, under her chin.

      This was real. This reassured her. Valkyrie breathed, calming, and opened her eyes, but it wasn’t Skulduggery crouching before her, it was a woman with silver hair, and Valkyrie jerked away, fell back, and the woman laughed.

      “All this pain,” the woman said. “All this death and destruction. It’s because of you, my dear. All because of you.”

      “You’re … you’re not real.”

      “I will be,” the woman said, and smiled. “You will make me real. I know who you are. I know your secret.” The woman stood. “I am the Princess of the Darklands, and I’m coming for all of you.”

      Her image drifted away on the thinning steam, and Skulduggery plunged through, scattering it completely.

      “Did you see that?” Valkyrie asked.

      “Some of it,” he said, helping her up. “Not all.”

      “Her, I mean. Did you see her? The woman with the silver hair?”

      “I’m afraid I didn’t,” he said, guiding Valkyrie to the chair.

      She slumped down on to it, her limbs leaden. “She spoke to me.”

      “To a future version of you.”

      “No, Skulduggery – to me. She was speaking to me, now, just a few seconds ago. She touched my chin. I could feel it.”

      “That’s not possible.”

      “I know that. But I’m telling you it happened. She said she knew my secret. What secret? Do I even have any secrets? She said she was the Princess of the Darklands and that she’s coming for all of us. You didn’t see her? Hear her?”

      “All I saw were the lines of people, the fire, Saracen, and then China. You’re sure she touched you?”

      “Yes,” she said. “I mean … I’m pretty sure. I could feel – or at least I think I could feel …” She sighed. “I don’t know. The whole thing was kind of overwhelming.”

      “What else did you see?”

      “Tanith.

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