Chapter 8
Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me -Bella Swan, New Moon
The Sanctuary in Dublin was silent and darkened that night. Some of the long marble corridors were lit in a golden glow, being partolled by the merciless Cleavers in their slate grey uniforms and helmets, with their deadly scythes strapped to their backs. The Grand Mage, Thurid Guild, was in his chambers, pacing back and forth while rubbing a hand repeatedly over his face. Even if the strains of being the leader of the magical community were getting to him, he was being a tad too dramatic in expressing it. Even so, he couldn't help but feel reassured that outside his door were the most efficient security guards available to mage, able to track down any intruder and take them down easily. Well, maybe they could take down most intruders, that much was true, but they couldn't track down tonight's.
Tanith Low swung herself through the open window of the Sanctuary's storage room. This room was where the various waxworks and models were held from the old Waxworks museum. She landed in such a way that she had pushed herself backwards into a handstand, to save her from landing on her arse. She stayed balanced there for a moment, thankful that she had tied her hair into a ponytail, not so thankful that she was wearing her long leather jacket, then lept back onto her feet. After regaining her balance, she smiled to herself, dusting off her jacket, and headed off through the room, to the entrance into the main Sanctuary.
After descending the spiral staircase, the corridor she found herself in was quiet and unguarded. The carpet beneath her feet was lush and wine-coloured, like the type that could be found in a posh hotel. The walls had a mahogany skirting around them, with torch-brackets lit, giving a dim, golden glow to the silent corridor. Even Tanith's leather boots made no sound. She was thankful for that, though her heart was beating so heavily in her chest she could have sworn the Cleavers would be able to hear it. A Cleaver could come around the corner at any moment, silent as smoke. Tanith had no intention of doing any damage to the Sanctuary, but even so. She was an intruder and they wouldn't go easy on her.
The corridor ended in a T-shape. Tanith cautiously checked left and right, then turned right. This corridor was much the same, but with a door at the end. A wooden door, completely ordinary, possibly lockd but then, so had that window been, and Tanith had made short work of opening that. She grinned and restrained herself from running to the door. After an age, she reached it, and saw that it did indeed have a lock upon its handle. But Tanith merely waved her hand over it, and it broke. Tanith opened the door, slowly and silently, and found herself inside the Sanctuary's Hall of Statues, and saw the face that she had been aching to see.
"Hello Ghastly," she said softly, and smiled at the stone form of Ghastly Bespoke, kneeling on a slab, placed on a small podium. He was practically the only statue in 'the Hall', besides the stone busts of Eachan Meritorious and Morwenna Crow, so it was no doubt he stood out. But then, Ghastly stood out where ever he went. His head cast down, showing every one of the scars etched into what would have been his flesh. Or at least, the flesh of his head. His stone hands, one balled into a fist, the other on the slab, were completely normal. His eyes were closed and his mouth a slight smile. Huh, only Ghastly Bespoke could have found something to smile about while facing imminent death.
As she looked at him all the memories flowed back into her head, memories of long journeys on the Underground as she stared out the window thinking of him, wiping sneaky little tears from the corners of her eyes. Memories of when she would stand on London roof tops at sunset, looking out to the west. Memories of sleepless nights when she thought of what could have been, memories of his voice, his laugh, the blueness of his eyes and the redness of those scars, and feel of his cheek as she kissed it that one night so long ago. And now, here he was once again, kneeling a few feet away.
Tanith knelt in front of his stone form, after casting a sheen over the door.
"Long time no see?" she said, trying to smile. She found herself waiting for a reply, or a return greeting.
"Sorry I havn't visited in a while," she continued."Things have been busy in London over the last few months, you know? Stuff to do, creatures to defeat, psychopaths to take down. Of course, it's the same here, I know. But still... I try to visit as much as possible, hep Skulduggery and Val, you know that. But it's tricky sometimes.."
She faded off, looking at him,as if waiting for a response. But there was no response, no movement. No anything.
"Val's fourteen now. Can you believe it? Two years have gone by like that." Tanith clicked her fingers to demonstrate the point, then folding her hands in her lap.
"And she's learning more skills everyday. I teach her fighting every now and then, but it's Skulduggery who takes the real credit. He's the Elemental after all, and he's teaching her all the tricks of the detecting trade. Huh, once Valkyrie is fully trained, the three of us will be..."
She faltered, and stared at the closed stone eyes of Ghastly Bespoke.
"I wish you'd come back," she whispered after a moment. Tears gathered in her eyes. She hardly ever cried, but tonight was an exception.
"We miss you," Tanith continued, beginning to get angry at the lifeless form in front of her. "I know that Skulduggery does, definetely. And Valkyrie, she does too, and...and so do I. We all miss you, Ghastly."
A single tear rolled down her cheek, which she brushed away. Her chest hurt, but she let out a small laugh. Surely she was used to pain by now.
"You've missed so much fun, you know," Tanith smiled slightly. "You don't want to miss any more, trust me. Trust me.."
Tanith leant forward and touched his scarred cheek. It was cold, and rough, but she half-wished for it to grow warm under her touch. She was being stupid, she knew that. These feelings were just exploding out of her, and she didn't know why. Where had they come from? Why did it hurt so badly? Why wouldn't he come back when she begged him to? She let a moment pass, then leant in to whisper in his ear.
"Come back for me."
Tanith kissed the statue Ghastly's lips quickly, then pushed herself off her knees and left, wiping her eyes as she walked back to the door.
The statue knelt there on it's slab of cement, on the podium, in the long, dark room. As Tanith Low left, the door closed slowly with a slight creak, and Tanith's fumbling with the broken lock could be heard, if there had been anyone able to hear it. After a moment or two she left it, and her silent footsteps strode down the corridor.
The Hall of Statues was once again silent. No sound of breath. No sound of movement. But there was a crack. A tiny din, more like the splintering of wood, or more so, the crumbling of mortar, than an actual crack. But it came again, and it came from the stone lips of Ghastly Bespoke, which, slowly, looked as though they were breaking into a smile...
Tanith made her way down the torch-lit hall, away from the Hall of Statues, away from...him. God, how could she have let her emotions get the better of her like this, coming to visit that...that statue. Again!What was wrong with her? Was she losing it? She wiped he eyes and walked quickly, wanting to sneak out of this place as quickly and efficently as possible, without getting caught by Cleavers.
Suddenly, she stopped and frowned. She thought she had heard something. The sound was gone as quickly as it had come, but Tanith stood her ground, wondering if she would hear it again. It wasn't a Cleaver, coming from another corridor, unless that Cleaver was hacking at a wall or something with his scythe. No, this was a crumbling sound. Like rubble moving...
A dark figure burst through the was to her right in a blast of plaster and rubble, and took her breath away as she was sent to the ground by it smashing into her. The figure rolled away from her and got to its feet. Tanith rolled onto her back and pushed her hair out of her eyes, which had come loose from its ponytail considerably. She ripped the hair-band out quickly and glared up at the figure she recognised.
"Well well," came the irritating Texan twang from the mouth of a once handsome man, with blonde hair and wearing a brown suit. "I wasn't expectin' to see you here, pretty darlin'."
Tanith looked up at this old nemisis, glaring with every ounce of loathing she could muster up. He was known for being charming, he was obviously attractive, he was also a chauvanistic, whiney slime-ball and she addressed him with scorn.
"Billy-Ray Sanguine."
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The American stood there grinning down at her, black shades covering what should have been his eyes. On the lower half of his face, that smirking, gleaming smile stretched from ear to ear. He put one hand on the chest of his dark brown suit.
"And you remember my name!" Sanguine exclaimed, flicking his blonde hair like the pretty boy he thought he was. "I'm flattered! Come to think of it, I don't believe you introduced yourself the last time we met. But it was Tanith, wasn't it? Tanith, Low?
"You're correct," Tanith replied slowly standing up, taking him in hesitantly, never taking her eyes off him.
"Of course I am," he said "But see, I'd love to just stay here an' chat, darlin', but I have some business to attend to, and you're standin' in my way. But hey!"
He folded his arms and nodded at her "Enough about me! What about you? What might you be doing here, sweet-thing?"
Tanith raised an eyebrow and wrinkled her nose, for effect. "Um, that's a piece of information I'm not willing to divulge to a chauvanistic prat such yourself. Sorry." And she smiled sweetly.
Sanguine stared at her for a moment, that grin never leaving his face.
"Wow. That's a fancy way of sayin', none of your frickin' business, ain't it?"
"Right again."
"Darn." He pouted, "Well how about this? I don't ask you again if you don't ask me. That sound good? And we just go about our business?"
Wow, deja vu, Tanith thought, but she couldn't help smiling back at him, shaking her head and stepping forward.
"I'm afraid not, Mr Sanguine."
Sanguine sighed taking of his sunglasses, revealed the awful black holes where his eyes should have been. He put them into the inside pocket of his suit-jacket, and smiled.
"I guess we're back to business then," he said, then grinned at her, and dived. But Tanith dodged and sent him sprawling on the carpeted floor. Sanguine rolled, and Tanith saw his hand dip into his jacket pocket. A moment later, he came back up, holding his straight razor. A small blade with the initials B-R S carved into the wooden handle, Sanguine loved it to pieces, calling it a little part of his soul, and never liked to be without it, as Tanith well remembered.
"Watch out Tanith, sweetie," he taunted, waving it at her. "I've still got my little friend here. Things could get ugly."
Tanith grinned at him. Despite everything, she was kind of enjoying herself. Yes, the maniac Texan had just broken into the Sanctuary to commit, God only knows what sort of crime, probably willing to kill her to get it done. But he was just such a chauvanistic poser that it was fun showing him who was boss.
"Ugly for you, Mr Sanguine," she replied lightly, parting her coat to reveal her sword by her leg. "Because I've got my little friend too."
Sanguine grunted and Tanith stepped toward him, making to take out her sword from its scabbard. Sanguine moved backward, but didn't realise the feint until her boot had ground into his nose.
Sanguine winced as the cartilage was crushed audibly. He backed away and put one hand up to his face, wincing as he twisted his nose back into place so that it didn't set crooked. Tanith scowled and grabbed the wrist that held the razor. She flipped around him, ignoring as he cried out in pain and pressed the cold blade of the razor to his neck.
Sanguine drew a sharp breath and time stood still for a moment, as Tanith brought him to his knees, locking his other arm behind his back. He actually laughed.
"Oh, Tanith..." he purred playfully, but Tanith stayed behind him, not moving the blade away from his jugular. She didn't move from her spot, securing him to the floor, the little piece of his soul at his neck.
He chuckled. "You gonna kill me, hon?" he asked playfully, moving his head ever so slightly. Tanith kept the blade in place, and had to consider that for a moment.
"No, I'm not," she replied firmly after a moment.
"Aw, ain't that just the sweetest thing?"
Tanith pressed the blade in deep. "I just don't think the Cleavers would appreciate your blood being spilled all over their carpet."
Sanguine sighed and Tanith almost lost her grip when she felt him nuzzle the back of her hand with his cheek. She felt herself blush, but said nothing.
"What about yours though?" he muttered suavely.
Tanith laughed darkly. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm the one with the blade."
"Not for long." And with the swiftness of a snake, Sanguine stuck out his tongue and licked the back of Tanith's hand. She yelped and jumped a foot in the air, the blade leaping with her. Newly liberated, Sanguine sank through the floor.
A second late, he sprang up behind her, pulling the blade from her fingers. Tanith butted him in the nose with the back of her head, but this just aggravated him more. Sanguine grabbed her and bashed her into a wall to their left. Tanith's jaw crunched against the concrete and she slid to her knees. Sanguine pressed his blade against her throat.
"Tut tut, clumsy," Sanguine mumbled with mock solemnity. "So clumsy."
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Tanith tried to hurt him again but he kneeled on the back of her legs in his dirty trousers, pinning her arms behind her back with his bloody hands, and rested his clean-cut chin on her shoulder.
"Now," he muttered softly in her ear as he pressed the blade in closer. Her heart was pounding in her chest with anger and anxiousness.
"How would it be, if that pretty little face of yours met up with my blade?"
Her heart-beat quickened even more.
"I would be a shame for it to end up all decorated by a blade who's scars don't heal..."
"Huh, what, so you really think that I care about my face that much?" she said, letting out a brave laugh. She had learned, after all, that scars didn't take away from a person's inner beauty, but how much inner beauty did she have to get by on...
"Oh, I think you'd care about it as much as any woman," Sanguine replied simply. "I don't single you out as bein' that special, ya see."
"Right, so, you're going to be the hard man and call my bluff?"
Sanguine turned his head to whisper in her ear.
"Let's just say I'd call it like your name in my sleep." Then he pressed his lips to her cheek.
Tanith let out a yelp and tried to break away. Oh God, where the hell were the Cleavers? She really needed them now. Being attacked was one thing, being sexually harassed however...
She continued to struggle but Sanguine pulled the blade in closer and deeper, stifling her screams. She knew that he wouldn't hesitate to break skin.
He sighed. "I'm still not your type then?"
"You bet," Tanith gasped.
"Then what is your type, Tanith? Some big strong man to keep you safe, is that right? A protector, to hold you in his arms, to make you feel like you have a home in your crazy world of fightin' and killin' and dishin' out justice? 'Cause inside that feisty, blonde, muscular shell, as much as you try to hide it from everyone, is a lost lil' girl, afraid to close your eyes in case the darkness eats you up."
Tanith knelt under him for a moment, to stunned to feel the strain of the weight, or the cold blade on her neck. She didn't know what to say. She just couldn't think, because...he was right. He was absolutely right, about everything. But she couldn't let him know that.
She laughed hollowly, "Heh, have you taken up psychology, Mr Sanguine?"
"No, but I was a psychologist for about a year," he babbled. "Thing is, I just couldn't stop killin' folk though. I mean, they'd come to me, goin' on and on about their 'problems', then I'd get bored and just kill 'em!"
He sighed "Oh well, enough chit-chat. Time for a little bit of surgery, my pretty, little-"
Sanguine was cut off by a hugh force smashing into him and making him let go of Tanith. The sudden release made her gasp, but she heard the breath completely rush out of Sanguine. He tried to get to his feet, but a huge fist slammed in between his shoulder blades, then a strong pair of hands lifted him up and hurled him down the hall. Tanith looked at Sanguine's limp, gasping form, and at the straight razor lying on the floor next to her. She turned around to see her saviour, half expecting to see a grey Cleaver.
But instead, she saw a bald, muscular tailor, with scars covering his entire head. Her eyes widened in awe, and she struggled to find her voice.
"Mr Bespoke," Tanith breathed in disbelief. He smiled down at her, and held out a hand to help her up.
"Please," he said softly. "Call me Ghastly."
A/N: Yes! Our favourite tailor is back! And yeah, if any of you get the Sleeping Beauty irony (which was my favourite fairytale, by the way), let me know.
Playlist: She's a Rebel-Greenday-Tanith
Nails for Breakfast, Tacks for Snacks-P!ATD-Ghastly
Ain't no rest for the wicked-cage the elephant-Sanguine
Eyes on Fire-Blue Foundation-Sanguine and Tanith
You found me-Kelly Clarkson-Tanith and Ghastly