rolled to his feet as Skulduggery moved in again.
The man launched himself forward. They both collided and went backwards over the couch and Skulduggery lost his hat. Stephanie saw a flash of white above the scarf.
They got to their feet, grappling, and the man swung a punch that knocked Skulduggery’s sunglasses to the other side of the room. Skulduggery responded by moving in low, grabbing the man around the waist and twisting his hip into him. The man was flipped to the floor, hard.
He cursed a little more, then remembered Stephanie and made for her. Stephanie leaped out of the chair, but before he could reach her, Skulduggery was there, kicking the man’s legs out from under him. The man hit a small coffee table with his chin and howled in pain.
“You think you can stop me?” he screamed as he tried to stand. His knees seemed shaky. “Do you know who I am?”
“Haven’t the foggiest,” Skulduggery said.
The man spat blood and grinned defiantly. “Well, I know about you,” he said. “My master told me all about you, detective, and you’re going to have to do a lot more than that to stop me.”
Skulduggery shrugged and Stephanie watched in amazement as a ball of fire flared up in his hand and he hurled it and the man was suddenly covered in flame. But instead of screaming, the man tilted his head back and roared with laughter. The fire may have engulfed him, but it wasn’t burning him.
“More!” he laughed. “Give me more!”
“If you insist.”
And then Skulduggery took an old-fashioned revolver from his jacket and fired, the gun bucking slightly with the recoil. The bullet hit the man in the shoulder and he screamed, then tried to run and tripped. He scrambled for the doorway, ducking and dodging lest he get shot again, the flames obstructing his vision so much that he hit a wall on his way out.
And then he was gone.
Stephanie stared at the door, trying to make sense of the impossible.
“Well,” Skulduggery said, “that’s something you don’t see every day.”
She turned. When his hat came off, his hair had come off too. In the confusion all she had seen was a chalk-white scalp, so she turned expecting to see a bald albino maybe. But no. With his sunglasses gone and his scarf hanging down, there was no denying the fact that he had no flesh, he had no skin, he had no eyes and he had no face.
All he had was a skull for a head.
THE SECRET WAR
“Sorry about the door,” he said.
Stephanie stared.
“I’ll pay to get it fixed.”
Stephanie stared.
“It’s still a good door, you know. Sturdy.”
When he realised that Stephanie was in no condition to do anything but stare, he shrugged again and took off his coat, folded it neatly and draped it over the back of a chair. He went to the broken window and started picking up the shards of glass.
Now that he didn’t have his coat on, Stephanie could truly appreciate how thin he really was. His suit, well-tailored though it was, hung off him, giving it a shapeless quality. She watched him collect the broken glass, and saw a flash of bone between his shirtsleeve and glove. He stood, looking back at her.
“Where should I put all this glass?”
“I don’t know,” Stephanie said in a quiet voice. “You’re a skeleton.”
“I am indeed,” he said. “Gordon used to keep a wheelie bin out at the back door. Shall I put it in that?”
Stephanie nodded. “Yes OK,” she said simply and watched Skulduggery carry the armful of glass shards out of the room. All her life she had longed for something else, for something to take her out of the humdrum world she knew – and now that it looked like it might actually happen, she didn’t have one clue what to do. Questions were tripping over themselves in her head, each one vying to be the one that was asked first. So many of them.
Skulduggery came back in and she asked the first question. “Did you find it all right?”
“I did, yes. It was where he always kept it.”
“OK then.” If questions were people she felt that they’d all be staring at her now in disbelief. She struggled to form coherent thoughts.
“Did you tell him your name?” Skulduggery was asking.
“What?”
“Your name. Did you tell him?”
“Uh, no…”
“Good. You know something’s true name, you have power over it. But even a given name, even Stephanie, that would have been enough to do it.”
“To do what?”
“To give him some influence over you, to get you to do what he asked. If he had your name and he knew what to do with it, sometimes that’s all it takes. That’s a scary thought now, isn’t it?”
“What’s going on?” Stephanie asked. “Who was he? What did he want? Just who are you?”
“I’m me,” Skulduggery said, picking up his hat and wig and placing them on a nearby table. “As for him, I don’t know who he is, never seen him before in my life.”
“You shot him.”
“That’s right.”
“And you threw fire at him.”
“Yes, I did.”
Stephanie’s legs felt weak and her head felt light.
“Mr Pleasant, you’re a skeleton.”
“Ah, yes, back to the crux of the matter. Yes. I am, as you say, a skeleton. I have been one for a few years now.”
“Am I going mad?”
“I hope not.”
“So you’re real? You actually exist?”
“Presumably.”
