Scepter of the Ancients (11 page)

“Go to your mirror.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Go to your mirror and draw this symbol on it.”

He handed her a small card that showed an eye in a circle with a wavy line through it.

“What’s this for?”

“It’s to help you. Go on.”

She frowned, then went to the mirror.

“No,” Skulduggery said, “a full-length mirror. Do you have one?”

“Yeah,” Stephanie said. Still with no clue why she was doing this, she opened her wardrobe and used the chalk to copy the symbol onto the mirror on the other side of the door. When she was done, she handed the card and the chalk back to Skulduggery. He thanked her, put them away, and then looked at the mirror.

“Surface speak, surface feel, surface think, surface real.” He looked at her again. “Could you wipe the symbol off now, please?”

“What is going on? What are you doing? Did you just cast a spell on my mirror?”

“Yes. Could you wipe the symbol off?”

“Well, what does the spell
do
?” she asked as she used her sleeve to erase the chalk.

“You’ll see,” he answered. “Are you wearing a watch?”

“My watch broke. I wore it swimming. I thought it was waterproof.”

“Was it?”

“As it turned out, no. Why do you need to know the time?”

“Oh, I don’t. Touch the mirror.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“Touch it.”

Stephanie hesitated, then did as he said and reached out, touching her fingers lightly against the mirror. But when she pulled back, her reflection did not. She watched in amazement as her reflection blinked, as if awakening from a trance, then dropped its arm to its side and looked around. Then, very slowly, it stepped out through the mirror.

“Oh my God …,” Stephanie said, moving back as the reflection joined her in the room. “Oh my God,” she said again, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Skulduggery looked on from the window. “It will carry on with your life while you’re away, so you won’t be missed.”

Stephanie stared. “She’s me.”

“Not she,
it
. And it isn’t you, it’s a surface copy. It walks like you, talks like you, behaves like you, and it should be enough to fool your parents and anyone else it comes into contact with. When you return, it will go back into the mirror, and the experiences and the memories it
has made transfer to you.”

“So … so I can be in two places at once?”

“Precisely. It can’t spend too long in other people’s company or they’ll start to notice that things aren’t quite right, and it would never fool a mage, but it is ideal for your needs.”

“Wow.” Stephanie peered more closely at the reflection. “Say something.”

The reflection looked back at her. “What do you want me to say?”

Stephanie laughed suddenly, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “You sound just like me,” she said through her fingers.

“I know.”

“Do you have a name?”

“My name is Stephanie.”

“No, a name of your own.”

Skulduggery shook his head. “Remember, it’s not a real person. It has no thoughts or feelings of its own; they’re all imitations of yours. It’s your reflection, that’s all it is. Operating instructions are as follows: It cannot change out of the clothes you’re wearing when you cast it, so make sure you’re not wearing anything with a logo or insignia. They’ll come out backward. Make sure
you’re not wearing a watch or a ring—they’ll appear on the opposite hand. Apart from that, it’s pretty simple.”

“Wow.”

“We should go.”

She turned to him, frowning. “Are you sure they won’t realize it’s not me?”

“It’ll stay out of other people’s way for most of the time, and try to avoid any long conversations. Even if your parents corner it and bombard it with questions, they’ll just think you’re acting strange.”

Stephanie chewed her lip, then shrugged. “I suppose jumping to the conclusion that it’s my reflection come to life is a
bit
unlikely.”

“You’d be surprised by how many things we get away with that fall into the category of ‘unlikely.’ You ready to go?”

“I suppose I am.”

“Do you want to leave by door or window?”

“Doors are for people with no imagination.” She grinned.

She joined Skulduggery on the sill and took one look back. The reflection was standing in the middle of the room, perfectly still.

“’Bye,” Stephanie said.

“’Bye,” the reflection responded, and tried a smile for the first time. It looked kind of eerie.

Stephanie climbed out and hung on to Skulduggery as he jumped, displacing the air beneath them to act as a cushion. They landed gently and made it to the end of the road without any neighbors seeing them, but when they reached the pier, Stephanie’s face fell. She stared in horror as Skulduggery marched onward.

“What the hell is
that
?” she demanded.

“It’s my car,” he answered, leaning against it with his arms folded. The sea breeze ruffled his wig beneath his hat.

She stared at him, at the car, and then at him again.

“What happened to the Bentley?” she asked.

His head tilted. “I don’t know if you noticed, but it was ever so slightly dinged.”

“And where is it now?”

“It’s getting fixed.”

“Right. That’s a good answer. ‘Fixed’ is a good answer. But I don’t know, I’m kind of drawn back to my original question. What the
hell
is
that
?”

Skulduggery was leaning against a canary-yellow
hatchback with lime-green seat covers.

“It’s my replacement car,” he said proudly.

“It’s hideous!”

“I don’t mind it, actually.”

“Well, you’re wearing a disguise, so no one will recognize you anyway!”

“That may have something to do with it….”

“When will the Bentley be fixed?”

“That’s the nice thing about living in a world of magic and wonder: Even our most extreme car repairs happen in less than a week.”

She glared at him. “
A week?
”

“Not a week,” he said quickly. “Six days. Sometimes five. Definitely four. I’ll call him, tell him I’ll pay the extra …”

She was still glaring.

“Day after tomorrow,” he said quietly.

Her shoulders sagged. “Do we really have to ride around in this?”

“Think of it as an adventure,” he said brightly.

“Why should I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, you’ll just become really, really depressed. Trust me. Now hop in!”

Skulduggery hopped in. Stephanie dragged her feet around to the other side and more kind of
fell
in. She squirmed down in the lime-green seat as much as she could as they drove through Haggard. There was a parcel in the backseat, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. Beside that was a black bag.

“Is that the gear for breaking into the Vault?” she asked. “Is that where we’re going?”

“Well, to answer your first question first, yes. That bag contains all the equipment needed for a beautifully executed break-in. To answer your second question, no, that is not where we’re going. Before I get to introduce you to a life of crime, I get to introduce you to the Elder Mages.”

“Crime sounds more fun.”

“As indeed it is, though I would never condone crime in any of its forms. Except when I do it, naturally.”

“Naturally. So why are we delaying the fun? What do these Elder Mages want?”

“They’ve heard that I’ve been dragging a perfectly nice young lady into all manner of trouble, and they want to admonish me for it.”

“Tell them it’s none of their business.”

“Well, while I do admire your moxie—”

“What’s moxie?”

“—I’m afraid that won’t work too well with these fellows. One thing you have to remember about the Elder Mages is that they’re—”

“Really old sorcerers?”

“Well, yes.”

“Worked that out all by myself.”

“You must be so proud.”

“Why do you have to report to them? Do you work for them?”

“In a way. The Elders pass the laws, and they have people who enforce the laws, but there are only a few of us who actually investigate the
breaking
of those laws—murders, robberies, a couple of kidnappings, the usual. And while I may be freelance, most of my work, and my money, comes from the Elders.”

“So if they want to wag their fingers at you …”

“I have to stand there and be wagged at.”

“So why do they want me to be there? Aren’t I the innocent young girl being led astray?”

“See, I don’t really want them to view you as the innocent young girl. I want them to view you as the rebellious, insubordinate, troublesome rapscallion who has made herself my partner. Then maybe they’ll take pity on me.”

“Wait, do they even know I’m coming with you?”

“No. But they like surprises. Almost always.”

“Maybe I should wait in the car.”

“In
this
car?”

“Ah, good point.”

“Stephanie, we both know something serious is going on, but as yet the Elders have refused to consider that their precious Truce might be in jeopardy.”

“And why would they believe me and not you?”

“Because I go to them loaded with baggage. I have a history, and some might say an agenda. Besides, tales of horror are always more effective coming from a lady.”

“I’m no lady.”

He shrugged. “You’re the closest I’ve got.”

Skulduggery had another surprise for her as they drove. He pulled in to a fast-food place and nodded toward the parcel in the backseat.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“What do you think it is?”

“It looks like a parcel.”

“Then that’s what it is.”

“But what’s inside it?”

“If I tell you, I deprive the parcel of its whole reason to be.”

She sighed. “And what
is
its reason to be?”

“To be opened, of course, and to reveal what it’s holding.”

“You are so annoying,” she muttered, reaching back and taking the parcel. It was soft to the touch. She looked at Skulduggery. “The clothes?”

“I’m saying nothing.”

“Ghastly made the clothes already? I didn’t think he was going to make them
at all
, not after, you know … the argument.”

Skulduggery shrugged and started humming. She sighed, then took the parcel and got out of the yellow car and walked into the fast-food restaurant, making her way to the toilets at the back. Once secured inside a stall, she pulled open the string, and the parcel unfolded before her. It was the clothes. They were the deepest black, made of a material she had never seen before.

She got changed quickly, noting how perfectly everything fit, and stepped out of the stall to admire herself in the mirror. The trousers and the
tunic, a sleeveless garment with silver latches, were pretty good by themselves, and the boots fit as though she’d been wearing them for years, but it was the coat that completed the picture: three-quarter length, shaped especially for her, made of a material so black it nearly shimmered. She resisted the temptation to leave her other clothes in the toilet, and instead wrapped them in the brown paper and left the restaurant.

“Surprise!” Skulduggery said when she was back in the Canary Car. “It’s the clothes!”

She looked at him. “You are so weird.”

Twenty minutes later they were walking into the Waxworks Museum. The building was old, in dire need of repair, and the street wasn’t much better. Stephanie didn’t say a word as they paid and went wandering through the dark corridors, surrounded on both sides by imitation celebrities and fictional characters. She had been here two or three times as part of school trips when she was younger, but couldn’t see the point of visiting
now
. They hung back from a small group of tourists until they were certain they were alone, and only then did Stephanie say anything.

“What are we doing here?”

“We’re here to visit the Elders’ Sanctuary,” Skulduggery replied.

“And are the Elders made of wax?”

“I like coming here,” he said, taking off his sunglasses and ignoring her question. “It’s very liberating.”

He took off his hat and wig and pulled the scarf from his neck. Stephanie looked around nervously.

“Aren’t you afraid someone might see?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Well, maybe we should go and talk to the Elders, then.”

“Good idea.”

Skulduggery moved to one side of the corridor and traced his hand over the wall. “Where is it?” he muttered. “Bloody idiots keep changing it….”

The tourists came back around the corner and Stephanie went to drag Skulduggery out of sight, but it was too late—they had already seen him. A small American boy left his parents’ side and walked right up to him. Skulduggery was frozen to the spot.

“Who’s that supposed to be?” the boy asked, frowning slightly.

Stephanie hesitated. Now the entire tour was
looking at her, including the tour guide. “This is,” Stephanie said, racking her brains for a likely-sounding explanation, “this is Sammy Skeleton, the world’s worst detective.”

“Never heard of him,” the boy said, giving Skulduggery’s arm a poke. He shrugged and lost interest, and Stephanie watched the tourists move on. When they were out of sight, Skulduggery swiveled his head to her.

“‘World’s worst detective’?” he asked.

She shrugged and hid her grin, and Skulduggery
hrmph
ed good-naturedly and went back to running his hand along the wall. He found what he was looking for and pressed inward. A section of the wall slid open to reveal a hidden passage.

“Wow,” Stephanie said. “The Sanctuary is
here
? I used to come here when I was little….”

“Never knowing that beneath your feet was a world of magic and wonder?”

“Exactly.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Better get used to that feeling.”

She followed him in, and the wall sealed shut behind them. The stairway downward was lit by
torches that flickered in their brackets, but the closer they got to wherever it was they were going, the brighter it became.

They emerged into the gleaming foyer of the Sanctuary. It would have reminded Stephanie of the lobby of a high-tech company’s building—all marble and varnished wood paneling—had it not been for the lack of windows. Two men stood guard against the far wall, hands clasped behind them, dressed entirely in gray, with long coats and some sort of helmet with a visor that covered the entire face. Each had a scythe, a wicked-looking blade on a five-foot staff, strapped to his back. A slight man in a suit came out to greet them.