Kingdom of the Wicked

He sighed. “My name is Patrick Xebec.”

“That’s a stupid name,” said Doran.

“Doran,” Kitana said, her tone scolding.

“We don’t have time to get into this now,” said Xebec, “but you need to take on a new name, otherwise other sorcerers will be able to control you.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m always serious. I’ve never had a very good sense of humour, and I’ve never been particularly good with children.”

“We’re not children,” said Doran, flipping up his hoodie. “We’re seventeen.”

“Anyone below the age of ninety is a child to me,” Xebec said. “Sorcerers live longer than mortal people.”

“Cool,” said Sean.

“So your name wasn’t always Xebec, then?” Kitana asked.

“This is a name I took. It felt right, so I took it, and it’s been my name ever since.”

“And if I changed my name from Kitana Kellaway to, like, Kitana Killherway, that would stop me from being controlled?”

“If you want that as your taken name, sure.”

Doran grinned. “I’ll be Doran Kickass.”

“That’s the stupidest name ever,” Kitana said, giggling. “Sean, what about you?”

“I don’t know,” Sean said. “How about Sean Chill? Or Sean Destiny, or something? Sean the King.” He laughed. “Yeah, I’ll be Sean the King.”

All three of them laughed. Kitana didn’t ask Elsie what her name would be.

“Look,” said Xebec, “pick whatever names you want, I don’t care. I’m not qualified to take you through this. I don’t get involved in any of that Sanctuary stuff. I just live my life and get on with it.”

“What’s the Sanctuary?”

“It’s like our own private government. It has cops and soldiers and they’re always saving the world or getting themselves killed. You need to go to them, they’ll tell you everything you need to know. But if you want my advice, the moment that’s done with, walk away. Don’t become part of it. You’ll just wind up dead.”

“Magic cops,” Kitana said. “I don’t like the sound of that. Can they do what we do?”

“There are all different disciplines of magic,” said Xebec. “I’m an Elemental. What can you do?”

“We don’t know yet,” said Kitana. “We keep on finding new things. Like, at first we were just strong, but then we could move things without touching them. And now today we can fire beams of energy from our hands.”

“I figured out how to do that,” Doran said proudly.

Xebec frowned. “You can do all those things?”

“Probably more, as well,” said Doran. “Every day there’s something new.”

“I don’t know what you are,” Xebec said. “You should only have one of those abilities, two at the most. But even then you’d have to train for years.”

“Maybe we’re naturals,” Kitana said, smiling. “So the cops can’t do the things we can do?”

“No,” said Xebec. “No one can, as far as I know.”

Kitana bit her lip. “Oh, that’s good to hear.”

“I’ll call the Sanctuary,” said Xebec. “They’ll be able to figure out what’s going on. Come on.”

He turned, walked to the edge of the roof. Sean went to follow, but Kitana tapped his arm, holding him in place.

“I don’t think you should make that call,” she said.

Xebec turned. “Listen, kid, I don’t know what to do. I wouldn’t be of any use to you.”

“Actually, you’ve been a great help already. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done. But we can’t let you tell the magic cops about us.”

Doran raised his arm and his hand glowed. Xebec stepped back, eyes wide, didn’t even have time to say anything before a beam of energy burned through his leg. He fell, screaming.

Kitana took a deep breath, narrowed her eyes, and Xebec stiffened and collapsed, as dead as anything could get.

Sean looked at Kitana. “What did you do?”

“I squashed his brain with my mind,” Kitana said, and she started laughing.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

– The Tyger, William Blake

(#ulink_24c6242b-1a8c-5056-909e-fad8df005de0)

’m a butterfly!” screamed the fat man as he ran, flapping his arms like two really flabby, really rubbish wings.

“You’re actually not,” Valkyrie Cain told him for the eighth time. He ran around her in a big circle, bathed in moonlight, and she just stood there with her head down. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and moments earlier she’d had to drag her eyes away from his wobbling bosoms before they made her feel queasy. Now that his trousers were starting their inexorable slide downwards, she was averting her gaze altogether. “Please,” she said, “pull up your trousers.”

“Butterflies don’t need trousers!” he screeched. A moment later, those trousers landed by her feet.

She took out her phone and dialled. “He’s in his underpants,” she said angrily.

Skulduggery Pleasant’s smooth voice sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. “I’m sorry? Who is in his underpants?”