Last Stand of Dead Men. Derek Landy

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      t took Valkyrie a little over two hours to get to Roarhaven. Knowing the route from the passenger seat was one thing – being able to remember every turn from behind the wheel was quite another. Added to that, there were no signs for the town, and the road that led to it was hidden from the prying eyes of the public. Aside from people who knew the way, only the very determined or the very lost could ever hope to stumble upon it. In the end, Valkyrie gave in to how lost she was, and fifteen minutes later she was pulling up outside the Sanctuary.

      There were Cleavers in the streets, which was a rare sight to see. The townspeople stayed away from all the fuss, scowling at Sanctuary personnel from their doorways and behind their curtains. Valkyrie was let through without being searched, and she found Ieni, a young mage from Cork, arguing with an older sorcerer. He was called away and Ieni turned to Valkyrie as she approached.

      “You all right?” Valkyrie asked.

      “They’re saying this is my fault,” Ieni said, her eyes glistening. “I was at my post and someone came up behind me and … They’re saying it’s my fault Sult got in. But I’m not the only one they got.”

      “You’ll be fine,” Valkyrie said. “Everyone’s just confused right now. What was Sult trying to do?”

      “They set off explosives on the Accelerator. It wasn’t damaged, though. Elder Bespoke took them down.”

      “Right,” the older sorcerer said, striding back to Ieni, “you can consider yourself under investigation, you hear me? I can’t believe anyone could be as incompetent as you claim to be, which leads me to believe that you were working with the enemy.”

      “No,” Ieni said, her eyes widening, “I swear I wasn’t.”

      Valkyrie was about to interject when a man in a good suit stepped out of the room beside them.

      “Leave the girl alone,” he said, making the order sound like a suggestion. He wasn’t quite as tall as Valkyrie and he was carrying a few extra pounds around the midsection, but his smile was easy and his vibe was laid-back. “She got taken unawares by professionals. It happens to the best of us.”

      The mage glared. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m fairly certain that this is none of your business.”

      “You don’t know who I am?” the man said. “Really? I know who you are, Mr Dacanay. Newly-appointed sheriff of Roarhaven, am I right? You even have a little badge and ID card that you’re suddenly embarrassed about, tucked away in your pocket there.”

      Dacanay loomed over him. “I don’t like psychics picking through my head.”

      “Good thing I’m not a psychic, then. My name is Saracen Rue. I know things.” At the mention of Saracen’s name, Dacanay backed down considerably. “I know, for example, that you’re going to walk away from this conversation within the next five seconds. Four … three … two …”

      Dacanay scowled, turned to Ieni. “I’ll be watching you.”

      As he stormed off, Saracen leaned in. “He might be the law in Roarhaven, but not in the Sanctuary. You don’t have to worry about him.”

      “Thank you,” Ieni said.

      “Did you have a doctor look you over? That probably wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

      Ieni nodded and hurried away, and Saracen turned to Valkyrie, stepped back to look her up and down, and smiled. “Valkyrie Cain. You are exactly what I expected.”

      She raised an eyebrow. “Is that good or bad?”

      “Good,” he said, shaking her hand. “It’s great to finally meet you. Come on, everyone’s meeting in the conference room.”

      “Is Ghastly OK?” she asked as they started walking.

      “He’s fine,” said Saracen. “A headache and a few mild burns. Hey, well done on saving the world that time.”

      “Which time was that?”

      Saracen laughed. “Take your pick. I haven’t been home in years – this morning was the first time I’d set foot on Irish soil in the last decade – but I’ve heard so much about you.”

      “Likewise,” Valkyrie said. “Although Skulduggery never mentioned what discipline you studied.”

      Saracen’s smile turned to a grin. “I know things.”

      “But you said you’re not a psychic.”

      “You don’t have to be a Sensitive to know things.”

      “So … that’s your magic? Knowing things is your power?”

      “Knowing things is a result of my power.”

      “OK. No offence, but that vagueness is really annoying.”

      “I know. Dexter has been trying to figure out what I can do for over three hundred and fifty years. Seeing the annoyance in his eyes is just about the most hilarious thing I’ve ever experienced.”

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