perfect example of this.”
“And you know nothing about it?” Skulduggery asked.
“Not a thing,” Wreath said. “I’ve been busy lately, in case you haven’t noticed. I was ready to take Valkyrie to the next stage of her training – but now it seems as if Melancholia will be taking up everyone’s time. Joy of joys.”
Valkyrie heard the main door open again as someone else entered the Temple. She heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
“So when might we get to experience this wonderful and world-changing Passage?” Skulduggery asked.
“Soon enough,” Wreath said. “Don’t you worry about it.”
“We heard we had until Sunday. Would that be about right?”
Wreath did an impressive job of keeping the frown off his face. “Where did you hear that?”
“So it is Sunday, then.”
Wreath scowled. “Maybe. By our calculations, Sunday would seem to be the best time to attempt it. Whether or not things work out the way we’d like remains to be seen.”
“On Sunday the world changes.”
“On Sunday the world is saved.”
“Yes,” Skulduggery said, “well, we’ll see about that.”
They turned, saw Dragonclaw coming down the steps. He caught sight of them and froze.
“Some people here to see you,” Wreath called lazily, and Dragonclaw spun on the step and ran back the way he had come.
Skulduggery bolted after him, Valkyrie at his heels. They ran up the steps and burst out into the open air to see Dragonclaw sprinting for the gate. He had a dagger in his hand, and with it he drew in the lengthening shadows and flicked them behind him. Skulduggery went right, Valkyrie went left, and the shadows passed harmlessly between them. Dragonclaw waved the dagger in a circle, surrounding himself with darkness, and vanished.
Skulduggery didn’t stop running. “He can’t shadow-walk far,” he said. “He’s still in the area.”
A car sped by on the road outside the cemetery, Dragonclaw at the wheel.
They ran for the Bentley. Valkyrie had barely buckled her seatbelt when Skulduggery jammed his foot on the accelerator and they shot forward. They got to the end of the road and turned, taking the corner so tight it was like the Bentley was on rails. Dragonclaw’s car, a black Hyundai, appeared through the windscreen. It overtook a van and swerved dangerously. The Bentley was gaining fast.
The Hyundai left the road, spinning its wheels as it slid sideways, and then took off down a narrow lane, careening from wall to wall. Skulduggery braked, changed gears, swung smoothly into the lane in pursuit. The walls whipped by on either side and Valkyrie cringed, expecting the wing mirrors to be snapped off. Skulduggery, of course, would never allow that to happen.
Dragonclaw wasn’t as skilful. The Hyundai hit a broken pallet that had been discarded in a pile of rubbish and it jumped slightly, its left side screeching against the wall. He pulled away too sharply and hit the right wall, jamming the Hyundai the width of the lane. As the Bentley braked, Valkyrie could see Dragonclaw clambering over the seat and tumbling out of the car on the far side.
She got out, Skulduggery already moving for the Hyundai. They both used the air to jump the ruined car, but when they landed on the other side, Dragonclaw was gone. Valkyrie started to run, but Skulduggery reached out, grabbed her arm.
“He must have known we’d go to the Temple,” Skulduggery said. She realised he had his gun in his hand. “He must have taken into account the chance that we’d find him.”
Valkyrie frowned. “You think this is a trap?”
“I don’t know,” he said, “but I try not to underestimate my opponents, no matter how ridiculous their beards.”
A man walked into the lane from the other end. Valkyrie tensed. He walked towards them slowly, taking his time. Wary of distractions, Valkyrie splayed her left hand, doing her best to read the air. If someone dropped from the buildings above, hopefully she’d notice the disruption to the air currents before they landed on her head.
The man walked closer. He wore a frayed coat and old, ill-fitting clothes. He was unshaven, and needed a haircut. He was holding something – a photograph. When he was twenty paces away, he stopped, examined the photo, then looked up.
“Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain,” he said. His accent was thick, Eastern European, and he sounded bored. “I’ve been paid to kill you.” He put the photograph away.
“Interesting,” Skulduggery said. “Does it make any difference, the fact that I’m pointing a gun at you?”
The man shrugged.
“He doesn’t seem worried,” Valkyrie murmured.
“That’s never a good sign,” Skulduggery murmured back. He spoke louder. “We have no quarrel with you. We just want the man who hired you – we want Dragonclaw.”
“It doesn’t matter if you have a quarrel with me or not,” the man replied, raising his hand. “I’m going to kill you both.”
“Happy to disappoint,” Skulduggery said, and pulled the trigger.
The bullet hit the man in the neck, opening up a wound from which burst dazzling yellow light. He clamped a hand over the wound, shutting off the glare, and when he removed it, the bullet hole had sealed.
“You’re a Warlock,” Skulduggery said. “I thought your kind were extinct.”
For the first time, the man smiled. “Almost. Not quite. We’re growing stronger every day.”
“What are you doing here? You’re a mercenary now, is that it? Being paid to kill people?”
“This is a special favour,” the Warlock replied. “When it is over, when I am told my services are no longer required, I will return home.”
“What are you getting out of this? What is Dragonclaw doing for you in return? Or maybe it’s not Dragonclaw. Maybe it’s the Necromancers as a whole. What do they want?”
“I can’t see the point of telling you, seeing as how you will be dead soon.”
“What do you know of the Passage?” Skulduggery asked.
The Warlock shook his head. “I don’t know what that is, and we have talked enough.”
His hand bubbled and boiled, and when he thrust it forward, his palm burst open and a stream of yellow light erupted from beneath. It hit Valkyrie’s left shoulder and she spun, cursing, her shoulder tingling then going numb, and by the time she found her balance again, her whole arm was dead.
Skulduggery had used those few seconds to launch himself at the Warlock. His hat flew off as he slammed his forehead into the man’s face, followed it with three sharp elbows and then clubbed the man with the butt of his gun. The Warlock reached out, taking hold of him and
