led to a sequence of events which would, in turn, eventually lead to the probable destruction of the world. The Engineer wasn’t worried.
And then the truck hit it.
War is the business of barbarians.
—Napoleon Bonaparte
“You were supposed to be keeping an eye on the place,” Donegan said.
“I was,” Gracious yawned.
“You were asleep.”
“I was resting my eyes.”
“You were snoring.”
“I was exercising my lungs.”
“Get up.”
Grumbling, he got to his feet and stretched. He didn’t have to stretch very far. He wasn’t that tall. Still, what Gracious O’Callahan lacked in height he made up for in muscle and cool hair. “Hi, Valkyrie,” he said.
“Hi, Gracious.”
“So is this your first time meeting a witch?”
She nodded.
“You’ll do fine, don’t worry. Witches are more afraid of you than you are of them.”
“I thought that was bees.”
He blinked. “You might be right. Yes, you are right. Bees are fine, witches are horrible. Always get those two mixed up.” He was wearing baggy jeans and a faded Star Wars T-shirt. Valkyrie imagined that he had a special nerd room at home where he kept all of his weird clothes that referenced old movies, and she imagined him standing in the middle of that room for hours, slowly rotating on the spot, an unsettling smile on his face. By contrast, Donegan Bane, a tall and slender Englishman, favoured sports coats and narrow ties with his skinny jeans.
He glared at Gracious. “I can’t believe you fell asleep.”
“I didn’t fall asleep.”
“Then do you know if she’s home or not?”
“I haven’t a clue,” Gracious admitted. “I fell asleep.”
Valkyrie had first met them only a few months earlier, but she felt she knew them well enough by now to know that, if given the opportunity, they would stand on this hill and bicker for hours. So she turned and walked down to the cottage, and after a moment they followed her.
They arrived at the door and Donegan knocked three times. They waited and the door was opened by a frowning girl.
“Hello,” Donegan said with a smile she didn’t return.
“Do you know what time it is?” the girl asked. Valkyrie judged her to be around her age, maybe seventeen or eighteen. She had pale skin and full lips and luxuriant red hair that framed her face.
“Why no,” Donegan replied as if it were a game. “What time is it?”
She scowled. “What do you want?”
“My name is Donegan Bane and this is my colleague Gracious O’Callahan – we’re Monster Hunters. We’re here with our associate Valkyrie Cain, and we were wondering if your grandmother was home.”
“You’re Monster Hunters?”
“Indeed we are. You’ve probably heard of us. Writers of Monster Hunting for Beginners,The Definitive Study of Were-Creatures, and The Passions of Greta Grey, our first work of romantic fiction.”
“And you want my grandmother?”
“If your grandmother is Dubhóg Ni Broin, yes.”
“Are you going to kill her?”
“I’m sorry? Oh, no! No, nothing like that. We just want to talk to her.”
“So you’re not going to kill her?”
“No,” Donegan said with a laugh. “I assure you, she’s quite safe.”
The girl’s eyes narrowed. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“We came here unarmed,” Donegan said cheerfully, and Gracious looked at him.
“You’re unarmed?” he asked, surprised.
“Yes,” Donegan said. “Aren’t you?”
“Well, I suppose so. Apart from my gun.”
Donegan glared at him. “What? Why did you bring a gun? I told you to come unarmed.”
“I thought you were joking.”
“Why would I be joking?”
“I don’t know, I thought that’s what made it funny.”
Donegan looked like he might strangle his partner, but then forced the smile back on his face and turned once again to the girl.
“I’m sorry, miss, I didn’t catch your name …?”
“Misery,” the girl answered, suspicious.
“Misery, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My friend here has many problems; he’s quite bright in his own way, but likes taking guns to inappropriate places. Let me assure you that we mean your grandmother no harm. We just want to talk to her.”
“Why?”
Valkyrie stepped forward before either of the Monster Hunters could make the situation worse. “We’re looking for a friend of ours. Maybe you’ve seen him? Tall? Skinny? Wears nice suits? Also he’s a skeleton? His name’s Skulduggery Pleasant and he’s wandered off on his own and we think your gran might know where he is.”
“Why would my grandmother know that?”
“Because he came to see her, and that’s the last we heard of him.”
“We don’t have much to do with sorcerers,” Misery said. “They don’t like us and we don’t like them. I don’t recall seeing your friend, either. What did you say he was? A zombie? A mummy?”
“A skeleton.”
“A skeleton, yeah. No, haven’t seen one of those in ages.”
“I
