yo
enjoy
The rain that hit Paradise's head was freezing cold. By the time it dripped down her nose, it was warm as bathwater. That particular trick was only getting better every time it rained. Practice makes perfect.
People hurried by under umbrellas, leaving Paradise unbothered as she scoped out the street. This one had plenty of alleyways leading off it, and it wouldn't take much cajoling to get someone to help her. It was getting dark, too, so no one could get a good look at her face.
Paradise shook her head, soaked hair whipping her face.
Something shiny caught Paradise's eye on the other side of the street. She saw a man tuck something—silver? A phone?—into his pocket and turn down an alley.
Paradise grinned and crossed the street quickly, dodged around cars waiting at the red light, and ducked into the alleyway behind him. She rolled up her sleeves and followed.
Fire flicked into being over her skin.
"Hey," she said when she was behind him. Her voice sounded small, swallowed by the concrete and pouring rain. "Turn out your pockets or I'll set you on fire."
The man stopped walking. Turned his head slightly to look at her out of the corner of his eye. "I'm afraid I don't carry any cash on me."
His voice was like honey. Paradise nodded. "No one does. That wasn't the demand. Turn out your pockets give me your phone, whatever you have in there, and I won't set you on fire."
"I assume you're talking about this?"
He reached slowly into his pocket. When he removed it, an antique silver pocket watch hung from the end of a long chain. As quick as it had appeared, the watch flicked back into the man's hand, and he returned it into his pocket.
Paradise blinked. "That's it. Just put that watch on the ground and you can be on your way."
He turned to face her, slowly. "Or you'll burn me?"
"Horribly." Paradise waved her flaming hands around. "See?"
"I do see." The man rubbed his chin. "And what if I did this?" He splayed his hand.
The skin on Paradise's arms tingled, and she glanced down. The fire was gone. Panic flared in Paradise's mind, and she took a step backwards from the man.
He was going to hurt her. He was going to—
She froze the ground underneath his feet. She saw him stumble, and she froze the rain falling around them. It plummeted from the air like bullets.
The tingling on her arms disappeared. Paradise summoned the fire again and held her hands up. She would have to touch him if she was going to hurt him, catch that suit on fire. She took a deep breath—
"Hey!" he said, waving a hand. Then, he reached up and his face disappeared.
The breath left Paradise's lungs.
"You... Your..."
"I'm a skeleton?" he suggested.
Paradise felt the flames fizzle out. Her knees were weak. "Are you going to kill me?" Her voice was hoarse.
"No. Are you still going to mug me?"
All Paradise could do was shake her head no.
"Alright then, if we've come to an agreement." The man stood up and adjusted his tie. "I suppose I should introduce myself. I'm Skulduggery Pleasant."
Paradise couldn't look away from his eye sockets. The teeth. The jaw moving without muscle. "Okay."
Skulduggery nodded. How could those skinny vertebrae keep up his skull? "Do you have a name?"
Paradise just stared.
Skulduggery waved a hand. The rain seemed to hit an invisible barrier above, rolling down around the two of them and leaving them dry. He waved his hand again, and water lifted off of his clothes, collecting in the air around him.
"Usually," he said, seeming to focus on drying himself, "I introduce myself to people who already know I'm dead. I've forgotten how flattering it is to leave someone dumbstruck with my mere appearance—very few people are able to do that, let alone without hours of preparation."
"How..." Paradise cleared her throat. "How are you doing that?"
"This?" All the droplets surrounding Skulduggery morphed together to form a ball of water in front of him. "Magic. But I'm sure you've guessed as much. It's elemental magic, though I'm afraid this trick isn't nearly as impressive as your ice rain from earlier."
Paradise wished she could pull all the water from her clothes. She pushed her wet bangs away from her eyes. "You can't do that?"
Skulduggery let the water fall to the ground. "Hm. I suppose I've never thought about trying. May I?" He gestured with his hand. "It doesn't hurt."
"Well, yeah, it's just water, why would it hurt?"
Water lifted from Paradise's clothes, but fell to the ground instead of collecting in the air. She was almost disappointed.
"Do you have a name?" Skulduggery asked, tilting his head. "You don't have to share, of course. I am a complete stranger. Though, to be fair, you did try to mug me, so I feel I have the right to ask for your name."
Paradise wasn't sure why she hesitated. "You can call me Paradise."
Skulduggery's hand fell back by his side. He was wearing gloves. Maybe he was embarrassed by his bones. "Well, Paradise." He said her name as if he was testing out the syllables on his nonexistent tongue. "If you don't mind me asking, are you doing anything right now? I wouldn't want to intrude if you have other muggings planned—but if you are free, could I offer to buy you a slice of pizza?"
...
Paradise inhaled the pizza. It was the first food she'd tasted in almost three days. Skulduggery had bought them both two slices, but had given his up to her after she devoured both of her slices in five minutes.
"So," she said, taking a sip of Coke. "You can do..." She looked around and lowered her voice. "Magic, too?"
"For as long as I've lived." Skulduggery had put his face back on, and Paradise found it weird to talk to. Disingenuous, maybe. "There are many, many people who can do it. There's four cities where only people who can do it live."
"Nothing burns down?"
Skulduggery raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying that because you've burned something down?"
Paradise frowned. "I'm just saying you'd think a bunch of people running around with fire would burn some stuff down every once in a while. Even if they're small cities, there's always idiots."
"You being a someone who might have burned something down?"
"I've only burned people." She sat back and crossed her arms.
Skulduggery blinked. "You do have a point. However, there are other types of magic besides elemental."
"That's my type, right?"
"Indeed. It's not surprising; most people stick to elemental, especially if they're not formally taught. Although, you're curious in that you seem a natural with fire. I've only met a few people in my lifetime who could manipulate fire over large portions of their bodies without burning themselves."
Paradise sat up straighter. "So, what other type of—you know—is there?"
"The other main branch is necromancy, thought I don't recommend the discipline. Some people shoot energy, which is probably the next most common."
"Like lasers?"
"Exactly like lasers," Skulduggery said, flashing her a quick smile. He stood and gestured towards the door. "We can talk more freely outside. I'm afraid I might be being followed, so you'll forgive me for being cautious."
Paradise stood, followed, but paused at the doorway. She looked up and down the street, looking for any cars with tinted windows, any vans that had appeared at Skulduggery's exit.
"I'll keep the rain off," Skulduggery said.
"Is that air magic or water magic?" she asked and stepped out. The raindrops dripped down invisible glass around her.
"A bit of both." Skulduggery started walking, looking over his shoulder to see if she would follow.
Paradise did so, still eyeing the street. "What do you mean you're being followed?"
Skulduggery tilted his head, clicking a tongue he didn't have. "How do I put this? You know how I mentioned those four magical cities? There used to be seven."
Paradise looked at him.
Skulduggery kept his eyes forward. "There used to be the Sanctuary, which controlled magical affairs between mortals and mages. There were two sects of mages, those who liked the Sanctuary and tended to avoid mortals, and those who had a foot in both worlds."
"And?"
Skulduggery's mouth twitched into a smile. "And there was a war. Mages didn't like being policed by the Sanctuary, and there were incentives for the Cleavers—well, a lot of things. Accusations of a rigged court system, unfair taxes. So there was a riot. The Sanctuary was overthrown."
"Okay, but why are you being followed?"
"Well, I was on the losing side of our little war. However, I'm already dead, and they couldn't exactly keep me locked up because they didn't exactly have any proof I did anything, technically, so they're just waiting for me to do something incriminating."
"Did you do anything incriminating?"
Skulduggery held his hands in the air. "Was I around when illegal activities were ongoing? Definitely. But I'm also a detective, so it's rather inevitable."
Paradise made a face. "You're a detective? Mages have Garda?"
"Well, we did. Now it's... difficult. The new government is a little—guarded about police forces. About any force at all. However, I am still a detective. I'm investigating a case right now, even, so I still use the title, even if there's no associated police force behind it."
"So, like, do you investigate break-ins, or..."
"Something like that," Skulduggery said brightly. He turned to her and leaned against a car. "This is me."
Paradise blinked. "Oh. Oh, alright. Thank you for the pizza."
Skulduggery crossed his arms. "What are your plans after this, if you don't mind me asking."
Paradise inhaled sharply. "I dunno'." She shrugged one shoulder.
"My bet is that you'd be trying to find someplace out of the rain. Or perhaps trying to mug another defenseless skeleton? Either way, I'm going to talk to my friend, if you'd be interested in coming with me. He has a roof and makes a good cup of tea, and some expensive knickknacks if you're willing to poke around."
...
"Skulduggery."
The man who opened the door looked around like he was expecting someone else. He was huge, chest like a barrel and arms the size of Paradise's head. His hands were calloused and red. He wore a delicate pair of glasses.
"Omen," Skulduggery greeted cheerfully.
Omen adjusted his glasses and looked at Paradise. "Hey there." He held out a huge hand. "I'm Omen Darkly."
Paradise shook his hand; her fingers were wrapped in sandpaper. "I'm Paradise."
Omen nodded and looked back at Skulduggery. "I'll set on a kettle."
Omen's couch was the comfiest thing Paradise had ever sat on. She tried to bounce on it subtly. Skulduggery sat in the armchair, long legs crossed, skull gleaming. He was looking at his phone, head tilted.
Omen walked back into the room and handed Paradise a steaming cup of tea. "I added lots of sugar and milk, I hope that's okay. You looked cold." He sat in the remaining armchair. "Skulduggery," he said, a little too loud for the space. "To what do I owe the visit?"
Skulduggery didn't respond for a long second. Then, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned his skull to Omen. "Paradise needs a place to stay. She's helping me with an investigation."
"Is she?" Omen smiled at her before returning his gaze to Skulduggery. "Is there anything I should know about? I haven't heard from you since—well, you know. Never wasn't exactly amused."
Skulduggery waved a hand. "Completely unrelated. However, I do have to go into what used to be Roarhaven."
Omen's eyes flicked between Skulduggery and Paradise. "Alright. Can I ask what you're investigating?"
Skulduggery adjusted his tie and stood. "Did you ever wonder where China got her new leg from?"
Omen sat back in his chair, hands gripping his knees tightly. "Viable bodies recovered, of course."
Skulduggery tilted his head to a new angle. "You think so? Well, it's just a hunch, of course. Completely baseless, but still. I've seen it happen before, and there's no reason to believe it couldn't again, despite the new government." He walked to the front door. "I'll let myself out."
...
Paradise dug through the bathroom cabinets. She founds bandages and nail clippers, which she tucked away into her backpack. She also nipped a bottle of Motrin. Omen had shown her the bathroom and had been nice enough to give her an outfit to change into, a toothbrush, some toothpaste.
Paradise had scrubbed her hair until her scalp stung. Shampoo was readily enough available, but conditioner felt like liquid gold in her fingers. She had found a pair of scissors and given herself a trim.
The shirt swamped her, and the sweatpants she had to hold up with one hand. Omen's clothes smelled faintly of flowers.
She opened the door as quietly as she could, trying to keep her backpack from rattling. She padded into the hallway and turned away from where she heard Omen cooking. She walked down the hallway, towards the bedrooms.
The walls were covered in framed photos. Most of them were headlines from newspapers: Kangaroo Court Accusations, Magic Binding Sigils Inhumane?, Interview with a Cleaver. But there were photos of people too. One of Omen shaking an attractive woman's hand, of a woman in a suit hugging a younger Omen, one of a woman with long, dark hair sticking her tongue out at the camera.
"Paradise?"
She turned. "Just reading the newspapers."
Omen walked over. "And looking at the pictures?"
Paradise raised one shoulder in a shrug. "They're hanging on the wall. Seems like they'd be free look at." She looked back over the pictures. "Are any of these your girlfriend?"
Omen made a strange sort of coughing, hiccupping noise. "God, no. That one is China—"
"The one who lost her leg?"
"That's the one. China Sorrows. She used to be the former Grand Mage—er, leader of everyone. Head of the Sanctuary. I met her and she had this public ceremony thing to thank me for... some thing or another." Omen let out a little laugh. "Can't remember for the life of me. Terrifying woman."
Paradise stood on her toes and squinted at the picture. "She doesn't look that terrifying."
"I don't think she would have gotten much done if she looked as maniacal as she was," Omen said mildly. "That's Valkyrie Cain. She must have been, oh, thirty-five then. I think she and Skulduggery must have invited me along on something, and I got a picture of her on stakeout."
"Skulduggery knows her?"
Paradise took a closer look at the picture. Valkyrie was wearing a thick bomber jacket. She also had on a pair of sunglasses, despite it being pitch black around her. She had both her eyebrows raised over the edge of the glasses.
Omen hummed. "He does. I suppose you could say they were partners—detective partners. They were close."
"What happened to her?"
Omen reached out and adjusted her picture. His finger tapped the edge of the frame. "I don't think it's my place to say. I don't really know the full story. Last I heard, she had escaped the rebels and disappeared. She calls, of course, but I haven't seen her around, much."
Paradise frowned. "Why did the people who overthrew the Sanctuary capture her?"
Omen still gazed at the picture. "Long story."
Paradise made a face. "You can't just say that and not tell me more."
Omen glanced at her and gave a shrug that suggested there was nothing he could do about it.
Paradise rolled her eyes. "Alright, what about her? You guys are hugging."
Omen followed her gaze. "Them," he corrected. "That's Never. That's their name: Never. Weird when you first hear it. We must have been around eighteen then."
Paradise raised both eyebrows and leaned towards Omen. "And?"
"We were friends. Are." Omen shook his head, ever so slightly, like he wasn't even aware he was doing it. The lines on his forehead grew deeper with—what? Worry? "They're a teleporter."
"And..."
"And, well, I suppose you could say they're one of the leaders of the new government." Paradise looked at him. Omen's eyes were glued to the picture, his lips pressed together. He let out a little sigh and shook his head again. "I think the food is almost done."
Omen herded her into the kitchen—not hard to do when he took up almost the whole hallway—and had her sit down at the table. The smell made Paradise's mouth water. She sat up a bit in her seat to watch him cook.
Omen brought over a few dishes of food. "The only thing I can make reliably is breakfast food."
Paradise would have eaten horse if Omen had put that in front of her. Instead, it was scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. She ripped into it, making little sandwiches out of everything. For the second time today, she was full.
Omen sat back in his chair. Paradise's eyes flicked to him.
"Well," he said. "You've certainly asked me a lot of questions. I was wondering if you could tell me a little more about yourself."
She took a sip of orange juice, buying herself time. She set it down lightly, unused to glass. "You didn't answer all my questions."
Omen smiled. "You reserve the right to refuse to answer."
Paradise nodded. "Alright."
"How did you and Skulduggery meet?"
"I tried to mug him."
Omen looked appalled, mouth agape. "You're lucky he didn't shoot you."
Paradise frowned; it wasn't like she hadn't dealt with guns before. "I actually had the upper hand. He took off his—off his, you know." She gestured vaguely at her face. "And I was too shocked to set him on fire."
Omen gave her a weird look—amused, maybe? Curious? "Well, you've established you can do magic. How much do you know about that?"
Paradise held up her cup of juice. She concentrated, drawing the 'warm' out, and set the glass down upside-down, juice frozen solid. "I can do stuff like this. I didn't think anyone else could do it before today."
"Were your parents magic? Did they mention anything odd about their history? Act like they were trying to hide from something?"
Paradise raised one shoulder in a shrug. "My parents weren't exactly the sort to..."
Omen seemed to think about that. He looked at his cup of tea, eyebrows furrowed; she could see the gears turning in his head. Then, he looked back at her, expression soft. "How old are you, Paradise?"
She couldn't meet his gaze anymore. "Fifteen," she mumbled, eyes locked on her plate.
"Where were you staying?"
A hard question. She had stayed with Honey for a while, until that dick couldn't keep his hands to himself, and then she had squatted with a junky she knew, until she didn't come back with her drugs. Robert. That pimp who thought she was dumb, until she nicked his watch and cash from right under his nose.
"With friends," Paradise settled on.
Omen was quiet next to her for a long minute. "When did you discover your magic?"
"Like, three years back, I think? By accident. I panicked and I—" She snapped her mouth shut. She what? Set the house on fire?
"You're very talented for only having a few years of magic under your belt."
Paradise's hands shook. "Yeah, well. People don't keep their hands to themselves." She rolled back her sleeve and let fire burst into life around her arm. "It's useful." The flames flickered out of existence, and she dropped her hand back into her lap.
Omen's eyes were wide and sad; Paradise could feel his pity from here.
Paradise stood suddenly, the chair scraping loudly on the linoleum. "I'm tired. Is there somewhere I can sleep?"
...
Hands, hands, hands. Covering her mouth, her ears, her eyes, hands everywhere.
They followed her, grabbed at her heels, her wrists her hair her tongue her—
Please stop please stop please stop stop stop
...
Someone was knocking.
Paradise jumped, half-scrambled to her hands and knees. She didn't know where she was, a hotel room, motel room—
"Paradise?" the smooth voice said from the other side of the door. "It's Skulduggery."
Like she didn't know that. "Hold on!"
She jumped out of bed. It took her a few good shoves to move the dresser out of the way, the wood squeaking loudly on wood. By the time she got the door open, she was sweaty and out of breath.
"Hey," she said.
"Good morning," Skulduggery said. "Something giving you trouble?" he asked, voice amused.
"Uh, no, just a security measure." She patted the dresser next to her.
"Ah, I was worried you had gotten in a fight with it." He tilted his head, just a skull this morning. "I was wondering if you were interested in helping me out today. Nothing terribly difficult, just something I thought your street knowledge could come—"
"Yes, I'm down."
"Excellent." Skulduggery handed her a shopping bag. "Omen told me he was giving your clothes a wash, so I took the liberty of buying you an outfit for the day. You can pay me back later, once you find something valuable Omen doesn't need."
Paradise showered again, paying special attention to scrub her face. She cleared away the condensation on the mirror and peered at herself. She wished she had makeup—even blue eyeshadow.
Paradise smiled at her own joke and got dressed.
Skulduggery had gotten her a sweatshirt, jeans, and pair of trainers. Everything was a little big, but he had also bought her a belt, so that was fine. She felt weird putting on the underwear he had gotten her.
She shouldered her backpack and walked into the living room, only to find Omen standing a few inches from Skulduggery, his words low and heated. As soon as Omen noticed Paradise, he stepped away from Skulduggery and smiled at her.
"Good morning. I made muffins."
Paradise's mouth watered at the thought. "You didn't have to."
Omen waved a hand. "The milk was about to go bad, anyway."
Skulduggery casually checked the time on his watch. "Ready to go?"
Paradise nodded. "Yeah."
Omen opened his mouth, but after he glanced at Paradise, he swallowed whatever it was he was going to say. Instead, he handed her a paper bag heavy with muffins, and wished her a good day.
As soon as Omen shut the door, Paradise looked at Skulduggery. "What were you guys arguing about?"
Skulduggery walked toward his car. "Hm?"
"I walked out of the bathroom and Omen looked pissed. What were you guys arguing about?"
"Omen seems to think I'm taking advantage of you, although I haven't the foggiest where he's getting that idea from, considering all I've done is bought you pizza and a sweatshirt. Here's a question: do you think I'm taking advantage of you?"
"No. Not yet, anyway."
Skulduggery's head snapped to look at her, but he didn't say anything. Paradise wondered if he was flustered.
"Where are we going?"
Skulduggery started the car. "Actually, I was hoping you could tell me that. You see, I have a sneaking suspicion about something, but I don't have many non-magical contacts. Have you heard about any disappearances on the streets? Anything out of the ordinary? At a higher rate?"
The car smelled like leather. "Uh. I don't really know that many people. I knew a junky who disappeared, but, uh, she wasn't the most reliable to begin with."
Skulduggery tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.
"But I know someone who might."
...
"Paradise!"
Honey grabbed her in a bearhug. Paradise laughed and hugged her back, burying her face Honey's neck. She smelled like sweat and cheap perfume.
"I thought you were dead!" Honey held her at arm's length. "You really should have at least called on a phone, and look at what you're wearing, spin for me, that's not what you usually steal, you little pickpocket! But call me!"
Paradise held her hands up. "Sorry! I had a rough run there, for a bit."
Honey puckered her lips and raised an eyebrow. "And now?"
Paradise smiled. "I brought muffins."
Honey tossed her hair. "I guess I can forgive you if you promise to call next time, and you give me one."
Paradise gave Honey two muffins, sitting on the curb with her while she ate.
When Honey was finished, she gave Paradise a more thorough onceover. "That's not just a new style—those are new clothes. You workin' much, now?"
"Nah, I haven't worked in more than a year."
"Really?" Honey crossed her arms. "So, who was that guy who dropped you off, who thinks he's so sneaky standing on the other side of the street, pretending he has a phone call?"
Paradise followed Honey's gaze. "He's no one."
"I don't buy that for a hot second. I know you, Paradise. That suit? That car? He has your type written all over him. Did you forget about—"
Paradise felt her cheeks burn. "No, he's different. He's not—like that, at all. I don't think he's in the lifestyle, you—"
"All they give you is more knots in your brain and more heartbreak. They play you like a fiddle, Paradise. And whatever you did, now Donny's all over me and the other girls, tellin' us you're trouble, and to call him if we see you."
Paradise shut her eyes.
Honey let out a deep sigh and wrapped an arm around Paradise. "Yeah, yeah, I know, you little arsonist. I don't mean to get all over your business, you're your own girl, I just worry for you. Just be careful, yeah?"
"I am, Honey, I am..."
"Mhm. Well, this visit was nice, but Donny's gonna' be here for money soon." She climbed to her feet, heels clicking on the asphalt. There was a man—big old brute—who had appeared from an alley and was giving Honey the hard stare-down.
Paradise jumped up after her. "Wait, Honey, I have to ask you something," she said in a low voice.
Honey blinked. "Oh, okay."
"Have any—has anyone disappeared? Like, any of the girls, or anyone like that?"
Honey frowned, shuffled her feet, stole a glance at the man watching her. "We had a couple girls disappear, but I think Donny knows where they got off to, 'cause he doesn't seem concerned."
"Oh. Anything weird about them, at all?"
Honey bit her lip, thinking. "Just this girl Tammy."
"What about her?"
Honey tried to roll her eyes, and she gave a quick shrug, starting to walk away. "Oh, she was a junky, anyways—"
Paradise grabbed Honey's arm. It was covered in bruises, all around the elbow. "No, wait, Honey, please."
"Oh, she kept going on about these guys. Apparently, Donny brought her somewhere and she was drugged, but she kept swearing to me some guys were following her, buying her food, stuff like that. I thought she was losing it."
"But then she disappeared."
The man spoke: "Honey."
Honey pulled her arm out of Paradise's grasp, eyes downcast. "Yeah, I guess. I gotta' go, Paradise."
Paradise watched her go, guilt turning in her stomach. Oh, Honey. Paradise wish she could yell something, something helpful. Burn them, Honey. But what use was that? What use was she to anyone?
She jumped when Skulduggery placed a hand on her shoulder. He gestured toward his car, herding her across the street.
"Well?" he asked, once in the car. His face slid away, revealing the bone underneath.
Paradise buckled her seatbelt. "She didn't want to talk about it, really. But it sounds like some—some people she knows have gone missing, but she doesn't know where. There was this one girl, Tammy, who said that some men drugged her. She said that they were following her and buying her food, and then she disappeared, too."
Skulduggery hummed thoughtfully. "Thank you, this was very helpful."
He started the car and pulled into traffic.
Paradise watched his profile, weighing her words in her head. "Where's Valkyrie?"
His skull didn't move an inch. "Valkyrie Cain?"
Paradise nodded.
"I'm guessing Omen told you about her? Not surprising. How detailed did he get?"
"He said she was your partner, and that the new government had captured her, but he didn't get into details. She escaped. Where is she now?"
Skulduggery flicked on his turn signal. "Last she deigned to call me, somewhere in Italy."
Paradise stared at him. He sighed, even though he had no lungs to fill. Maybe it was to buy time. She did that a lot, too.
"It's unfair," he finally said. "The new government—the Contemporary Mage Council, pretentious name—decided to throw its new weight around. The Sanctuary was a functioning body, and like all functioning bodies, sometimes things need to be swept under the rug for the betterment of society, however wrong it may seem. In short, the Sanctuary was nuanced. The CMC, however, is as black and white as they can get."
"Where does Valkyrie come in?"
"I'm getting there. Remember how I said that the CMC doesn't have any incriminating evidence on me? Well, the same couldn't be said for Valkyrie. She... It's a long story, but she did some incriminating things, had a trial, and tried to move on with her life. That wasn't good enough for the CMC. So, they put her on trial again.
"A horrific display. They broadcasted the whole thing, dug up Sanctuary files and essentially made Valkyrie's case the face of corruption of the old Sanctuary. They brought in bribed witnesses, analyzed the first trial, and by the time they declared Valkyrie guilty, you would have thought she was the one running the Sanctuaries."
Paradise's blinked when Skulduggery didn't continue. It was quiet without his voice filling the car. "But she escaped."
"They were going to brand her with binding sigils."
Paradise ran over what he said. "So... she didn't escape by herself?"
"It was a prosecution, and some people took poorly to it. It's unclear how she escaped."
Paradise leaned forward. "So someone did help."
Skulduggery chuckled, more to himself than to Paradise. "Anyways, eventually the powers that be came to their senses and realized maybe they shouldn't brand her. And some of us still followed the laws, and Valkyrie, guilty as they may have declared her, was absolved of jail time or punishment."
"Why isn't she with you?"
Skulduggery's body language stilled suddenly. Paradise hadn't even been aware of his subtle movements until they vanished.
They were quiet for the rest of the ride until Skulduggery pulled in front of Omen's house.
"I'm afraid I have to drop you off again." At least Skulduggery sounded genuinely apologetic. "However, I can guarantee you'll see me before tomorrow."
"Promise?"
...
Omen was out. He had left money on the counter for pizza, but she pocketed that and rummaged through the cabinets for food. Then, she locked herself in her room, dresser in front of the door. She took out her dictionary and book from her backpack, settled into bed, and read.
Pride and Prejudice was her favorite book she had read so far. She had stolen it four months ago and was only a quarter of the way through, maybe less. Every few words, she would have to flip through her dictionary and find a definition, then reread the sentence to get the meaning. It was frustratingly satisfying.
After two hours, she got up for a pee break. She pushed the dresser out of the way, wincing at the scrapes it was leaving on the hardwood, and stepped into the hallway.
Valkyrie stuck her tongue out at Paradise from the wall.
Paradise stopped and looked up at her. She didn't look like she was dangerous enough to need two trials. She looked like she could run in high heels, and make Skulduggery laugh, and could read Pride and Prejudice without a dictionary.
"You're a lot like her, you know."
Paradise jumped and whipped around to find Omen. Her heart pounded against her chest, so she took a few calming breaths. She was safe, she was fine. "I don't look anything like her."
Omen smiled. "Same color hair, actually. But I meant more personality-wise."
"What was she like?"
"Guarded. Curious." Omen walked over to her and looked at the picture.
"Skulduggery told me more about her. She was on trial, right? What did she do—the first time, I mean."
Omen sighed. "Valkyrie was an extremely powerful mage. Perhaps too powerful, for someone so young. Her mind cracked, and she went 'rogue' for a while. The reports are confusing, and Skulduggery insists one thing, logic another."
"Oh." Paradise looked away from the photo. "Are you magic?"
"Me?" Omen glanced at her and grinned. "I'm what they call the strongest man in the world. I take energy from damage—like someone punching me—and turn it against them. The more someone hits me, the stronger I become. I can store it, too."
"That's terrifying."
"Good thing I'm a pacifist, hm?"
The strongest person in the world. Paradise thought about someone lifting her in the air, beating against his back, screaming, kicking, feeling small.
Omen was looking at her, eyebrows raised. "You don't think so?"
Paradise shrugged. "Well, what if you could make a difference, you know? What if that war or whatever, what if you could have helped the good guys, and less people died because of you? What if you not doing anything actually fucked other people over?"
"And what if I chose the wrong side?"
"Just don't chose the wrong side."
It was getting dark outside. Long shadows stretched across the warm, wood floors of Omen's house, dust motes hung in the air. Omen hadn't implied Skulduggery was going to show up any time soon. Paradise picked at a scab on her finger.
Omen was looking at the picture of him and Never, face blank. Well, maybe he had picked the wrong side, already. Maybe he was afraid of doing it again.
She looked at her hands. If she was Omen, she wouldn't pick the wrong side. She would pick whatever side she wanted to, and no one could tell her what to do if she was the strongest person in the world. No one could ever tell her what to do ever again.
"If I were you," she said hotly, "I wouldn't pick the wrong side. I wouldn't waste it."
Omen turned to her, so fast she flinched backwards towards her room. "You sound like Skulduggery."
Paradise retreated back behind the dresser.
...
She felt warm leather, craned her neck around the headrest in front of her. She was in the backseat, and whoever was driving was laughing, far, far away, down a tunnel. She tasted blood in her mouth.
Let me out, she said.
Please, please, please let me out.
She was sitting in blood, her blood, everywhere, all over the seats.
Please let me out, please let me out please
...
Paradise stared at the wall, blinking. How did she get here? She looked down and saw her book crumpled under her.
There it was, that tapping.
Paradise threw herself out of bed and scrambled to the window. Skulduggery was perched on the windowsill, examining his gloves instead of his nails. Paradise opened the door, breathless. "How did you get up here?" she asked, words tumbling out of her mouth.
Skulduggery said: "Let me show you."
He held out his hand. Paradise took it, and suddenly she was floating in the air. She kicked her legs as Skulduggery gently tugged her out the window into the damp, night air. The two of them floated down to the ground like two lost balloons.
"You know," Skulduggery said, "that's the first time I've seen you smile."
Paradise struggled to wipe her face clean of emotion, but she found herself breaking into another big grin. "That's the first time I've ever flown." She looked up at Omen's window, high above them. That would have meant a broken leg, in another life. What she wouldn't give to have been able to fly away.
"I'm sorry for being late," Skulduggery continued. "But I need your help with something."
Paradise nodded, expecting Skulduggery to explain. Instead, he put his hands in his pockets and looked around, almost nervous, like he was looking for someone. Or was afraid someone was looking for him.
"What?" Paradise finally asked.
"It's not entirely... safe, this thing I need your help with. In fact, it is most definitely not safe. It is firmly in the category of not safe. I wouldn't want to..."
Paradise raised an eyebrow. "Why am I out here, then?"
Skulduggery looked at her, hollow eye sockets and grinning teeth. "I think they have Honey."
Paradise felt her heart drop to her knees, and she felt sick. "What do you mean?"
"After I dropped you off, I walked around until I found Honey. I had the sneaking suspicion that she was forced to tell—well, someone about you asking after the women that disappeared. Later that day, a car pulled up and she got inside. I followed to a decrepit building, but I wasn't able to gain access."
Paradise felt unsteady. "Why are they taking people?"
If Skulduggery saw her swaying, he didn't say anything about it. He led her to his car and opened the door for her, giving her shoulder a squeeze as she got inside. Once he pulled out onto the street, he continued: "Science has advanced at frightening speed with assistance from magic. Or maybe it's the other way around. Doctors can heal most things: sepsis, broken backs, cracked teeth. They cannot, however, regrow flesh and bone without the raw material. War happens to subtract a lot of raw material—"
"They're going to use Honey like a spare tire." Paradise almost didn't recognize her voice. It bounced off the car window and sounded very empty. "Like China's leg."
Skulduggery didn't respond for a long moment. "Yes, I suppose."
"What are we going to do?"
"Break in, and then break everyone out."
Paradise brought her knees up to her chin. She felt like crying. She always felt like crying. She took long, deep breaths, clenched her fists, so hard her nails dug into her skin, and looked blankly at the streetlights that flashed into the car.
She thought of Honey, of Honey laughing, of Honey applying eyeshadow, of Honey stretching her right shoulder, the one that had never been the same since she had been nearly hauled away at three in the morning, Paradise screaming.
Paradise thought of hands.
"Why are people so awful?" she asked. "Why is everything always so awful?"
"I—"
Paradise turned to him. "I'm going to burn them."
Skulduggery's face was so blank, and for the first time, Paradise wished he wasn't a skeleton. "That's exactly what I was hoping for. I'm going to bring you in and say you're here to be harvested. They're going to take you away, and your going to cause havoc. Get as many people out as you can, and I'll do the same."
...
Paradise was expecting a warehouse, a hospital, but it was like any other crackhole. Broken up windows, shingles on the ground, bare dirt. Not even enough life for the weeds, here. Skulduggery had parked a few blocks back, before any lookouts.
She followed behind him, eyes downcast. She pretended to be afraid, pretended to be like how she was before, when she was still small and stupid and weak. Something like this would have been scary. This was the type of place girls went to and never came back.
A junkie was lounging on the steps, and he barely raised his head when Skulduggery and Paradise neared. He looked have dead. He didn't even move when Skulduggery toed him. He didn't move until Skulduggery grabbed Paradise's arm and pulled her—not roughly, but firmly—in front of him.
"Girl?" the junkie asked.
"Yes. I expect—"
The junkie flashed forward, so fast Paradise didn't even flinch back. His hands felt like they were made of cold iron as they gripped her and dragged her up the stairs of the house, pulled her even when her feet caught on the steps and she half fell. He dragged her into the house, so, so fast.
Paradise squirmed, throat so tight she couldn't even speak. She wasn't afraid, she was pretending, she was pretending, Skulduggery was pounding on the door, and then she finally managed to sob out a scream.
The junkie slapped his hand over her mouth, nails digging into her cheek. She still hadn't gotten her feet underneath her. The junkie pulled her up by her arm, pressed her back against his chest, and cocked her head to the side. His nose pressed into the side of her neck, and she couldn't even see him, see his face, she just saw the door he pulled her through, felt his hands on her, felt him against her back.
"Christ," a new voice asked. "What do we even pay this guy for? Hey, fuckhead! Hands off the merchandise!"
Suddenly, Paradise was on the ground, staring up at the ceiling. The junkie stood over her, head tilted to the side. He wasn't a junkie. He wasn't anything of the sort. He smiled at her, teeth as sharp as razor blades.
The owner of the voice came into her field of vision. "Off, shoo. Go lay on the porch and pay the fucker who brought her in. Go on. Go on." Then, he looked down at her. "Hey there, princess. Come on, up you go. Everything's alright, just stay nice and quiet."
He didn't so much as help her to her feet, he just grabbed her and hauled her upright. They were in a living room, and there were ratty couches and a pool table, and men lounging around and smoking. She didn't even look at her as she was led away, down a corridor, past a kitchen, maybe, she couldn't—
"Come on," the man said, gripping the back of her neck and marching her past, forcing her to look down at her feet.
There wasn't a carpet, just—
Wood.
Then, she tripped when he led her into a staircase.
"Fuck, can you walk?"
Her marched up one flight, two, three, four. The house couldn't have been this tall, could it? That didn't make sense, it wouldn't have been able to—
"Almost there, princess."
He was still holding on to the back of her neck, she could feel the grime on his fingers, feel his breath, the smell cigarettes on his breath, she couldn't do this, she couldn't play along, she was back here, it was all a trick.
Skulduggery had lied to her. He wasn't going to come and get her. She was going to die here. She was going to be—
Her eyes burned. Was she crying? She didn't want to cry.
She didn't want to be here anymore. She didn't want to be anywhere anymore.
"Get off of me."
The man didn't even respond. He grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. He was fumbling for keys to a room, chewing on his lips, distracted.
"Get off of me!"
Paradise erupted into flames. It devoured her clothes, the wood underneath her, her sneakers bubbled into a puddle of rubber. The man screamed as he caught fire, clothes burning, skin alive and red, black at the edges. He teetered away from her, shrieking, but Paradise gave him a shove. As she did, the rest of him went up like a match.
Paradise watched him writhe on the ground, kicking and crying out. Paradise watched his eyeballs burst. Watched him die.
The fire was spreading. It ate away at the molding wallpaper and rotting hardwood. Paradise wheeled around, looking for the way she had come, for stairs, anything. She took off running down the long hallway, each footfall an eruption of new of flame.
The smoke billowed from behind her, filling her throat with ash and making her eyes sting. She didn't see the turn in the hall and slammed into a door. It disintegrated under her touch. A foul smelled rolled out of the room behind.
Paradise couldn't stop herself from seeing inside.
There was a woman with too many arms. Arms growing out of her chest, of her back, of her thigh, wiggling, twitching.
The woman looked at Paradise and screamed.
Paradise stumbled away from the door, continuing down the hall, panting, sobbing. She hit a banister, slammed right into it, driving the breath from her lungs. There was an empty space in the center of the building. Each floor wrapped around it like a hotel, rooms lining the walls.
Paradise looked down to the floor below and saw men hurriedly unlocking doors and ushering people out.
Honey.
"Honey!" Paradise screamed. "Honey where are you?"
The floor gave out from underneath her feet. Paradise slammed into the next floor, rolled, saw the hole burning above her head, crawled on her hands and knees, half-ran even as plaster and beams of wood continued to fall around her. She hit every door, slammed into it with her shoulder, frantically looking inside.
A woman with eyeballs all over her face, another with breasts growing all over her, another crying and coughing, clawing at her chest, wheezing, another with hands hands hands.
Paradise sobbed, feeling her tears evaporate in the heat rippling off her body. A woman stumbled into her path and reached out, arm growing from her chest, trying to catch her balance. Her arm—one of them—came too close to Paradise and she shrieked and pulled back as it melted to the bone.
Paradise sprinted, slammed into another turn of the hallway, and tumbled. She thought for a split second the floor had given out again, until her cheek smashed into a stair. She had fallen down a stairwell. She coughed and pushed a hand underneath her head and managed to push herself up.
The whole world was fire and smoke. It rolled around her like she was in the middle of a sea of flame.
She was on her feet now, though she didn't remember standing up. She had to get out, she had to keep going. Her throat was raw, her chest hurt, all of her hurt. She couldn't run, she could only stumble, hands trailing along the wallpaper.
Suddenly, the walls peeled away from around her. She was in the middle of the building, the open area. She spun, looking at the chaos around her.
"Paradise?"
Paradise turned. Valkyrie Cain looked back at her, hair tied back, wearing a leather jacket and a concerned expression on her face.
"Valkyrie," Paradise breathed.
The fire on her skin died. She felt cold without it.
She fell to her knees.
...
Waves below her. It was misty here. Paradise breathed it in, felt the wet in her lungs. She was sitting, legs swinging into empty space. Someone had smashed their knee on the rocks here.
Your dreams aren't happy.
Valkyrie Cain was standing next to her. There was a lamppost behind, casting a yellow light, an outline.
No, they're not.
What do you want?
Nothing.
...
Paradise woke up slowly, drowsily, in fits and starts. She wanted to sink back down, but she couldn't, she had to get up.
She sat up, aching. Her chest hurt, her head hurt, she was full of pain. And exhausted. It felt like she hadn't stopped running in weeks and weeks. She stretched out the kinks in her back and stood, knees cracking.
She was in her room in Omen's house but dressed in unfamiliar women's pajamas. She found her old clothes washed and folded neatly in the dresser, as well as another outfit that looked her size. She changed into her old clothes, shoved everything in her backpack, and opened the door slowly.
She crept out, quiet as a mouse, until she could hear voices in the living room.
"Fucking ridiculous," Valkyrie said.
"What was I supposed to—"
"Don't even pretend like any of this was out of your hands. Don't you dare."
"Was I supposed to let them keep kidnapping women and children? Was I supposed to predict you would be in the area?"
"Do I really need to be in the area for you to behave, Skulduggery?! Jesus Christ, she's a kid! She's a kid and you, you... Just fucking hell. And don't even get me started with the CMC. They are going to grind you to dust."
"For a human-trafficking ring most of their agents bought from and endorsed? I highly doubt it."
"And how about endangerment? What the fuck is she even supposed to be? My replacement?! She almost killed herself, not to mention nearly brought the whole place down on your head. There were fifteen deaths because you brought her into that rat's nest!"
Paradise began to creep away, testing each step before placing her weight.
"The building was on the verge of collapse—"
"Oh my God!"
"I wasn't trying to kill anyone, for God's sake, Valkyrie! I was trying to help, I thought—"
She was almost at her room.
"What? That you could just throw minors into life-or-death situations and they'll roll with the punches? Fuck, Skulduggery! You want another me? You want to have another person who hates you for what you did?!"
The silence rang in Paradise's ears like a gunshot.
"You hate me?"
Paradise shut the door and let out a shaky breath.
She grabbed her backpack and opened the window. It was raining again, gently. She swung one leg over the sill, dropped down until her weight was supported solely by her fingers, then let go.
Paradise tiled her face up, let the raindrops wash over her.