these realities active as a result, or that all she needed to open a portal near Skulduggery was his original head and a willing Teleporter. She had the Teleporter. Now she needed the skull.
Caelan looked across at the setting sun. “I’d better go. It’s getting late.”
“Why are you doing this?” Valkyrie asked suddenly. “I’m not used to people helping me out for no reason.”
Caelan kept his eyes off her. “Some time ago you imprisoned a man named Dusk. I don’t like this man.”
“I’m not too fond of him either.”
“You scarred him, I hear.”
“He had it coming.”
“Yes, he did.”
He paused, then walked away. His movements reminded her of the terrible, predatory gracefulness of a jungle cat.
When he was gone, Tanith Low emerged from the alley on the other side of the street, all blonde hair and brown leather, hiding her sword under her long coat.
Tanith took her home, and Valkyrie stood beneath her bedroom window and swept her arms up by her sides, clutching the sharp air and using it to lift her to the sill. She tapped on the glass and a small light turned on. The window opened and her own face—dark-eyed and dark-haired—peered out at her.
“I thought you weren’t coming home tonight,” her reflection said.
Valkyrie climbed in without answering. Her reflection watched her close the window and take off her coat. It was as cold inside as it was out, and Valkyrie shivered. The reflection did the same, approximating a human response to a condition it had never experienced.
“We had lasagne for dinner,” it said. “Dad’s been trying to get tickets for the All-Ireland Championship on Sunday, but so far he hasn’t been able to.”
Valkyrie was tired, so she just gestured at the full-length mirror inside the wardrobe door. The reflection, having no feelings to hurt, stepped into the glass then turned and waited. Valkyrie touched the mirror and the reflection’s memories swam into her mind, settling beside her own. She closed the wardrobe and realised she hadn’t been home in eight days. She had a sudden longing to see her parents and not just settle for the memories viewed through the eyes of an emotionless substitute. But her parents were asleep down the hall and Valkyrie knew she would have to wait until morning.
She took a black ring from her finger and put it on the bedside table. Ghastly, Tanith and China didn’t like the ring—it was a Necromancer tool after all. But for what Valkyrie had had to face over the past eleven months she had needed something extra, and her natural aptitude for Necromancy had provided her with the sheer strength she had required.
She undressed, dropping her sleeveless top and her trousers on the floor over her boots. No clothes made by Ghastly Bespoke ever creased, and for that she was quietly grateful. Valkyrie pulled on her shorts and the new Dublin football jersey her dad had got her last Christmas then climbed into bed. She reached out and turned off the light before quickly pulling her arm back under the covers.
Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow they would find the skull and tomorrow they would use it to open the portal. Wherever Skulduggery was, the portal would open close by. Valkyrie thought about this and what she would do when she saw him again. She pictured running to him and hugging him, feeling the framework beneath his clothes that gave him mass, and she tried to imagine the first thing he would say. Something dry, she knew. Something understated and funny. Probably a boast.
When she looked at her bedside clock, Valkyrie realised that she’d been lying in bed for over an hour. She sighed, flipped the pillow to the cool side and turned over, banishing such thoughts from her mind, and eventually she experienced the welcome embrace of sleep.
It was a fitful sleep though, uneasy, and she awoke in the night to find someone standing over her. Her heart lurched, yet even through the shock, she was going through a list of possibilities—Mum Dad Tanith—and then the man reached down and wrapped his cold hands around her throat.
Valkyrie squirmed, trying to kick out, but the bedcovers were trapping her legs. She fought to break the chokehold, but her assailant was far too strong. His fingers dug into her throat and blood pounded in her temples. She was going to pass out.
The covers came loose and she slammed her foot into his thigh. His leg moved back, but his grip didn’t loosen. She got both feet against his belly and tried to shove him off. The dark shape stayed where it was, looming over her. She was going to die. She took one hand away from his wrist and pushed at the air, but the push was too weak to have any effect. She reached for the Necromancer ring, desperately slipping her finger into it, and immediately she felt the darkness within, cold and coiling. She curled her hand and thrust it at him. A fist of shadow slammed into his chest and suddenly the choking fingers were gone and he was stumbling away. Valkyrie leaped off the bed, snapped her palms against the air and the man shot backwards off his feet. He hit the wall and fell, crashing through her desk. She clicked her fingers, conjuring fire into her hand, illuminating the room.
For a moment she didn’t recognise him. The clothes were all wrong—layers of torn and filthy garments, mud-caked boots and fingerless gloves. The hair was longer, untamed, and the face was dirty. It was the beard that gave him away though. The pointy little beard that Remus Crux always wore to hide his weak chin.
She heard her father shout her name and she extinguished the fire. Her parents were about to barge in. She whipped a trail of shadow around her bed and dragged it so that it jammed the door shut.
“Stephanie!” her mother screamed from the other side as the doorhandle turned uselessly.
Valkyrie turned back to Crux just as he grabbed her and hurled her against the wall. She rebounded and jumped into him, using her knee to drive him back. She jumped again, extending both legs, her feet slamming into his chest. He wheeled back, tripping over her discarded clothes and falling. His head crunched off her bedside table.
Her parents were doing their best to break down the door.
In an enclosed space Valkyrie’s knowledge of Elemental magic wasn’t going to get the job done. The Necromancer ring was cold on her finger as she drew in the darkness. She focused it into a point and then unleashed it. It hit Crux’s shoulder and he jerked back. She did it again, hitting his left leg, and it crumpled beneath him.
“Steph!” her father roared. “Open the door! Open the door now!”
Crux came at her before she could strike him again. With one hand he grabbed her wrist, holding the ring away from him, and with the other he grabbed her throat. He pinned her against the wall, pressing against her, cutting off her weapons. His eyes were narrowed and through them she could see his madness.
The window shattered in on top of them. Valkyrie gasped as Crux was wrenched away from her. Shadows swirled and a thousand arrows of darkness flew at him and he dived, barely avoiding the barrage. He snarled, flinging himself out through the broken window.
Solomon Wreath turned to her, checking that she was OK, while shadows wrapped themselves around the cane in his hand.
The door hit the bed and it moved sharply. Wreath followed Crux out of the window and Valkyrie shoved her bed aside. Her parents barged in, her mother wrapping her in a hug while her dad searched the room for an intruder.
“Where
