Death Bringer. Derek Landy

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      “Aw, that’s sweet, but, really, you’d never get that chance. Caelan, you’re not my protector, you’re not my guardian angel and you’re not my boyfriend.”

      His perfect jaw tightened. “But I love you.”

      “Here we go.”

      “When will you admit that you’re in love with me too?”

      “I swear, talking to you is like talking to a really good-looking and mildly stupid brick wall. Look, I like you, OK? I do. I know I shouldn’t, I know it’s a cliché to fall for the bad boy …”

      Caelan frowned. “I’m a bad boy?”

      “But it happened,” she continued, ignoring him, “and that’s it. I think you’re cute. You could probably ease up on the brooding and self-loathing, though – that stopped being attractive a while ago. But I mean, on the whole, I like you, and you like me—”

      “I love you.”

      “Yeah, well …”

      “You make my heart want to beat.”

      “That’s nice and creepy. But I’m with Fletcher.”

      “You’ve been with him for a while now. It doesn’t stop you coming to me.”

      “Yeah, and that makes me feel so much better about it all. I’m cheating on my boyfriend, who is really nice and sweet and hot, and I’m cheating on him because, let’s face it, I’m really not a good person. I’m a cheating girlfriend.”

      “Then never see him again and your conscience will be clear,” he said, taking her hand in his.

      She frowned at him. “But I want to see him again.”

      “If you wanted him, you wouldn’t be with me.”

      “It is possible to want more than one person at the same time, you know.”

      “I only want you.”

      “And you should really get out more.” Valkyrie disentangled herself from him. “Also, all these proclamations of your undying love for me are getting kind of … It’s a bit much, to be honest. Just hold back a little.”

      “But my love for you is eternal.”

      “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about.”

      “I need you. I need to be around you. I’m dead, Valkyrie. I’m dead, but when you’re here, I feel alive. Memories are stirred of a pulse, of breath in my lungs, of life in my heart. The more I’m with you, the more I need. My passion burns …”

      She made a face. “I don’t need to know about your burning passion.”

      “It burns for you, Valkyrie. I’m on fire. My mind is in flames.”

      “Couldn’t we just be each other’s bit on the side?”

      “You love me. I see it in your eyes.”

      “I think you’re mistaking confusion for love.”

      “I love you with everything that is me.”

      “Remember when you were the strong, silent type? Could we go back to that?”

      “It’s too late to go back. You’ve reawakened the old Caelan. Because of you, I remember who I used to be. Because of you, I can push the monster down.”

      “And that is very much appreciated.”

      “Before you, my life was in darkness. It was hollow and empty and cold. But you shone a light through the darkness. You led me home.”

      “Yeah, I’m great. Could we stop talking now?”

      “But I want to talk. I want to talk for ever.”

      “I think you are…”

      “You, Valkyrie, are my sweet agony.”

      She held up a hand. “OK, I’m really going to have to stop you there. You say one more thing that sounds like it’s ripped from the pages of a really bad gothic romance and I’m out of here, are we clear? You’ll have talked yourself out of ten minutes with me. Is that what you want?”

      Caelan shook his head.

      “Good doggy. And never call me your sweet agony ever again.”

      

      elancholia listened patiently while the woman explained what all the charts meant. Two other Necromancers stood by the door, and Cleric Craven hovered nearby, as was his new habit. He seemed reluctant to let Melancholia out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time.

      “The good news,” the woman said, “is that we have established a pattern. If our calculations are correct, you should start to feel strong again sometime in the next twenty minutes, and this strength should stay with you for anywhere between three and four hours.”

      The woman had an annoying tendency to wait for some indication that Melancholia had heard and understood, so Melancholia gave her a nod. “Four hours,” she echoed.

      “You may experience some dizziness and some fatigue during those four hours, and if you do, don’t worry about it. It should pass within moments.” The woman’s name was Adrienna Shade. She was powerful, and intelligent, and had risen quickly through the Necromancer ranks. There had been rumours that she was to be made a Cleric, a virtually unheard of promotion for one so young. Melancholia used to admire her. But that was before Craven’s experiment, before the Surge. Now Adrienna Shade meant nothing to her. Melancholia glanced around the room. None of these people meant anything to her.

      “But in four hours’ time,” Shade continued, “you’ll grow weak again. Very weak. We’ll have IV drips and oxygen standing by in case you sink to dangerous levels. Whatever happens, we’ll be ready for it.”

      Melancholia doubted that very much, but she smiled and thanked her nonetheless, and Shade put away her charts and instruments, and left the chamber.

      “Cleric Craven,” Melancholia said, “is it OK for me to be alone for the next few hours?”

      He frowned. “We need to conduct more tests, Melancholia.”

      “But this is a lot to take in, and I think it would really help me if I had the night to myself. I’ll submit to all the tests in the morning, I promise.”

      Craven sighed irritably. He had a tendency to get irritated very easily. “Yes, very well. The night, then. Tomorrow, tests.”

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