key,” Serpine said as he walked back into the detective’s line of sight.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Serpine was moving his left hand slightly, like he was conducting music. “Obviously you’re not going to just offer up the information, so I think a spot of torture is required.”
“Ah,” the detective said. “Old times.”
“I remember those dark autumn days that I’d while away, cutting you, making you cry out.”
“Fun for the whole family.”
“You may think my options would be limited as far as torture is concerned, especially now that you don’t have skin to cut. But I’ve picked up a few new tricks that I think you’ll enjoy.”
Serpine moved his fingers in a wave motion, directing it at the chair he had just been sitting on. The wood creaked and groaned as it expanded and contracted, like it was breathing. The detective couldn’t avoid looking at it.
“If I can do that to the chair,” Serpine said, enjoying the moment, “think what I can do to bone.” There was a loud crack as the chair splintered.
Serpine hunkered down in front of him. “Well, Skulduggery? Where is that tired old defiance – the taunting, the goading? Where are the endless heroic clichés? Aren’t you going to look me in the eye and tell me to do my worst?”
“Actually, I was going to ask that you go easy on me. I’m feeling kind of tender today.”
Serpine stood, opened his left hand in front of the detective. “This is your one chance. Tell me where the key is.”
“OK.”
Serpine raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“No, only joking. Do your worst.”
Serpine laughed and his fingers started moving and the detective started screaming.
WHAT’S IN A NAME?
She dried herself with a spotless white towel, let the water gurgle into the drain and allowed herself to sag against the wall.
Her body may have been tired but her mind was alert and racing, surging with anger. She was still furious at herself for being unable to disobey China’s instruction. How could China have done that to her, to Skulduggery? After he had trusted her?
No, she reminded herself. He hadn’t trusted her. That had been Stephanie’s mistake, not his. And because she went to China before the Elders, or even Ghastly, now it could be too late to do anything. And it was all her fault.
What had Tanith Low called Stephanie? A warrior? That was laughable. No matter what Tanith had thought she had seen in her, she was wrong. There was nothing warrior-like about her. She ran straight into trouble without thinking, without one moment of hesitation. Not because she was brave or heroic, but because she was stupid. Because she didn’t want to be left out, because she didn’t want to wait. She didn’t have a plan, she didn’t have a tactic, all she had was a penchant for raising Cain.
It came to her then. Her eyes widened and she stood up straight, a new strength coursing through her limbs.
And just like that, China’s command over her was broken.
She needed Ghastly. She didn’t really know where he lived so she needed his address, and there was only one way she could think of to get it. She left the restroom, passing the window, realising that it was morning already. She crossed the hall to China’s apartment and knocked. No answer. She knocked again.
China wasn’t in. Stephanie looked at the door. Nothing special about it. She hadn’t noticed anything unusual about it on the other side either, no chains or bolts or extra locks. There could be a locking spell placed on it, and if there was then she’d be wasting her time, but she didn’t think there was. Skulduggery had said a locking spell needed to be dismantled every time a door is opened, then cast again. She doubted China would have the patience to do that on a daily basis.
Stephanie took a step back. An ordinary door. An ordinary, flimsy door. It was possible; she knew it was possible. She was tall and strong. This door was all that stood between her and saving Skulduggery. She had strong legs. Her legs were muscled, a swimmer’s legs. They were strong. The door was weak. She could do it. She had to do it. She had to save her friend.
Her boot slammed against the door. She kicked again… and again… and again… Her legs were strong. She couldn’t fail. Desperation lent her strength. The door was weak and it burst open.
She hurried in, moving right for where she had seen the address book. It wasn’t there. It wasn’t on the small table. Where was it?
She looked around. China had moved it. Where? Why? Had she known Stephanie would be looking for it? No, there was no way she could have predicted that. Then she had moved it for some other reason, some other ordinary, average reason. She had put it away; she had put it back. Yes, she had put it back in its usual place.
Where would China keep an address book?
Stephanie went to the desk, opening the drawers and rifling through them. Papers, letters, no address book. She turned, eyes scouring the room, aware that China could walk through that broken door at any time. She went to the shelves: no address book. Where?
She moved into the bedroom. There, on the bedside table, the address book. She snatched it up, finding the B’s, her finger moving down the page. Bespoke tailors. She memorised the address, dropped the book on the bed and turned to go.
“Hello, dear,” China said. She walked in and Stephanie stepped back, wary.
“I saw your handiwork outside,” China said. “What did my poor door ever do to you? Did you break anything else while you were here? A vase? A teacup perhaps?”
“Just the door.”
“Ah, well, I suppose I should be thankful for small mercies. Did you find what you were looking for, child?”
Stephanie tightened her fist. “Don’t call me that.”
China laughed. “That look in your eye is almost scary.”
“Have you done anything to help Skulduggery, or are you still too
