Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 1 - 12. Derek Landy

Valkyrie managed to say. Her fingers were burning and the muscles in her legs were screaming at her. “We stopped him. We’ll stop you, too.”

      He laughed. “What, you think I want the old gods to walk the earth once again? Is that it? You think Nefarian Serpine was my leader? I’m not one of those nutbag disciples, all right? I’m my own man.”

      Valkyrie had one chance, but she needed to be calm to take advantage of it. Her powers, limited though they were, were Elemental – the manipulation of earth, air, fire and water. But at this stage of her training they didn’t work when she was panicking.

      “So if you don’t want the Faceless Ones to return,” she said, “what do you want? Why are you doing this?”

      He shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s grown-up stuff. I just want a little appreciation for who I am, that’s all. That’s not much to ask, is it? But of course, you wouldn’t know. You’re just a kid.” He shrugged. “Oh, well. Time to die.” He reached down to shove her.

      “Have you killed anyone?” she asked quickly.

      “What? Did you miss what I said, about turning murder into an art form?”

      “But you haven’t actually killed anyone yet, have you? I read your file.”

      He glowered. “Technically, yeah, all right, maybe I haven’t, but tonight’s the night. You’re going to be my first.”

      She readied herself, controlled her breathing. “Find the space where everything connects,” she murmured.

      Scapegrace frowned. “What?”

      Valkyrie kicked upwards, taking her right hand from the outcrop and feeling the air against her palm. She pushed at it like she’d been taught, and it shimmered and hit Scapegrace, throwing him off his feet. Valkyrie clutched at the edge of the parapet, her legs swinging in open air. She grunted and pulled herself up, then flung her left arm across the edge and hauled herself the rest of the way. She got to her feet, her arms and legs trembling with the strain, and moved away from the edge. The wind whipped her dark hair across her face.

      Scapegrace was already getting up and Valkyrie saw anger mottle his face. She clicked her fingers, generating a spark that she caught in her hand. She tried to focus, tried to build it into a flame, but Scapegrace was coming at her like a freight train.

      Valkyrie jumped and thrust out both feet. Her boots slammed into his chest and he hit the ground again and went sprawling. He turned to her just as she lashed a kick into his jaw. His body twisted and he tumbled back, came up to his feet then lost his balance, fell again. He spat blood and glared.

      “You little brat,” he snarled. “You uppity, sneaky little brat. You don’t know who you’re messing with, do you? I am going to be the greatest killer the world has ever known.” He stood up slowly, wiping his sleeve across his burst lip. “When I’m finished with you I’m going to deliver your mutilated, bloody corpse to your masters, as a warning. They sent you up against me, alone. Next time they’re going to have to send a battalion.”

      Valkyrie smiled, and Scapegrace’s anger flared. “What the hell is so funny?”

      “First of all,” she said, her confidence growing, “they’re not my masters. I don’t have a master. Second, they don’t need a battalion to take you down. And third – and this really is the most important point – whoever said I came alone?”

      Scapegrace frowned, turned, saw someone walking up behind him, a skeleton in a black suit, and he tried to attack, but a gloved fist hit his face, a foot hit his shin and an elbow slammed into his chest. He fell in an awkward heap.

      Skulduggery Pleasant turned to Valkyrie. “You all right?”

      “I’ll kill you both!” Scapegrace howled.

      “Hush,” Skulduggery said.

      Scapegrace launched himself forward and Skulduggery moved into him, grabbed his outstretched arm and spun him around, then abruptly cut him off by slamming a forearm into his throat. Scapegrace flipped in midair, landed painfully. Skulduggery turned to Valkyrie again.

      “I’m OK,” she said. “Really.”

      Scapegrace had his hands to his face. “I think you broke my nose!” They ignored him.

      “He talks a lot,” Valkyrie said, “but I don’t think he knows what all the words mean.”

      Scapegrace leaped up. “I am the Killer Supreme! I make murder into an art form!”

      Skulduggery hit him again and Scapegrace did a little twirl before falling.

      “Vaurien Scapegrace,” he said, “by the power endowed unto me under the Sanctuary Rule of Justice, I am placing you under arrest for the attempted murder of Alexander Remit and Sofia Toil in Oregon, Cothurnus Ode and Armiger Fop in Sydney, Gregory Castallan and Bartholomew—”

      Scapegrace tried one last desperate attack that Skulduggery cut short by punching him very hard on the nose. The Killer Supreme wobbled, collapsed and started crying.

      

      he car was a 1954 Bentley R-Type Continental. It sliced through the quiet Dublin night like a black shark, gleaming and powerful. It was a beautiful car. Valkyrie had grown to love it almost as much as Skulduggery did.

      They turned on to O’Connell Street, passed the Spire and the Pearse Monument. Scapegrace sat in the back and complained that the shackles were too tight. It was four in the morning. Valkyrie fought a yawn.

      This time last year she would have been in bed, snuggled up and dreaming about … well, whatever it was she dreamed about back then. Things were a lot different now, and she was lucky if she could get a few hours sleep a night. If she wasn’t going up against crazies like Scapegrace, she was practising magic, and if she wasn’t practising magic, she was training to fight with either Skulduggery or Tanith Low. These days, her life was a lot more exciting, a lot more fun, and a lot more dangerous. In fact, one of the major downsides to her new life was that she rarely had sweet dreams any more. When she slept, it was the nightmares that came to her. They waited patiently, and they were always eager to play.

      But that was the cost, she reasoned. The cost of living a life of adventure and excitement.

      The owners of the Waxworks Museum had closed it down after the events of the previous year, and set up a new and improved version of the Sanctuary of the Elders in another part of the city. The new building stood quietly beside its neighbours, humble and drab, its front doors closed and locked and sealed. But Valkyrie and Skulduggery had never used the front doors anyway.

      They parked in the loading area at the back and took Scapegrace in through the rear door. The corridors were dimly lit, and they walked past the lonely historical figures and cinematic icons that had been left to collect dust. Valkyrie traced her hand along the wall to find the switch, and the door slid open beside her. She led the way through and down the steps, her mind flashing back to the summer of the previous year, when she had stepped into the Sanctuary’s foyer to find it littered with dead bodies …

      Today, however, there were no corpses in sight. Two Cleavers stood guard against the far wall, dressed all in grey, their scythes strapped to their backs, visored helmets pointing straight ahead. The Cleavers acted as the Sanctuary’s law enforcers and its army. Silent and lethal, they still gave Valkyrie the creeps.

      The double doors to their left opened and the new Grand Mage, Thurid Guild, came out to them. He looked to be in his sixties, with thinning grey hair, a lined face and cold eyes.

      “You