The Maleficent Seven (From the World of Skulduggery Pleasant) Read Free

helpful captive.”
    “Are you... are you going to let me live?”
    Sanguine’s grin grew wider. “Not even remotely.”
     
    With Jethro, the second Jethro, lying dead in the alley amid the junk and the debris of London, the ground cracked and crumbled beneath Sanguine’s feet and he sank into the cold embrace of the earth. He moved down to absolute pitch-black, to a darkness no human eye could penetrate, and he watched the dirt and rock shift before him, the individual grains undulating in streams, like a school of fish, flowing round him and allowing him through.
    He stopped for a moment, listening to the vibrations that spoke to him louder than any voice, then burrowed sideways. He slowed as the ground parted, opened for him like a door, and harsh light spilled in against his sunglasses. Sanguine had no eyes to hurt, and he stepped on to the train platform, feeling the wall close up behind him. The platform was almost empty, five people waiting there, not one of them having noticed his arrival.
    The rumbling beneath his feet intensified, told him where the train was, how fast it was moving. Then he heard it approach, and moments later, he watched it appear, brakes whining as it slowed. The doors opened. People got off, people got on. Sanguine brushed a few flecks of dirt from his shoulder and slipped through the doors before they closed. The carriage was empty, and he sat.
    He looked at the leather coat in his hands. He wasn’t worried about Tanith. She’d get away. He knew she would. She’d probably led those Cleavers a merry dance, then disappeared, leaving them floundering, with only her mocking laugh to assure them she’d been there at all. He’d meet up with her soon enough and he’d give her back her coat, and they’d kiss, and he’d stroke her hair, and she’d tell him about all the Cleavers she’d killed. She was everything he’d always wanted in a woman. Beautiful, smart, tough, twisted.
    Sure, she was utterly devoted to this Darquesse person, this woman that all the psychics had dreamed about, the one that was going to end the world. Tanith had glimpsed the future, and the Remnant part of her was looking forward to all the devastation and destruction that was on the horizon. Was it healthy, loving someone who wanted to help end the world? He freely admitted that it probably wasn’t. And he knew that there was
something
she wasn’t telling him. Some little nugget of information she’d been holding back about who this Darquesse was or where she’d be coming from. He let that go. He didn’t mind that. People have secrets, after all. He had secrets. But apart from all that, they were a match made in heaven. Soulmates. Partners in crime.
    And when this little caper of hers was over, he was going to ask her to be his wife.

he steps leading down were stone, old and cold and cracked. The walls were tight on either side, and curved with the steps as they sank into darkness. The girl’s parents didn’t say much. Her father led the way, her mother came behind and the girl was in the middle. The air was sharp and chill and not a word was spoken. Her mother hadn’t been able to look at her since they’d arrived at the docks. The girl didn’t know what she’d done wrong.
    When the steps had done enough sinking, they came to a floor, and it was as good a floor as any, she supposed. It was flat and solid and wide, even if it was just as cold and old as the steps had been, and the walls, and the low ceilings that kept the whole place from caving in around them. The girl didn’t like being underground. Already she missed the sun.
    Her father led them through a passage, turned right and walked on, then bore left and kept going. They walked on and on and turned one way or the other, and the girl quickly lost track of where they’d been. It was all sputtering torches in brackets, feeble flames in the gloom.
    “Remain here,” her father said once they’d come to an empty chamber. She did as she was