Free The Faceless Ones (Skulduggery Pleasant - Book 3) by Derek Landy Page B
Authors: Derek Landy
their surroundings as they swung into a large, run-down residential development, the car drawing curious gazes from the few locals who were out tonight.
The house they stopped outside was abandoned. The walls were defaced with graffiti, none of it any good. Skulduggery wrapped his scarf around his jaw and pulled his hat down low. They left the car and walked through the open door.
114
The streetlight shone through the cracked and dirty windows, enough to see by. The house had been stripped bare. There were remnants, here and there, of wallpaper. The floorboards were old, and they were damp. Valkyrie let Skulduggery go on ahead and wandered into the living room. There was no graffiti in here, as if the brave souls who had scrawled their slogans so inelegantly on the outside were not quite bold enough to venture indoors.
She turned to go, and a figure stepped through the door, blocking her exit. Valkyrie looked at him. He didn't move. It had got even gloomier in the room, like the man had brought a cloud of shadows with him.
"I'm with Skulduggery Pleasant," she said, but got no response. Valkyrie took a step closer, as much to see his face as to indicate her desire to leave. His hair was dark, but his eyes were so bright they almost gleamed. He was dressed in black, a finely tailored suit that she couldn't appreciate in this light. He held a slender cane in his hand.
"Are you Solomon Wreath?" she asked, refusing to be intimidated by his silence.
"I am," he answered, and gave a little bow of his head. "I've heard about you. You helped take down
115
Nefarian Serpine and Baron Vengeous. You stopped the Grotesquery. Such talent. Such potential. Has he corrupted you yet?"
"I'm sorry?"
"He corrupts everyone he meets. Have you noticed that? Have you noticed how much you're changing, simply by being around him?"
"I'm not sure I know what you mean."
"You will," he promised.
He stepped into the room, and she saw the shadows moving with him. She knew very little about Necromancers, but what she did know was that they preferred to place most of their power in objects or weapons. Lord Vile had placed his power in his armor. By the way the shadows were coiling, Solomon Wreath seemed to have placed his in his cane.
"This house has had a rather bland life," he said. "It was built and people lived here. They ate here and slept here. They grew old. Someone, an elderly man, passed away peacefully in the bedroom, a little over ten years ago. A very, very ordinary house.
"Until two years ago. You may remember this from the news, actually. Four people were murdered--three were shot; one was stabbed. Two
116
people died here, in this room. The third was killed in the kitchen. The fourth in the hall, within arm's reach of the front door."
Valkyrie looked at him, noticing the way his eyes glittered as he described the scene.
"Who killed them?" she asked, determined to keep her voice steady.
He laughed. "Ah, you think all this is a preamble to me announcing that I'm the killer? I'm afraid not. I'm fairly certain that the police caught him, whoever he was, and put him in jail. But violent death lingers in a place." He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. "A murder can imprint itself on the walls. You can taste it, if you try. You can drink it in."
Valkyrie stepped away, her mind conjuring images of all that horrible dark energy swirling around him. She knew she shouldn't have been surprised. Necromancy was death magic, shadow magic--it was only natural that its practitioners would be drawn to places that reeked of death.
And then, as if he was remembering he had company, Wreath stopped, opened his eyes, and looked at her again.
"My apologies. For our first meeting, I should
117
have chosen a more civilized spot."
"Don't feel too bad," Skulduggery said as he walked slowly in. "Valkyrie is my partner. You can treat her like you'd treat me."
"That's a shame," Wreath said. "I actually liked her."
"What do you want, Solomon? Our
The house they stopped outside was abandoned. The walls were defaced with graffiti, none of it any good. Skulduggery wrapped his scarf around his jaw and pulled his hat down low. They left the car and walked through the open door.
114
The streetlight shone through the cracked and dirty windows, enough to see by. The house had been stripped bare. There were remnants, here and there, of wallpaper. The floorboards were old, and they were damp. Valkyrie let Skulduggery go on ahead and wandered into the living room. There was no graffiti in here, as if the brave souls who had scrawled their slogans so inelegantly on the outside were not quite bold enough to venture indoors.
She turned to go, and a figure stepped through the door, blocking her exit. Valkyrie looked at him. He didn't move. It had got even gloomier in the room, like the man had brought a cloud of shadows with him.
"I'm with Skulduggery Pleasant," she said, but got no response. Valkyrie took a step closer, as much to see his face as to indicate her desire to leave. His hair was dark, but his eyes were so bright they almost gleamed. He was dressed in black, a finely tailored suit that she couldn't appreciate in this light. He held a slender cane in his hand.
"Are you Solomon Wreath?" she asked, refusing to be intimidated by his silence.
"I am," he answered, and gave a little bow of his head. "I've heard about you. You helped take down
115
Nefarian Serpine and Baron Vengeous. You stopped the Grotesquery. Such talent. Such potential. Has he corrupted you yet?"
"I'm sorry?"
"He corrupts everyone he meets. Have you noticed that? Have you noticed how much you're changing, simply by being around him?"
"I'm not sure I know what you mean."
"You will," he promised.
He stepped into the room, and she saw the shadows moving with him. She knew very little about Necromancers, but what she did know was that they preferred to place most of their power in objects or weapons. Lord Vile had placed his power in his armor. By the way the shadows were coiling, Solomon Wreath seemed to have placed his in his cane.
"This house has had a rather bland life," he said. "It was built and people lived here. They ate here and slept here. They grew old. Someone, an elderly man, passed away peacefully in the bedroom, a little over ten years ago. A very, very ordinary house.
"Until two years ago. You may remember this from the news, actually. Four people were murdered--three were shot; one was stabbed. Two
116
people died here, in this room. The third was killed in the kitchen. The fourth in the hall, within arm's reach of the front door."
Valkyrie looked at him, noticing the way his eyes glittered as he described the scene.
"Who killed them?" she asked, determined to keep her voice steady.
He laughed. "Ah, you think all this is a preamble to me announcing that I'm the killer? I'm afraid not. I'm fairly certain that the police caught him, whoever he was, and put him in jail. But violent death lingers in a place." He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. "A murder can imprint itself on the walls. You can taste it, if you try. You can drink it in."
Valkyrie stepped away, her mind conjuring images of all that horrible dark energy swirling around him. She knew she shouldn't have been surprised. Necromancy was death magic, shadow magic--it was only natural that its practitioners would be drawn to places that reeked of death.
And then, as if he was remembering he had company, Wreath stopped, opened his eyes, and looked at her again.
"My apologies. For our first meeting, I should
117
have chosen a more civilized spot."
"Don't feel too bad," Skulduggery said as he walked slowly in. "Valkyrie is my partner. You can treat her like you'd treat me."
"That's a shame," Wreath said. "I actually liked her."
"What do you want, Solomon? Our
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