Copyright

First published in Great Britain by

HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2007

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

The HarperCollins website address is:

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Skulduggery Pleasant rests his weary bones on the web at:

www.skulduggerypleasant.co.uk

Derek Landy blogs under duress at

www.dereklandy.blogspot.com

Text copyright © Derek Landy 2009

Illuminated letters copyright © Tom Percival 2009

Skulduggery Pleasant logo™ HarperCollins Publishers

Skulduggery Pleasant © ™ Derek Landy

Cover design © blacksheep-uk.com

Cover illustration © Tom Percival

Derek Landy asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007302161

Ebook Edition © ISBN: 9780007318285

Version: 2016-12-12

This book is dedicated to my agent, Michelle Kass.

I’m not going to be sappy here, OK? I’m not going to talk about how much you’ve done for me (which is a lot), or the impact you’ve had on my life (which is immense), and I’m not even going to talk about the advice, encouragement, and counsel you’ve given me since we met. And I’m not going to mention conversations on tractors either, or iPods at dinner tables, or the amount of Yiddish words you’ve taught me that I’ve promptly forgotten.

All of which, surprisingly, leaves me with nothing much to say.

Sorry about that.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1: The Scene of the Crime

Chapter 2: Killer on the Loose

Chapter 3: That First Kiss

Chapter 4: The Sea Hag

Chapter 5: Tracking the Teleporter

Chapter 6: Fletcher Renn

Chapter 7: Batu

Chapter 8: The Civilised Man

Chapter 9: The Enemy

Chapter 10: Finbar’s Little Trip

Chapter 11: Wreath

Chapter 12: In the Office of the Grand Mage

Chapter 13: The House on Cemetery Road

Chapter 14: The Diablerie

Chapter 15: Breaking and Entering

Chapter 16: Stealing the Grotesquery

Chapter 17: The Dark Little Secret

Chapter 18: In the Flesh

Chapter 19: The Man Who Would Be King

Chapter 20: Aranmore Farm

Chapter 21: Opportunity Rings

Chapter 22: Conversations with a Late Uncle

Chapter 23: Anathem Mire

Chapter 24: The Changing House

Chapter 25: The Raid

Chapter 26: The Sceptre

Chapter 27: Blink

Chapter 28: Saying Goodbye

Chapter 29: Cellmates

Chapter 30: Beryl

Chapter 31: Old Friends

Chapter 32: The Trade

Chapter 33: Jailbreak

Chapter 34: The Battle of Aranmore

Chapter 35: The Things of Impossibility

Chapter 36: Enemies

Chapter 37: Falling into Place

Chapter 38: From all Sides

Chapter 39: Crisis of Faith

Chapter 40: Killing Gods

Chapter 41: Black Lightning

Chapter 42: The Moment

Chapter 43: The Gateway

Chapter 44: The Task

Keep Reading …

The Skulduggery Pleasant series

About the Publisher

he dead man was in the living room, face down on the floor beside the coffee table. His name had been Cameron Light, but that was back when his heart had a beat and his lungs had breath. His blood had dried into the carpet in a large stain that spread outwards from where he lay. He’d been stabbed, once, in the small of the back. He was fully clothed, his hands were empty and there was no other sign of disturbance in the room.

Valkyrie moved through the room as she had been taught, scanning the floor and surfaces, but managing to avoid looking at the body. She felt no compulsion to see any more of the victim than she absolutely had to. Her dark eyes drifted to the window. The park across the street was empty, the slides glistening with the rain and the swings creaking in the chill, early morning breeze.

Footsteps in the room and she turned to watch Skulduggery Pleasant take a small bag of powder from his jacket. He was wearing a pinstriped suit that successfully filled out his skeletal frame, and his hat was low over his eye sockets. He dipped a gloved finger into the bag and started to stir, breaking up the smaller lumps.

“Thoughts?” he said.

“He was taken by surprise,” answered Valkyrie. “The lack of any defensive marks means he didn’t have time to put up a fight. Just like the others.”

“So the killer was either completely silent …”

“Or his victims trusted him.” There was something odd about the room, something that didn’t quite fit. Valkyrie looked around. “Are you sure he lived here? There are no books on magic, no talismans, no charms on the walls, nothing.”

Skulduggery shrugged. “Some mages enjoy living on both sides. The magical community is secretive, but there are exceptions – those who work and socialise in the so-called ‘mortal’ world. Mr Light here obviously had a few friends who didn’t know he was a sorcerer.”

There were framed photographs on a shelf, of Light himself and other people. Friends. Loved ones. From the photos alone it seemed like he’d had a good life, a life filled with companionship. Now it was over of course. There was no Cameron Light any more, just an empty shell on the carpet.

Crime scenes, Valkyrie reflected, were rather depressing places.

She looked over at Skulduggery as he sprinkled the powder into the air. It was called rainbow dust because of the way any residual traces of magic in an area would change its colour. This time, however, the powder remained the same colour as it drifted all the way down to the floor.

“Not one trace,” he muttered.

Although the couch was obscuring her view of the body, Valkyrie could still see one foot. Cameron Light had been wearing black shoes and grey socks with worn elastic. He had a very white ankle. Valkyrie stepped to the side so the foot was out of view.

A bald man with broad shoulders and piercing blue eyes joined them in the room. “Detective Crux is nearby,” Mr Bliss said. “If you are caught at a crime scene …” He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

“We’re going,” Skulduggery said. He pulled on his coat and wrapped his scarf around the lower half of his skull. “We appreciate you calling us in on this by the way.”

“Detective Crux is unsuited to an investigation of this nature,” Bliss responded. “Which is why the Sanctuary needs you and Miss Cain to return to our employ.”

There was a slight hint of amusement in Skulduggery’s voice. “I think Thurid Guild might disagree with you there.”

“Nevertheless, I have asked the Grand Mage to meet with you this afternoon, and he has promised me he will.”

Valkyrie raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Bliss was one of the most powerful men alive, but he also happened to be one of the scariest. He still creeped her out.

“Guild said he’d talk to us?” Skulduggery asked. “It’s not like him to change his mind about something like that.”

“Desperate times,” was all Bliss said.

Skulduggery nodded and Valkyrie followed him outside. Despite the grey skies, he slipped a pair of sunglasses into place above his scarf, hiding his eye sockets from passers-by. If there were any passers-by. The weather, it seemed, was keeping most sensible people indoors.

“Four victims,” Skulduggery said. “All Teleporters. Why?”

Valkyrie buttoned her coat, struggling a little. Her black clothes had saved her life more times than she wanted to count, but every move she made reminded her that she had grown since Ghastly Bespoke made them for her, and she wasn’t twelve any more. She’d had to throw away her boots because they’d gotten too small, and buy a regular pair in an ordinary, average shop. She needed Ghastly to change from a statue back to a man and make her a new outfit. Valkyrie allowed herself a moment to feel guilty about being so selfish then got back to business.

“Maybe Cameron Light, along with the other Teleporters, did something to the killer and this is his – or her – revenge.”

“That’s Theory One. Anything else?”

“Maybe the killer needed something from them.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Teleporter stuff.”

“So why kill them?”

“Maybe it’s one of those items where you have to kill the owner to use it, like the Sceptre of the Ancients.”

“And so we have Theory Two.”

“Or maybe the killer wanted something that one of them had, so he was just working his way through the Teleporters until he found whoever had it.”

“Now that’s a possibility, and so becomes Theory Two, Variation B.”

“I’m glad you’re not making this needlessly complicated or anything,” Valkyrie muttered.

A black van pulled up beside them. The driver got out, looked up and down the street to make sure no one was watching, and slid open the side door. Two Cleavers stepped out and stood silently, dressed in grey, faces hidden behind visored helmets. They each held a very long scythe. The last occupant of the van emerged and stood between the Cleavers. Wearing slacks and a matching blazer, with a high forehead and a goatee beard pointing down in an effort to give himself a chin, Remus Crux observed Skulduggery and Valkyrie with a disdainful expression.

“Oh,” he said, “it’s you.” He had a curious voice, like a spoiled cat whining for its dinner.

Skulduggery nodded to the Cleavers on either side of him. “I see you’re going incognito today.”

Immediately, Crux bristled. “I am the Sanctuary’s lead detective, Mr Pleasant. I have enemies and, as such, I need bodyguards.”

“Do you really need them to stand in the middle of the street?” Valkyrie asked. “They look a little conspicuous.”

Crux sneered. “That’s an awfully big word for a thirteen-year-old.”

Valkyrie resisted the urge to hit him. “Actually, it’s not,” she replied. “It’s fairly standard. Also, I’m fourteen. Also, your beard’s stupid.”

“Isn’t this fun?” Skulduggery said brightly. “The three of us getting along so well.”

Crux glared at Valkyrie, then looked at Skulduggery. “What are you doing here?”

“We were passing, we heard there’d been another murder and we thought we could get a peek at the crime scene. We just arrived actually. Is there any chance …?”

“I’m sorry, Mr Pleasant,” Crux said stiffly. “Because of the international nature of these crimes and the attention they’re getting, the Grand Mage expects me to conduct myself with the utmost professionalism, and he has given me strict instructions as regards you and Miss Cain. He doesn’t want either of you anywhere near Sanctuary business.”

“But this isn’t Sanctuary business,” Valkyrie pointed out. “It’s just a murder. Cameron Light didn’t even work for the Sanctuary.”

“It is an official Sanctuary investigation, which makes it official Sanctuary business.”

Skulduggery’s tone was friendly. “So how’s the investigation going? You’re probably under a lot of pressure to get results, right?”

“It’s under control.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is. And I’m sure the international community is offering help and pooling resources – this isn’t just an Irish problem after all. But if you need any unofficial help, we’ll be glad to—”

“You may break the rules,” Crux interrupted, “but I don’t. You no longer have any authority here. You gave that away when you accused the Grand Mage of treason, remember?”

“Vaguely …”

“You want my advice, Pleasant?”

“Not especially.”

“Find a nice hole in the ground somewhere and lie in it. You’re finished as a detective. You’re done.”

Wearing what he probably thought was a triumphant sneer, Crux and the two Cleavers entered the building.

“I don’t like him,” Valkyrie decided.

he Bentley parked in the rear of the closed-down Waxworks Museum and Valkyrie followed Skulduggery inside. A thick layer of dust had collected on the few remaining wax figures who stood in the darkness. Valkyrie waited while Skulduggery searched the wall for the panel that opened the hidden door.

Idly, Valkyrie examined the wax figure of Phil Lynott, the lead singer from Thin Lizzy. It stood nearby, holding a guitar, and was actually a pretty good likeness. Her dad had been a big Thin Lizzy fan back in the 1970s, and whenever ‘Whiskey in the Jar’ came on the radio, he’d still sing along, albeit tunelessly.

“The panel is gone,” Skulduggery announced. “The moment we left, they must have changed the locks on us. I don’t know whether to feel flattered or insulted.”

“I get the feeling you’re going to decide on flattered.”

He shrugged. “It’s a fuzzier feeling.”

“So how do we get in?”

Someone tapped Valkyrie on the shoulder and she yelped and leaped away.

“I am sorry,” the wax figure of Phil Lynott said. “I did not mean to startle you.”

She stared at it.

“I am the lock,” it continued. “I open the door from this side of the wall. Do you have an appointment?”

“We’re here to see the Grand Mage,” Skulduggery said. “I am Skulduggery Pleasant and this is my associate, Valkyrie Cain.”

Phil Lynott’s wax head nodded. “You are expected, but you will need an official Sanctuary representative to accompany you through the door. I have alerted the Administrator. She should be arriving shortly.”

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

Valkyrie stared at it for a few more seconds. “Can you sing?” she asked.

“I open the door,” it said. “That is my only purpose.”

“But can you sing?”

It considered the question. “I do not know,” it decided. “I have never tried.”

The wall rumbled behind them, and a door shifted and slid open. A woman in a sombre skirt and white blouse stood there, smiling politely.

“Mr Pleasant,” the Administrator said, “Miss Cain, welcome. The Grand Mage is expecting you. Please follow me.”

The figure of Phil Lynott didn’t say goodbye as the Administrator led them down a spiral staircase, their way lit by burning torches in brackets. They reached the bottom and passed into the Foyer. It felt weird, walking into a place that had once been so familiar, and now seemed so alien. The irrational part of Valkyrie’s brain was certain that the Cleaver guards were glaring at them from behind their visors, even though she knew they were far too disciplined and professional to display such petty behaviour.

The Sanctuary, she had only recently realised, was shaped like a massive triangle that had toppled over, and was now lying flat beneath the surface of Dublin City. The Foyer marked the dead centre of the triangle’s base, with long corridors stretching out to either side and a central corridor running straight. The side corridors turned in at a 45-degree angle, and eventually met the central corridor at the triangle’s point. Smaller corridors bisected these in a seemingly random pattern.

The rooms along the main corridors were mostly used for the day-to-day running of the Sanctuary and the Council of Elders’ business. But down some of those narrower corridors lay rooms that were a lot more interesting – the Gaol, holding cells, the Repository, the Armoury and dozens more that Valkyrie had never even seen.

The Administrator chatted amicably with Skulduggery as they walked. She was a nice lady, brought in as a replacement for the Administrator who had died during Nefarian Serpine’s raid on the Sanctuary two years before. Valkyrie closed her mind to the memory of the carnage. She had lived through it once – she saw no reason to do so again.

The Administrator showed them into a large room with no furniture. “The Grand Mage will be with you in a moment.”

“Thank you,” Skulduggery said, nodding politely, and the Administrator left.

“Do you think we’ll be waiting long?” Valkyrie asked, keeping her voice low.

“The last time we were in this building, we accused the Grand Mage of being a traitor,” Skulduggery said. “Yes, I think we’ll be waiting long.”

Almost two hours later, the doors opened again and a grey-haired man strode in, his face lined and serious and his eyes cold. He stopped when he saw Valkyrie, who was sitting on the floor.

“You will stand when I enter the room,” he said, barely managing to keep the snarl out of his voice.

Valkyrie had been getting up before he had spoken, but as she got to her feet, she kept her mouth shut. This meeting was too important to risk ruining because of something stupid.

“Thank you for agreeing to see us,” Skulduggery said. “We understand you must be very busy.”

“If it were up to me, I wouldn’t allow you to waste another moment of my time,” Guild said. “But Mr Bliss continues to vouch for you. It is out of respect for my fellow Elder that you are even here.”

“And on that positive note,” Skulduggery began, but Guild shook his head.

“None of your jokes, Mr Pleasant. Say what you came here to say and leave the sarcastic comments to one side.”

Skulduggery’s head tilted slightly. “Very well. Six months ago, while preparing to bring down Baron Vengeous, you fired us over a disagreement. Later that same day, we defeated both Vengeous and the Grotesquery, and the threat they posed was averted. And yet our role in that operation was overlooked.”

“You’re looking for a reward? I have to say, I’d be disappointed if I didn’t already think so little of you. I didn’t think money interested someone like you. Or perhaps you’d like a medal?”

“This isn’t about a reward.”

“Then what is it about?”

“Four Teleporters have been murdered in the past month and you still have no idea who is responsible. You know we should be in on this.”

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with civilians. I assure you, Detective Crux has matters well in hand.”

“Remus Crux is a second-rate detective.”

“On the contrary, there is no doubt in my mind that Crux is the best man for the job. I know him and I trust him.”

“And how many more people have to die before you realise your mistake?”

Guild’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t help yourself, can you? You come here, begging for your old job back, and even now you can’t help but be insolent. Apparently, the only lesson you’ve learned since you were last here is how to shut that girl up.”

“Bite me,” Valkyrie snapped.

“And even at that you fail,” Guild sighed.

Valkyrie’s anger swirled inside her and she felt herself go red. At the sight of her flushed face, Guild smiled a smug little smile.

“This is a waste of time,” Skulduggery said. “You were never going to even consider reinstating us, were you?”

“Of course not. You say you were fired over a disagreement. How simple that sounds. How innocent. How innocuous. What a very polite way of saying that you accused me of being a traitor.”

“Vengeous had a spy in the Sanctuary, Thurid, and we know it was you.”

“This is how you’re spending your retirement, is it? Making up fantastic stories to fill in the gaps of whatever you call your life? Tell me, Skulduggery – since we’re on a first-name basis – have you discovered what your purpose in life actually is? You’ve already killed the man who murdered your family, so it can’t be revenge. You’ve done that one. So what is it, do you think? Redemption, for all the terrible things you’ve done? Maybe you’re here to heal all those wounds you’ve inflicted, or bring back all those people you’ve killed. What is your purpose, Skulduggery?”

Before Skulduggery could respond, Guild gestured to Valkyrie.

“Is it to teach this girl? Is it to train her to be just like you? Is that what gets you up in the morning? But here’s a question you maybe haven’t asked yourself – do you really want her to be like you? Do you want her to live like you – devoid of warmth, and companionship, and love?

“If you suspect me of being this traitor, then you must think that I’m a monster, yes? A cold-hearted monster. And yet I have a wife I adore, and children I worry about, and a responsibility in my work that weighs on my shoulders every moment of every day. So if a cold-hearted monster like me could have all this, and you have none of it, then what does that make you?”

They left the Sanctuary, passed the wax figure of Phil Lynott in silence, and walked back to the car. Valkyrie didn’t like it when Skulduggery went quiet. It usually meant bad things.

A man was standing by their car. He had tight brown hair and a few days’ worth of beard growth. Valkyrie frowned, trying to remember if he’d been there a second ago.

“Skulduggery,” the man said. “I thought I’d find you here.”

Skulduggery nodded to him. “Emmett Peregrine, it’s been a while. Allow me to introduce Valkyrie Cain. Valkyrie, Peregrine here is a Teleporter.”

Peregrine was also a man who apparently didn’t indulge in small talk. “Who’s behind it? Who’s killing the Teleporters?”

“We don’t know.”

“Well, why don’t you know?” he snapped. “You’re supposed to be the big detective, aren’t you? Isn’t that what they say?”

“I don’t work for the Sanctuary,” Skulduggery replied. “I don’t have official sanction.”

“Then who does? Because I’m telling you right now, I am not going to that idiot Crux. I’m not putting my life in the hands of someone like that. Listen, we may not like each other, and I know we have never warmed to each other’s company, but I need your help or I’m next.”

Skulduggery motioned to the wall and all three of them stepped over to it. From here they could talk without being seen.

“Do you have any idea who could be behind the murders?” he asked.

Peregrine made a visible effort to calm down. “None. I’ve been trying to think of what anyone could have to gain by killing us all and I’ve come up with nothing. I don’t even have any random paranoid conspiracy theories to fall back on.”

“Have you noticed anyone watching you, following you …?”

“No and I’ve been looking. Skulduggery, I’m exhausted. Every few hours I teleport somewhere else. I haven’t slept in days.”

“We can protect you.”

Peregrine’s laugh was brittle. “No offence, but you can’t. If you can guard me, the killer can get to me. I’m better off on my own, but I can’t run forever.” He hesitated. “I heard about Cameron.”

“Yes.”

“He was a good man. The best of us.”

“There is a way to draw the killer out.”

“Let me guess – you want me to act as bait? You want me to sit still and let him come to me, and then you’ll pounce and save the day? Sorry, I’m not in the habit of waiting to be killed.”

“It’s our best shot.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“Then you need to help us. Even when they knew their lives were in danger, Cameron Light and the others still let down their guard. They knew the killer, Emmett, and you probably do too.”

“What are you saying? That I can’t trust my friends?”

“I’m saying you can’t trust anyone but Valkyrie and myself.”

“And why should I trust you?”

Skulduggery sighed. “Because you literally have no other choice.”

“Is there one person that all the Teleporters would know?” Valkyrie asked. “One person who you’d think you’d be safe with?”

Peregrine thought for a moment. “Sanctuary officials,” he said, “a handful of sorcerers probably, but nobody that stands out. Teleporters don’t tend to be well liked, maybe you’ve heard. Our social circles really aren’t that wide.”

“Have you made any new friends?” Skulduggery asked. “Any new acquaintances?”

“No, none. Well, apart from the kid.”

Skulduggery’s head tilted. “The kid?”

“The other Teleporter.”

“I thought you were the last Teleporter.”

“No, there’s a seventeen-year-old English kid, turned up a while back. Renn his name is. Fletcher Renn. No training, no discipline, no clue to what he’s doing – a right pain in the neck. Wait, you think he’s the killer?”

“I don’t know,” Skulduggery murmured. “He’s either the killer or the killer’s next victim. Where is he?”

“He could be anywhere. Cameron and myself went to talk to him a few months ago, to offer to teach him. Cocky little sod laughed in our faces. He’s one of those rare sorcerers, natural-born, magic at his fingertips. He has power, but like I said, no training. I doubt he could teleport a few miles at a time.”

“He doesn’t sound like a killer. But that means he’s out there alone, with no idea what’s going on.”

“I think he’s still in Ireland,” Peregrine said. “He grunted something about planning to stay here for a while, and how we should leave him alone. He doesn’t need anybody apparently. Typical teenager.” Peregrine glanced at Valkyrie. “No offence.”

“Valkyrie’s not a typical anything,” Skulduggery said before she could respond. “We’ll track him down, but if you see him first, send him to us.”

“I doubt he’ll listen to me, but OK.”

“How will we contact you if we need you?”

“You won’t, but I’ll check back every few days for an update. This would all be over a lot quicker if you’d take over the investigation. I don’t trust Crux and I don’t trust Thurid Guild. You’re in close with Bliss, aren’t you? Maybe you could get a message to him. Just tell him that there are a lot of us out here who would back him as the new Grand Mage, if he were interested. All he has to do is say the word.”

“You’re not talking about a coup, are you?”

“If a revolution is what it takes to get the Sanctuary back on track, Skulduggery, then that’s what we’ll do.”

“A little drastic, one would think. But I’ll relay the message.”

“Thank you.”

“There’s nothing else? Nothing you can think of to help us? No matter how small or insignificant?”

“There is nothing, Skulduggery. I don’t know why the other Teleporters were killed, and I don’t know how. We are exceptionally hard to kill. The instant we think something’s wrong, we’re gone. Until last month, the only time I can remember a Teleporter being murdered was fifty years ago.”

“Oh?” said Skulduggery, suddenly interested. “And who was that?”

“Trope Kessel. I barely knew the man.”

“Who murdered him?” Valkyrie asked.

“No one knows. He told a colleague he was going to Glendalough, and he was never seen again. They found his blood by the shore of the Upper Lake, but his body was never recovered.”

“Could Kessel’s murder have anything to do with what’s going on now?”

Peregrine frowned. “I don’t see why it should. If someone wanted the Teleporters dead, why wait fifty years between the first murder and the rest?”

“Still,” Skulduggery said, “it might be somewhere to start.”

“You’re the detectives,” Peregrine said with a shrug, “not me.”

“You know Tanith, don’t you?”

“Tanith Low? Yes. Why?”

“If you’re in London and need someone to watch your back, you can trust her. It might be your only chance to catch some sleep.”

“I’ll think about it. Any other advice for me?”

“Stay alive,” Skulduggery said and Peregrine vanished.

y the time they got to Haggard, the lights turning the streets of the small town a hazy shade of orange, it was almost ten. There was nobody walking in the rain, so Valkyrie didn’t have to slump down in her seat. That was the only problem with the Bentley – it wasn’t the type of car that went unnoticed.

Still, at least it wasn’t yellow.

They approached the pier. Six months earlier, Valkyrie had leaped from it, followed by a pack of the Infected – humans on the verge of becoming vampires. She’d led them to their doom, since salt water, if ingested, was fatal to their kind. Their screams of pain and anguish, mixed with rage and then torn from ruined throats, were as fresh in her memory as if it had all happened yesterday.

The Bentley stopped and Valkyrie got out. It was cold, so she didn’t linger. She hurried to the side of her house and let her hands drift through the air. She found the fault lines between the spaces with ease and pushed down sharply. The air rushed around her and she was rising. There was a better way to do it – to use the air to carry, rather than merely propel, but her lessons with Skulduggery hadn’t reached that level yet.

She caught the windowsill and hauled herself up, then opened the window and dropped into her room.

Her reflection looked up from the desk, where it was doing Valkyrie’s homework. “Hello,” it said.

“Anything to report?” Valkyrie asked as she slipped off her coat and began changing out of her black clothes into her regular wear.

“We had a late dinner,” the reflection said. “In school, the French test was postponed because half the class were hiding in the locker area. We got the maths results back – you got a B. Alan and Cathy broke up.”

“Tragic.”

Footsteps approached the door and the reflection dropped to the ground and crawled under the bed.

“Steph?” Valkyrie’s mother called, knocking on the door and stepping in at the same time. She held a basket of laundry under her arm. “That’s funny. I could have sworn that I heard voices.”

“I was kind of talking to myself,” Valkyrie said, smiling with what she hoped was an appropriate level of self-conscious embarrassment.

Her mother put a pile of fresh clothes on the bed. “First sign of madness, you know.”

“Dad talks to himself all the time.”

“Well, that’s only because no one else will listen.”

Her mother left the room. Valkyrie stuck her feet into a pair of battered runners and, leaving the reflection under the bed for the moment, clumped down the stairs to the kitchen. She poured cornflakes into a bowl and opened the fridge, sighing when she realised that the milk carton was empty. Her tummy rumbled as she dumped the carton in the recycle bag.

“Mum,” she called, “we’re out of milk.”

“Damn lazy cows,” her mother muttered as she walked in. “Have you finished your homework?”

Valkyrie remembered the schoolbooks on the desk and her shoulders sagged. “No,” she said grumpily. “But I’m too hungry to do maths. Do we have anything to eat?”

Her mother looked at her. “You had a huge dinner.”

The reflection had had a huge dinner. The only things Valkyrie had eaten all day were some bourbon creams.

“I’m still hungry,” Valkyrie said quietly.

“I think you’re just trying to delay the maths.”

“Do we have any leftovers?”

“Ah, now I know you’re joking. Leftovers, with your father in the house? I have yet to see the day. If you need any help with your homework, just let me know.”

Her mother walked out again and Valkyrie went back to staring at her bowl of cornflakes.

Her father walked in, checked that they weren’t going to be overheard, and crept over. “Steph, I need your help.”

“We have no milk.”

“Damn those lazy cows. Anyway, it’s our wedding anniversary on Saturday, and yes, I should have done all this weeks ago, but I’ve got tomorrow and Friday to get your mother something thoughtful and nice. What should I get?”

“Honestly? I think she’d really appreciate some milk.”

“The milkman always seems to bring her milk,” her dad said bitterly. “How can I compete with that? He drives a milk truck, for God’s sake. A milk truck. So no, I need to buy her something else. What?”

“How about, I don’t know, jewellery? Like, a necklace or something? Or earrings?”

“A necklace is good,” he murmured. “And she does have ears. But I got her jewellery last year. And the year before.”

“Well, what did you get her the year before that?”

He hesitated. “A … a certain type of clothing … I forget. Anyway, clothes are bad because I always get the wrong size, and she gets either insulted or depressed. I could get her a hat, I suppose. She has a normal-sized head, wouldn’t you say? Maybe a nice scarf. Or some gloves.”

Valkyrie nodded. “Nothing says ‘happy anniversary’ more than a good pair of mittens.”

Her dad looked at her. “That was a grumpy joke. You’re grumpy.”

“I’m hungry.”

“You’ve just eaten. How was school, by the way? Anything interesting happen?”

“Alan and Cathy broke up.”

“Are either of them anyone I should care about?”

“Not really.”

“Well, OK then.” He narrowed his eyes. “How about you? Do you have any … romances I should know about?”

“Nope. Not a one.”

“Well, good. Excellent. There’ll be plenty of time for boys when you leave college and become a nun.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you have such ambitious dreams for me.”

“Well, I am the father figure. So, anniversary present?”

“How about a weekend away? Spend your anniversary in Paris or somewhere? You can book it tomorrow, head off on Saturday.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea. That’s a really good idea. You’d have to stay with Beryl though. Are you all right with that?”

The lie came easily. “Sure.”

He kissed her forehead. “You’re the best daughter in the world.”

“Dad?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“You know the way I love you so much?”

“I do.”

“Will you go out and get some more milk?”

“No.”

“But I love you.”

“And I love you. But not enough to get you milk. Have some toast.”

He walked out of the kitchen and Valkyrie sighed in exasperation. She went to put on some toast, but they were out of bread, so she took some hamburger buns and slid them into the toaster. When they popped up, she covered them with freshly microwaved beans and took the plate up to her room, closing the door behind her.

“OK,” she said, putting the plate on her desk, “you can go back in the mirror.”

The reflection slid out from beneath the bed and stood. “There are a few homework questions still to do,” it said.

“I can do them. Are they hard? Never mind. I can do them. Anything else happen today?”

“Gary Price kissed me.”

Valkyrie stared. “What?”

“Gary Price kissed me.”

“What do you mean? Like, kissed you kissed you?”

“Yes.”

Her anger made her want to shout, but Valkyrie kept her voice low. “Why did he do that?”

“He likes you.”

“But I don’t like him!”

“Yes, you do.”

“You shouldn’t have kissed him! You shouldn’t be doing anything like that! The only reason you exist is to go to school and hang around here and pretend to be me!”

“I was pretending to be you.”

“You shouldn’t have kissed him!”

“Why?”

“Because I’m supposed to!”

The reflection looked at her blankly. “You’re upset. Is it because you weren’t around for your first kiss?”

“No,” Valkyrie shot back.

The reflection sighed and Valkyrie looked at it sharply. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You sighed, like you were annoyed.”

“Did I?”

“You did. You’re not supposed to get annoyed. You don’t have any feelings. You’re not a real person.”

“I don’t remember sighing. I’m sorry if I did.”

Valkyrie opened the wardrobe to show the reflection the mirror.

“I’m ready to resume my life,” she said, and the reflection nodded and stepped through. It stood there in the reflected room, waiting patiently.

Valkyrie glared at it for a moment, and then touched the mirror and the memories came at her, flooding her mind, settling alongside her own memories, getting comfortable in her head.

She had been at the lockers, in school, and she’d been talking to … No, the reflection had been talking to … No, it had been her, it had been Valkyrie. She’d been talking to a few of the girls, and Gary had walked up, said something that everyone laughed at, and the girls had walked off, chatting. Valkyrie remembered standing there, alone with Gary, and the way he smiled, and she remembered smiling back, and when he leaned in to kiss her, she had let him.

But that was it. There was the memory of the thing, of the act, but there was no memory of the feeling. There were no butterflies in her stomach, or nerves, or happiness, and she couldn’t remember liking any of it because there was no emotion to accompany it. The reflection was incapable of emotion.

Valkyrie narrowed her eyes. Her first kiss and she hadn’t even been there when it happened.

She left the beans on toasted buns on the desk, her hunger fading, and sorted through the rest of the memories, sifting through to the most recent. She remembered watching herself climb through the window, then she remembered sliding beneath the bed, waiting under there, and then crawling out when she was told.

She remembered telling herself that Gary Price had kissed her, and the argument they’d just had, and then she remembered saying, “You’re upset. Is it because you weren’t around for your first kiss?”, and the sharp “No” that followed. And then a moment, like the lights had dimmed, and then she was saying, “I don’t remember sighing. I’m sorry if I did.”

Valkyrie frowned. Another gap. They were rare, and they never lasted for more than a couple of seconds, but they were definitely there.

It had started when the reflection had been killed in Valkyrie’s place, months earlier. Maybe it had been damaged in a way they hadn’t anticipated. She didn’t want to get rid of it and she didn’t want to replace it. It was more convincing than ever these days. If all Valkyrie had to worry about was a faulty memory, she figured that wasn’t too high a price to pay.

he narrow roads twisted like snakes, and on either side rose the tallest trees Valkyrie had ever seen. Now and then there was a break in the treeline and she could see how far up they were. The mountains were beautiful and the air was crisp. Clear.

They arrived in Glendalough a little before ten. They were here to talk to someone who may have witnessed the murder of the Teleporter fifty years ago. Valkyrie had been complaining about the cold and Skulduggery told her she didn’t have to come along, but there was no way she was going to pass up this opportunity. After all, she’d never even seen a Sea Hag before.

Skulduggery parked the Bentley and they walked the rest of the way. He was wearing a dark blue suit, with a coat he left open and a hat pulled low over his brow. His sunglasses were in place and his scarf was wrapped around the lower half of his skull, obscuring his skeletal features from the hikers and tourists they passed.

Valkyrie, for her part, was once again dressed in the all too snug black clothes that Ghastly had made for her.

They got to the Upper Lake. It was like someone had reached down and scooped out a huge handful of forest, and then the rain had come and filled it with liquid crystal. The lake was massive, stretching back to the far shore, where the mountains rose again.

They walked along the edge, between the water and the trees, until they came to a moss-covered stump. Skulduggery hunkered down and dipped his gloved hand through the hollow at its base, while Valkyrie looked around, making sure they weren’t being watched. But there was no one around. They were safe.

From the tree stump, the skeleton detective withdrew a tiny silver bell, the length of his thumb, then straightened up and rang it.

Valkyrie arched an eyebrow. “Think she heard that?”

“I’m sure she did,” he nodded as he removed the sunglasses and scarf.

“It’s not exactly loud though, is it? I barely heard it and I’m standing right next to you. You’d think the bell to summon a Sea Hag would be big. You’d think it would be the kind of bell that tolls. That was more of a tinkle than a toll.”

“It was rather unimpressive.”

Valkyrie looked at the lake. “No sign of her. She’s probably embarrassed because her bell is so rubbish. What kind of a Sea Hag lives in a lake anyway?”

“I think we’re about to find out,” Skulduggery murmured as the waters churned and a wizened old woman rose from the surface. She was dressed in rags, and had long skinny arms and hair that was indistinguishable from the seaweed that coiled through it. Her nose was hooked and her eyes were hollow, and instead of legs she had what appeared to be a fish’s tail that stayed beneath the water.

She looked, in Valkyrie’s opinion, like a really old, really ugly mermaid.

“Who disturbs me?” the Sea Hag asked in a voice that sounded like someone drowning.

“I do,” Skulduggery said. “My name is Skulduggery Pleasant.”

“That is not your name,” the Sea Hag said.

“It’s the name I’ve taken,” Skulduggery replied. “As my colleague beside me has taken the name Valkyrie Cain.”

The Sea Hag shook her head, almost sadly. “You give power to names,” she said. “Too much of your strength lies in your names. Long ago, I surrendered my name to the Deep. Cast your eyes upon me now and answer truthfully – have you ever seen such happiness as this?”

Valkyrie looked at her, all seaweed, wrinkled skin and dour expression, and decided it best to contribute nothing to this conversation.

When it became clear that no one was going to answer, the Sea Hag spoke again.

“Why have you disturbed me?”

“We seek answers,” Skulduggery said.

“Nothing you do matters,” the Sea Hag told them. “In the end, all things drown and drift away.”

“We’re looking for answers that are a tad more specific. Yesterday, a sorcerer named Cameron Light was killed.”

“On dry land?”

“Yes.”

“That does not interest me.”

“We think the case may be connected to a murder, fifty years ago, that happened right here, by this lake. If the victim told you anything as he died, if you know anything about him or the one who killed him, we need to hear it.”

“You want to know another’s secrets?”

“We need to.”

“The girl has not spoken a word since I appeared,” the Sea Hag said, turning her attention to Valkyrie, “yet she spoke, with scarcely a pause, before that. Have you nothing to say now, girl?”

“Hello,” said Valkyrie.

“Words travel far beneath the waves. Your words about my bell travelled far. You do not like it?”

“Um,” said Valkyrie. “It’s fine. It’s a fine bell.”

“It is as old as I am, and I am far too old for beauty to reach. I was beautiful once. My bell, the sound it makes, is beautiful still.”

“It makes a pretty sound,” Valkyrie agreed. “Even if it is a bit small.”

The Sea Hag swayed on her giant fish tail, or whatever it was, and leaned down until she was an arm’s breadth away from Valkyrie. She smelled of rotting fish.

“Would you like to drown?” she inquired.

“No,” Valkyrie said. “No, thank you.”

The Sea Hag scowled. “What is it you want?”

Skulduggery stepped between them. “The man, fifty years ago?”

The Sea Hag returned to her original position and resumed her swaying. Valkyrie wondered how big the fish part of her actually was. It was more like the body of a snake than a fish. Or a serpent.

“Your questions do not interest me,” the Hag said. “Your search for answers is of no importance. If you seek the knowledge of the dead man, you can ask him yourself.”

The Hag waved her hand, and the remains of a man broke the surface of the lake beside her. This man of rot and bone, his clothes congealed into what was left of his skin and stained the same mud-brown colour, rose so that his feet were the only part of him still hidden beneath the small, choppy waves. His arms dangled loosely by his sides, and his eyes opened and water trickled from his mouth.

“Help me,” he said.

The Sea Hag looked annoyed. “They cannot help you, corpse. They are here to ask you questions.”

“Why do you need our help?” Skulduggery asked.

“I want to go home,” the corpse told him.

“You are home,” the Hag interjected.

The remains of the man shook his head. “I want to be buried. I want to be surrounded by earth. I want to be dry.”

“Tough,” said the Sea Hag.

“If you help us,” Skulduggery told the remains, “we’ll see what we can do. Fair enough?”

The corpse nodded. “I will answer your questions.”

“Are you Trope Kessel, the Teleporter?”

“I am.”

“We are here because four Teleporters have been killed in the past month. There is a possibility, however faint, that those murders are somehow linked to yours. How were you killed?”

“With a knife, in my back.”

Valkyrie raised an eyebrow. The other Teleporters had been killed in exactly the same way. Maybe there was a link after all.

“Who killed you?” she asked.

“He said his name was Batu.”

“Why did he kill you?” Skulduggery pressed.

“I was, I suppose, a scholar,” the dead man said. “Eons ago, the Faceless Ones were driven from this reality, and even though I had no wish to see them return, the mechanics behind their exile, the magic, the theory … It was a puzzle and I became obsessed trying to solve it. I died because of my curiosity and my blind trust. I believed people were, by nature, good and decent and worthy. Batu, it transpired, was none of those things. He killed me because I knew how to find the thing he desired, and once I had told him, he had to protect his secret.”

“What did he desire?”

“The gate,” the corpse said. “The gate that will open and allow the Faceless Ones to return.”

There was a moment where nothing was said. Valkyrie realised she had taken a breath and had yet to release it. She made herself breathe again.

“Such a gate exists?” Skulduggery asked. He spoke slowly, cautiously, as if the answers were a dog he didn’t want to disturb. He actually sounded worried.

“It does, but I merely worked out how to find it – I never had the chance to put that theory into practice. The wall between our realities has weakened over time. Their darkness and their evil have bled through. A powerful enough Sensitive should be able to trace the lines of energy in our world to their weakest point. It is here that the gate will open.”

“So why haven’t the Faceless Ones come through already?” Valkyrie asked.

“Two things are needed,” the corpse told them. “The first is an Isthmus Anchor, an object bound by an invisible thread travelling from this reality into the next. This thread is what keeps the gate from closing forever. But the Anchor is useless without someone to force the gate open, and only a Teleporter can do this.”

Valkyrie frowned. “But all the Teleporters are being killed.”

Skulduggery looked at her. “So what does that suggest?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense. Unless … I don’t know, unless the killer doesn’t want the Faceless Ones to return, so he’s killing all the Teleporters to make sure they never open the gate.”

“Which would mean?”

“It’d mean that maybe he’s not a bad guy at all – maybe he’s just a really twisted good guy.”

Skulduggery was quiet and then nodded to the corpse. “Thank you. You have done the world a great service.”

“And you will help me now?”

“Indeed we will.”

The Sea Hag laughed. “You will never leave this lake, corpse.”

Skulduggery looked at her. “What do you want in exchange for him?”

The Hag curled a lip. “I want nothing. He belongs to me. This lake is the place of his death. Its waters have already claimed him.”

“There must be something you want, something we can give you in exchange.”

“I want nothing you can offer. I am a Maiden of the Water. I am above temptation.”

“You’re not a Maiden of the Water,” Valkyrie said. “You’re a Sea Hag.”

The Hag’s eyes narrowed. “When I was younger, I was a Maiden of the—”

“Don’t care,” Valkyrie interrupted. “You may have been beautiful once, but now you’re an ugly old fish-woman.”

“Do not raise my ire, girl.”

“I have no intention of even touching your ire, but we’re not leaving without the dead man. So hand him over or things are going to go bad for you.”

“It seems you do want to drown after all,” the Hag snarled, and lunged, and in an eye blink her bony hands were gripping Valkyrie’s shoulders. She reared back and Valkyrie was lifted off the ground, high into the air and tossed, like a rag doll. She hit the water hard and went under. She twisted and through the bubbles, she saw the Sea Hag’s long serpent-like body tapering off into a tail. And then the body coiled and the Hag was beside her, eyes wide and triumphant, grabbing her again and holding her under.

Valkyrie tried to punch, but her fist moved way too slowly underwater. The Hag laughed, the lake filling her mouth, running down her throat, and for the first time Valkyrie saw the lines of gills on either side of her neck.

Valkyrie’s lungs were already burning. She hadn’t had time to take a breath. She went for the Hag’s eyes, tried to jab at them, but those bony fingers closed over her wrists. The Hag was too strong for her.

And then something moved towards them, and Valkyrie saw Skulduggery, shooting through the water like a torpedo. He was right up beside them before the Hag even realised he was close.

The Hag tried clawing at him, but Skulduggery took hold of Valkyrie’s wrist, the wrist that the Hag had released, and Valkyrie was yanked free.

She clutched Skulduggery tight, feeling the water part in front and boost them from behind. The Hag was after them, her body undulating as she gave chase, her face furious. She drew close and reached out, but Skulduggery veered, taking them into the murky depths of the lake, and then they rolled, changing course, heading back, passing right by the Hag, who screamed her rage in escaping bubbles.

The lake bed was close as they passed over it and getting closer. Valkyrie could have reached out and touched the pebbles and the rocks and the silt and the sand.

And then Skulduggery kicked upwards and they burst free of the water, rising high through the air and falling now, falling to the treeline. Then there was a screech, and the Sea Hag erupted from the churning waves behind them and grabbed Skulduggery, her thin arms encircling his waist, pulling him back under.

Valkyrie dropped, grabbing for a tree branch. She couldn’t hold on. She hit the ground and grunted, barely aware that her hands were cut and bleeding, lacerated by splinters.

She groaned and moved her head slightly to look back at the water. She couldn’t see Skulduggery or the Hag, and the ripples were already spreading out and dying, as if the lake was trying to hide what was going on beneath its surface. Valkyrie rolled over, her dark hair hanging in front of her face, and got up slowly, grimacing when she saw her hands.

The corpse was still standing in the water where they had left him, probably waiting for the Hag to come back and reclaim what she saw as hers. Valkyrie started moving. The corpse had helped them and they’d promised to return the favour.

She ran along the edge of the lake, slipping every now and then, coming too close to the water for her liking. Even so, the Hag didn’t jump out at her, didn’t snatch her as she passed. Skulduggery was probably kicking the hell out of her. At least, she hoped he was.

She got back to the corpse, breathing hard, holding her hands away from her body because they were starting to sting.

“Hey,” she said. “Come on out of there.”

He shook his head. “I can’t move on my own. I’ve spent the last fifty years at the bottom of this lake. I don’t think I can even remember how to move.”

“In that case,” Valkyrie said, “I’ll come and get you.”

“Thank you,” said the corpse.

Valkyrie stepped into the lake. The waters here were calm. No sign of the Sea Hag – which meant that Skulduggery was either keeping her busy or she was lying in wait for Valkyrie to step within easy reach. Valkyrie walked in up to her knees, then her thighs, and when she was waist-deep, she thrust herself forward and swam.

So far, so good. So far, no hands grabbing her and pulling her under.

She reached the corpse and looked up at him. “How do I get you down?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” he replied.

She took a breath and plunged her head underwater. He wasn’t standing on anything. It was as if the lake itself was keeping him upright.

She surfaced, reached out to try and pull him down, but the moment she touched his skin the lake stopped holding him and he splashed down.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s OK,” Valkyrie responded, hooking her hand under his chin. She fought the urge to shiver as her hand closed over his ice-cold, mottled flesh, and she swam back to land, taking him with her. Her feet touched the bottom. She held him under the arms and started dragging him out.

“Thank you for doing this,” he said.

“We owe you.”

“It was horrible, in that lake.”

“We’ll find you a nice dry grave, don’t you worry.” He managed to twist his head and look back at her. “If the Faceless Ones return, the world will end. Please promise me you’ll stop them.”

She gave him a smile. “Stopping the bad guys is what we do.”

The moment his feet left the water, his head lolled forward and he stopped talking. He was just a corpse once again.

Valkyrie kept dragging him until they were well clear of the lake and then, very carefully, she laid him down.

She was drenched, she was freezing, her hands were cut and stinging, she had muck and dead flesh under her fingernails and she needed to wash her hair as soon as humanly possible.

Something was happening in the middle of the lake. She looked closer, saw a ripple, moving fast, something breaking the surface. Skulduggery rose up out of the water until he was standing. He skimmed across the lake, hands in his pockets, like he was waiting for a bus.

He slowed as he neared and then stepped on to land.

“Well,” he said, “that takes care of that.” He waved a hand and the water lifted from his clothes, leaving him dry.

“You still haven’t taught me how to do that,” Valkyrie scowled.

Skulduggery picked his hat off the ground and brushed off the dirt. “You’re the one insisting that lessons on fire and air manipulation are more important than lessons on water. You can’t really blame me for how much you resemble a drowned rat, now can you?”

“I’m sure I could manage it,” she said grumpily. “How’s the Hag?”

He shrugged. “Regretting her life choices, I imagine. I see you’ve rescued the corpse.”

“Yes. He’s dead.”

“Corpses usually are.”

“I mean he’s not talking any more.”

“Then there is nothing left to do except honour his wishes. >We’ll carry him to the car, trying very hard not to be seen by any passers-by, and take him with us back to Dublin.”

She nodded. Bit her lip.

“What?” Skulduggery asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, I don’t mean to sound disrespectful or anything, but it might be weird, being in a car with the remains of a dead man …”

“You do realise that I’m the remains of a dead man too, don’t you?”

“I know, yeah, but … you don’t smell.”

“You make an excellent point. Don’t worry, we’ll put him in the boot. Now then, do you want to take his arms or his legs?”

“Legs.”

Skulduggery picked the corpse up, hands under the armpits. Valkyrie took a hold of the corpse’s ankles and lifted, and the right leg fell off.

“You can carry that,” said Skulduggery.

he Bentley parked near the tenement building where China Sorrows kept her library. Skulduggery had insisted, as part of her ongoing training, that Valkyrie dry herself, and although she had done her best to lift off the lake water, she hadn’t quite managed to get all of it. Patches of her clothes were still slightly damp and her hair stank.

“I’m a mess,” she grumbled as she got out of the car. “I hate seeing China when I’m a mess. She’s always so immaculate. How does my hair look?”

Skulduggery activated the car alarm. “You have a twig in it.”

Valkyrie yanked the twig out and scowled in pain. She glanced at the car boot as they walked. “Where are you going to bury the body?”

“I know a place.”

“You know a place? Do you bury lots of bodies there?”

“A few.”

“That’s kind of creepy. What about the guy who killed him? Batu? Have you ever heard of him?”

“Never.”

“Maybe the Teleporter murders have nothing to do with Trope Kessel’s murder.”

“And the fact that they’ve all been killed the same way?”

“Could be coincidence.”

“So you’re not worried then? You’re not concerned about the threat of the Faceless Ones coming back?”

She pursed her lips.

“Valkyrie?”

She sighed. “I just wish you didn’t have to be right all the time.”

“It is a burden. But the question becomes, why was there a fifty-year gap between the first murder and the other four? What has our Mr Batu been doing for those intervening years?”

“Maybe he was in prison.”

“You’re thinking more like a detective every day, do you know that? There are some people who owe me favours – I should be able to get a list of recently released felons.”

She sighed. “This would be a lot easier if we were still with the Sanctuary.”

As they were walking into the tenement building, they bumped into Savian Eck, a sorcerer Valkyrie had met only twice before. He was carrying a large book under his arm. It was bound in leather and looked old. He held it tightly against his side and nodded distractedly.

“Afternoon, Skulduggery. Valkyrie.”

All three of them climbed the stairs.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” Skulduggery asked.

“A book. A book for, for China. She wants it. She said she’d buy it off me.”

“Is it expensive?”

Eck’s laugh was as sudden as it was desperate. “Oh, yes. Oh … oh, yes. Quite rare, this one is. Priceless, I’d say.”

“And what is the going price for a priceless book these days?”

“A lot,” Eck said decisively. “I’m not going to be a pushover, you know? You see these other people and the moment they see her, they forget about money, or a fair deal, and all they want to do is make her happy. Well, not me. I’m a businessman, Skulduggery. This is business.”

By the time they reached the third floor, Eck’s teeth were chattering. Skulduggery knocked on the door marked library, and the thin man opened it and beckoned them inside. Eck’s legs gave out a little, but he managed to stay upright, and they followed him through the labyrinth of bookcases until they came to the desk.

China Sorrows, hair as black as sin and eyes as blue as sky, saw them coming, rose from her chair and the most beautiful woman in the world smiled.

Savian Eck fell to his knees, held the book out before him, and whimpered, “I adore you.”

Skulduggery shook his head and left Valkyrie’s side to peruse the bookshelves.

“Savian,” China said, “you’re so sweet.” The thin man took the leatherbound book from Eck’s trembling hands and placed it on the desk.

“Now, about payment …”

Eck nodded quickly. “Yes. Payment, yes.”

“How are you, by the way? You’re looking well. Have you been exercising?”

He smiled weakly. “I like to jog.”

“It definitely shows,” China said, eyes narrowing appreciatively.

Eck whimpered again.

“I’m sorry,” China said, giving a light laugh and appearing flustered. “You have a tendency to distract me. Back to business, if I can keep my mind on the job for more than three seconds. We were talking about payment.”

“You can have it,” Eck said in a strangled voice.

“I’m sorry?”

Eck rose off his knees. “I give it to you, China. It’s my gift. There’s no payment necessary.”

“Savian, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Please, China. Accept it. Accept it as a token of my, of my …”

Valkyrie was impressed by how large and hopeful China could make her eyes.

“Yes, Savian?”

“… my love, China.”

China pressed a delicate finger to her lips, like she was struggling to hold back a torrent of passion. “Thank you, Savian.”

Eck bowed, swayed slightly and turned. Judging by his smile, he was outrageously, deliriously pleased, and he hurried back the way they’d come. The thin man followed along behind to make sure he didn’t stumble into anything.

“That,” Valkyrie said, “was disgraceful.”

China shrugged, resumed her seat and opened the book. “I do what I must to get the things that I want.” She used a magnifying glass to examine the pages more closely. “You look like you’ve been swimming, Valkyrie,” she said, without raising her head. “And what happened to your hands? All those little cuts look sore.”

“I, uh, I hit a tree.”

“Well, I’m sure it had it coming.”

Desperate to steer the conversation away from her appearance, Valkyrie asked, “What’s the book?”

“It’s a spell book, written by the Mad Sorcerer, over a thousand years ago.”

“Why was he called the Mad Sorcerer?”

“Because he was mad.”

“Oh.”

China straightened up and pursed her lips. “This book’s a forgery. I’d say it’s at least 500 years old, but it’s still a forgery.”

Valkyrie shrugged. “Good thing you didn’t pay for it then, or you’d have to get your money back.”

China closed the book and examined the cover. “I’m not sure I’d want to. The Mad Sorcerer, as well as being quite mad, was also a second-rate sorcerer. The majority of the spells in his spell book did absolutely nothing at all. But this forger, whoever he was, corrected every mistake as he went along. I dare say this is the most important academic discovery of the last fifteen years.”

“Wow.”

“And it’s mine,” China said with a contented smile.

Skulduggery came back, carefully turning the pages of a book that had seen better days. “We need your help,” he said.

China made a face. “Small talk’s over already? Well that’s no fun. We didn’t even get to trade barbs. Oh, how I miss the old days. Don’t you, Valkyrie?”

“They had their moments.”

“They did, didn’t they? It was all ‘Sanctuary business’ this, ‘saving the world’ that, but now what is it? Now you’re on the outside, looking in at a few measly murders. Is this really a case that is worthy of the magnificent Skulduggery Pleasant?”

“Murder’s murder,” Skulduggery said, not looking up from the book.

“Oh, I suppose you’re right. So tell me, how is Guild’s man handling the Irish end of the investigation?”

“You mean you don’t know?” Valkyrie asked, genuinely puzzled. She’d learned by now that every good detective makes full use of information brokers, and China was by far the best in her field.

China smiled. “Do you really think that Remus Crux would associate with me, a person of my dubious history? Remember, dear Valkyrie, I once consorted with the enemy. I once was the enemy. Crux is a limited man of limited imagination. He has his rules, as set down by Thurid Guild, and he follows them. People who follow rules do not come to me. Which explains why I speak to both of you with such regularity.”

“We rogues have to stick together,” Skulduggery said absently.

“That kind of defeats the purpose of being a rogue though, doesn’t it?”

“Isthmus Anchor,” Skulduggery said, reading aloud from the book. “An object belonging to one reality, residing in another. Animate or inanimate. Magical or otherwise. Casts an Isthmus Stream, linking realities through dimensional portals.” He closed the book and his head tilted thoughtfully.

“So?” Valkyrie asked.

“So we have to figure out what form this Anchor takes, and find it before the enemy does. Let me muse on it awhile. China, we need to find someone. An English boy – Fletcher Renn.”

“I’ve never heard of him. Is he a mage?”

“Natural-born Teleporter.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I see. In that case, I may have heard of him after all. Three reports of a ‘ghost boy’ in three different nightclubs in County Meath. The nightclub staff either refused him entry or refused to serve him, and he grew petulant, stormed off and vanished into, as they say, thin air. Because his vanishings were only witnessed by the intoxicated, the inebriated, and the stupid, the authorities aren’t exactly taking it seriously.”

“Where in Meath?” Skulduggery asked.

China motioned to the thin man, who was standing so still that Valkyrie had forgotten all about him. The thin man disappeared for a moment, then came back with a map and spread it over China’s desk.

“Here, here and here,” China said, her manicured fingernail tapping lightly on the map.

Skulduggery took a pencil from the desk and drew a circle around the three points. “If what Peregrine says is true, and Mr Renn can only teleport a few miles at a time, then that would put him somewhere in this area.”

“That’s a lot of buildings to search,” China noted.

Skulduggery tapped the pencil against his skull. It made a pleasing hollow sound. “A seventeen-year-old boy with the power to appear anywhere. If he needs money, he appears in a bank vault. If he needs clothes, a clothes shop. Food, a supermarket. He’s not going to be just anywhere. He’s starting to see himself as better than everybody else. He’ll only stay in the best places. The best hotels.” The pencil made an X on the map, within the circle.

“The Grandeur Hotel,” China commented. “Very likely the only hotel in the area with a games console in every room.”

“That’s where he is,” Skulduggery said, wrapping his scarf around his jaw. “That’s where we’ll find him.”

he hotel lobby was wide, with a small row of plants against one wall and a delicate waterfall feature against the other. Two huge marble pillars rose from floor to ceiling, and Skulduggery used one of these pillars to shield himself from the smiling receptionist. He had only his hat and the scarf wrapped around his jaw as a disguise. He casually strolled to the elevators, Valkyrie behind him. She kept her hands, which she had bandaged, in her pockets, and returned the receptionist’s smile until they were both out of sight.

The elevator doors slid open and an elderly couple stepped out. The woman looked curiously at Skulduggery as they passed. Valkyrie joined him in the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor, Fletcher Renn’s most likely location. As they started to rise, Skulduggery checked his gun.

From the elevator they walked down a long corridor. They turned a corner and almost bumped into the man coming the other way. He had blond hair and was wearing sunglasses. There was a moment of stunned silence.

“Oh,” Billy-Ray Sanguine said, “hell.”

He stepped back as his hand darted for his pocket, but Skulduggery slammed into him and the straight razor flew from Sanguine’s grasp.

Skulduggery’s elbow cracked against his jaw and Sanguine stumbled, hand reaching for the wall. Upon contact, the wall started to crumble and Sanguine began passing through, but Skulduggery grabbed him and hauled him out again.

Valkyrie heard a door open and turned to see a good-looking boy who loved his hair staring at them from the doorway of his room.

She lunged at him, pushing him into the room, and slammed the door behind them. The room was luxurious, with a couch and armchairs, a huge TV and a gigantic bed, none of which mattered in the slightest right now.

“You’re Fletcher Renn,” she said. “You’re in great danger.”

Fletcher Renn looked at her. “What?”

“There are some people who want to kill you. We’re here to help you.”

“What are you talking about?”

He had an English accent, not too dissimilar to Tanith Low’s. He was better-looking than she’d imagined and China had been right about his hair. It was spiky and carefully, meticulously untamed.

“My name’s Valkyrie Cain.”

“Valerie?”

“Valkyrie. I know all about you and what you can do, and you’re going to need to teleport right now.”

His eyes flickered to something behind her. She turned to see a million little cracks appear in the plaster on the wall. Sanguine passed through into the room, his lip bleeding and his sunglasses missing.

Fletcher saw the black holes where Sanguine’s eyes used to be and swore under his breath.

Valkyrie ripped the bandage off her right hand and clicked her fingers, felt the spark generated by the friction and fed it her magic. The spark ignited into flame and grew, swirling in her palm. She hurled the fireball and Sanguine threw himself to one side, barely avoiding it.

The blade of his straight razor gleamed wickedly. Valkyrie took one step forward and extended her arm, hand open. She sank into the stance, knees bending slightly, as she snapped her palm against the air and the space in front of her rippled. Sanguine dived to one side and the displaced air hit the couch where he had just been standing and sent it crashing against the wall.

Sanguine threw a lamp at Valkyrie and the base struck her cheek. She stumbled and he moved straight towards her. Even as she was ducking the swipe of the razor, she knew it had been a feint, and he grabbed her and hauled her back as the hotel room door was kicked open and Skulduggery stormed in. His hat and scarf were gone, and Fletcher gaped as he caught his first real glimpse of the skeleton detective.

“Let her go,” Skulduggery said, the revolver in his hand, ready to fire.

“But then you might shoot me,” Sanguine said. “An’ getting’ shot hurts. Drop the gun, gimme the kid with the freaky hair-do or I kill the girl.”

“No.”

“Then I reckon we got ourselves a good old-fashioned stand-off.”

The blade of the straight razor pressed deeper into Valkyrie’s throat and she didn’t even dare swallow. Her cheek throbbed with pain and she felt a trickle of blood run down her face where the lamp had struck her.

Nobody moved, or said anything, for the next few moments.

“Old-fashioned stand-offs are mighty borin’,” Sanguine muttered.

Fletcher was staring at Skulduggery. “You’re a skeleton.”

“Get behind me,” Skulduggery said.

“What’s going on? There’s a guy with no eyes and a razor versus a skeleton in a suit with a gun. Who’s the good guy here?”

Valkyrie clicked her fingers, but had to do it softly or else Sanguine would hear. She tried again, but still couldn’t summon a spark.

“Fletcher,” Sanguine said, “unlike these two, I came here to make you an offer. My employers are very generous people and they’d like to pay you a lot of money to do one little job for them.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Skulduggery warned.

“Why would I need money?” Fletcher asked. “I teleport wherever I want to go and I take whatever I need. I don’t have to pay for anything.”

“There are other rewards,” Sanguine tried. “We can work something out.”

Fletcher shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what any of you want, or why guns and knives are being waved around, and why the girl has just been taken hostage, but everyone seems to be acting like having a talking skeleton in the room is perfectly normal. And you, where are your eyes? How can you see? How come the only people with eyes in this room are me and her?”

“Very good questions,” Sanguine nodded. “If you come with me right now, I’ll give you all the answers you want.”

“This man’s a killer,” said Skulduggery. “You can’t trust anything he says.”

“I’m not planning on it,” Fletcher replied, and he picked up his jacket and put it on. “I don’t care why you or your bosses want me to work for you,” he said to Sanguine. “The fact is, nobody tells me what to do any more. I’m going to go ahead and say no.”

“That’s a mistake, boy.”

“Come with us,” Skulduggery said. “We can protect you.”

“Don’t need protection,” Fletcher shrugged. “Don’t need anything from anyone. I’ve got this really cool power and I intend to use it to do whatever I want.”

“You’re in danger,” Skulduggery insisted. “Most of the other Teleporters in the world are dead.”

Fletcher frowned. “So I’m one of the last?” He took a moment to absorb this information, and when he shrugged, it was with the beginnings of a smile. “Then that just makes me even cooler.”

He vanished with a soft pop, as the air around him rushed in to fill the sudden vacuum.

“Damn it all to hell,” Sanguine muttered.

Valkyrie clicked her fingers and summoned a single flame into her palm, then pressed it into Sanguine’s leg. He yelped and his hold loosened. She grabbed his right wrist and held the straight razor away from her as Skulduggery moved in. Sanguine cursed and pushed Valkyrie into Skulduggery’s path.

“I really hate you guys,” he said, sinking down into the ground.

They waited for a few moments, making sure he wasn’t going to jump out at them from somewhere.

“Are you all right?” Skulduggery asked as he crossed to Valkyrie and tilted her chin to one side. “Did he cut you?”

“Not with his razor,” Valkyrie said, reclaiming her chin. She knew she’d been lucky. Scars left from that blade never healed. “We lost Fletcher. He’s probably miles away by now. After this, how are we ever going to find him again?”

There was a sound from the bathroom and they both looked at the closed door. Skulduggery walked over and knocked. A few seconds later it opened, and Fletcher Renn looked out at them sheepishly.

“Oh,” Valkyrie said. “Well, that was easy.”

Valkyrie sat opposite Fletcher, neither of them saying anything. He had adopted an air of complete boredom on the drive over, and this obvious attempt at nonchalance was starting to bug her. She dabbed a wadded clump of napkins to her cut cheek, making sure the bleeding had stopped. Her hands still stung from the dozen splinters that had lacerated them.

The diner they’d come to was a tacky attempt at 1950s America – blue and pink, miniature jukebox on every table and a neon Elvis jerking his hips from left to right on the wall. It was a little past three on a Thursday afternoon and there were more than a few curious glances at the tall, thin man with the scarf, sunglasses and hat, who joined them at the table. Skulduggery waved away the waiter even before he approached.

“The man with the razor was Billy-Ray Sanguine,” he said. “We believe that he is either working with or working for a man named Batu. Have you ever heard this name?”

Fletcher shook his head lazily.

“In the last month, there have been four murders – all Teleporters like you. Now there are only two of you left.”

“But that guy wasn’t after me to kill me. He said he wanted my help.”

“And I can assure you that if you did help him, you’d be dead soon after.”

“He’d try to kill me,” Fletcher said with another one of his shrugs, “but I’d just teleport a hundred miles away.”

“If that were true,” Skulduggery said, “then why did you only teleport as far as the bathroom?”

Fletcher hesitated. “Sometimes, like, I have to be calm to teleport more than a few metres …” He brushed his hand through his hair, like he was checking that it was still ridiculous. Valkyrie could have saved him the effort. “Anyway, you’re wasting my time here, all right? So let’s get this over with.”

Skulduggery tilted his head. “Excuse me?”

“You want to give me the talk, don’t you? Just like those old guys?”

“What old guys?”

“Two old guys came up to me a few months back, and they were all, ‘you’re one of us, you have power and blah, you can now join this magical community and something else about wonder and awe,’ I don’t know, I wasn’t really listening. They were trying to recruit me into this little world within a world that you guys have and they were none too happy when I told them I wasn’t interested. And I’m still not interested.”

“Did they tell you their names?”

“One of them was, I think, Light something.”

“Cameron Light.”

“That was it, yeah. He dead too?”

“Yes, he is.”

“That’s a shame. I’m sure somebody, somewhere, cares.”

“Did they say anything else?”

“They said that without the proper training I could be dangerous. Said I could attract the wrong kind of attention.”

“We usually try not to attract any kind of attention,” Valkyrie said, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

Fletcher looked at her. “Is that what we try?”

“Fletcher,” Skulduggery said, and once again Fletcher’s eyes flickered to him. “I’m sure that the idea that known killers are after you is one that, at the very least, is causing you some worry.”

“Do I look worried?”

“No, but neither do you look intelligent, so I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

Fletcher glared at him, and sat back and said nothing.

“If Batu is behind these murders,” Skulduggery continued, “then he wants to use your powers to open a gateway that will enable the Faceless Ones to return. Do you know about the Faceless Ones?”

For a moment, Valkyrie thought Fletcher might be too sullen to respond, but eventually he nodded. “The old guys told me about them. But that’s just a story, right? None of that stuff ’s real.”

“I used to think the same way,” Skulduggery said. “But my mind has been changed.”

“So if these Faceless Ones come back, the world ends?”

“It probably won’t end immediately. They’ll come back, inhabit indestructible human bodies, tear down the cities and the towns, burn the countryside, kill billions, enslave billions more, work them until they die, and then the world will end. Are you OK, Fletcher? You’re suddenly looking very pale.”

“I’m fine,” Fletcher mumbled.

Skulduggery went quiet for a moment, thinking it all through. “But if Batu needs a Teleporter to make this all happen, why didn’t he go for someone with experience? You don’t even have any formal training. You may be a natural, as I’ve heard, but compared to Cameron Light, your powers are practically nothing.”

“If Cameron Light’s so bloody good,” Fletcher said with a sneer on his lips, “how come he’s so bloody dead?”

There was nothing Valkyrie wanted more in the world than to reach across that table and smack Fletcher Renn. Skulduggery, for his part, remained as impassive as ever.

“Even though this will go against your instincts,” he said, “for your own safety I think you should be put in protective custody.”

Fletcher’s grin was back. “Ground me, you mean? Not a chance, skeleton-man.”

Valkyrie scowled. “He has a name.”

“Oh, yeah, Skulduggery, right? Skulduggery. That’s an unusual one. Were you born a skeleton or were your folks just disturbingly hopeful?”

“Skulduggery is my taken name,” Skulduggery said evenly.

“That’s the advantage of being in this little ‘world within a world’ of ours,” Valkyrie added. “You’re told a few of the rules, a few tricks you’ll need to survive.”

Fletcher’s shoulders made a slight movement, like they were too lazy to give another shrug so soon after the last one. “I’m doing OK.”

“So far. But how do you feel about being someone’s puppet? Because if you don’t take on a name of your own, any sorcerer who can be bothered might decide he wants a new pet.”

“Aha. So Valkyrie Cain isn’t your real name, that right?”

“That’s right. It’s the name I took, the name that stops anyone from controlling me.”

“Well I changed my name when I ran away from home, so I guess I’m safe too, right?”

He was enjoying this. That made her dislike him even more.

“Are we done?” he asked. “I’ve got places to go and people to see.”

“They’re not going to stop,” Skulduggery said. “No matter where you go, they will find you. And if they find you, they will force you to help them.”

“No one forces me to—”

“I’ve not finished talking yet,” Skulduggery interrupted.

Fletcher sighed and raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“As I was saying, if they find you, they will force you to help them. And if you help them, Fletcher, then you’re on their side.”

Fletcher frowned. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning you won’t have to worry about them. You’ll have to worry about us.”

Fletcher grew even paler than before. Skulduggery, Valkyrie reflected, could be a very scary person when he wanted to.

“You don’t want me as an enemy, Fletcher. You want to be my friend. You want to do as I say, and for your own good, you want to enter into protective custody. Am I right?”

For a moment, Valkyrie thought Fletcher was going to defy him again, just for the sake of it, but then his eyes softened and he nodded. “Yeah, OK.”

“Excellent news. And I have the perfect place for you to stay.”

here’s Gallow?” Billy-Ray Sanguine asked the empty room.

“Elsewhere,” said the voice, distorted over the tinny old speaker that hung in the corner. “They are all elsewhere.”

The walls were cold stone. There was one door, no window and a mirror. Sanguine was fairly certain there was a camera behind the mirror, watching him.

“So who are you?” he asked.

“I’m nobody,” the voice said.

Sanguine smiled. “You’re Batu, ain’t you? You’re the one they keep talkin’ about.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah, you are. You’re the big boss. So how come you ain’t here in person? I been workin’ for you for over a year now. Ain’t it time we met, face to face?”

“I value my privacy.”

Sanguine shrugged. “I get that.”

“You failed me, Mr Sanguine. I paid you to do a job and you failed me.”

“You said nothin’ about the skeleton detective and the girl gettin’ involved. That’s what we call extenuatin’ circumstances. If I’d have known they’d be there, I could have prepared. Or at least charged double.”

“You will have a chance to redeem yourself.”

“Yippee,” Sanguine said, without enthusiasm.

“I’m going to need you to steal something for me, as soon as Gruesome Krav returns. There is a very good chance you will encounter opposition.”

“So you’ll double my rate?”

“Naturally.”

“Yippee,” Sanguine said and this time he smiled.

he Hibernian Cinema was as quiet and dark as ever, the sound of laughter and applause long since faded. Skulduggery went first, down the aisle between the red-covered seats. Fletcher made comments as they walked, comments that neither Valkyrie nor Skulduggery responded to. As they approached the small stage, the heavy curtains parted and the screen lit up. Valkyrie allowed herself an inner smile when they moved to the projected image, an open doorway, and passed through, and Fletcher was finally impressed enough to shut up.

The darkness was replaced by the bright lights of the corridors that snaked between the laboratories, and the smell of disinfectant replaced the mustiness. Clarabelle, one of Professor Kenspeckle Grouse’s new assistants, drifted by them dreamily, humming to herself. She wasn’t, in Valkyrie’s opinion, all there.

They walked into a circular room with a high ceiling. There were spotlights on the wall, casting a hazy glow on to a statue of a man on his knees, one hand touching the ground. His bald head was ridged with scars and the expression on his face was one of resignation.

Ghastly Bespoke had used the final Elemental power – the earth power – to save himself while he held off the White Cleaver. Valkyrie still had dreams about that moment, looking back in time to see the concrete of the floor latch on to Ghastly’s body and spread, even as the White Cleaver swung his scythe. Tanith Low had thrown her into the back of the Bentley and they had escaped, but Ghastly had been left as a statue, and no one knew how long the effect would last.

Professor Kenspeckle Grouse stood behind the statue, hands glowing as he passed them over its surface. His eyes were closed, his white eyebrows furrowed in concentration. For two years now, Kenspeckle had worked to return Ghastly to a flesh and blood state. He had used all kinds of science-magic, brought in every sort of expert, tried everything he could think of and then went even further, with no success.

“Who’s the old guy?” Fletcher asked loudly. Kenspeckle scowled and looked up.

Valkyrie smiled and waved. Kenspeckle left the statue and came over.

“Valkyrie. You’re injured again.”

“A few little cuts; nothing to worry about.”

“I’m the medical genius, Valkyrie. I think I’ll make up my own mind about that.” He examined the cut on her face and then her hands. “Who’s the annoying boy?”

“I’m not—” Fletcher began.

“This is Fletcher Renn,” Skulduggery interrupted. “I was hoping he could stay here for a few days.”

“And why would you imagine that I would agree to that?” Kenspeckle growled.

“He needs to be kept somewhere safe, with someone responsible.”

“You want me to stay here?” Fletcher asked, clearly appalled.

“Shut up,” Kenspeckle said, his eyes never leaving Valkyrie’s cut. “Are you trying to bring trouble to my door, Detective?”

“No, I am not, Professor.”

“Because the last time you brought trouble to my door, people died.”

He looked at Skulduggery and Skulduggery looked at him.

“It’s not safe for him out there. He’s untrained, doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s basically an idiot. I need to know he’s somewhere safe. I need him kept out of harm’s way. You’re the only one I can trust to do that.”

“And this has to do with the Teleporter murders that everyone is talking about?”

“Yes.”

Kenspeckle turned back to Valkyrie. “Come with me to the Infirmary.”

He walked out without glancing at Skulduggery and she followed. When they got to the Infirmary, he told Valkyrie to hop up on the bed, then dabbed at her hands and cheek with a sweet-smelling cloth.

“It seems like every second day you come here,” he said, “mortally wounded, bones broken, bleeding to death, hanging on by a thread, and you expect me to perform some amazingly astounding miracle cure.”

“These are mortal wounds?” she asked sceptically.

“Don’t be cheeky.”

“Sorry.”

He shrugged, then shuffled off to the small table beside the bed. The medical department in Kenspeckle’s science-magic facility was small, but perfectly formed, and usually quiet – except for the times when one of Kenspeckle’s experiments went impressively wrong, or when old gods awoke in the Morgue. But nothing like that had happened in months.

“Do you know the problem with people your age, Valkyrie?”

“We’re too pretty?” she answered hopefully.

“You think you’ll live forever. You rush into situations without considering the consequences. You’re thirteen …”

“Just gone fourteen.”

“… and how do you spend your days?”

He came back to the bedside and started dabbing ointment on the cuts on her hands.

“Well, usually we’re on a case, so we’re tracking down suspects, or we’re doing research, or I’m training, or Skulduggery’s teaching me magic, or, you know …”

“And how, pray tell, do other just gone fourteen-year-old girls spend their days?”

Valkyrie hesitated. “Pretty much the same as me?”

“Amazingly, no.”

“Ah.”

“Once you become an adult, you can endanger yourself as much as you want and I promise I will not admonish you, but I’d hate to see you miss out on all the things normal teenagers do. You’re only young once, Valkyrie.”

“Yeah, but it goes on for ages.”

Kenspeckle shook his head and sighed again. He took a black needle and started to stitch the cut on her face. The needle went through her flesh without drawing blood, and instead of pain, she felt warmth.

“Has there been any progress?” she asked. “With Ghastly?”

“I’m afraid not,” he sighed. “I have come to the conclusion that there is nothing I can do. He will emerge from his current state when he emerges, and there is nothing anyone can do to speed up the process.”

“I miss him,” said Valkyrie. “Skulduggery misses him too, although he’d never say it. I think Ghastly was his only friend.”

“But now he has you, yes?”

She laughed. “I suppose so, yes.”

“And apart from him, do you have friends of your own?”

“What? Of course I do.”

“Name three.”

“No problem. There’s Tanith Low …”

“Who joins you on investigations, trains you in combat and is over eighty years old.”

“Well, yeah, but she looks, like, twenty-two. And she acts like a four-year-old.”

“That’s one friend. Name two more.”

Valkyrie opened her mouth, but no names came out. Kenspeckle finished the stitching.

“I can afford to have no friends,” he told her. “I am old, and cranky, and I have long ago decided that people are an annoyance I can do without. But you? You need friends and you need normality.”

“I like my life the way it is.”

Kenspeckle shrugged. “I don’t expect you to take my advice. Another problem with young people like you, Valkyrie, is that you think you know everything. Whereas I am the only one who can make a claim like that without fear of ridicule.” He stood back. “There. That should keep your face from falling off. The splinters should be out now too.”

She looked at her hands, just in time to see the last splinter rise from her skin into the clear ointment. She didn’t even feel it happen.

“Wash your hands in the basin, there’s a good girl.”

She got up, went to the basin and put her hands under the tap. “Will you help us out?” she asked. “Can Fletcher stay here?”

Kenspeckle sighed. “There is nowhere else to keep him?”

“No.”

“And he truly is in danger?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. But only because you asked so nicely.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Kenspeckle. Really.”

“You’ll probably be back to see me again before the day is out,” he said as he walked to the door. “You’ll no doubt want me to sew your head back on or something.”

“And you’ll be able to do it, right?”

“Naturally. I’m just going to fetch you a bandage, then you can go.”

He left and Clarabelle breezed in.

“Hello,” she said brightly. “You got into another fight. Did it hurt much?”

Valkyrie smiled faintly. “Not really.”

“The Professor is always going on about how you’d be dead if it wasn’t for him. Do you think that’s true? I think it’s probably true. The Professor’s always right about things like that. He said one of these days he’s not going to be able to save you. He’s probably right about that too. Do you think you’ll die one of these days?”

Valkyrie frowned. “I hope not.”

Clarabelle laughed like she’d just heard the funniest thing ever. “Of course you hope you won’t die, Valkyrie! Who would hope to die? That’s just silly! But you probably will die, that’s what I’m saying. Don’t you think so?”

Valkyrie dried her hands. “I’m not going to die any time soon, Clarabelle.”

“I like your coat by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s a little small for you though.”

“Yeah.”

“Can I have it when you’re dead?”

Valkyrie paused, trying to think of an appropriate response, but Clarabelle had already flitted out of the room. A few moments later, Kenspeckle returned.

“Clarabelle’s odd,” Valkyrie said.

“She is at that,” Kenspeckle agreed. He fixed a small bandage over the stitches. “Give it an hour or so. The stitches will dissolve. It’s not going to scar.”

They walked out of the Infirmary.

“I heard Cameron Light was killed yesterday,” he said. “I’ve never liked Teleporters, but even so, it’s a terrible world we live in.”

“Why does everyone dislike Teleporters?” Valkyrie had to ask. “Practically no one I’ve met has a good word to say about them.”

“Teleporters are a sneaky lot. Sagacious Tome was a Teleporter, in case you’ve forgotten, and he turned out to be a traitor. I just don’t trust anyone who would choose it as their magical discipline. How are the rest of us supposed to feel safe if there are people out there who can appear anywhere at any moment? When I was a younger man, I had a stifling fear that someone would appear beside me as I was using the toilet – and I had an anxious bladder at the best of times.”

“Oh my God,” Valkyrie breathed. “I didn’t need to know that.”

Skulduggery was waiting for them at the next corner, and immediately Kenspeckle’s face soured. “Are you going to be dragging her into more danger, Detective?”

“She can handle it,” Skulduggery said. “Fletcher, on the other hand, cannot. Can he stay here?”

“As long as he doesn’t annoy me too much,” Kenspeckle replied grumpily.

“I can’t promise that.”

“Then do me a favour, Detective, and solve this particular case as fast as you possibly can.”

“Maybe you could help with that. If you could examine the body of the last victim …”

Kenspeckle shook his head. “Unlikely. The Sanctuary has its own supposed experts, as you well know, and they wouldn’t appreciate my … input. From what I have heard, however, the killer has left no traces and no clues. He is, distastefulness aside, quite admirable.”

“I’ll be sure to pass on the compliment when I’m hitting his face,” Skulduggery assured him.

Kenspeckle shook his head. “Do you really think Valkyrie needs a role model that meets every obstacle with his fists? She is at a very impressionable age.”

“I am not,” she said defensively.

“Valkyrie is doing important work,” Skulduggery said. “She needs to be able to handle herself.”

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