First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2020

Published in this ebook edition in 2020

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

HarperCollins Publishers

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London SE1 9GF

The HarperCollins Children’s Books website address is

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Text copyright © Derek Landy 2020

Skulduggery Pleasant™ Derek Landy

Skulduggery Pleasant logo™ HarperCollinsPublishers

Cover illustration copyright © Tom Percival 2020

Cover design copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

All rights reserved.

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

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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 ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, 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: 9780008386238

Ebook Edition © April 2020 ISBN: 9780008386269

Version: 2020-05-01

This book is dedicated to the next lot of nieces and nephews.

Cameron and Samira, Elle and Evan –

you’re a strange bunch, and no mistake.

I’m sure you’ll turn out absolutely fine, but right now

you’re kind of odd, and funny-looking, and one of you

has the cold, dead eyes of a future serial killer.

I’m not saying which one, though.

Don’t want to jinx it.

And all was memory.

The memory of gods and people. The memory of monsters.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Spring

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Summer

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Autumn

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Winter

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Chapter 97

Chapter 98

Chapter 99

Chapter 100

Chapter 101

Chapter 102

Chapter 103

Chapter 104

Chapter 105

Chapter 106

Chapter 107

Chapter 108

Chapter 109

Chapter 110

Chapter 111

Chapter 112

Chapter 113

Chapter 114

Chapter 115

Chapter 116

Chapter 117

Chapter 118

Chapter 119

Chapter 120

Chapter 121

Chapter 122

Chapter 123

Chapter 124

Chapter 125

Chapter 126

Chapter 127

Chapter 128

Chapter 129

Chapter 130

Chapter 131

Chapter 132

Chapter 133

Chapter 134

Chapter 135

Chapter 136

Chapter 137

Chapter 138

Chapter 139

Chapter 140

Chapter 141

Chapter 142

Chapter 143

Chapter 144

Read on for an exclusive short story about Valkyrie Caine …

The Skulduggery Pleasant series

About the Publisher

“I don’t know who I am any more.”

“OK.”

“I thought I did. I was the good guy. I was descended from the Last of the Ancients. I saved the world.”

“And what’s changed?”

“You know what’s changed.”

“You think you’re not the good guy?”

“I’ve got the blood of the Faceless Ones in my veins. How can I be the good guy when everything I’ve come from is murder and death and torture and hatred? You know the worst thing? It’s how much sense it all makes now. Darquesse killing all those people? The reflection killing Crystal? Me killing Alice? Everyone I’ve hurt and all the terrible things I’ve done?”

“You’re blaming your heritage for all that?”

“Oh, no. No, no. I’m blaming me. But I’m the way I am because of my blood.”

“And what about Alice? Is she a bad guy, too?”

“She’s eight.”

“But you saw her in the future, about to face down her arch-enemy. Do you think she’s the hero in that story, or the villain?”

“It doesn’t matter. The future can be changed. I’m going to change it. Whatever road she’s going down, I can head her off.”

“How is she? Still crying herself to sleep?”

“Some nights. My folks took her to the child psychologist, who says it looks like repressed trauma. I should tell them. Right? I should. They need to know what’s happened in order to make her better.”

“If you tell them—”

“I know.”

“If you tell them, they might never speak to you again. They’ll definitely never let you see Alice.”

“But they’ll be able to help her.”

“How? How will that help her? What will they tell this psychologist? When our daughter was a baby, her big sister killed her and fractured her soul? How can any mortal psychologist make sense of that? How can … What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You have another headache?”

“It’s nothing. And I don’t know how it’d help, and I don’t know how they’d explain it without sounding nuts, but I’ve kept this from them for way too long and they need to know the truth.”

“No, they don’t. What would be the point in ruining your relationship with your parents? You love them, they love you, and they never have to know about Alice’s soul being broken. You fixed it, didn’t you? You went through hell to find the pieces and put it back together. Why would you tell them what happened? Alice isn’t going to. She barely understands what happened back then.”

“Maybe she should tell them. I’m making her keep a huge, traumatising secret from her own parents. I damaged her years ago, when she was a defenceless little baby, and, when I tried to fix her, I just damaged her some more. At least when her soul was fractured she didn’t feel any sadness. What have I done? What exactly have I done to make her life better? I’ve just given her back that sadness, all in one go. All the pain, all the sorrow, all the trauma, all the horror, all the—”

“Valkyrie. Stop. You’re doing it again.”

“I’ve ruined her.”

“Stop it. You’re spiralling.”

“So what? So what if I’m spiralling? I deserve to spiral. After everything I’ve done, I deserve to spiral and I deserve a lot worse. You don’t know what it’s like to have these thoughts in your head. You don’t. You don’t know what it’s like to have them constantly swirling and getting louder and louder. It’s deafening in here. I can’t hear anything else. All these voices, all these horrible, horrible voices, saying horrible, horrible things. The guilt … Jesus, the guilt. You don’t know. It’s everywhere. Every time I open my eyes. Every time I close my eyes. It’s always there. It’s underneath everything. Even when I’m with Militsa. Even when I’m with Skulduggery. I don’t know … I don’t know how much longer I can keep going.”

“Hey.”

“Oh, God.”

“Hey. Look at me. Listen to me. You’ll keep going because that’s what you do. I don’t know much about much, but I know you. I am you, although slightly smarter and significantly prettier.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“You doubt yourself. That’s fine. Everyone has doubts. You hate yourself, too. I get that. You’ve been put in impossible situations, forced to do unthinkable things. But this, how you’re feeling now, it won’t last forever. You think it will – it feels like it will – but it won’t. You’re in a pit, but you’ve climbed out of that pit before and you’ll climb out of it again.”

“I’m too tired.”

“I don’t think that matters. You’re not going to stop climbing. I know you’re not.”

“You don’t … you don’t know me like you think you do. You’re not me. You’re a piece of Darquesse that she left behind.”

“And Darquesse is a piece of you.”

“So you’re a piece of a piece of me, from back when I was eighteen. I’ve changed since then.”

“I know you have. Look at all the muscle you’ve put on. Why couldn’t you have had abs seven years ago, eh? Then I’d have them, too.”

“That’s not really what I mean.”

“You talk like you’re about to give up, but you’re down at that gym how many times a week? And what food do you eat? When was the last time you had a pizza?”

“I don’t …”

“If you’d given up, you wouldn’t be working out. If you’d given up, you wouldn’t be calculating when you’re getting your next dose of protein. You’d have stopped caring about any of that stuff.”

“But that’s habit. That’s … I dunno. That’s something I do to take my mind off things. If I focus on the next rep, if I focus on lifting more than I did last week, then I have a few moments where I don’t have to listen to all the horrible things going on in my head.”

“You’ve still got a hell of a lot of fight in you, Valkyrie. I know you do. I can see it.”

“I don’t think you’re right. I’m not a robot. I don’t just keep marching on. There’s only, like, so much someone can take, isn’t there? There’s only so many times you can fall into a pit before you think to yourself, what’s the point in climbing out if I’m just going to fall back in tomorrow?”

“I … You need help. And not from me. And not from that bloody music box. You need professional help. Maybe some decent medication. You definitely need someone to talk to who knows what they’re doing.”

“The music box helps.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the morning if I didn’t have it.”

“It’s not healthy.”

“It calms me down.”

“It turns you into a zombie. I’ve watched you when you’re listening to it. You just sit there, staring at the wall. I’ve actually called your name, actually shouted in your ear, and you haven’t noticed I’m even there.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I wish I were. It’s not good for you.”

“It helps.”

“And what about those little Splashes of magic? Did you really think I didn’t know about them?”

“I just use them when I have to.”

“You realise it’s a drug, right? What, nothing to say to that?”

“I don’t talk to you to be judged. I talk to you because there’s no one else I can talk to about this stuff. And I talk to you because, if I didn’t, you know what? You’d float around, you’d walk through walls, you’d do whatever it is you do when I’m not there, and no one would see you or hear you or even know you exist. So do me one small favour, OK? Do not judge me. You’re a piece of a piece of me that’s a frickin’ murderer. You’re a piece of a piece of me that’s an inhuman psychopath who was intent on killing the whole goddamn world.”

“You’re in a bad mood. I can tell.”

“Just leave me alone, Kes. I need to be by myself.”

“You’ll never be left alone, you silly thing. This is the life you chose, a life of adventure. And the next one, as always, is just around the corner.”

Red candles, maybe a dozen of them. Brick walls. Lot of rafters, lot of shadows, lots of big, empty patches of darkness. Wooden floor. She was in a cellar, a big one, upright against something metal. She could feel the struts digging into her back. Her arms were over her head, wrists bound with rope. Ankles tied, too.

Her tongue tasted sour. They’d drugged her. Her mouth was dry. She licked her lips. Her head was dull. She shot a little magic through her system and her mind cleared instantly.

She wondered if her make-up had been smudged. She hoped it hadn’t. It had taken ages to put on. Her shoes were gone. Good. They were awful. She was still in the dress, though, the one that was too small and too tight and not very practical. It did have one thing going for it, however – the amulet of dark metal, in the shape of a skull, that fitted against her hip like some cool-looking clasp.

She raised her head slightly, gave her surroundings a closer inspection through the hair that hung over her face. Pedestals displayed occult paraphernalia in glass cases like this was someone’s idea of a black magic museum, and good quality – though obviously plastic – skeletons, dressed in rags, hung from shackles along the walls. The ground was sticky against her bare feet. She was positioned in the exact centre of a pentagram painted on the floorboards. She was pretty sure the dark stains had been made by copious splashes of blood.

“She’s awake,” someone said in the darkness ahead of her. “Hey, she’s awake. Get the others.”

The sound of feet on wooden steps, and then yellow light flooded in from above. A large shadow flowed across the light and then the cellar door closed and she was left with the flickering red candles and whoever had spoken.

He came forward, out of the darkness. Dressed in a red robe with the hood up.

“What’s your name?” he asked. His voice was gentle. American. Warm.

“Valkyrie,” she said.

“Valerie?”

“Valkyrie. With a K.”

“That’s a nice name. Unusual. Is it Irish?”

“Norwegian.”

“Oh. My friend said you were from Ireland.”

“I am. My name isn’t.”

“Ah.” He stepped a bit closer. She could see the lower half of his face, his square jaw and his even white teeth.

“You’re probably freaking out right now. I get that. I do. You wake up, you’re in a dark cellar, you see satanic stuff all around, you probably think you’re going to be horribly butchered in some ridiculous human-sacrifice ritual, yeah?” He pulled his hood down and his smile broadened. “Well, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

“I know you,” said Valkyrie.

“Do you?”

“You’re that actor,” she said. “From that movie. You’re Jason Randal.”

“You want an autograph?”

“How about a selfie? If you could just hand me my phone …”

He laughed. “Oh, I like you. Usually the girls we sacrifice are full of panicked questions at this stage, like they think they can make sense of what’s happening, like they can’t bring themselves to believe that they’re about to be murdered.”

“What was that movie you were in, with the guy from The Big Lebowski?”

Jason tilted his head slightly. “I haven’t been in a film with—”

“No, you know the one. You both play dead cops who are still, like, solving crimes and stuff? You’re not zombie cops, or ghost cops, but … what’s it called? I want to say RIP, but …”

Jason’s smile faded. “RIPD,” he said.

“Yes,” Valkyrie said. “That was a terrible movie. Why did you make that?”

He scratched his jaw. “That was Ryan Reynolds. You’re thinking of Ryan Reynolds.”

“That wasn’t you?”

“No.”

Valkyrie frowned. “Are you sure?”

“I think I know what films I’ve been in.”

“I could have sworn it was you.”

“Well, it wasn’t.”

“It’s a terrible movie.”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen it and I wasn’t in it.”

“It’s bad.”

“Then how about we stop talking about it?”

“Are you ashamed of it because it’s so bad?”

“I wasn’t in it.”

Valkyrie looked at him. “Maybe if you had a better agent you’d get better movies.”

Yellow light flooded the cellar and shadows moved, cast by the three people coming down the steps, all dressed in red robes.

“Is the Master here?” Jason Randal asked them, annoyance pinching his words.

“He’s on his way,” the woman in front said. Her name escaped Valkyrie, but these days she was always being cast as the girlfriend or the wife of the hero. A few years ago, however, she’d headlined a few movies herself. Not bad movies, either. The guy behind her, one of the stars of a dreadful sitcom Valkyrie had pretended to like, was the one who’d bought her the spiked drink in the crowded bar. She recognised the last person – an actor in a TV show she’d never watched who had a ridiculous name that she couldn’t remember.

The woman had an amazing smile and incredible bone structure and wonderful hair. It shone in the candlelight. “I take it Jason has explained what’s going to happen,” she said.

“Don’t bother with this one,” Jason said, somewhat grumpily. “She’s not that bright.”

Valkyrie ignored him. “I’m a huge fan,” she said to the woman. Victoria, that was her name. Victoria Leigh.

“Aw, thank you.”

“That film, where you were out for revenge on the men who’d killed your husband? That was brilliant.”

“That’s really sweet of you. I did a lot of my own stunts for that one.”

“The fight scenes were excellent.”

Victoria smiled at the others. “Do we have to kill her? She has such great taste!”

The others chuckled – all except Jason. He didn’t chuckle even a little bit.

“We should do it now,” he said.

Victoria frowned at him. “Before the Master gets here?”

“It’s almost midnight. We’ll have to do it anyway, with or without him.”

“The Master will not be pleased,” said the sitcom star.

“Then the Master should be on time for the human sacrifice,” Jason snapped back. “The rest of us are all here, aren’t we? And we have careers. I have to be on set in two hours, and don’t you have an early call tomorrow?”

“I do have an early call,” murmured the sitcom star.

Victoria checked the slender gold watch on her slender pale wrist. “OK, fine, get everything ready to go. We’ll wait till the last second. If the Master arrives in time, excellent. If he doesn’t, we’ll do it ourselves on the stroke of midnight.”

The others nodded and went off to fetch whatever they needed to fetch. Victoria stepped closer, though, brushing Valkyrie’s hair back off her face.

“You’re a pretty one,” she said. “Not leading-lady beautiful, perhaps, but definitely girl-next-door pretty. And those shoulders! Good lord! Linebacker shoulders, that’s what we call them. I can see why Tadd picked you.” Her voice softened. “Was he respectful? I’ve warned him about this in the past.”

“Pretty sure he was.”

“Good. I’ve seen far too many girls being disrespected in my business and I’d hate to be a part of something that perpetuates this behaviour.”

“Aren’t you lot going to murder me in a few minutes?”

A little laugh. “I am aware of the contradiction.”

“Good,” said Valkyrie. “Because I was worrying.”

“I have to say … What’s your name?”

“Valkyrie.”

“Ah, from Norse mythology. Very nice. I have to say, Valkyrie, you’re surprisingly calm about this whole thing.”

Valkyrie shrugged as much as she was able. “I don’t want to brag or anything, but I’ve been in worse situations.”

“You have?”

“It’s all worked out in the end.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I don’t think that’s going to happen tonight.”

“We’ll see.”

“Indeed we will, Valkyrie. That’s a great attitude to have. We will indeed see. So tell me, what brings you out to LA? Aspiring actress?”

“Actually, I’m thinking of getting into stuntwork. I like being physical, you know? Throwing people around, crashing through windows, falling off rooftops … That’s my kind of thing.”

“Oh, I admire stunt people so much, I really do. I know this great little team down in Glendale. Such a shame you’re dying tonight – someone as athletic as you, you’d have fit in perfectly.”

“Can I ask you something? This Master guy you’re waiting on – who is he?”

“You sure you want to know? Well, why the hell not – you won’t be telling anyone, right? He’s a sorcerer. He’s magic.”

“Like one of those street magicians?”

Victoria’s laugh was as pretty as her eyes. “No, no, not like those street magicians. I mean he’s actually, really, genuinely magic. He can move things just by waving his hands. He clicks his fingers and he’s holding a ball of fire in his palm.”

“No kidding?”

“I swear it’s true.”

“And why does he make you sacrifice people?”

“Well, he gets his power from Satan, you see. He’s Satan’s emissary here on earth. All of us in our little group, we’re the ones who sacrifice the girls and, as a reward, Satan grants the Master the power to fulfil our wildest dreams.”

“Golly,” said Valkyrie.

“I know.”

“And does it work? Do your wildest dreams come true?”

Victoria made a seesawing motion with her hand. “It’s not an exact science. We get a lot of callbacks during pilot season, a lot of interest from casting agents and directors … but really, Satan just opens the door. It’s up to us to walk through.”

“Right, right,” said Valkyrie. “So Satan is real, then?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Wow. And that’s all he asks for? Human sacrifice?”

“Yes. And a commission.”

“A commission?”

“That goes to the Master. For living expenses, you know.”

“So the Master gets a cut of whatever you make? How big of a cut?”

Victoria hesitated. “Forty per cent.”

“Seriously?”

“But it’s worth it. Tadd wouldn’t have got that sitcom if it wasn’t for the Master, and I’m on a shortlist for the role of a wartime correspondent. It’s based on a true story and the script has a lot of buzz around it right now.”

“Good luck with that one. I hope you get it.”

“Thank you.”

The others came back. Tadd held a candelabrum of seven long-stemmed, unlit black candles, and the other one, the actor whose ridiculous name Valkyrie couldn’t remember, carried a box of polished oak. Jason Randal opened the box, and took out a long, curved dagger. The corners of his mouth lifted when he looked at Valkyrie.

“We still have two minutes,” Victoria said.

“She needs to be dead at midnight,” Jason responded.

“I know the rules.”

“We should do it now, to be sure she dies.”

“We’ll do it at eleven fifty-nine. So long as you stab her in the heart, she’ll be dead in seconds. Light the ceremonial candles.”

The ridiculously named actor put the box down and came hurrying over, digging through his robes. He produced a silver Zippo. He flicked it open and ran the flint-wheel along his thigh. It sparked to a flame, and he put the flame to the seven black candles. Tadd held the candelabrum aloft.

“The candles,” he said, “are lit.”

“The dagger,” Jason intoned, “is sharp.”

“The time,” Victoria said, eyes on her watch, “is now.”

Jason grinned and raised the dagger and then the seven candles went out.

“Oh,” said Tadd. “Sorry.”

Jason glared. “Relight them.”

The actor with the ridiculous name flicked the Zippo open again, ran it across his leg again, and lit the candles again.

Sheepishly, Tadd held the candelabrum aloft once more. “The candles are lit.”

Then they went out again.

“For God’s sake,” Jason muttered.

“Are you standing in a draught or something?” Victoria asked. “Move over there, and don’t hold them up so high this time. Come on, we’re running out of time. Relight them.”

The actor with the ridiculous name flicked the Zippo open.

“I swear,” said Jason, “if you run that up your leg one more time, I am stabbing you instead of this girl. Do you understand? Just light the damn candles.”

The actor narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have to be a—”

“Light the candles, Maverick!” said Jason and Victoria at the same time.

Maverick. That was his name. Maverick Reels. What a silly name. Not that someone who’d called herself Valkyrie Cain could throw stones, but still.

As Maverick fumbled with the Zippo, the cellar door opened and a man swept down the stairs. “Hail, Satan!” he cried.

“Hail, Satan!” the others cried back.

“Hail, Satan,” Valkyrie added, just to be in with the cool kids.

“Midnight is almost upon us!” said the Master, summoning fire into his hand and passing it over the candelabrum, lighting each wick. “Why does this girl still live? Kill her! Deliver her soul to the Dark Lord!”

“Voldemort?” Valkyrie asked, frowning.

The Master pulled down his hood. He didn’t look like a Master. He looked like a mid-level office manager with a bad goatee. He peered at her. “Do I know you?”

“Do you?”

“I’ve seen you before.”

“Have you?”

“I’ve seen your photograph,” he said.

“Where have you seen it?”

“I’m trying to remember,” he said.

“Think hard now.”

“Stop talking.”

“Maybe it wasn’t even me,” Valkyrie said. “Was it a photo taken in a burning city? Then it wasn’t me. It was a god who just looked like me.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, no.”

Valkyrie’s magic crackled, white lightning dancing around her wrists and ankles, burning through the ropes.

Panicking, the Master grabbed the dagger from Jason just as one of the skeletons in rags stepped away from the wall and seized his wrist.

“Let’s not do anything hasty,” Skulduggery said, and everyone in the little group of satanic worshippers screamed and leaped away as he punched the Master right on the hinge of his jaw.

The Master’s knees buckled and he collapsed into Skulduggery’s arms, and Valkyrie broke free of the scaffolding holding her and followed the actors as they scrambled up the cellar steps.

She caught Maverick just as the door crashed open, pulling him off the steps. He flailed madly and she ducked as he spun, then clocked him right on the chin. He stiffened and pitched backwards. Valkyrie left him there and ran after the others.

She emerged from the cellar into an impressively big house – a movie star’s house. Lots of glass and exposed brick and open spaces. She followed the sounds of panic to the front door, where Jason and Victoria and Tadd were cursing each other as they tried to navigate the locks.

They heard her coming. Tadd let out a roar and came charging. He was shorter than Valkyrie, and skinnier, and she stepped into him, stopping him with a shoulder. He staggered a little and her fingers curled into his hair and she smacked his face against the painting on the wall over and over until he fell down.

Victoria ran into another room as Jason Randal dropped his robe and squared up to Valkyrie. He was big. He had muscles. He moved like he knew what he was doing, or he’d at least worked with fight choreographers – but when he threw the first punch it was stiff and awkward and badly judged, and it stopped a good hand’s length short of where it needed to land. He didn’t have a clue, and this wasn’t worth bruising her knuckles over, so Valkyrie blasted him with a little lightning that threw him back against the door. He fell in a crumpled, unconscious heap and she went after Victoria. She was standing in the huge living room holding a poker like a baseball bat.

“This isn’t going to do me a whole lot of good, is it?” she asked after a moment.

Valkyrie gave a shrug, and Victoria sighed, and put the poker down.

“Was that an actual skeleton I saw downstairs, or was it some sort of special effect?”

“It was a skeleton. He’s alive and he talks. His name’s Skulduggery.”

“Of course it is,” Victoria said, and took a seat, wearily, on the couch. “So you’re a sorcerer, too, are you?”

“Yep.”

“You a Satanist also?”

Valkyrie sat opposite, and crossed her legs. “That guy’s not a Satanist. None of us are Satanists. Magic has got nothing to do with religion. Those people you sacrificed? The devil didn’t collect their souls. Those people just died.”

Victoria took a while before answering. “But then why did the Master tell us to do it?”

“Well, seeing as how all this is about money, I’m guessing that in order to get you to really commit, the idiot you call Master made you kill a bunch of innocent people so you couldn’t change your minds and back out at a later date.”

Victoria’s face slackened. “We didn’t have to kill those girls?”

“Nope.”

“But … but our careers … How did he—?”

“There’s a trick sorcerers can do once they know the name people were born with. They can tell them to do stuff. Not big stuff, not life-changing stuff – but he could certainly have suggested to casting agents that it’d be a good idea to call you in for a second audition, things like that.”

“Oh my God …”

“Yep.”

“What … what’s going to happen to me now?”

“You’re going to jail.”

“I should call my attorney.”

“You won’t need an attorney,” said Valkyrie. “You’re going to one of our jails. All four of you will disappear. No one will know where you are.”

“But my family … My fans …”

“They’ll never see you again.”

Victoria stared at her. “You can’t do that.”

“By our estimation, you’ve murdered sixteen young women between the four of you. We might be wrong. You might have murdered more.”

“But the Master told us we had to.”

“Stop calling him Master. He’s just some low-level sorcerer who couldn’t be bothered doing the work of a real agent so he invented this Satanist thing to make some money out of you morons. And I don’t care what he told you. You had a choice. You could have chosen not to murder sixteen innocent young women. Obviously, that’s not the road you decided to go down.”

Victoria sat forward, elbows on her knees, hands hidden by the voluminous sleeves of her robe. “I can’t go to jail,” she said slowly. “I’m on a shortlist. That part could win me a Golden Globe.” She straightened up. She had a gun in her hand. “I’m really sorry.”

Valkyrie raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t react.

“Sorcerers aren’t bulletproof, are they?” Victoria asked.

“No, we’re not,” said Valkyrie.

“I’m really sorry about this.”

“Are you, though?”

Victoria thumbed back the hammer. It made a pleasing little click. “I’m not the best shot in the world,” she said, “but I’m not bad, either. That revenge movie I was in? My firearms coach told me I was a natural. But even if I were the worst shot in the world, I couldn’t miss from this range even if I wanted to.”

“Oh, I bet you could if you tried.”

“Will a gun kill your skeleton friend?”

“Not that gun.”

“Then I’ll just kill you.”

Valkyrie tapped the amulet on her hip and the black suit spread outwards, covering her skin and her clothes, flowing down to her feet and to her fingertips before Victoria’s eyes could even finish widening.

The gun went off. The bullet hit Valkyrie in the belly and she grunted, sitting forward slightly. She pulled the hood up as a second bullet struck her chest. Christ, that stung. Her fingers found the mask in the hood and she pulled it down and felt it turn solid over her face as Victoria stood and proceeded to empty the gun into her. Valkyrie wondered what the skull mask looked like today. Every time she pulled it down, it was slightly different from the time before. It was like Skulduggery’s façade in that way.

Victoria’s final bullet hit Valkyrie in the forehead, making the mask reverberate. Valkyrie stood up.

“I thought you said you weren’t bulletproof,” Victoria said quietly, the gun hanging uselessly by her side.

“I’m not,” Valkyrie responded, brushing a squashed bullet from her chest. “The suit is. I was going to give you the option of leaving this house in cuffs, as opposed to unconscious, but …”

“But I just tried to kill you.”

Valkyrie shrugged, took the gun away from her.

“Please,” Victoria said, “not the face.”

“Sure,” Valkyrie said, and hit her in the face anyway.

Omen Darkly went to prison.

He didn’t like it much. It was big and grey and intimidating and it smelled of fear and sweat and everyone seemed to be in a bad mood and he was glad, all things considered, that he was just going to be there for half an hour or so.

He wouldn’t have lasted long in prison. For one thing, he was only fifteen, and, while he was currently experiencing his long-awaited ‘growth spurt’, it had resulted in a feeling that he simply had too many joints to fit in his body.

Omen strongly suspected, however, that his twin brother would have excelled in here. Tall and strong, a born leader, Auger would have taken down the biggest and baddest convict on his first day and then made the prison his kingdom.

But the very idea was ridiculous. Auger was the Chosen One, born with an innate understanding of right and wrong. He was a good guy, the one person you could depend on to never let you down.

And right now he was in a hospital bed after having nearly been killed, and Omen was visiting the guy who’d put him there.

Jenan Ispolin sat on the other side of the table and stared, a twist to his lips, his eyes heavy-lidded. There wasn’t a glass partition between them. Omen had expected a glass partition.

Suddenly all of his opening lines, the lines he’d rehearsed again and again in his head, that he’d muttered in front of the mirror, didn’t seem to fit the occasion. They were all tough-guy lines, designed to impress. But Omen wasn’t a tough guy, had never been a tough guy, and pretending to be one here, in a prison populated by guys who had to be tough to survive, now seemed like the silliest thing in the world.

So instead he said, “How are you doing?”

Jenan didn’t respond.

“Do they let you get much exercise here? I saw a yard on my way in. Do they let you play sports? What kind of sports?”

Jenan had liked playing sports when he was in school, Omen knew. He was good at them.

“We don’t play sports,” Jenan said.

“Right,” said Omen. That had been a stupid question. He changed the subject. “Do they let you see your folks much?”

Jenan leaned forward. “What do you want?”

“I don’t … I don’t actually know.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to confront you, I suppose. And I wanted to give you a chance to say what you needed to say.”

“What are you talking about? What would I need to say to you?”

“I’m not sure,” Omen confessed. “But there’s a reason you attacked me with that knife. Obviously, God, I know you don’t like me. I know that much! But this goes deeper than that, doesn’t it? I mean … you tried to kill me. You would have succeeded, too, if Auger hadn’t saved me. So I figure you must have some, like, unresolved issues.”

Jenan stared at him. “That’s why you came? So I could talk through my unresolved issues and get some closure?”

“Yeah,” said Omen. “We all need closure. I know I do. I wanted to come here and show you that I’m still alive, and I’m still doing well, and you didn’t manage to do whatever you were trying to do … but now that I’m sitting here, now that we’re talking, I can’t actually do any of that. You tried to kill me. That’s … terrifying. You stabbed me. I don’t have a scar any more, but it still hurts sometimes. It hasn’t healed completely yet.

“And you nearly killed Auger, too. See, I’m more mad about that than anything else. He’s had all the same healers and doctors that I’ve had, but his injury was way worse than mine.”

Jenan nodded. “I heard.”

“The stuff they had to do quickly in order to save his life, that’s been complicating his recovery. He hasn’t healed right. He’s still in the Infirmary in the High Sanctuary.”

“In here,” Jenan said, “I’m known as the guy who almost killed the Chosen One. They respect me because of that. A lot of them are scared of me.”

“I … I don’t see how that’s anything to be proud of, Jenan.”

Jenan laughed. “Of course you don’t. Because you’re a child.”

Omen’s voice dipped. “My parents wanted you to be given the death sentence.”

“Like I care.”

“They wanted you executed, dude.”

Jenan’s next laugh was more like a bark. “Dude,” he mimicked. “Dude.”

Omen sighed. “OK, whatever, laugh at me all you want. I’m just trying to understand why you did it.”

“Why I did it?” Jenan echoed. “I was part of Abyssinia’s army. I was the leader of First Wave. You and your little friends came in and ruined everything – of course I wanted you dead! We were going to change the world!”

Omen frowned at him. “You weren’t.”

“We all were!”

“No,” said Omen. “You weren’t. First Wave was going to be framed for murdering all those Navy people in Oregon. Abyssinia was planning on killing you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I do,” said Omen, “because I was there and so were you. You were never part of her army, Jenan. She used you and the others. You were a joke to her.”

Jenan sat frozen for a moment, and then lunged across the table. Before he could touch Omen, he shrieked and jerked sideways, falling off his chair.

Omen looked down at him. “No touching,” he said.

Jenan moaned, and the prison guard stepped forward.

“Everything OK here?” she asked.

“It’s fine, thank you,” Omen said. “He just wanted a hug.”

The prison guard nodded, and Omen waited until Jenan had dragged himself back into his chair.

“Your friends are in detention facilities,” he said. “Minimum-security stuff. Not like here. This is a proper prison, for proper bad guys. You’re not a proper bad guy, Jenan. You should be in school. Temper Fray – you know who Temper Fray is? He’s a sergeant in the City Guard. Anyway, Temper Fray told me the truth. They don’t respect you in here. No one is afraid of you. He told me you cry yourself to sleep most nights and every day you’re on the phone to your parents, begging them to come and see you. Your mum’s only been here half a dozen times and your dad still hasn’t come to visit. You’re miserable, dude. I’m just … I wanted to see if I could make things better.”

Jenan tried glaring back defiantly, but tears rolled down his cheeks and his lower lip quivered. “I hate you,” he said, his voice strangely high. “I hate you and I’ll always hate you. You ruined everything. You ruined my life, you pathetic little nobody. When I get out of here, I’m going to kill you. I don’t care how long it takes, how many years. I’m going to kill you, do you hear me?”

Omen watched him cry. “I hear you,” he said sadly, and got up.

Valkyrie set the alarm on her phone for sixty seconds, put it on the dashboard, and opened the lid of the music box on the seat beside her. The tune slowly filled the car, and Valkyrie’s eyes fluttered closed. It felt like the blood in her veins was slowing, her heartbeat softening. Anchors were attached to her thoughts, dragging them to a halt. Peace came over the horizon of her mind like the rising sun, until its warm comfort covered everything. She focused on her breathing. Her breathing was the only thing in the universe.

In the distance, an alarm went off, but it was dull and muted and unimportant. It slipped from her attention easily and once more there was only her breathing.

Then a voice – voices – and a laugh, and Valkyrie opened her eyes and blinked as a group of teenagers passed her car, chatting among themselves. Her alarm was going off. She closed the music box, shut off the alarm, sat there in the cold silence.

Her thoughts returned to her and she looked at the time.

“Dammit,” she said.

She pulled the handle, opened the door, lurched out of the car. Went to stuff the phone in her pocket, realised she was wearing a dress. A nice dress. Blue. Why was she wearing a dress? That thing in LA. It had reminded her that she liked wearing skirts and dresses sometimes. Not all the time. Sometimes. For special occasions. Was this a special occasion? Why was she here?

Fergus. His birthday.

“Dammit,” she said again.

She reached back into the car, grabbed her purse, and stuffed her keys and her phone into it as she hurried to the door of the Chinese restaurant. Here on time, but now twenty minutes late. Of course she was.

Through the door, smiling at the nice lady there to greet her, indicated she was with someone already inside. In she went, found the table at the back. Her parents and her sister and Fergus and Beryl and Crystal but no Carol.

“Here she is,” said Desmond, and Alice jumped up and ran over and Valkyrie laughed as her little sister hugged her round the waist.

“We’ve been waiting for you!” Alice informed her.

“You’re very good,” Valkyrie said, smiling warmly. The little bit of panic was receding into the warm ocean of calm the music box had delivered. “Sorry I’m late, everyone,” she said as Alice guided her by the hand to her chair.

She expected Beryl to say something sharp and resentful, but everyone just smiled and shrugged and said it didn’t matter.

The waiter came over, took their orders. Valkyrie turned to Alice and winked at her. “Hey, you,” she said.

“Hey, you,” Alice echoed.

“Haven’t seen you in a few days. What you been up to?”

Alice shrugged. “Things.”

“Things, eh?”

“And stuff.”

“Stuff, too? You have been busy. How’s school?”

“I got ten out of ten on my spelling test, but they were really easy, so everyone got ten out of ten except for one boy who forgot that we had a test. Well, he said he forgot, but I think he just didn’t want to learn the words. And there’s a new boy in my class.”

“Is there?”

“His name’s Dima. We all made him cards to introduce ourselves, and Mom looked up what welcome to school was in Russian and I wrote it and I gave it to him. And then today he gave me a card back, and he said he loved me.”

Valkyrie’s eyebrow arched. “Oh, wow …!”

Melissa leaned over. “He said you’re beautiful, didn’t he?”

Alice nodded. “He wrote you’re beautiful and I love you. And he’s right,” she said, “I am beautiful,” and she gave a dimpled, gap-toothed grin that made Valkyrie laugh.

The first course arrived and Valkyrie found it easier to interact with others when she had the distraction of food in front of her. It gave her time to think, to formulate responses, and an excuse to be brief when necessary.

The waiting staff came over, cleared the plates, and Alice announced that she had to go to the toilet, and slid out of her chair.

“I’ll go with you,” Beryl said, and Valkyrie suppressed a laugh at Alice’s rolled eyes.

Smiling, Valkyrie turned her attention to the rest of the table. They were all looking at her and her smile dropped.

“What?” she said.

Crystal leaned forward. “Why were you late?” she asked, keeping her voice low. “Were you saving the world?”

This was weird, sitting here with family members who all knew about magic. “No,” said Valkyrie, “I was just late.”

“We don’t talk about this in public,” Fergus warned.

“Then when can we talk about it?” Crystal asked, giving her dad a scowl. “We can’t talk about it in private because either Mum or Alice is around. Right now is the only time we can hear what’s going on. So come on, Valkyrie – what’s going on?”

“Stephanie,” Melissa corrected. “We call her by her proper name here.”

“But it’s not her proper name, is it?” Crystal countered. “It’s her given name. Valkyrie is her proper name.”

“Stephanie is fine when I’m with family,” Valkyrie said quickly. “It makes it easier to, y’know, maintain my cover or whatever.”

Crystal nodded. “Fair enough.”

Fergus shifted uncomfortably. “We shouldn’t be discussing this where someone could overhear us.”

“We’re fine,” said Desmond. “If anyone’s walking up behind you, I’ll give you the signal by coughing into my hand.”

Fergus frowned at his brother. “Do you really think this is a good idea?”

Desmond shrugged. “I reckon our family has gone long enough not talking about this stuff, don’t you?”

“If that’s a veiled reference to how I never told you that magic was real, I would respond by saying you’ve had seven years to get over it and it’s becoming quite tiresome.”

“Tiresome, is it?”

“I was protecting you.”

“You lied to me, you mean,” said Desmond. “You all lied to me – you, Gordon, Pop. The only person who didn’t lie to me was Granddad, and he’s the one you said was nuts.”

“You think it was easy?” Fergus asked, getting angry. “You think it was fun? Gordon was a lost cause, so all the responsibility fell to me to—”

Desmond coughed into his hand and Fergus shut up immediately and stared down at his plate.

When no one approached the table, he looked around, then glared. “Very mature.”

Alice came skipping back, with Beryl close behind.

“What were you talking about?” Beryl asked as they retook their seats.

“Nothing,” Fergus said sulkily.

“Crystal,” Melissa said, putting on a smile, “how is Carol doing in her new job?”

“Good, I think,” Crystal said. “It pays well, and she says the people are, um, what’s the word she used? Undemanding. So I think that means she’s settling in.”

“We don’t really hear much from Carol,” Beryl said. “She’s steadily grown more and more distant. I think, probably, that’s my fault.”

“Beryl, no,” said Fergus, covering her hand with his own.

She tried to smile. “I suppose I was never the warmest of mothers. I look at you, Melissa – you and Stephanie, and now little Alice – and I marvel at that relationship. How close you are. You’re friends more than … more than anything. I could never understand how you managed it.”

“Mum,” said Crystal, blinking back tears.

“My sweet girl,” Beryl said, reaching over, holding her hand. “I’ll never stop being sorry for the kind of mother I was to you.”

Valkyrie’s heart drummed in her hollow chest. Every beat reverberated. “Excuse me,” she said quietly, pushing herself away from the table. She managed to walk without stumbling out into the reception area, then lunged for the door.

Fresh air. She gasped it in. Her head was light. She went to put a hand against the wall and misjudged the distance, fell sideways, hit it with her shoulder. She looked drunk. She felt drunk. She needed the music box.

The door opened. Her mother walked out. Valkyrie straightened.

“Are you OK?” Melissa asked.

Valkyrie nodded. “Needed to make a call.”

Melissa handed her her purse. “Then you might need your phone.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Are you OK?” Melissa asked again. Valkyrie didn’t answer, and her mum put her arm round her. “It’s sad,” she said, “watching Carol grow apart from her family like that.”

“Beryl isn’t to blame.”

“Oh, I know. She was never the easiest woman to get along with, and we’ve had our differences, but she adored the twins. Sometimes, sweetheart, there is no reason for the things people do. They change. They grow apart. But that’ll never happen to us.”

Valkyrie smiled weakly, hugging her back, and Melissa was silent for a long, long moment. Then she said, “You just have to look at Alice to see how much people – even kids – can change.”

Valkyrie moved her head off her mother’s shoulder.

“The doctors don’t know what’s wrong,” Melissa said, turning to watch a car go by. “A shift like this, they said it could be down to trauma, but, if Alice has suffered any trauma, she’s not telling us about it. Has she mentioned anything to you?”

Valkyrie shook her head.

“I don’t know what it is. She’ll spend all morning crying. Not little sobs, either. Big, racking sobs. It’s … it’s gut-wrenching.” Melissa’s hand was shaking. She noticed it, used it to brush her hair back over her ear. “Is there anything you can do?” she asked.

The question took Valkyrie by surprise. “What?”

“Is there anything magical you can do? A spell, or a charm, or something?”

“Mum, you really don’t want to use magic for something as delicate as this.”

“But is there?”

Valkyrie looked away. “We don’t do spells,” she said, not for the first time. “But, even if we did, trying to alter a person’s emotional state, that’s …”

Melissa nodded. “No. You’re right. It was a silly idea.”

“It wasn’t silly …”

“I thought there might be a quick fix,” Melissa said. “An easy answer. I wanted to cheat, basically. I was talking to your dad a few days ago about getting in a hypnotist, and that led us on to that time you told us about using people’s names to get them to do things. We were thinking something like that might help.”

“I don’t know, Mum. That kind of thing, there’s no way of knowing the ramifications. Besides, using someone’s given name, that usually doesn’t last longer than a few seconds.”

“But you use it to get people to forget things, don’t you?”

“It’s not as easy as that.”

Melissa’s face suddenly crumpled and the tears came, and now it was Valkyrie’s turn to wrap her arms around her.

“It’s OK,” Valkyrie said, her heart breaking. “It’s OK.”

“I just don’t know what we’ve done wrong.”

Now tears were running down Valkyrie’s cheeks. “Nothing,” she managed to say. “You’ve done nothing wrong. None of this is your fault.”

It was Valkyrie’s fault, just like Carol’s behaviour was Valkyrie’s fault. All this heartbreak, all this sadness and guilt – it was all because of her.

There was bile in her throat. She wanted to drop to her knees, wanted to scream until her voice was hoarse, wanted to throw up until there was nothing left inside her. Instead, she hung on to her mother until Melissa had regained control and stepped away, smiling bravely.

“Back into the fray,” she said. “You coming?”

Valkyrie held up her purse. “Got to make that call.”

Melissa smiled gently. “OK, sweetie. See you in there.”

When the door closed and her mother was gone, Valkyrie lurched to her car. She plunged her hand into her purse, found the fob. The boot clicked and opened and she practically dived in, she was so eager. Grabbed the sports bag, yanked the zip across, pulled out the music box, held it in both hands, pressed her thumbs to each side and opened the lid.

The music swam to her and her eyes closed, the turmoil calming. The sick feeling went away. All those voices. All that screaming in her head. All went quiet.

“Thank you,” she murmured to the music. “Thank you.”

Black suit. Three-piece. Black shirt. Red tie. Black hat, with black hatband, pulled low over one eye socket. One shoulder leaning on wall. Gloved hands in pockets. First polished shoe flat on ground. Second polished shoe, crossed over, toe to pavement.

Skulduggery Pleasant. Overdressed.

“You’re still compensating for wearing those rags the other day, aren’t you?” Valkyrie said as she approached.

“It was not a highlight of my existence, this is true,” he said, “but I try not to compensate for anything, Valkyrie. I’d planned to wear this ensemble today, regardless of what disguise I wore over the weekend.”

“Right,” she said, not entirely believing him. They walked side by side into the Humdrums, Roarhaven’s mortal district. It was quieter here. Fewer shops. The people hurried by, casting nervous glances around as they went.

“How was your uncle’s birthday dinner?” Skulduggery asked.

“Strained,” she answered. “But we ended it by singing happy birthday and the staff brought out a cupcake with a candle on it, so at least Alice had a good time. Who are we looking for?”

“Our mysterious friend.”

“Which one? We have so many.”

“My apologies. The mysterious friend who sends letters to the High Sanctuary, warning of an imminent invasion by Mevolent.”

“Oh, that mysterious friend. You think he’s a mortal?”

“No, but I think he’s hiding among them. It would have been ridiculously easy for a sorcerer to slip unnoticed through the portal from the Leibniz Universe, surrounded by tens of thousands of frightened refugees.”

“And do we know roughly where to start looking? There’s quite a few doors to knock on.”

“Oh, I know exactly where we’re going,” Skulduggery said. “Our mysterious friend left a not exactly subtle clue in a letter that arrived this morning. He wants to meet.”

They stopped, looked across the street to the pub on the other side.

“So he’s invited us here,” Valkyrie said. “And how can you be sure it’s not a trap?”

“I can’t.”

“So did you bring back-up?”

“Of course.” He started across the road. “I brought you.”

He wasn’t wearing his façade, so when they walked into the pub everyone stopped what they were doing and stared. All these mortals, still suspicious of anyone with the ability to do magic. Valkyrie wondered if they’d ever get over their distrust of sorcerers after living in a world ruled by Mevolent. She doubted it.

There was a man sitting at a table near the back, his face hidden by an old baseball cap. He wore tattered jeans, a Nirvana T-shirt, and a blazer – clothes that looked like they’d been donated – and his right hand was gloved.

His right hand. Was gloved.

Nefarian Serpine looked up at them as he tilted his chair back, and smiled. “Now, I would wager that you didn’t expect to see—”

Valkyrie snatched up an empty beer bottle and threw it, and it bounced off Serpine’s head and he toppled over backwards.

“Ow,” he said from the floor.

They stood over him. He started to get up, but Skulduggery planted a foot on his chest.

“You probably have questions,” Serpine said.

“The last we saw of you,” Skulduggery said, “you were leading the Resistance against Mevolent in another reality. What are you doing here?”

“Well,” Serpine said, trying to get comfortable, “not long after you departed, it occurred to me that being the leader of the Resistance was a very dangerous title to hold. It meant a lot of Mevolent’s people wanted to kill me. Almost all of them, in fact. So, taking this into account, I regretfully stepped down.”

“Who’s in charge now?” Valkyrie asked.

“I don’t actually know,” Serpine responded. “There is a distinct likelihood that I failed to tell anyone in the Resistance that I was leaving. I don’t like goodbyes, you see.”

Skulduggery removed his foot and waved his hand, and the chair righted itself, almost throwing Serpine into the table. “Thank you,” he grumbled.

Valkyrie dragged another chair over and sat. “So you left the Resistance without a leader, ran away, mingled with all those mortals, and came through the portal.”

“And I’ve been living here ever since.”

“Doing what?”

“Assimilating,” Serpine said, taking off his cap. “I’ve been watching your mortal television and reading your mortal books. You have a lot more sources of entertainment in this dimension. It’s quite diverting. And I’ve been learning a lot about this world and its culture. I haven’t been making trouble, if that’s what concerns you. In fact, I’ve been rather helpful.”

“We know,” said Valkyrie. “All those notes you’ve been sending to the High Sanctuary have been very interesting.”

“My humble attempts to be a good citizen.”

“Tell us more about that,” Skulduggery said. “Mevolent’s plans.”

Serpine gave a shrug. “He hates you. The two of you. I would imagine he’d invade this dimension just to kill you, but he’s also become obsessed with conquering a parallel world. There’s technology here that we just don’t have over there. Machinery. Computers. Medicine.”

“You’ve got a lot over there that we don’t have here,” Valkyrie pointed out.

“This is true, but a man like Mevolent isn’t one to be content with what is in front of him. If he sees something shiny and new, he wants it. He wants your world. He wants your weapons. And at the back of it all is the fact that he can’t stand the idea of a world run by mortals. Surprisingly petty, for one so tall.”

“Do you have anything useful to tell us?” Skulduggery asked. “We’ve known that there was a high probability of an invasion, or some sort of attack – none of this is news. Do you have any idea when Mevolent will invade?”

“I would guess you have until the end of the year at the very most.”

“How do you know?”

Serpine hesitated, then smiled. “All this talking is making me feel quite weak,” he said. “Perhaps, if you buy me a drink and some food, I might be able to summon the strength to talk more.”

“Oh,” Valkyrie replied. “Oh, you think this is a conversation. You think we’re chatting. No, no. This is an interrogation. If we weren’t doing this here, we’d be doing it in a cold room in the High Sanctuary and you’d be in shackles right now.”

Serpine frowned. “But I haven’t broken any laws.”

“You’ve murdered people.”

“But not here. Not in this dimension. Isn’t there a rule that says a person can’t be held responsible for laws broken in a parallel universe? Isn’t there? There should be. Besides, we have an understanding, don’t we? Detective Pleasant doesn’t blame me for killing his wife and child because I didn’t kill his wife and child.”

“You killed the wife and child of another Skulduggery,” Skulduggery said.

“Exactly. Completely different people. That’s precedent. Isn’t that the legal, mortal term for it? I saw that on one of your TV shows.”

“That’s true,” Skulduggery responded. “And I don’t blame you for it. That was another Serpine, and he’s dead, and I felt an enormous sense of satisfaction when I killed him. I’ve had my revenge.”

“Yes. See? That’s reasonable. You and I were never enemies, Skulduggery. Can I call you Skulduggery? In fact, there’s absolutely no reason why we can’t be friends.”

“I can think of a few reasons,” Skulduggery said. “You have murdered another version of my family, after all. You have done unspeakable things in another version of my world. You’re still you. So I would recommend you answer our questions and be as helpful as you can possibly be, or we’ll drag you to a cell and talk to you there.”

Serpine straightened up. “Of course. My apologies. You asked how I knew Mevolent would be invading within a year. I suppose I don’t – not really. But I don’t think he has any other choice.”

“Explain.”

“There’s a sickness on my world,” Serpine said. “I heard reports before I came here. I don’t know anything about it other than it spreads quickly, it leaves no survivors and, the last I heard, there’s no cure. Before I left, we’d lost entire continents to it.”

“So you think Mevolent will want to flee before it reaches him.”

“I do.”

“So why this?” Skulduggery asked, indicating the pub around them. “Why not put all this in a letter and leave it for us to handle? Why the meeting?”

“This information is valuable, is it not? I daresay invaluable.”

“You’re looking for a reward.”

Serpine smiled. “I’ve lived among these mortals for long enough. I would like immunity for any and all past crimes and misdemeanours, irrespective of which dimension they were committed in, and I would like a house in a better part of Roarhaven.”

Valkyrie frowned. “You want to be a citizen.”

“Indeed I do. I would also like free driving lessons and a car, and a latte. I’ve seen people order lattes on television and they don’t sell any around here, and I would so dearly love to try one. And maybe also a puppy. I’ve always liked puppies.” His smile grew wider. “They taste delicious.”

Valkyrie glanced at Skulduggery. “Shall I hit him,” she asked, “or will you?”

Sebastian Tao sat on the couch in the living room as Lily brought out a tray of freshly baked cookies. The others each picked one out as the tray passed, making satisfied moans as they took a bite. They held their free hands under their chins to catch the crumbs that fell. Sebastian’s mouth watered. He would have given almost anything to merely smell those cookies – but for the last two years all he’d been able to smell was the inside of his beak.

He hated his mask. He hated the glass eyeholes and the ridiculous beak and the straps that kept it all in place. He hated the hat he wore with it, and the suit, and the coat and the gloves and the boots. He hated not having one centimetre of skin exposed to the fresh air or the sun or the rain. He was like the Boy in the Bubble, that kid from years ago who was so susceptible to infection that he was forced to live in a plastic cocoon from the moment he was born.

Immediately after this thought occurred, Sebastian began to feel bad about it. The Boy in the Bubble definitely had it worse.

“OK, so,” Bennet said, still smacking his lips over that cookie, “the reason we’re all here.”

“Actually, the Plague Doctor should call this meeting to order before we go any further,” Ulysses said.

“Of course, of course,” said Bennet, and everyone looked to Sebastian expectantly.

He hated this bit. “Uh, I hereby call this gathering to order.”

Everyone nodded.

“Well done,” said Kimora.

“That was a good one,” said Tarry.

“Uh,” said Forby, which was a pretty good endorsement on his part.

“Thank you, Plague Doctor,” Bennet said. “So, when we all first got together, it was to share our feelings regarding Darquesse, and what it meant to have witnessed the actions of a god. And those feelings are still being shared, because they grow and they evolve over time.”

“Yes, they do,” Lily chimed in.

“But things have changed for our little group,” Bennet continued. “The Plague Doctor travelled to an alternate dimension on our behalf – a dimension filled with Faceless Ones, no less – found Darquesse, and brought her back to us. This is, obviously, wonderful, but also terrifying.”

Kimora raised her hand. “I, personally, am terrified.”

“Thank you, Kimora. I think it’s safe to say that we’re all a little worried about having a murderous god living among us.”

“Is she?” said Ulysses. “Among us, I mean. She’s been sitting in Lily’s spare room, staring at the wall, ever since she returned.”

“The point is,” Bennet responded, “she’s here. And we have one person to thank for that. Plague Doctor, we have been talking, the others and I, and we have come to the realisation that what you have done is nothing short of a miracle.”

“Well,” Sebastian said, “I don’t know about that …”

“You found her,” said Bennet. “You brought her back. We think that makes you the First Apostle of Darquesse.”

“What? Apostle?”

“You don’t like the title?” Lily said. “What would you prefer? I suggested Pope.”

“I’m … I’m not a pope.”

“Prophet, maybe?” Kimora said, and frowned. “Does that mean we would be worshipping you, too?”

“No,” Sebastian said quickly. “No, you shouldn’t. I’ve seen how you worship people. It’s creepy.”

He’d meant it as a joke, but apparently no one was in a joking mood.

“But you must be something,” Ulysses said. “A High Priest, perhaps.”

“Or maybe we should all be dressing like you,” said Tarry. “Is that why you wear those clothes? Should all devout followers of Darquesse be Plague Doctors?”

“That’s not why I wear this.”

“Should we lose our names?” Forby asked.

“My name isn’t lost.”

“So the Plague Doctor is your actual taken name?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Obviously, you have a connection with Darquesse,” said Lily. “Maybe you didn’t realise it. Maybe she was reaching out to you in ways we don’t yet understand, telling you to wear a suit that would let you find her, to call yourself by that name, to—”

“Sebastian,” Sebastian blurted. “Sebastian Tao. That’s my name.”

They stared at him.

“Sebastian,” said Bennet.

“Yes.”

“You don’t look like a Sebastian.”

“I’m wearing a mask so you wouldn’t know, though, would you?”

Bennet took a seat, and a moment. “Sebastian,” he said again, slowly.

“I’ll ask you not to tell anyone,” Sebastian said. “Even if you had people to tell, which you probably don’t. But just … yeah. Don’t reveal my name to anyone.”

“Why not?”

Sebastian hesitated. “I can’t tell you. But it’s important that I stay anonymous.”

Ulysses scratched his beard thoughtfully. “You in trouble, Sebastian?”

Kimora’s eyes widened. “Is that it? Are you in danger?”

“I’m perfectly safe,” Sebastian responded. “You don’t have to worry about me. But I do have a mission. The first part of that mission was to find Darquesse and bring her home.”

“What’s the second part?”

“To convince her to help us.”

Bennet sat forward. “With what?”

Sebastian didn’t answer immediately.

“You’ve seen the future,” Bennet said. “You have, haven’t you? You’ve seen what’s coming.”

This wasn’t a good idea. Sharing that information was not the smart thing to do. And yet Sebastian’s mouth wouldn’t stay closed. Finally, he was telling someone. Finally, he was sharing his burden. “I’ve seen what’s coming,” he said. “I can’t tell you what it is. I wish I could. I really do. But the success of my mission – the fate of the world – depends on me keeping this secret.”

“So … so Darquesse really is going to save us, then?” Forby said.

“But if she saves us,” said Lily, “does that means bad things are coming?”

“Oh, yes,” said Sebastian.

Ulysses blinked. “But we have Darquesse, so whatever happens, and I’m fine with Sebastian not telling us what that is, she’ll protect us. Right?”

Sebastian nodded. “Hopefully.”

Now they all frowned at him.

“What do you mean, hopefully?” Bennet asked.

“Well, I just … I just mean that I don’t know. I hope she’ll help us.”

“Didn’t you see her helping us in your vision?”

“It’s not quite as simple as that.”

“So you didn’t see her helping us.”

“No,” Sebastian admitted.

“But of course she’ll help us!” Lily said. “She’s Darquesse!”

“Um …” Forby said. “The last time Darquesse was here, she tried to murder the entire planet.”

Lily gasped and pointed. “Blasphemer!”

“Is it blasphemy if it’s true?” Kimora asked.

“I don’t think it is,” said Ulysses.

“Well, OK,” said Lily, “maybe not blasphemy, but … You’ve got to be more supportive, Forby. We’ve been worshipping Darquesse for years now, and we can’t just turn round and say, yeah, she’s not that great and she did try to kill us all.”

“But she did,” he argued.

“That’s not the point, though!”

“Then what is the point?”

“I don’t know!” Lily cried.

Bennet got to his feet. “OK, listen, everyone. We all started worshipping Darquesse for our own reasons. I started worshipping because I saw what she could do and I realised she was a god. And what do you do with gods?”

“Worship them?” Forby suggested.

“You worship them, exactly,” Bennet said. “And that’s what I did. I was shown just how insignificant I truly was and I’ll admit it … I was lost. I floundered. Praying to this god we all found … it was suddenly the only thing that made sense any more. It was the only thing that got me balanced again. So that’s why I worship her. In a vast and uncaring universe, she’s given my life meaning. We all have similar stories. We may have come from different directions, but we’re all on the same journey now.

“The thing is, we’ve never actually discussed what it’d mean to actually bring her back. Not really. Not seriously. Because the fact is she’s a terrible god. I don’t mean terrible as in crappy, but terrible as in great and terrible. Her wrath is terrible to behold. That kinda thing. She’s not benevolent. She doesn’t care for the people who pray to her. I mean, she’s been sitting in Lily’s spare room for three months and she hasn’t said one word to any of us. She hasn’t even blinked.”

“Not blinking doesn’t mean she doesn’t care,” Lily said weakly.

“We should be honest with ourselves,” said Bennet. “We never thought she’d actually come back, did we?”

They all looked at each other. Guiltily.

“Of course we didn’t,” Bennet continued. “And that was fine. That was perfect, in fact. Our god was missing, which meant we could project whatever fantasy we wanted on to her. There was no way of disproving anything we said, and she had no way of disappointing us. But now she’s back, and I think it’s fair to say that we don’t have the first idea what to do with her.”

Forby spoke up. “Maybe the Plague – sorry – maybe Sebastian could, like, ask her.”

“Oooh, good idea,” said Tarry.

They were all looking at Sebastian again. Finally, he sighed, and stood. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll try.”

He went upstairs, to the spare room. He knocked, then gently pushed open the door and stepped in.

Darquesse sat in mid-air, hovering above the carpet, legs folded beneath her. Her eyes were open, her gaze resting somewhere beyond the wall.

“Hi,” Sebastian said.

As usual, she ignored him.

If, as a structure, the High Sanctuary was the embodiment of the modern sorcerer – strong, noble, and a beacon of positivity and good intentions – then the Dark Cathedral was that sorcerer’s shadow – powerful, merciless, and a balefire of intimidation and sinister intent.

They glared at each other – the High Sanctuary, planted securely in the middle of the Circle; the Dark Cathedral, perched on the east side of the zone like a great, sharp-taloned bird – and sometimes it seemed to Valkyrie that they were silently battling for the soul of Roarhaven, a city of wonder and magic that appeared to be always teetering on the edge of isolationism and paranoia.

But that was only if the High Sanctuary did symbolise all those wonderful qualities of the modern sorcerer. Valkyrie was not so sure that it did any more. Under the leadership of Supreme Mage Sorrows, Sanctuaries around the world were getting increasingly heavy-handed with those sorcerers who didn’t fall in line. China would no doubt argue that a tougher approach to such a lofty ideal – to protect the mortals from sorcerers who would do them harm – was absolutely necessary in a world shaken again and again by the threat of unimaginable horrors. Valkyrie wasn’t sure if she agreed – but then Valkyrie wasn’t sure of much any more.

There were still bruises on her abdomen from the bullets Victoria Leigh had fired into her. It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to kill her, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Violence was now such a part of Valkyrie’s life that she barely trembled afterwards. Only in extreme cases would the shakes become apparent. In the old days, she’d break down after a fight as the last remaining jolts of adrenaline spiked through her system.

Still alive, that voice in Valkyrie’s head would say. Still alive.

But she was now so numb to it all that she rarely shed a tear despite the damage she endured. Despite the damage she inflicted.

Three months earlier, she’d been beaten almost to death in a jail cell in the depths of the High Sanctuary. Bones broken. Organs damaged. Massive internal trauma. A doctor had fixed some of it, but then she’d latched on to his magic, replicating it, improving on it. She’d healed herself while he watched in disbelief.

Maybe that was it. Maybe the fact that she could heal any injury so long as there was a healer to latch on to, maybe that was dulling her to the dangers she faced.

“Million miles away,” Skulduggery said.

Valkyrie looked up. “What?”

“I said you’re a million miles away. Is everything OK?”

They were in the Bentley, deep in the underground car park beneath the High Sanctuary.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, sorry. Miles away, you’re right.”

They got out. Skulduggery wasn’t wearing his façade, but she knew he was looking at her funny.

“Just thinking about punching people,” Valkyrie said as they walked for the elevator tiles. “I’ve hit so many people down through the years, I think I might be getting kind of … sick of it.”

“Well, that’s interesting.”

“Probably not the best attitude to have with the amount of fights we get into.”

“Probably,” he agreed. “But this has been building in you for a while, hasn’t it?”

“I suppose. I’m not … I’m not turning into a pacifist, am I?”

“Nothing wrong with being a pacifist,” Skulduggery responded. “I like to think of myself as a pacifist.”

Valkyrie snorted. “You?”

“I said I liked to think it. I didn’t say I was one.”

They took the tiles up, and stepped off once they’d settled into place in the marble foyer. Cerise, the young Administrator, waved them through, and they walked the corridors. They got to a set of heavy double doors. Grey-suited Cleavers blocked their way, scythes in their hands. Before Skulduggery could even tilt his head, they stood aside and allowed them entry.

It was a big room with half a floor. Hovering over the far half of the room, over the crackling sea of energy that would fry anyone who fell into it, was the dais that housed the elaborately carved throne on which sat China Sorrows.

She looked pale. Anyone would look pale with this light show going on beneath them, but China looked especially pale, even for her. She’d told them, weeks earlier, that she hadn’t been sleeping much. Plagued by nightmares, she’d said – then immediately changed the subject, angry at herself for revealing too much.

The dais moved forward a little, closer to where they stood.

“The Sensitives have scanned him,” China said, “as much as he’d let them, anyway.”

“I imagine Serpine’s psychic defences are formidable,” Skulduggery responded.

“From what they can see, he’s telling the truth. In his estimation, we have less than a year before Mevolent launches an invasion to get away from whatever sickness is decimating his world. On one level, this information is nothing new. We’ve been expecting Mevolent to strike at us in some form or other for years now. An all-out invasion, while regarded as somewhat unlikely, was nonetheless on the cards.”

“But now that we know it’s coming, we have time to get ready,” Valkyrie said.

China shook her head. “We can’t allow the invasion to even begin. We have no guarantee that we’d be able to contain it, and no guarantee he wouldn’t choose to attack a mortal city first. The fact is, I simply refuse to be the Supreme Mage in charge when the mortals learn of our existence. It would be a lasting stain on my legacy.”

The dais drifted lower, until she was almost at eye level with them. “I have a job for you. I realise that, as Arbiters, not even I am able to issue you an order, but I would appreciate it greatly if you would give this some consideration.”

“What do you need us to do?” Valkyrie asked.

China sat back. “If Serpine is right, and Mevolent and his army will invade by the end of the year, that gives us, at most, seven months. Our preparations will continue, of course, but I would dearly like for all that work to have been for nothing.”

“Meaning what?”

“You want us to shunt over to the Leibniz Universe,” Skulduggery said.

“That’s right,” said China.

“And you want us to kill Mevolent.”

“That is also right.”

Valkyrie looked at them both. “We’re not assassins.”

“I understand that,” said China, “but drastic steps are sometimes required. And assassination is nothing new to Skulduggery.”

“I’ve killed when I have to,” he replied. “But plenty of people have tried to kill Mevolent. Darquesse even gave it a go. If she couldn’t manage it, I don’t like my chances.”

“Everyone can be killed,” said China. “For centuries, we didn’t think that the Mevolent in our universe could die – and then his own son killed him. It’s entirely possible. All you need is the right weapon.”

“The God-Killers,” Skulduggery said.

“The sword was damaged during Devastation Day, and I have devoted considerable resources to repairing it. But our greatest hope lies with the greatest God-Killer.”

Valkyrie frowned. “You found the Sceptre of the Ancients?”

“We did,” said China. “You’ll be taking that.”

Valkyrie shook her head. “It doesn’t have to be me. Once we take it into another dimension, it’s wiped clean. It’ll bond to whoever’s the first to touch it.”

“I realise that. But I want you to wield it.”

“I can’t,” said Valkyrie. “If I’m the only one who can use it, I’d have to be the one to kill Mevolent. I’m not killing anyone. And don’t bother telling me how bad he is and how much he deserves it and how much better off people will be when he’s gone. I know all this. It doesn’t change anything.”

“I’m not asking you to kill anyone,” China responded. “I’m just asking that you take the Sceptre and maybe use it as a last resort – just in case everything else goes wrong. I have every faith that Skulduggery will find a way to kill Mevolent without it.”

“Skulduggery should take it, then.”

“It won’t bond to Skulduggery. We’ve studied the Sceptre – as much as we could without taking it apart – and it would appear that it bonds with living flesh and blood. I’m afraid Skulduggery lacks the essential ingredients. It has to be you, my dear.”

Valkyrie pinched the bridge of her nose. She was getting another one of her headaches.

“When would you need us to go?” Skulduggery asked.

“We have seven months, but time is of the essence. You will be leaving in four days.”

Valkyrie frowned. “And how long would we be away?”

“If you haven’t managed to kill him in two months, come home. We’ll re-strategise.”

“Two months?”

“We’ll need a team,” Skulduggery said.

China nodded. “Take whomever you like – apart from Fletcher Renn and Temper Fray. I’ll need them here. And I’m afraid you’ll have to take Serpine. He’ll be your guide.”

“I doubt he’ll be too enthusiastic about that.”

“We’ll give him asylum if he co-operates, allow him to stay in Roarhaven – under strict supervision, of course.”

“We’d be running the risk of him betraying us. He is notoriously evil, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I trust you’ll be able to handle him if it comes to that. I know what it is I’m asking you to do. I know how difficult it will be. But I’m afraid we have little option. Meritorious had his Dead Men. I need you to be mine.”

“Ask us,” Skulduggery said.

“Pardon?”

“I just like being asked to … you know.”

China sighed. “Skulduggery Pleasant, Valkyrie Cain, will you accept this mission and save the world, pretty please, with a cherry on top?”

Skulduggery put his hands on his hips. “I shall.”

“Yeah,” Valkyrie muttered. “I shall, too.”

It’s a hell of a thing, to kill a man.

Clint Eastwood said that, in that movie with Lex Luthor and the first Dumbledore. Back when she saw that film for the first time, sitting with her dad in the living room, trying to hide the bruises she’d got from whatever fight she’d been in earlier that day, Valkyrie had just thought it was a cool line. Since then, she’d had the opportunity for a little re-evaluation.

She’d killed people. She’d weakened, allowed Darquesse to take over, and that side of her had ended lives while wearing her face. Then Valkyrie had regained control and she’d gone on with her life, not really noticing the blood that dripped from her hands. And that was before Darquesse had even split from her and killed thousands. That was before Valkyrie had killed her own sister. All that death – because of where Valkyrie has come from and what she’d been through and the decisions she’d taken down through the years.

And now she was on a team built for assassination. A hit squad.

“I wanted to be a pacifist,” she said.

“Hold on,” said Fletcher, tapping at his phone. “Almost finished. Almost … there. Sent.” He put the phone away. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I wanted to be a pacifist.”

“You? But you love punching people.”

“I don’t love it.”

“You hardly hate it.”

“I punch people if I have to punch them.”

“Does that make you a reluctant puncher, or a reluctant pacifist?”

“I didn’t say I was a pacifist. I said I wanted to be one.”

“You’d be a terrible pacifist. You’re far too violent.”

Her phone buzzed. She read the message. “New York,” she said.

“I heart New York.”

“Roof of the Flatiron Building. She’ll be there in three minutes.”

“We’ll be there in none,” Fletcher said. He took Valkyrie’s hand and now they were in Manhattan, high above the city streets. The sun was bright and the sky was blue and the warm air rushed in Valkyrie’s ears. She wandered to the edge of the roof and looked down.

“What has you thinking about pacifism?” Fletcher asked.

Valkyrie shrugged, watching the yellow cabs jerk erratically through the flow of traffic, signalling each manoeuvre with a blast of the horn.

“Is it anything to do with this top-secret mission you’re on that you can’t tell me about?”

“I can tell you about it,” she said, turning to him. “I couldn’t tell you about it in Roarhaven because I don’t know who’s listening, but we’re fine here. Do you want to know about the mission?”

“Not really.”

“You’re not the slightest bit interested in anything that doesn’t concern you, are you?”

“Why would I be?” he responded. “The problem with the world today is that people want to be in on everything. I don’t see the point.”

Valkyrie smiled, went to look down at the streets again, and jerked back. “Jesus!” she said, hand on her heart.

Tanith Low, grinning and standing on the side of the building right below her with her arms crossed. She walked up the last few strides, her body swinging from horizontal to vertical with that final step on to the roof.

“Sorry,” she said, hugging Valkyrie. “Couldn’t resist. How you doing? Doing OK?”

“Doing fine,” Valkyrie said, giving her an extra squeeze.

“Hey, Tanith,” Fletcher said.

Tanith released Valkyrie, gave Fletcher a hug, too. “Hey, Fletch. How’s life as a teacher?”

“It’s good,” he answered. “It’s nice to have a stable job, and I enjoy helping the kids, you know? It’s a chance to mould young minds. Really set them off on the right track.”

“Yeah,” said Tanith, “that’s cool.”

“I just think of all the ways I’ve changed since I met you guys,” Fletcher continued. “All the ways I’ve grown up. I was a cocky kid, wasn’t I? I was almost annoying.”

“Almost?” Tanith echoed.

Fletcher laughed. “Yeah, OK, so I was annoying. But now I’m teaching, I have a steady job, I’m moulding young minds—”

“Pretty sure you’ve already said all that,” Valkyrie pointed out. This was odd. Fletcher was suddenly – and uncharacteristically – nervous. Almost like—

He took a deep breath. “Tanith, would you like to go out with me?”

Valkyrie’s eyes widened.

Tanith stared. “I’m sorry?”

Fletcher chuckled. “Would you like to go out?” he asked. “With me? For dinner? Anywhere in the world.”

“On a … date?”

“Yes. I know it’s unconventional to be asked out by a guy whose ex-girlfriend is standing right here, but I didn’t want either of you to feel weird about this.”

“So thoughtful,” said Valkyrie.

“I mean, you’re best friends, and obviously there’s going to be some level of awkwardness there, but I’ve thought about this a lot, and I think that so long as we’re all open and honest from the very beginning, this needn’t be a problem. So, Tanith, what do you say? You know I’ve fancied you since I first met you.”

“He has,” Valkyrie said, nodding.

“Even when I was going out with Valkyrie.”

“It’s true,” Valkyrie said, nodding again.

“And yeah, I was way too young back then, but now I’ve grown up, and I think we’d be good together. What do you say? Want to give it a whirl, see what happens?”

“Uh …” said Tanith.

Fletcher gave her what Valkyrie knew was one of his most winning smiles.

“I’m kind of already seeing someone,” Tanith said.

Fletcher’s smile didn’t dim. If anything, it widened. “Is that so?”

“Oberon Guile,” Tanith said. “Valkyrie knows him.”

“I do,” said Valkyrie.

“I don’t think I’ve heard of him,” Fletcher said, frowning now with casual interest.

“You’d like him,” said Tanith.

“No, he wouldn’t,” said Valkyrie.

“Yeah, probably not. He’s a good guy. American. He helped us out with the Oregon thing and we’ve … well. We started something and we’re seeing where it takes us.”

“That sounds lovely,” said Fletcher, smiling again. “Well, OK then, so that’s a no from you on the whole dinner thing?”

“Afraid so.”

“That’s absolutely fine. I just thought I’d ask, you know. Now I’ll let Valkyrie take over, because she’s got the official Sanctuary business to talk to you about, because that’s the reason we’re here, after all. That’s the reason we came. I figured that while we’re—”

“You’re talking too much,” Valkyrie said.

He nodded. “I do that when I’m embarrassed. I’ll wait for you over there.” He smiled awkwardly, turned and walked off.

Tanith looked at Valkyrie, who held up her hands.

“I did not know he was going to ask that,” she said.

“I believe you.”

“But while we’re on the subject – how’s it going with tall, dark, and handsome?”

Tanith shrugged. “It’s going well,” she said. “No labels quite yet. We don’t really know what this is … but he’s a good guy.”

“Have you met his son?”

“I have not, nor have I met the ex. But, seeing as how he’s taken it upon himself to ensure they have a normal life, I’m not pushing for it. What about you and Militsa?”

“All good,” Valkyrie said. “She’s a bright ray of light in my otherwise dark existence.”

“Wow.”

“I know, right? Anyway – the reason I’m here …”

“Official Sanctuary business,” Tanith said, folding her arms. “And yet you know I already have a mission. Skulduggery assigned it to me himself.”

“I know, I know. Any progress?”

Tanith glared. “I’m getting there. We’re getting there, actually. I have Oberon helping me whenever he’s free … but it’s slow work, tracking down a weapon nobody will admit they’ve even heard of. It’s mostly research, going from one reference to the Obsidian Blade to another reference to another … I haven’t punched or kicked anyone in months. Months, Valkyrie.”

“That’s why I’m here. I’m offering you the chance to punch someone, and probably kick them as well. It’s got nothing to do with the Obsidian Blade or the Unnamed in the slightest, but it will entail travelling to another dimension.”

An excited smile tugged at the corners of Tanith’s mouth. “The Leibniz Universe?”

“Dimension X, yes.”

“We’re travelling into the Leibniz Universe?”

“I don’t know why you keep calling it that when its name is Dimension X but, again, yes.”

“How many of us?”

“Seven.”

“For how long?”

“Two months at the very most. I’m hoping it’ll only take a week or so.”

“What’s the mission?”

“We’re going to kill Mevolent.”

Tanith stuck her hand out. “You had me at kill Mevolent.”

Valkyrie shook it. “Literally the last thing I said.”

“And that’s when you had me.”

The world was closing in on Martin Flanery, and he didn’t know what to do.

He lay awake at night, thinking about the Democrats, about the mainstream media, about the treacherous members of his own party. They were all out to get him, all out to scupper his magnificent, wonderful plans.

Nobody had better plans than Martin Flanery. Nobody.

His advisors were idiots, his Chief of Staff was a moron, and his new vice-president was a woman. A woman! Martin just didn’t believe, on a fundamental level, that women could be trusted to run a country. They were far too emotional. Way too volatile.

He stormed out of another of his meetings, apoplectic with rage. Why couldn’t he trust anyone to do anything? Why couldn’t he trust anyone?

Even Crepuscular Vies had let him down. The attack on the naval base in Oregon had been supposed to kick off a war against the wizards. It had all been planned, every little bit. Then Abyssinia had tried to betray him. But he’d shown her. Oh, yes.

And then everything had gone wrong. That creepy-headed weirdo in the bow tie and the hat had decided, without even consulting Martin, that the plan needed to be altered. Instead of an attack that grabbed the headlines, there was barely a mention of a disturbance in any of the local newspapers.

He got back to the Oval Office and slammed the door. He hated everybody. It was all so unfair.

“You’re going to have a heart attack,” Crepuscular said, and Martin jumped.

Martin hated it when Crepuscular sat behind the Oval Office desk, because there was nothing he could do to move him. He just had to stand there, and Martin hated standing. Always had.

“You’re always so angry,” the freak was saying. “You should learn to let things go, you really should.”

“Like you, you mean?” Martin said, and then instantly regretted it – but Crepuscular just laughed.

“No,” he said, “I suppose not. You got me there, Mr President. You got me there.”

“What are we—?” His voice made a weird squawk.

“Sorry?” said Crepuscular. “What was that?”

Martin cleared his throat. “What are we going to do about my re-election campaign?”

“That’s not for another year.”

“But we don’t have anyone. We don’t have the witch to make senators support me, or find out their secrets, or – or any of the things we did last time. What are we going to do?”

“Will you relax? Seriously. I’ve got it covered, Martin. I know exactly what to do and who to call on and who to lean on … We’re in great shape. You know what I predict? I predict you’re going to win a second term in office by an even greater majority.”

Martin nodded. Yes. Yes, that was right.

“The people love you, Mr President.”

Martin sighed, the tension leaving his body. They did love him. They screamed his name and chanted his slogans. They worshipped him.

Crepuscular hopped up, brushed the seat of the chair, and ushered Martin into it.

“There,” he said. “The people’s president. We’re going to do great things, you and me.”

Martin looked at him and smiled. They were indeed. Great, great things. And, when Martin won his second term, he’d speak to some people, and someone wearing gloves would walk up behind Crepuscular Vies during one of his condescending little speeches, and shoot him in the back of the head. And Martin would watch.

Sebastian stepped into the room. Darquesse floated there, eyes on the wall but focused elsewhere.

“Hello again,” he said. “I’d like to continue talking to you, if you don’t mind. About my mission? About what I was hoping you might do? I don’t think I made an awful lot of sense yesterday, or the day before that, so I’ve written it all down, just to make sure I don’t lose track of the point again.” Sebastian took the paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and cleared his throat.

Before he could speak, Darquesse exhaled.

It was the first movement she’d made in weeks. The first action she’d taken. It was a long and slow exhalation, barely noticeable, and it made Sebastian wonder how long she’d been holding the air in her lungs. Since they got here, perhaps?

When she was finished, she took a breath. Nothing huge. Just a simple breath. Her chest expanded, and then she let it out. And then she was breathing normally.

Sebastian’s heart was suddenly a prisoner in his chest, digging through his ribcage to get out.

One eye blinked. Her left one. It blinked again. It screwed itself shut, and then opened, extra wide. The other one followed suit, though not at the same speed.

She refocused and turned her head slightly, her eyes blinking independently of each other. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

“Hello?” Sebastian said quietly.

Left eye blinked. Left eye blinked. Left eye then right eye blinked. Right eye. Left. Both together. Both together. Left eye then right eye and off she went again, eyes blinking at different rates.

Sebastian tried smiling behind his mask. “Darquesse?”

The moment their eyes locked, he cried out, his mind filled with a buzzing that blocked out every other single thing in the universe. He fell to his knees, fingers clawing at his mask, trying to rip it from his skin, trying to get at the skin and tear it from his bones.

And then the buzzing was gone and he sagged, fell back, breathing heavily.

“Communication,” Darquesse said, “is difficult.”

Sebastian understood. He’d glimpsed it, in all that buzzing. Years ago, she had moved beyond words. Transcended them. Now she had to take all her knowledge and all her experience and all her being, and condense it all back down into stupid, awkward, clumsy language.

“You don’t have to speak,” he said, getting up. “But can you understand what I’m saying?”

Her head moved one way, then the other, but neither was right. Then it moved up and down in a nod.

“My name is Sebastian. I found you, in that other dimension. With the Faceless Ones. I brought you back. Do you remember?”

“Name,” Darquesse murmured. “Your name is Sebastian.”

“Yes.”

“Your name is not Sebastian.”

“Sebastian is my taken name.”

“You have another.”

“I abandoned that one when I became Sebastian.”

“My name …”

“Yes.”

“Darquesse.”

“Yes.”

She frowned. “I have no other.”

“You used to be, I suppose, part of Valkyrie Cain. Do you remember that?”

“Valkyrie Cain. Stephanie Edgley. Darquesse.”

“Yes.”

Darquesse looked around, and Sebastian knew she wasn’t examining the walls, but looking through them, across vast distances. Looking at the world she’d tried to destroy.

“I need your help,” Sebastian said, hoping to bring her attention back to him. “Will you help me? Will you help us?”

Darquesse looked at him, and vanished.

“Oh, hell,” he said.

In a private room in the High Sanctuary, tucked deep within it, far away from even the Cleavers, Dexter Vex sat at the flat base of the triangular table and brooded.

He was a handsome guy. The beard did nothing to hide that, and neither did the scars that crept out around it – scars that had formed after Darquesse had plunged her hand down his throat years back. Valkyrie still didn’t know how he’d survived that, or how the doctors had put him back together with only those scars to show for it. Those scars, and that voice.

“I don’t get it,” he whispered. “Do we kill him now, or do we kill him later?”

Sitting opposite him, right at the tip of the triangle, Serpine smiled.

“We don’t kill him at all,” Skulduggery said. “Serpine isn’t our target. Mevolent is.”

“No, I get that,” Dexter said. “I get that we’re going after Mevolent. But when do we kill Serpine?”

“We don’t. As difficult as it is to believe, this Serpine is on our side.”

“But it’s Serpine.”

“A different Serpine.”

“But still Serpine.”

“Yes and no.”

Valkyrie sat beside Tanith on the left side of the table. Skulduggery stayed on his feet in case anyone suddenly dived at the villain in their midst.

“You’ve known an alternate Serpine existed in the Leibniz Universe for years,” Skulduggery said.

“It’s one thing to know it,” Dexter said. “Another thing to be sitting across from the man. He’ll betray us the first chance he gets. Better to kill him now.”

“I’ll do it,” Tanith said. “Skulduggery, let me kill him. You killed the last one.”

“Can I say something?” Serpine asked.

Valkyrie said, “I wouldn’t advise it.”

“I’m a wanted man in my world,” Serpine said anyway. “Mevolent and his people – and his people are everywhere – they hate me. They have orders to kill me on sight. Personally, I don’t want to go back because, to put it bluntly, I have nobody to betray you to. Of course, I understand why you’d want to kill me – but I am not the enemy you knew. I’m not him. To prove it, I’m willing to put my own well-being to one side and embark on this mission with you. If you can find it within yourselves to trust me, even on a marginal level, I believe that together we can stop Mevolent and end this threat once and for all. I believe we can be a team.”

Valkyrie watched them watch him.

“Nobody would have to know that we did it,” Tanith said. “We could say we went over to Dimension X and he immediately fell off a cliff.”

“He’s coming with us,” said Skulduggery. “We’ll keep an eye on him, he’ll never be left alone, and he’s been fitted with an obedience cuff.”

Serpine’s smile faded. There was a thin band of twisted metal around his left wrist. “You told me this was a tracking device.”

“It is,” Skulduggery responded. “We’ll need to know where you are at all times. But it’s also an obedience cuff.”

Warily, Serpine held his wrist away from his body. “And, if I disobey an order, it will, what, administer pain?”

“No, no, nothing like that. It’ll just short out your nervous system. Like this.”

Skulduggery took a pebble from his pocket, and tapped his thumb against the sigil carved on it. Serpine went limp, slumped sideways, and fell off his chair.

“There’s no limit to its range,” Skulduggery continued, “and this will also happen if you try to tamper with the cuff. Any questions?”

Serpine mumbled incoherently.

“Point taken,” Skulduggery said, tapping the pebble again. “This is not a toy, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s not treat it as such.”

Slowly, Serpine climbed back into his chair.

“Is this the team, then?” Tanith asked. “The five of us?”

“We’ve always been lucky with seven, so that’s how many we’re going for here,” Skulduggery said, walking to the door. “The Shunter is one of America’s finest. He’s eager, though, so let’s not be rude to him.”

He opened the door and a smiling young man came through, nodding quickly to each of them. “Hi,” he said. “Hey. How you all doing? It’s a pleasure to be here, and an honour to be chosen for this team and this mission. I’m Luke Skywalker.”

“Oh, God,” Valkyrie muttered.

“You can’t be,” said Tanith.

Luke grinned and shrugged.

“Is that even legal?” Dexter asked.

“We’re allowed to take whatever names we want, aren’t we?” Luke said with a chuckle. “So I chose Luke Skywalker. If you haven’t guessed, I’ve always been a huge Star Wars fan.”

Serpine stood and walked over, holding out his gloved right hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Luke Skywalker. I don’t know what the Star Wars is, but I am Nefarian Serpine.”

Luke’s smile dimmed as they shook hands. “Aren’t you dead?”

“I’m another Nefarian Serpine, one that isn’t dead. Welcome to the team.”

Serpine went back to his chair. Luke had paled considerably.

“I’m not calling you that,” Tanith said. “I can’t. Skulduggery, come on.”

“He’s the best Shunter they have,” Skulduggery told her, and then added, “who was willing to come on this mission. You don’t have to call him by his full name. Just call him Luke.”

Tanith shook her head. “Can’t do it.”

“I agree with Tanith,” said Dexter. “It’d be in the back of my mind the whole time.”

“Look, guys,” Luke said, “I totally understand. I get this reaction more than you might think.”

“Doubt that,” said Tanith.

“I took this name because I wanted a life of adventure. I wanted excitement. When I learned that there was a branch of magic that would let me explore parallel worlds, I knew I had to be a Shunter. I carry my name with me proudly, because it symbolises the kind of spirit I want to inspire in other people some day. It symbolises hope, and freedom, and a sense of—”

“I could call you SpongeBob,” Tanith said.

“Please don’t call me SpongeBob,” said Luke.

“We’ll call him by the name he’s taken,” Skulduggery said, in a tone that invited no argument. “We’ll respect his decision and hope we don’t get sued. Luke, I know you’ve been briefed, but are you sure you want to do this? Our mission is dangerous. There’s no guarantee any of us are coming back.”

Luke squared his shoulders. “I’m in.”

Skulduggery clapped him on the back. “Take a seat.”

Luke took one, as far away from Serpine as he could.

“So that’s six,” Dexter said. “Who’s the seventh member?”

Skulduggery flicked open his pocket watch. “He should be here soon.”

“Is it someone we know?”

Skulduggery hesitated, only for a moment, and Dexter’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s Saracen, isn’t it?”

“We need someone we can trust,” Skulduggery said.

“Someone you can trust, you mean.” Dexter stood, started for the door.

Valkyrie darted in front of him. “Isn’t it about time you sorted this out? Whatever happened between you, it can’t be worth all this. You were the best of friends.”

“Friendships fade.”

“Dexter, please.”

Before he could respond, the door opened, and Saracen Rue walked in.

Dexter didn’t immediately storm off, so that was a promising start.

The last time Valkyrie had seen Saracen was in a vision, where he’d been lying dead on the ground. She pushed the image from her mind as she hugged him. A vision of the future was a glimpse at something that might happen – not would happen. With every decision made in the present, the future shifted. She had to keep reminding herself of that.

Saracen hugged Tanith, and then he nodded to Dexter. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah.”

“I like the beard.”

“It covers the scars.”

Saracen shrugged. “You were always too pretty anyway. At least now you’re interesting.”

Tanith watched them both. “So are either of you going to tell us why you’ve been arguing?”

Dexter crossed his arms. Saracen shrugged.

Tanith looked at Luke and then at Serpine. “New guy, bad guy, leave the room. This is a conversation between friends.”

Luke sprang to his feet and hurried out, while Serpine grinned and got up from his chair lazily. He sauntered out, annoyingly slowly.

When the door closed, Saracen said, “It started out as something silly and then … grew.”

“He won’t tell me what his magical discipline is,” Dexter said.

Tanith frowned. “Seriously? That’s it? None of us know what it is.”

“And I was fine with that,” Dexter responded, “until Darquesse plunged her arm down my throat to pull that Remnant out and I almost died. While I was recovering, I found myself latching on to things. Small things. Easily achievable things. One of these small things was to get Saracen to tell me what he could do. So I asked him, and he wouldn’t tell me, and I realised what that actually meant: it meant he didn’t trust me. He didn’t trust anyone.”

Saracen shook his head. “That’s not what it meant.”

Dexter ignored him and carried on. “So, if he didn’t trust me, how could I trust him? In the state I was in – broken, in pain – this was something I’d decided I needed, and he couldn’t even do that for me. What made it worse was that the one person he had told was Ravel.”

“Ah, come on,” said Saracen, “I was on my deathbed at the time.”

“The only person you’ve ever told was the guy who went on to kill Ghastly and Anton.”

“And, if I had known that, I probably wouldn’t have told him.” Saracen sighed. “But anyway, that’s how it developed. From something small and silly into something big and important. The way these things do.”

Valkyrie said, “And, because of this, you haven’t spoken in years?”

“Not just because of this,” Saracen said. “I mean, it’s not exactly unusual for us to go off and do our own thing.”

“We’ve gone years without talking plenty of times before,” Dexter added. “It doesn’t mean anything. This was the first time there was an argument at the root of it, though.”

Saracen took a breath, and let it out. “And now I’m here to tell you.”

Valkyrie leaned forward. “Tell us what?”

“Tell you what I can do. If it’s the only way Dex can trust me again, then … OK. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now and it’s time.”

“You’re going to tell us your magical discipline?”

“Yes.”

Dexter looked surprised. Everyone looked surprised. Apart from Skulduggery. He never looked surprised.

“Hold on,” said Tanith. “Before you do … what do we all think it is?”

“I think it’s some kind of psychic thing,” said Valkyrie. “Like you can sense what’s round the corner.”

“I think it’s a psychic thing, too,” Tanith said, “but I reckon you can see a few seconds into the future. Skulduggery, what about you?”

“I know what it is,” Skulduggery said.

Now Saracen was surprised. “You do?”

“I always suspected, but my suspicions were confirmed only a few years ago, once Ravel revealed himself as a traitor.”

“This should be interesting,” Saracen said, raising an eyebrow.

“When you were on your deathbed,” Skulduggery said. “Tell us that story again.”

“My deathbed? You mean the time I was sick? There isn’t a whole lot to tell. I was sick, and getting sicker. I was almost dead, in fact. Then I woke up one morning and I was fine. The end.”

“What happened the night before you woke up fine?” Skulduggery asked.

“Not a whole lot. Oh, wait, you mean …? Yeah, I was lying there and I didn’t want to die without telling someone what my discipline was, so I told Ravel. A sort of deathbed-confession type of deal.”

“How did that confirm anything?” Tanith asked.

“Ravel had already put his plan in motion by this stage,” Skulduggery said, “which meant that, if Saracen could read minds, he could have quite easily discovered Ravel’s secret. So Ravel decided to kill him.”

Saracen took a moment. “Excuse me?”

“You weren’t getting sicker on your own. He was poisoning you.”

Saracen stared at him, then stared at the wall. “That sneaky …”

“But, when you told him what it was you could actually do, he realised that it didn’t pose a threat, so he stopped poisoning you and allowed you to get better.”

“That sneaky, low-down, dirty …”

“That eliminates any psychic elements from the equation,” said Skulduggery. “So you’re not a Sensitive, and you can’t see into the future – which means you have to be a Lynceus.”

Valkyrie tilted her head. “A what?”

“Someone who has so-called X-ray vision.”

“He tried to kill me,” Saracen muttered. “That … he tried to kill me …”

“Saracen,” Dexter said. “Back on track. Is that it? Is it X-ray vision?”

Making what seemed like a supreme effort to push his personal feelings to one side, Saracen nodded.

“Well. That’s pretty anticlimactic,” said Dexter. “After all this time, I mean.”

“But why keep it a secret?” Valkyrie asked.

“I’ve found that’s best,” Saracen responded. “Imagine for a moment you’d decided to become a Lynceus. Imagine you went around telling people that. Imagine them knowing that you could see through virtually anything. Imagine how they’d react.”

The room went quiet as this sank in.

“I doubt they’d be comfortable around you,” Tanith said.

“Exactly,” said Saracen. “Everyone would think I decided to specialise in this because I wanted to see through people’s clothes.”

“Why did you specialise in it?”

“I wanted to see through people’s clothes. I know, I know, but I was a teenager. I thought it’d be great. It’s not great. Not at all.”

“Well,” Tanith said, standing up and spreading her arms, “I’m not embarrassed.”

“No, you’re not,” Saracen said, smiling, “but I don’t like to use it for things like that any more. Besides, clothes tend to … squish and distort what’s underneath. It can get quite weird and unsettling.”

Tanith shrugged. “Still not embarrassed,” she said, and sat down again.

“I’m sorry,” Saracen said. “Everyone here, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’ve been ashamed of my discipline since I took it on, and the fact that I didn’t tell anyone at the start made it harder to tell anyone later, and that kind of snowballed and … here we are, hundreds of years down the line. Dexter, to you in particular – sorry, man.”

Dexter shook his head. “You could have chosen anything. Any discipline. I can’t believe you went for X-ray vision.”

“I know.”

“You could be flying right now. If you’d just stayed as an Elemental, you could be flying.”

“I realise that.”

“Instead, you decided to use your awesome magic to see through clothes.”

“Thanks for being so mature about this. So are we cool? Are we friends again?”

“Yeah, fine, whatever,” Dexter said. “It’s just I’m embarrassed for you, you know? Not only because you chose that as a discipline, but also because that was your one big secret. That’s the thing that marked you out as mysterious. You were the guy who knew things, when really, all along … Oh, God, I’m blushing. I’m actually blushing for you.”

“Can we get Serpine back in here?” Saracen grumbled. “I feel that I need to punch someone.”

It was strange to see Auger so pale, so weak, and, no matter how many times Omen visited, it never got any easier.

His brother did his best to sit up in bed, though, and there was some semblance of that crooked grin of his. “You’re looking better,” he said.

“So are you,” Omen lied.

The Infirmary in the High Sanctuary was easily the best place in the world to be treated, or so Omen had heard. He wasn’t surprised. They had the very best that mortal medicine had to offer, plus cutting-edge science-magic. And also it was quiet, with very few patients.

“How’d your prison visit go?” Auger asked.

Omen lowered himself gently into the chair by the bed. “Could have been better,” he admitted.

“I told you. Jenan’s too far gone.”

“I had to try.”

“I know, I know. But that’s it, right? You gave him a chance to talk it out, and now you’ll never visit him again. Yes?”

Omen hesitated, and Auger groaned.

“I can’t say I’ll never visit again,” Omen said. “I’ll give it six months and then go back. Maybe he’ll have changed his mind.”

“Yeah,” said Auger. “Or maybe you’ll realise that you’re wasting your time trying to save people who don’t want to be saved.”

“Oh, so you’d give up on him, would you?”

“I already have, dude. He tried to kill us both. Well, he tried to kill you, anyway. With me, he just held out the knife and I jumped on to it.”

“You’re still mad at yourself, then?”

“It was so stupid,” Auger said. “All my training went right out the window.”

“We’ve had this discussion before.”

“And we’ll have it again. We’ll have it over and over until I’m sick of talking about it. I leaped on him. I leaped. Didn’t even see the knife.”

“You saved me.”

“And I’m really happy about that part, but—”

“You saved me, Auger. Yes, you didn’t follow all the rules and you got yourself badly hurt – but you didn’t have time. If you’d been a second slower, I’d have been dead. You did what you had to do.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Definitely. So how are you doing?”

“Better,” said Auger. “I can walk halfway across the room now before I get too tired.”

“That’s a definite improvement.”

“And earlier I peed without any assistance.”

“Good for you.”

“Yeah,” Auger said, nodding proudly. “I mean, I completely messed up the bed and they had to change all the sheets, but …”

“But you did it.”

“And that’s the main thing.”

They grinned at each other, and then Auger said, “But I did actually pee the bed.”

Omen shrugged. “Who hasn’t peed the bed recently?”

“Not me, that’s for sure.”

“It’s the small victories.”

“It is.”

“Has anyone been to see you?”

“Kase and Mahala,” said Auger. “Never, too, but it’s easier for him. She’ll just teleport straight in, doesn’t care about visiting hours or anything like that.”

“Handy.”

“Very.”

“How about the folks?”

“They’ve been in quite a bit,” said Auger, “although they’re more interested in talking to the doctors than talking to me, so I don’t know if I can count them. How’s school going?”

Omen made a face. “Great – apart from the fact that I’m going to have to work with a tutor over the summer to catch up on the classes I missed.”

“Aw, man.”

“I tried explaining to everyone that I’m always this far behind by the end of term, but no one will listen.”

“They just don’t know you, dude.”

“No one has it worse than me.”

“Absolutely no one, my brother.”

“I heard about this one guy who did have it worse than me? But it turned out to be a rumour.”

“No,” said Auger, laughing, “it turned out to actually be you.”

“Yes,” Omen grinned. “The only person who has it worse than me is me.”

They laughed, then cackled, then laughed some more.

“Oh, God,” Omen said, wiping tears from his eyes. “If only that weren’t true.”

Emergency meeting of the Darquesse Society at Ulysses’ house. His wife was out. They had to be done by nine.

“How are you doing?” Lily asked when Sebastian walked in.

“I lost Darquesse,” he said. “How do you think I’m doing? How does someone lose a god, you ask? Well, first of all, you have to be incredibly boring, because only someone incredibly boring can drive away their god simply by talking to her. And this is a god, by the way, who has just spent the last three months staring at a wall. The wall was more interesting than me.”

“Sebastian,” Bennet said, “please stop blaming yourself.”

“There’s no one else to blame. I was the only one there. I’d love to blame someone else, believe me. I’d love to blame Forby or Tarry or whoever, but … but it’s my fault.”

“Are you quite finished?” Ulysses asked.

“Not really.”

“Have a seat. Go on. Sit on the couch.”

Sebastian sighed, and sat. They were all looking at him.

“I have good news,” said Bennet.

Adrenaline surged. “She’s back? She’s back!”

“She’s not back,” Bennet said quickly. Then he shrugged. “She’s kind of back.”

Sebastian leaned forward. “Where is she?”

“All over the place, actually. Kimora saw her two days ago, just walking down the street. I asked if she was sure it wasn’t Valkyrie Cain, and Kimora said no, she was wearing that black skinsuit thing. Then Ulysses saw her when he was waiting in line for a coffee. That was on Wednesday.”

“So she’s walking around?”

“Apparently so. And no one’s bothering her because they probably all think she’s Valkyrie Cain, even though she’s wearing a skinsuit and Cain, as far as I know, wears regular clothes.”

“So she hasn’t disappeared,” Sebastian said. “And she hasn’t gone back to the Faceless Ones’ dimension.”

“She’s still here, my friend.”

Sebastian stood up. “Then I’m going to find her.”

Xena bounded through the High Sanctuary foyer, scattering sorcerers in her path, and Militsa dropped to her knees and the dog thudded into her arms. She fell back, laughing, as Xena wriggled and slobbered and bounced.

Valkyrie walked up to them, ignoring the disapproving looks she was getting. “Thanks for doing this.”

“No problem,” Militsa said, and squealed as Xena licked her ear. “You say goodbye to your family?”

“Yep.”

“How did Alice take it?”

Valkyrie hesitated. “There were tears.”

Militsa held up her hands and Valkyrie pulled her to her feet. Xena started jumping up.

“Xena, sit,” Valkyrie said, and immediately the dog sat and was calm.

Now that they had a moment of peace, Valkyrie took her girlfriend in her arms, tilted her back, and gave her one of her patented Best Kisses in the World. Militsa responded by wrapping her fingers in Valkyrie’s hair and pulling ever so slightly.

When the kiss was done, Valkyrie righted Militsa and held on to her while her balance returned and she stopped swooning.

“Wow,” Militsa said, fanning her face with her hand. “You’re telling me I have to go two months without that?”

“It won’t be two months, I promise.”

“Such cruel and unnatural torture,” she murmured, then shook her head to clear it. “Sorry, what were you saying about Alice?”

“Oh,” Valkyrie said, scratching Xena’s head. “There were tears when I told her I had to go away for a bit. It was kind of, I don’t know … scary, the way her mood switched. One moment, totally happy and fun. The next, instant sadness.”

“Of course she was upset. She’s a kid. Two months is an eternity to her.”

Valkyrie gave a brief smile, and Militsa knew her well enough to change the subject.

“So when will the doggy be expecting her walkies?”

“Morning, whenever you get up, and evening, whenever you get in. She might try and hop up on the bed with you at night, but you can shoo her off and she won’t be offended.”

“How could I shoo this beautiful creature off my bed?” Militsa cried, planting a huge kiss on Xena’s head. “By the time you get back, we’ll be the very best of friends. Won’t we, my little princess?”

Xena wagged her tail in response.

Skulduggery and Tanith were waiting across the foyer. Valkyrie nodded to them, then became aware of a tall blonde zeroing in on her location.

Valkyrie squared her shoulders ever so slightly, smiled, and held out her hand. “Hello,” she said. “I’m Valkyrie Cain.”

“Arabella Wicked,” the blonde said as they shook. “I’m a teacher at Corrival Academy.”

“Oh, I know who you are.”

“Then you know that Militsa and I used to be together.”

Militsa straightened up. “Here we go …”

“She mentioned it, yes,” Valkyrie said, keeping the smile.

Arabella regarded her coolly. “I feel I ought to tell you that I made a huge mistake when I ended our relationship, and I plan to win Militsa back.”

“I’d agree with the first part,” Valkyrie responded, “but I don’t like your chances with the second.”

Arabella was just a shade taller than Valkyrie – enough so that she could look down at her. “You don’t scare me, you know.”

“If I was trying to scare you,” Valkyrie said, “you’d be scared.”

“OK,” Militsa said, “can I just interject before you two alpha females say something so macho there’s no coming back from it? Valkyrie, I love you. Arabella, we broke up, and I’m with Valkyrie now, so there’s no chance of us getting back together.”

Arabella turned to Militsa, and took her hands in hers. “I was young and confused and stupid when we separated, and I didn’t know what I had, or what I was losing. I’ve spent the last few years re-evaluating everything in my life, and you’re the missing piece. I will fight for you, Militsa.”

“And I,” Valkyrie said, “have to go.” She leaned in for a kiss. “I’ll see you in less than two months.”

“I love you,” said Militsa.

“Love you, too,” said Valkyrie. She gave Xena a cuddle, told her to stay, and raised an eyebrow to Arabella as she walked over to Skulduggery and Tanith.

“I couldn’t help but overhear,” Skulduggery said.

“And I tried to overhear, but there were too many people passing by,” Tanith chimed in. “You OK?”

Valkyrie practically snorted. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not worried about the threat Miss Wicked may pose to your relationship?” Skulduggery asked.

“Eh, have you seen me?”

Tanith looked over at Militsa and Arabella. “I don’t know,” she said. “The blonde’s a hottie.”

“I’m a hottie.”

“Yes, you are. But you’ll be gone for two months.”

“Thanks for the concern,” Valkyrie said, “but I’m quite secure in my relationship. Are we ready to go?”

“Not quite,” said Skulduggery, flicking an unnoticeable speck of nothing from his lapel. “Before we embark on a trek across an alternate world, some of us are going to require a change of clothes.” He paused. “And we’re going to need a whole lot of weapons.”

They met the others in a darkened room away from the steady traffic of sorcerers.

Dexter and Saracen were dressed in rough work clothes and heavy boots. Valkyrie watched them slide pistols into holsters, knives into sheaths. Ammunition went into belts and bandoliers. Assault rifles hung from straps on shoulders. Dexter covered his with a long coat, Saracen with a poncho.

Tanith, her sword across her back and a pistol on her hip, slid knives everywhere else. She picked up a rifle, checked its sights. Satisfied, she looped the strap over her head.

Valkyrie wore her necronaut suit, with her two shock sticks crisscrossing her back, refusing every firearm she was offered.

Serpine wasn’t trusted with a weapon. Sulking, he was handed the bulkiest backpack, and muttered to himself as he tested its weight. Luke tried to smile his commiserations, but got such a glare in return that he immediately turned his attention to the revolver he’d been given. A good old-fashioned gun, where nothing could jam or go wrong. Perfect for a fella who didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

Skulduggery came in. Valkyrie had seen him in a variation of this outfit before, during the War of the Sanctuaries. A long coat, lots of cracked leather and rough, hard-wearing clothes. Scuffed boots. His left arm encased in dull black metal. His gun holstered low on his leg.

“I’m going to need a weapon,” said Serpine. “A handgun. A knife, at the very least.”

“I’ve got you something,” Skulduggery said, passing him a metal glove.

Serpine frowned at it. “What is it? What does it do?”

“It stops you from using that red hand of yours.”

The glove dropped to the floor. It clanged heavily.

“I won’t wear it.”

“Yes, you will.”

“This is ridiculous,” Serpine said. Red energy crackled around his right hand. “How am I supposed to be useful if you stifle my potential?”

“You’ve got your other hand,” Dexter said. “You can still throw energy. We just don’t trust you with a one-shot, one-kill weapon like your little Necromancer trick.”

“You trust me enough to bring me on to your team.”

“Only because we have to.”

“I will be fighting alongside you,” Serpine said. “We’ll be encountering the same dangers, facing the same threats. Fighting back to back. I have nothing to gain by betraying you.”

“And yet we still find it impossible to generate any degree of trust,” said Saracen. “It’s our fault entirely, and we feel bad about it, I swear. But you’re wearing the glove.”

Skulduggery took out the pebble. “Don’t make us put it on you ourselves, Nefarian.”

Serpine stared, then glared, then snarled. Then he grumbled, and muttered, and picked up the glove and shoved his hand in. It clicked as it locked around his wrist. He flexed his fingers.

“It’s uncomfortable,” he announced.

“Nobody cares,” said China, sweeping into the room. She wore extravagant trousers and a beautiful top and a cloak. An actual cloak. “You all look suitably downtrodden – certainly enough to pass for weary travellers at a distance. Do try not to let anyone see you up close, however. It might spoil the effect. Now then – Luke.”

“Present!” Luke called.

China frowned. “This isn’t roll call, Luke. I was just saying your name.”

Luke blushed. “Right. Yes. Sorry, Supreme Mage.”

“Luke will be shunting you into the Leibniz Universe. You will arrive at these same coordinates, but on that world. The distance to the outskirts of Dublin-Within-The-Wall, where Mevolent resides, will be approximately twenty-two kilometres. Across uncertain terrain, and assuming you avoid enemy patrols, you should walk that in around five hours. You have two months to observe the target, come up with a plan and execute it. Luke will shunt back every two weeks with a progress report.”

She tapped the wall and a section opened, revealing a table covered with a sheet.

“The God-Killer weapons have been recovered and various repairs have been made,” China said. “They will be loaned to you. I expect them back, in working order.” She pulled the sheet away, picked up the bow and a quiver of arrows, and passed them to Saracen.

The dagger China gave to Tanith. For a moment, just as they stood there, Valkyrie wondered if Tanith would be able to resist the opportunity to say something snarky to the Supreme Mage – but she accepted the weapon without a word.

Dexter took the spear, and the massive broadsword – the blade scarred from where it had been put back together – went to Skulduggery. It was too long to hang from his belt, so he put it across his back instead.

“Nothing for me?” Serpine asked. “Nothing for me or the boy? What do you think of that, boy? Everyone else gets God-Killers except us.”

“I don’t, um, I don’t mind,” said Luke. “I’m not really much of a fighter anyway. If I was given a sword, I’d probably cut my own head off.” He laughed at that, but nobody else did, so he stopped and blushed and examined his feet.

China’s eyes rested on Valkyrie. “And the final God-Killer,” she said, “for the only warrior who can wield it.”

She held out the Sceptre of the Ancients. Valkyrie looked at the golden rod, at that glittering black crystal. The weapon the Ancients had used to drive the Faceless Ones from this reality – to drive her kind from this reality. So much had changed since she’d first picked it up. Back then, she was the good guy, descended from a long line of good guys.

These days, things were a lot more complicated.

Valkyrie took the Sceptre, felt its weight. They’d made a belt to go with it, so she put that on, the holster low on her leg, like Skulduggery’s gun. She slipped the Sceptre in, crystal first.

“I’d give a speech,” China said, “but I’m late for another speech I have to give about something I don’t care about. They’ll wait, of course, because waiting is what people do for me. For you, though, I thought I’d offer a few short words of encouragement. Kill Mevolent for me, my Dead Men, and save the world. That’s all.”

She swept from the room.

“You heard the lady,” Skulduggery said.

“Just to make it clear,” said Saracen. “We’re the Dead Men. We are. And Luke is an Apprentice Dead Man.” He looked at Serpine. “But you’re not. You understand?”

“Perfectly,” Serpine said.

“Luke,” Skulduggery said, “are you ready?”

Luke gulped, and bobbed his head up and down in an awkward approximation of a nod.

Valkyrie picked up her backpack. Inside, she’d packed a few changes of underwear, food, camping equipment, some ammunition for the others, and buried there, right at the bottom, the music box.

“Wait,” she said. The others looked at her. “Loo.”

She left the room, went to the nearest toilets and made sure they were empty. Then she said, “You want to come out?”

Her own face materialised in front of her, an eyebrow already raised. “You were going to leave without saying goodbye?”

“I haven’t felt you near until just now,” said Valkyrie. “Where have you been?”

“Searching,” Kes said.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. Something’s different. It’s been different for a few months. I don’t know what it is.”

“You want to come with me?”

Kes smiled. “To Dimension X? To a bunch of unhappy villagers and scowling sorcerers? No, thank you.”

“I’ll be gone for a few weeks.”

“I think I can survive that long without your sparkling conversation. And I want to keep looking for whatever it is I’m looking for. It’s been bugging the hell out of me, it really has.”

“Well, I’ll try to bring you back a souvenir.”

“Fridge magnet.”

“OK.”

“And maybe a fridge.”

“You got it. Hey, Kes? Those things I said last time we talked …”

“Yeah? What about them?”

Valkyrie smiled. “They were all true, every one of them.”

“That’s my girl,” Kes said, grinning. “You take care of yourself.”

“See you soon,” Valkyrie said, and Kes faded away.

She returned to the others, grabbed her bag, and they stood in a circle. Luke closed his eyes.

After a minute of standing there, Saracen spoke. “You OK there, Luke?”

“Yes, sir. I just need … just need a little time to focus on the frequency.”

Saracen nodded and smiled, and they all stood there for another few minutes in total silence.

Then the room began to flicker …

… and now they were outside, under a grey sky, standing in long grass with warm rain splattering on to the rocks around them.

“I did it,” Luke whispered. “I did it!”

“The delight in your voice is disconcerting,” said Serpine.

Skulduggery took out a compass, then pointed ahead of them. “Let’s get walking.”

Grand Mage Sturmun Drang lay dead on the slab, eyes open, his clothes soaked through with his own blood. The wound to his chest was about eight centimetres across, and narrow, inflicted by a blade of some description. A large knife, perhaps.

“Why was it moved?” Temper Fray asked.

“What?”

“The body. Why was it moved from the crime scene?”

Commander Hoc pulled at the sleeves of his jacket, a sure sign of irritation. “The crime scene was a public street. We have a team there now. You haven’t missed out on some vital clue, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Witnesses?”

“None so far.”

“Cameras? CCTV?”

“None in that area. This is your case now, Sergeant. The German Sanctuary demands answers, to say nothing of the Supreme Mage.” Hoc walked to the door.

“Why me?” Temper asked.

Hoc turned back. “What?”

“This is a high-profile murder, sir, and you’ve got investigators a lot more experienced than me. Any one of them would jump at a case like this.”

“And yet it has landed with you,” said Hoc. “Do try not to make a mess of it, Fray. A mistake like that could end your career.”

He smirked and left the morgue, and Temper looked back at the body.

“Spear,” said the coroner, rolling up a trolley of instruments.

“Sorry?”

“If you’re wondering about the weapon used. It was a spear.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

“What kind of spear?”

“The pointy kind. I doubt it was thrown, though. More likely jabbed. A single wound, by the looks of it, though I haven’t started examining the body properly yet. Who was he?”

“You don’t recognise him? That’s the German Grand Mage.”

The coroner shrugged. “Politics don’t interest me.”

“He sat on the Council of Advisors with Praetor and Vespers.”

“Councils don’t interest me.”

“What does interest you?”

“Corpses.”

“Do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life.”

The coroner nodded. “That’s what they say.”

“How long has he been dead?”

“About four hours.”

“Defensive marks?”

“None that I can see so far.”

“So … the German Grand Mage, experienced veteran of countless battles, out for an evening stroll, gets taken by surprise and killed with one jab from a spear without even attempting to defend himself. Should be an easy solve, this.”

The coroner grunted, amused. “Know many killers who use spears, do you?”

Temper frowned. “I know of one.”

The land brought with it a vague but persistent sense of déjà vu. Not with every step, nor with every turn, and not even with every hill – but now and then Valkyrie was struck by how this was home, and yet it wasn’t.

Most of the familiar landmarks didn’t exist here. Buildings and roads were missing. There were fields and meadows instead of street corners and estates. There were empty villages of stone and wood instead of motorways. Instead of a neat and orderly canal, there was a stream, crossed with bridges like stitches on a cut.

And no people. No villagers, no farmers. No meek mortals scurrying away at their approach. And no sorcerer patrols, either. No Redhoods or Sense-Wardens. No floating barges collecting prisoners.

Skulduggery and Dexter and Saracen talked as they walked. Tanith would chime in occasionally. Serpine tried, and was told to shut up. Valkyrie stayed quiet.

Her head was at her again. It buzzed with grating, rasping whispers. The longer they walked, the harder it became to think clearly. To focus.

It got dark. They had another five kilometres to walk, but Skulduggery wanted to approach the city in the morning, so they stopped to make camp. Valkyrie found a secluded spot, out of earshot, and sat with her back against a tree. She pulled her bag in close, pulled it open with trembling fingers, and lifted the lid of the music box.

The sweetness of the tune filled her head and all the whispers went away. It seeped into her veins and she lost the jittery feeling in her fingertips. Her nerve endings calmed. The flutter in her chest, the churning in her belly – they settled. She leaned her head back and gazed into the distance with half-lidded eyes. She could stay here forever like this. This was nice. She was content.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket next to her chest, and she opened her eyes and tapped off the alarm and closed the box. She packed it away, went back to camp with a smile on her face. When it was suggested that someone fetch some firewood, she volunteered. Luke said he’d help.

“This is my first adventure,” Luke said, as they walked.

Valkyrie added a broken branch to her collection, then looked around for more. “That so?”

They’d found some trees. Not a wood, exactly, but enough for some dry twigs to be scattered on the ground, if you kicked the top ones away.

“I always wanted to go on an adventure,” Luke said. “I just never thought I’d actually be on one, you know?”

“Is it everything you hoped for?”

“There’s a lot more walking than I’d expected.”

Valkyrie nodded. “Yeah, that’s the part they leave out in those epic poems and stuff.”

“Suppose there’s only so many ways you can describe walking. Walk. Stroll. Wander. Shuffle. I think that’s it.”

“Meander.”

“Meander. Right. Though that’s less impressive if you’re on an adventure. You don’t get too many knights meandering into danger.”

“In the poems,” Valkyrie pointed out. “In real life, you’d be surprised.”

Luke turned his head away from her. “Did you hear that?”

“I was too busy being witty.”

“I thought I heard a shout.”

She walked up beside him, and they didn’t move for a few seconds. She was about to shrug when she heard it. Definitely a shout. And definitely a panicked one.

They put down their sticks and hurried through the trees, out on to the wet grass.

There, at the bottom of the sloping hill. A man, running in the gloom. Being chased by three people. He stumbled, fell, and his three pursuers descended on him.

“Dammit,” Valkyrie muttered. She grabbed her shock sticks, gave one to Luke, and started running down the hill.

“Hey,” she called out as they neared. “Hey, leave him alone.”

The man howled in pain and kept struggling, and the howl became a scream.

“Hey!” Valkyrie shouted.

The three pursuers looked up, snapping their heads round in her direction, the crackling blue light of the shock sticks illuminating their features.

Their skin was lined, dirty. One of them had a chunk missing from its cheek. Their mouths were smeared with blood. Their eyes were clouded. Some of their hair had fallen out and their clothes were filthy rags. The stench they brought with them was the too-sweet stench of rotting meat.

The first one launched itself at Valkyrie with a screech and she cursed and stepped back and jammed the stick into its neck. Electricity coursed. The thing seized up where it stood, arms bending, fingers curling, muscles standing out beneath its skin, so tight, like they were about to snap. Valkyrie whipped the stick back, then cracked it into its knee and it went down.

The other two came at her. Luke started whacking the one with the beard. With each strike, the shock stick made the zombie jerk.

The female got close enough for Valkyrie to smell its breath. It clamped its teeth on her forearm and dragged its head from side to side like a dog, but it couldn’t get through the necronaut sleeve. Valkyrie backed up a little, watching it try to eat her, watching the way its face contorted with a hunger she could never imagine. Its hands scraped at her. Those eyes, the irises drained of colour, held not one scrap of the woman this creature had once been. There was nothing there. Just the hunger.

Valkyrie tore her arm free. Teeth came with it. She swung the stick, and the thing staggered, but didn’t go down. Luke was still hitting the bearded one, still making it dance. The one with the broken knee was dragging itself back to the moaning man.

They weren’t human. They weren’t alive. Valkyrie had gone up against something like this before. Not the same kind of zombie as Scapegrace, the kind that kept their faculties, the kind that could think and talk and feel. These were the other kind. The dangerous kind. These were walking corpses. Shells of who they used to be. But all the old rules still applied, which meant that removing the head or destroying the brain remained the surefire way to stopping them.

She used the shock stick. Smashed its jaw and then its skull. It fell and didn’t get up, and she hurried over to the creature on the ground, stomped on its head until it stopped moving.

Valkyrie returned her stick to her back and went to help Luke, grabbing the zombie’s head with both hands and pouring her lightning into it.

It collapsed, and Luke stood there, panting. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t freak out, either. That was a good sign. Boded well for the future.

The man they’d been chasing moaned again. Valkyrie knelt by him.

“Sir? Are you OK?”

He rolled over, trying to get away. She was a sorcerer, and sorcerers probably frightened this man just as much as zombies.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Valkyrie said, staying where she was. “We want to help you. We’re with the Resistance. Do you hear me? We’re fighting Mevolent. We’re on your side.”

The man, who wore rags every bit as filthy as the things that had tried to eat him, turned over on to his back, too exhausted and too injured to go any further.

Valkyrie showed him her open hands. “We can help you.”

He shook his head. He was crying, his right leg was a mess, and he was clutching his arm. There was a deep, bloody wound right below the elbow.

“He’s been bitten,” Luke said.

Valkyrie didn’t respond.

“Those were zombies. They were, weren’t they? You know what happens when you get bitten.”

“I know,” she said, straightening up.

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Should we … should we leave him?”

“I don’t know,” she said, sharper this time. “I don’t know what we do. I don’t know what the right thing is. We … OK, we take him to the others. They’ll know how to handle this.”

Luke hesitated.

“What?”

“It’s just,” he said, “he’s been infected. So that means he’ll turn. And what if he turns while we’re carrying him?”

“We’re not leaving him here.”

“OK,” Luke said, and nodded. “No. You’re right. We can’t. We have to take him with us. OK. Sorry.”

“We’ll be careful,” said Valkyrie, and turned back to the injured man. “Sir, we’re going to help you. We’re going to take you with us.”

“No,” the man said. “Please.”

“We’re not your enemy. We’re not even from here. We just want to help you. Can you stand?”

Valkyrie reached for him. He shrank away. She kept her hand there. After a moment, she moved closer. Slowly. She took hold of his good arm and he let her help him to his feet.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Proinsias.”

“Proinsias, I’m Valkyrie, and that’s Luke. If you come with us, we have food and medicine. Will you come with us?”

Proinsias nodded, and Valkyrie hooked Proinsias’s good arm round her neck and helped him walk. She wanted to ask questions as they moved, slowly, back up the hill, but Proinsias had retreated into his head, where he muttered to himself and wept.

“Think there are more of them?” Luke asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Valkyrie answered. “But let’s assume there are. Keep an eye out.”

He nodded. “You think this is the sickness that Serpine heard about? You think the sickness is zombies?”

“I hope not.”

“It’s weird, isn’t it? Calling them zombies, I mean. Almost seems silly. You kind of understand why movies and TV shows find different names for them. Calling them zombies, I think, makes them sound less scary than they are. Also, like, not all zombies are the same. My uncle was a zombie, and he wasn’t all bad. He never tried to eat us or anything.”

“He still around?”

“Bits of him, yeah.”

She readjusted Proinsias, and resumed walking. “I know some zombies, too. They tried to kill me a lot back in the old days, but now they run a pub in Roarhaven and they’re OK.”

“You get to see them much?”

“Not really. I’m sort of worried that if I call by to say hello, they’ll be dragged into whatever mess I’m in right at that moment. Honestly, I figure it’s kinder to just leave them alone.”

“That’s a little sad.”

“Is it?”

“Well, yeah. You’re stopping yourself from seeing friends because you want to keep them safe.”

Valkyrie laughed. “I don’t know if I’d call them friends. They did try to kill me, remember.”

“But hasn’t everyone?” Luke asked, the moonlight catching his grin.

She raised an eyebrow. “You want to carry this guy?”

“No, no,” Luke said, hands up. “I’m fine keeping an eye out for monsters.”

“Well, OK then. Just watch the lip.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded, still grinning.

“They’re called the draugar,” Serpine said. “Do you have them in your dimension?”

“We have them,” Skulduggery responded, his façade in place for the benefit of the mortal in their midst, “but not like this. A draugr doesn’t transmit infections. That’s a zombie trait.”

“The same applies here – but it would appear that there has been some cross-pollination between the species.”

The fire crackled. Valkyrie stared through the flames at Proinsias sitting opposite. He was sweating badly. There were dark rings under his bloodshot eyes. His wounds had stopped bleeding. That, apparently, was a bad sign.

“They came from the south,” Proinsias said. “Like a tide they came. Swept over everything. These … things … You’d see one, and by morning the town is gone and all the people have been changed. We thought the sorcerers would stop it. This was a danger to everyone, not just us. We thought they’d come in and use their magic and use their fire and burn them all.”

“But they didn’t?” Saracen asked gently.

“They tried,” said Proinsias. “They burned some. But there were just too many. In all my years, I’ve never seen a sorcerer get hurt. Never. I grew up thinking of them as gods. But they’re not gods. They never were. They’re just people, and they die just like people.” He smiled. “This is justice. That’s what it is. Justice for all the terrible things you sorcerers have ever done. Now you have an enemy you can’t stop. One you can barely fight. Justice.”

Skulduggery asked, “How widespread is this?”

“I’ve only heard stories.”

“What have you heard?”

“It’s everywhere,” Proinsias said. “Ireland only has one place – one sorcerer city – that hasn’t fallen. Everything else is gone. My brother, he’s a fisherman. A boat passed him. Small one. It was a family, all the way from France. They said the draugar were there, as well. The little lad, my brother said, had a bite mark on his leg. Just like I have.” A tear rolled down his cheek. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

Nobody wanted to answer. Almost nobody.

“Yes, we are,” said Serpine. “But we’re going to do it humanely. I’m going to ask you to face the other way, and then I’m going to start hitting you with a rock.”

“Serpine,” Tanith snapped.

Serpine reached out, patted Proinsias’s leg. “Don’t worry, my mortal friend. I’ll be as gentle as I can be. It will take but a few minutes. I can even sing to you while I—”

Serpine stopped talking and slumped sideways, mashing his face into the dirt. Skulduggery stepped over him, took his place on the log he’d been sitting on.

“We’ll have to kill you,” he said to Proinsias. “I’m sorry, but, once you turn, you become dangerous. Not just to us, but to anyone else you might meet.”

Proinsias nodded. “I … I understand.”

“It will be quick,” said Skulduggery, his voice soft, “and it will be painless. Do you want me to do it now, or do you want to wait until you turn?”

Wiping the tears away, Proinsias sniffled. “I’d like you to wait, sir,” he said. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to live as long as possible.”

“Of course.”

Proinsias coughed specks of blood. “I don’t think that’s going to be very long, though.”

“No, I don’t think it will be, either,” Skulduggery said. “Would you like to go for a walk, Proinsias?”

“I would, actually. Thank you.”

Skulduggery helped him up, and they walked slowly from the camp into the surrounding darkness.

When they were gone, Luke raised his hand.

“Don’t have to raise your hand to speak,” said Tanith.

“Yes, sorry. Um, I’m just wondering if we should, like, post a perimeter or something, in case there are any more draugrs out there …? I mean, we’re going to be sleeping, and—”

“Draugar,” said Dexter.

“Sorry?”

“The plural of draugr isn’t draugrs, it’s draugar.”

“I don’t think I can hear the difference.”

“One draugr is draugr. More than one is draugar.”

“Are you just repeating yourself?”

Dexter frowned. “They’re different words.”

“I’m with Luke on this one,” said Valkyrie. “They sound the same to me.”

“Two completely different words.”

“What do we do with Serpine?” Tanith said, nudging him with her boot. He mumbled something in response. “What was that? I didn’t quite hear it.”

“I think he said to leave him alone,” said Saracen.

Tanith nodded. “Gotcha. Sorry, Nefarian. In future, I will do more to respect your boundaries.”

He mumbled again, but everyone ignored him, and Valkyrie looked into the dark, at the space where Skulduggery and Proinsias had disappeared. Somewhere in that dark, most likely before the hour was up, a human being was going to die. She wondered how many more would join him before this mission reached its end.

Serafina’s mansion stood behind a tall black gate with protective sigils woven into the metal. Temper was escorted through by two armed guards, their faces hidden. Once he stepped off the white marble pebbles on to the first step, he was met by three other armed guards. They took him inside, where he was left alone in a large room with guards at both entrances.

Religious tapestries on the walls waved gently in the summer breeze that drifted in through the skylight, each one depicting a new atrocity visited by the Faceless Ones upon their enemies.

“Beautiful, no?”

Temper turned. Serafina Dey – Serafina of the Unveiled, the High Superior of the Legion of Judgement – glided towards him, her dress flowing around her like wisps of cloud.

“High Superior,” Temper said, and gave a polite bow. “It’s very good of you to see me.”

Serafina smiled. “Anything for a man who abandoned the side of my brother and his ridiculous organisation. The Church of the Faceless is a sham of an order, and I commend you for recognising that. Perhaps I could interest you in joining my own Legion? Such a defection would not go unnoticed in a city such as this.”

“Thank you, High Superior, but I’m actually here on official City Guard business. I’m looking for your sister.”

“But of course,” Serafina said, and motioned Rune over. A solid slab of muscle in a simple uniform, Rune was the head of Serafina’s security team – and she was every bit as intimidating as Temper remembered.

“With apologies,” said Temper, “not that sister. I’m looking for Kierre of the Unveiled.”

Rune glared, and Serafina stiffened slightly. “I’m afraid our sister is indisposed,” she said. “She has undertaken the Twelve Vows, number five of which is—”

“No communication, yes, I remember. I’m going to have to insist, unfortunately. This is a murder investigation and I’m sorry to tell you that your sister is required for an interview.”

“Our sister is a valued member of our church,” said Rune. “You can’t speak to her.”

“Rune is quite correct,” Serafina said. “Under the terms of the Religious Freedom Act, the City Guard may not interview someone of high standing within any religious organisation. The Legion of Judgement qualifies, wouldn’t you say?”

Temper smiled. “I would. I had just hoped that Kierre might be a little more forthcoming.”

“Well,” said Rune with a sneer, “she isn’t.”

“Thank you for coming to see us, Sergeant Fray,” said Serafina. “You may leave now.”

It was obvious that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with this, so Temper thanked them both and walked out the way he’d come in. As he approached the gate, he saw what looked for a moment like two men, one sitting on the other’s shoulders, both covered in a multilayered robe festooned with rusted chains. But it wasn’t two men. It was merely the misshapen form of Strosivadian, Serafina’s younger brother.

“Temper,” Strosivadian said in that deep, guttural growl his voice had become, “what brings you to us this day?”

Temper craned his neck and smiled up at him. “I’m investigating a murder. Thought your sister might be able to provide some answers.”

Strosivadian frowned, his monstrous brow heavy over bloodshot eyes. “You are police now? That surprises me.” The extravagant headpiece Strosivadian wore was made from the melted-down blades of some of the warriors who’d tried to kill him over the years. It glinted darkly in the sunlight.

“Maybe you can help me,” Temper said. “I’m looking for Kierre.”

Strosivadian’s thin lips, crisscrossed with deep scars, twitched downwards. “She is a suspect?”

“Actually, I just want to clear her name off the suspect list. A formality, nothing more.”

“And how many other names are there on this list?” Strosivadian asked.

Temper hesitated, and Strosivadian put his big, gnarled hand on Temper’s shoulder, and leaned down.

“I may be a monster, Temper, but I am not a stupid one. Stay away from my sister. She is the youngest of us, and we are mightily protective of her. If you seek to harass a member of my family, may I suggest my brother, Damocles Creed? We are not so protective of him.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Temper. “Thanks for your help, Stros. It’s good to see you.”

“After all these years,” Strosivadian said, and straightened up as much as he could before walking away, his robes brushing the ground, his chains rattling.

They approached the city from the west.

The vegetation at the base of the giant barrier that encircled Dublin-Within-The-Wall had been trampled into the dirt, evidence that thousands, maybe tens of thousands, of people had been standing there. The wall was higher than even Roarhaven’s, but not so high that Valkyrie couldn’t fly to the top in a few seconds, pulling Saracen after her, or Tanith couldn’t jog up. Skulduggery brought Dexter and Luke with him. They left Serpine on the ground, and argued about who should go back for him. Skulduggery lost.

The last time Valkyrie had been here, the city had been alive. Every person on the street was a sorcerer, wearing this dimension’s version of high fashion. Redhoods patrolled, and City Mages kept order, and any mortals were stuck indoors, doing the cooking, the cleaning, the day-to-day chores that sorcerers were too good for.

There had been no cars, but floating carriages that zipped by each other, controlled by Elementals from perches at every corner. There had been machinery whose function Valkyrie couldn’t begin to guess at, working right alongside technology so old-fashioned it was as alien to her as anything else.

But today the city was quiet, and dark, and still. Carriages lay in the streets, abandoned. Discarded. Even Mevolent’s Palace showed no signs of activity.

Valkyrie stayed where she was while Tanith ran down and Skulduggery took the others to street level. No alarms were raised. No traps triggered. When they were all safe behind cover, she stepped off the edge and plummeted, only turning on her magic a moment before impact.

She loved flying, but, seeing as how she left a trail of white lightning whenever she did it, it wasn’t the most discreet way to travel.

“No one in the immediate vicinity that I can see,” Saracen murmured, scanning their surroundings. “Doesn’t mean they’re not hiding.”

Dexter frowned. “So what if they are? Can’t you see through whatever they’re hiding behind?”

“I see through things in layers, Dex. You really want me to examine every single wall or piece of furniture?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m not going to. Quick sweeps of the area, that’s what you’re getting.”

“What use are you? Seriously?”

“If the pair of you are quite finished,” Skulduggery said, checking his rifle, “we’re heading for the Palace. Saracen, you’re on point. Dexter, bring up the rear. Let’s go.”

Rifles to shoulders, they moved quickly out from cover and crossed the street. Sticking close to the sides of buildings, they passed through the city, the steeples of Mevolent’s Palace always ahead of them.

Saracen held up his fist. Valkyrie crouched with the others. A few seconds later, a crowd of draugar came round the corner. Valkyrie counted twenty-three.

She switched on her aura-vision. The colours she perceived changed over time as her visual range grew more sophisticated. Where once living people had been a range of colours, now they were mostly orange, with hints of other shades, like dancing motes.

But these draugar … they were a dull, dull grey that, even as she was looking at them, seemed to shrink.

Skulduggery lowered his rifle and reached to his shoulder, fingers flexing. The sword lifted from its sheath and, once free, flipped smoothly, its handle landing in Skulduggery’s grip. “We may as well try these God-Killers out,” he said softly. “See if they kill the dead. Saracen?”

Saracen shrugged, put his gun away, and nocked an arrow in the bow. He took a moment to aim, then let the arrow fly. A draugr went down, the arrow in its head. He loosed a second arrow that caught a draugr in the chest.

“You’re supposed to go for the head,” Serpine whispered.

Saracen didn’t even glance at him. “One, shut up. Two, arrows fired from this bow kill whatever they hit. Three, shut the hell up.”

Dexter stepped into the middle of the street, and gave a low whistle. The draugar swivelled their heads. Snarled. Started to come towards them.

He hefted the spear, waited until three draugar were advancing in a passably straight line, and threw. The spear crossed the space like a missile, impaling the three draugar. They slumped to the ground, properly dead this time. Dexter held out his hand, and Valkyrie watched the spear tremble. It flew back as if it was on a wire, and Dexter caught it.

The rest of the draugar broke into a run, and Tanith and Skulduggery went to meet them. Tanith’s dagger flashed, and Skulduggery’s scarred broadsword slashed, and the draugar that came apart didn’t try to get up again. Skulduggery and Tanith backed away as the other draugar threatened to surround them.

“You’re up,” said Saracen.

Valkyrie waited until Skulduggery and Tanith had found cover, and then she pulled the Sceptre from its holster. Nine draugar left. Snarling and snapping and getting closer. The crystal crackled and she felt that familiar hum in the palm of her hand, and then black lightning streaked and the draugar exploded into clouds of dust.

When the last of the dust settled on the street, Valkyrie put the Sceptre away, and Skulduggery and Tanith stepped back into view.

“It would appear that the God-Killers can kill the undead,” said Skulduggery. “Good to know.”

They reached Mevolent’s Palace without encountering any more obstacles. They climbed the steps to the massive doors, and Valkyrie used the Sceptre to make a hole in one of them, big enough to pass through.

The weak afternoon light struggled to penetrate the thick, stained-glass windows, which meant the shadows were deep. The tank, which had once held the remains of this dimension’s Mr Bliss, was broken and empty. Glass covered the floor. They lowered their weapons.

“I can’t feel any movement,” Skulduggery said, his hand out against the air. “Saracen?”

“As far as I can tell, we’re alone in here.”

Skulduggery pulled down his hood. “Let’s go up. Watch your step, and be wary of traps.”

They climbed the massive staircases, rising through each floor of the Palace, passing abandoned treasures and chests of astonishing riches. Signs of a hurried, forced evacuation.

When they reached the top floor, they split up, went looking. Ten minutes later, they regrouped.

“What happened here?” Tanith asked. “Why’d they leave?”

Skulduggery walked out on to the long balcony that stretched out over the city. The others followed.

“The city was surrounded,” Serpine said. “I can’t have been the only one to notice the footprints in the mud outside the wall, can I?”

“Of course not,” said Dexter, scowling.

Saracen looked around. “Wait, there were footprints?”

“The draugar had the city surrounded,” said Serpine, “so Mevolent evacuated everyone – probably had them all teleported away.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Tanith said. “Why did they leave? Yes, they were surrounded, but there’s no damage to the walls. No damage to the gates – which are closed, by the way. There are a few draugar in here, sure, but not enough to cause any real problems. They could have stayed, used Elementals to burn out the horde at their leisure.”

“Something else was at play here,” Skulduggery said, his gaze on the streets below. “Serpine, where would they have gone?”

“There would be nowhere more fortified in this country than where we are right now,” Serpine responded. “If they had to leave, Mevolent would have gone straight to one of his other walled cities.”

“How many of those are there?”

“Including this one? Five. He has cities in Russia and Australia, but Dublin-Within-The-Wall was his home. Tahil na Kurge in Morocco would be the biggest, and Tahil na Sin would be the easiest to get to. That’s in Transylvania.”

“Of course it is,” Valkyrie muttered.

Tanith nodded eastwards, to the glittering sea. “The docks appear to have plenty of boats lying around. Taking one of them to Germany wouldn’t be a problem.”

“So long as we avoid the mermaids,” said Serpine. “They can be quite active in the English Channel, and I would advise staying as far away from them as possible.”

“I second that,” said Valkyrie. “OK, so once we land in Germany, how far to Transylvania?”

“Maybe sixteen hundred kilometres from where we’d come ashore,” Skulduggery said. “Assuming twenty kilometres a day, we’d walk it in just over eleven weeks.”

“Eleven weeks of walking?” Valkyrie said, eyebrows rising. “Well, then it’s a good thing some of us can fly, because I am not walking for eleven weeks.”

“I wouldn’t fly, if I were you,” Serpine said. “Europe is known for its giant bats.”

“Its what?”

“Bats,” he said again. “Giant ones. Anything bigger than a sparrow gets plucked from the skies and devoured.”

“Mermaids in the sea and bats in the air? Seriously? Well then, I’ll only fly during the day.”

“A wise decision,” Serpine said, nodding, “were it not for the fact that these bats are not especially nocturnal.”

She glared. “So I can’t fly at all? I have to walk for eleven weeks?”

“Much like the rest of us.”

“And that’s assuming Mevolent is even in Transylvania,” Skulduggery said. “But we have to start somewhere, so why not there? We’ll stay here tonight and set off in the morning.”

Luke’s eyes widened. “We get to stay in a palace?”

Tanith frowned at him. “The palace of a genocidal maniac in a dead city, yeah.”

“And we get to pick our own rooms?”

Tanith stared. “You are so weird.”

They used one of the kitchens to prepare their food, and ate at a banqueting table big enough to accommodate a couple of football teams. When they were done, they sat round a roaring fire and shared stories. Every time Serpine would try to speak, he was told to shut up. It was funny.

They said their goodnights and each of them wandered off to whichever bedroom they’d picked to sleep in. Valkyrie detoured, found Skulduggery as he patrolled the corridors.

“You ever get bored,” she asked, leaning against a corner with her arms folded, “of always being the one on watch?”

“Not really,” he said, walking over. “It’s not like I have to sleep.”

“But you like to meditate.”

“Being alone with my thoughts is almost as good.”

She swayed away from the wall, fell into step beside him. “What do you think about?”

“Many different things, Valkyrie. Often at the same time. Do you have something on your mind that you’d like to discuss? I have all night.”

She smiled, hooked her arm through his, and they walked like this for a while.

“Do you believe in fate?” she asked.

“I try not to believe in most things. Assumption is the enemy of truth.”

“I don’t know what I believe,” Valkyrie said. “On the one hand, we have all these prophecies, and visions of the future, which would lead you to, yeah, believe in fate. But then even the knowledge of these futures can change things. I mean, I haven’t seen one vision of the future that’s come true exactly as I saw it.

“But,” she continued, “it seems to be that, no matter what changes, the actual future still resembles the foreseen future in a big-picture kind of way – so doesn’t that lead you to believe that maybe there is something called fate, pulling events towards a preordained conclusion?”

“Possibly.”

“And then there are these alternate worlds,” Valkyrie said, getting into it now. “Some of them, fair enough, don’t resemble our own at all. But then there’s this one, where they have some of the same people we have in ours. Which means both worlds were running perfectly parallel until some point in the past when they diverged. In our world, Mevolent was killed. In this world, he wasn’t. So if we were both on the same tracks for millions of years until just recently – where were those tracks headed? To fate? To destiny?”

“It’s enough to boggle the mind,” Skulduggery said.

“If there’s a world like this, then there might be a world just like ours, right? That stayed on its tracks, just like we did. So there’s another me, and another you, just as you are now. But, if there is another us, then are they walking on an alternate yet identical world to this one right now? Having this same conversation? Talking about us the way we’re talking about them?”

“Maybe,” Skulduggery said. “What would be more likely is that they shunted over to this world, the same as we did. Which means, if they do exist, we should be meeting them at any moment.”

They stopped and looked around. “I don’t see any other us,” Valkyrie said. “Do you?”

“I do not.”

“To be honest, I’ve probably met enough different versions of myself that it wouldn’t faze me in the slightest.”

“This is true.”

They started walking again.

“Interesting,” he said.

“What is?”

“You described this world as travelling on a track parallel to ours, before it veered off.”

“Yes?”

“So how do you know we’re not the ones who veered?”

She blinked. “Oh.”

“If destiny waits at the end of the tracks, perhaps it’s this world that is heading towards it, and we’re lost in the wilderness somewhere, on tracks that lead nowhere.”

“Wow.”

“Your mind is boggled. I can tell. Your eyes are doing that spinning thing.”

Valkyrie grinned. “Shut up.”

“I don’t know if there is such a thing as destiny. The rational side of me is keen to dismiss the notion – but we work with magic. We work with concepts that routinely defy explanation until a new explanation is found. And then we encounter another concept that defies explanation all over again. So I don’t know if fate is secretly driving us behind an illusion of free will, but I would like to think that I’m responsible for myself, and I find no comfort in the idea that I’m being guided by an unseen hand.”

They slowed to a stop at the bedroom she’d chosen.

“What about you?” Skulduggery asked. “Do you believe in fate, or do you believe in yourself?”

Valkyrie frowned. “I’m not sure I believe in either.”

“Then you’re experiencing an existential crisis.”

“Will it be better by the morning?”

“Most likely.”

“Good,” she said, and kissed his cheekbone. “Goodnight, Skulduggery.”

“Goodnight, Valkyrie.”

She went into her room, and listened to his footsteps, slowly getting fainter.

Valkyrie woke, and couldn’t get back to sleep, so she lay there in the dark and thought about the music box. How soothing it would be to reach into her bag and open the lid, just a little bit, just enough to allow the music to slip out and dance gently over her. She never woke up in the middle of the night when the music box was playing. Bad dreams never played themselves out in the cinema inside her head, the light flickering, the sound jarring – not when the music box was open.

Valkyrie realised she needed to pee.

She got out of bed, feet bare on the cold floor, and took the amulet from the bedside table, pressing it to her belly and tapping it with a finger. The suit flowed out, bringing her warmth.

The toilet was down the corridor. It was a lavish thing. Lot of gold. When she was finished, she shuffled back towards her room, yawning.

She saw Skulduggery standing on the balcony, looking up. She wandered over.

Before Valkyrie could speak, he held up a hand, then motioned her onwards. She joined him where he stood, and looked up at the night sky. At first she couldn’t see what he was looking at – all she saw were the clouds and, through the gaps, the stars.

But then she saw the man.

She looked away for a moment, then back, her eyes readjusting. A man, in the sky, on giant shadow legs, looking down at the streets.

A Necromancer.

They backed away, off the balcony, hid themselves round the corner.

For three minutes, they didn’t speak. Skulduggery had his hand out, reading the air. He motioned to Valkyrie to prepare.

The Necromancer lowered himself down, the shadows dissipating once his feet touched the balcony. That’s where the smooth flow of his movements stopped. Each step from that moment on was little more than a lurch. His body was stiff, his fingers curled like the muscles were just too tight to straighten. In the moonlight, his eyes were dark circles against his pale skin, and his mouth hung slackly. A noise came from somewhere deep within him – a guttural moan.

He looked like a draugr except he was using magic, demonstrating intelligence, and his aura throbbed with a grey, swirling power.

They watched him walk into the Palace like a badly controlled marionette, and followed at a distance. He stopped outside the first bedroom he came to, the one Serpine had commandeered, head cocked to one side.

Skulduggery nudged Valkyrie, nodded downwards, and they watched the shadows at the Necromancer’s feet thread themselves under the closed door. Slowly, Skulduggery drew his gun. Valkyrie went for the Sceptre, realised she’d left it back in her room.

Then the shadows curled around the Necromancer and he was gone.

“Dammit,” Skulduggery muttered, and they ran to the bedroom. From inside there was a muffled curse and the sound of furniture hitting the ground. Valkyrie blasted the door apart and Skulduggery was the first through. The purple glow of the energy stream that flowed from Serpine’s left hand lit up the entire room, but the Necromancer’s shadows were blocking it from reaching him. As Valkyrie watched, the darkness wrapped itself around Serpine’s arm, yanking it to one side. The stream was cut off and the rest of those shadows turned sharp. Before they could start slicing, Skulduggery pulled the trigger. One bullet, perforating the Necromancer’s throat. He flopped backwards over the bed, the shadows withdrawing into him.

Serpine got to his feet. “You see?” he said. “This is what I’m reduced to – a mere Energy Thrower. I could have defended myself quite capably if you hadn’t made me wear this ridiculous glove.”

Tanith ran in, sword drawn. Saracen and Dexter followed. Luke sprinted in behind them in his underwear.

“Are we killing him?” Saracen asked, immediately advancing towards Serpine. Before he got there, the Necromancer stood up and Saracen raised an eyebrow. “Who’s this guy?”

Shadows convulsed, throwing Saracen against the wall and flinging Skulduggery back. Tanith leaped, flipping over the bed, her sword cutting through a tendril of darkness that came for her. Dexter unleashed twin streams of energy that burrowed a large hole through the Necromancer’s chest.

The Necromancer staggered. Valkyrie could see the rear wall through his torso. The organs within were shrivelled, the blood dark and congealed. The injury didn’t seem to bother him.

Shadows came for them all, wrapping around their wrists, their ankles, lifting them off their feet, twisting them in place. More shadows slashed at them. Dexter cried out and Saracen howled and Luke screeched, but Valkyrie’s suit protected her. Lightning streaked from her fingertips. The shadows released her as the Necromancer went tumbling backwards. She hit the ground. They all did.

When she got up, Tanith was plunging her sword through the Necromancer’s head, but the blade went too low, and missed the brain. The Necromancer slammed her into the wall. Serpine tried to tackle him from behind, but the Necromancer just threw him towards Skulduggery as he ran in, drawing the God-Killer sword. A wave of Skulduggery’s hand, however, and Serpine’s trajectory was altered and he collided with the wall instead, and Skulduggery ducked under a slashing shadow and swept the sword diagonally across the Necromancer’s body.

The Necromancer fell in two parts. The shadows stopped moving.

A few seconds passed before Skulduggery looked round. “Is everyone all right?”

“You hit me with a wall,” Serpine moaned from the floor.

“Is everyone else all right?”

“I’m going to need stitches,” Saracen said, holding his side. Blood trickled between his fingers. “But I’m OK. Dex?”

“Fine,” said Dexter. Blood soaked through his sleeve.

“Owwww,” said Luke.

Tanith rubbed her elbow. “What the hell was that? Was that a draugr?”

“Draugar can’t use magic,” Serpine said, managing to stand without any help from anyone.

Skulduggery put the sword away. “Well, this one did.”

“Then it’s not a draugr. It must be something else.”

“It certainly looked like a draugr.”

“I have a question,” Valkyrie said.

Serpine ignored her. “I realise that it looked like a draugr. I realise that it sounded like a draugr. But, because a draugr can’t use magic, then it stands to reason that it is not, in fact, a draugr.”

“A question?” Valkyrie said.

“It must be something else,” Serpine continued. “Related, certainly. But an offshoot of a thing is not the thing itself.”

Valkyrie sighed. “My question is, since it came pretty close to killing a lot of us, was it alone?”

That stopped the bickering. Everyone looked to Saracen as he peered through the walls. Valkyrie expected him to shrug and give the all clear. She was not expecting him to suddenly crouch, eyes wide, pointing to the wall behind Dexter.

Valkyrie crouched, too. She didn’t know why.

Saracen held up three fingers, and indicated to three different points on the wall, then swept his arm to the right. Three of them. All moving in the same direction. All coming closer.

Skulduggery activated his façade so they could read his lips when he mouthed, “Grab your stuff.”

Valkyrie didn’t know a whole lot about boats, but the others seemed to, so she left them to it and curled up in the cabin as dawn reached its golden fingers round the edge of the world.

When she woke, they were on the sea, the waves rolling beneath them. The vessel they’d commandeered was called the Trident – definitely not the biggest boat on offer, but Skulduggery had reckoned it was ideal for their needs, so no one argued. He stood up top, hands on the wheel, the boat taking his magic and transferring it to whatever propulsion system these things used when the sails weren’t enough.

There was a storm ahead, but not in the clouds. The storm that was coming was in Valkyrie’s head. She could feel it. It wasn’t affecting her yet, but it was definitely on the horizon, so she took a Splash of magic from her bag. She’d only brought a handful, and she was already on the last few. She let it dissolve on her tongue, felt the power pump through her. Always guaranteed to put a smile on her face and to head off any storm before it hit.

She stepped out on deck, took a deep breath, felt the warm sun and the salt sting on her face. The sea glittered, unpolluted by generations of mortal industry and human greed. She bet the fish were happier in this universe than her own.

Luke was hanging over the side of the boat, retching.

Valkyrie climbed the ladder, up to where Skulduggery steered. “Permission to come aboard, Cap’n?”

“You’re already aboard,” he responded.

“Permission to come up here, then.”

“By all means.”

She joined him. The wind whipped her hair. “Any sign of mermaids, Sea Hags, anything like that?”

“Not so far,” he said, “but I found some maps down below with the no-go areas clearly marked. It’s going to take a little more time to manoeuvre around them, but the extra effort will be worth it if we don’t all horribly die.”

“And how long will all this take?”

“At the rate we’re going, we’ll get to where we’re going in less than a week,” he said. “Probably.”

“So we might be a little later getting home.”

“That’s a distinct possibility. Are you worried about Xena?”

Valkyrie smiled. “No, I’m sure Militsa will be able to buy a second bag of dog food. But what about that Necromancer? Why do you think he was still able to access his magic?”

“I don’t have enough information yet to form an opinion.”

“Then let’s guess.”

“Oh, I like guessing.”

“I know you do.”

“OK then,” said Skulduggery, correcting their course ever so slightly, “it might simply be that the draugar virus affects Necromancers differently because they’re practitioners of death magic. It may allow them to keep their magic, plus some of their higher faculties. They could still remember who they are, for instance.”

“That’s a possibility,” Valkyrie said.

“That wouldn’t be your guess?”

“I took a peek at his aura. It was strong. Like, really strong. The average draugr, from what I’ve seen, only has a faint trickle of magic. But that Necromancer … the virus actually made him more powerful.”

“You think they infected themselves on purpose?”

“Maybe. I mean, I know it’s a pretty drastic move, and I have no idea why anyone would sacrifice their life and their consciousness like that …”

“Let’s not assume we know about their consciousness,” Skulduggery said. “Yes, he seemed to be capable of some degree of thought, but, until we know for sure, we’ll tread carefully. That said …”

“Yes?”

“You ask why they’d do this to themselves. If they can interact with the regular draugar, maybe steer them, or even control them—”

“Then they’re why the draugar surrounded the city,” Valkyrie said. “So the Necromancers are working against Mevolent.”

“Remember: these are guesses.”

“I know, I know, but this is getting interesting.” They went over a big wave that did its best to rock Valkyrie where she stood. “The Necromancers decide to go to war with Mevolent. They need an army, so they release the draugar virus. But they’re also going up against Lord Vile, so they need their own power boost. Do you think that guy was at Vile’s level?”

“Close to it, at least,” Skulduggery said. “Vile is as powerful as he is because he’s a dead man wielding Necromancy. If we’re right, these Necromancers decided to follow his example in order to defeat him.”

“So they infect themselves,” Valkyrie said, and brightened. “Is this good news? Not for, like, everyone who’s dead, because all that’s still really sad, but, if the Necromancers are at war with Mevolent, maybe they’ll kill him before we even get to him. Maybe they already have. Wouldn’t that be great? We could all go home! We’ll leave Serpine here, obviously, but the rest of us could definitely head on back.”

“You have a knack for looking on the bright side of things, Valkyrie. That’s why I like you.”

“One of the reasons,” she said, and grinned. “Can I steer the boat for a bit?”

“No.”

“Go on. I’m not going to crash into anything all the way out here.”

“You’d find something.”

“Just let me steer, Skulduggery. Just a little bit. Please?”

“If you can point to starboard, I’ll let you steer for five minutes.”

Cautiously, Valkyrie pointed up.

“Amazing,” Skulduggery said.

“Am I right?”

“You pointed up. How is a boat supposed to turn in the direction of up?”

“I don’t know. If it does a flip? Do boats do flips? What am I thinking of? Gymnasts, that’s what. Always get those two mixed up. So can I drive?”

“Absolutely.”

“Really?”

“No.”

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