eyes gleamed when he looked at her. “I heard Remus Crux had been sighted in the area,” he said. “Naturally, I assumed he was coming after you. It seems I was right.”
“And why didn’t you tell me this?” Valkyrie asked, her teeth chattering.
“Bait doesn’t needs to know it’s bait. Crux might have sensed a trap and that would have sent him scurrying back into the shadows.”
“I don’t appreciate being bait, Solomon. He could have gone after my family.”
“He doesn’t want to hurt your family. We don’t know why he’s after you, but at least we now know that he is.”
Wreath wasn’t offering her his coat. Skulduggery would have done that by now.
“I don’t want this happening again,” she said. “My town is off-limits to this stuff. China Sorrows can put up symbols and sigils to make sure he can’t get into Haggard. Tomorrow that’s what I’m asking her to do.”
“Very well.”
“Solomon, next time something like this comes up, I’m expecting you to tell me about it before I’m attacked.”
He smiled. “I’ll try to remember that. It’s quite safe for you to return to your house. I’ll keep watch until morning.”
Valkyrie nodded and positioned herself beneath the spare room window.
“Oh, and the skull?” he asked. “Are you close to retrieving it?”
“We’re meeting the seller tomorrow.”
“And you’re sure he has the one you’re looking for? You’ve been disappointed before…”
“This time it’s different. It has to be.”
He bowed his goodbye then tapped his cane to the ground and invited the shadows in around him. By the time they had scattered, he was gone. It was a Necromancer trick, similar to teleportation but with far less range. It used to impress her. It didn’t any more.
She swept her arms up and a gust of cold wind lifted her up the side of the house. She climbed through the window and closed it behind her then wiped her feet on the carpet to dry them. She scrambled under the bedclothes and lay there, curled up in a shivering ball.
She didn’t get much sleep.
Valkyrie thanked her and hung up, then opened the wardrobe and touched the mirror. Her reflection stepped out then crawled under the bed to hide while Valkyrie dressed in her school uniform and went downstairs. It had been over a week since she’d joined her parents for breakfast and she was anxious to enjoy their company. She was also determined that today was the day she’d get Skulduggery back.
Her parents talked about the broken window—her father was confident he could replace the glass himself, but her mother wasn’t so sure—and then her dad announced his plans.
“I’m taking a half-day,” he said. “I’m off to meet a few clients, take them out for a quick nine.”
Her mother looked at him. “A quick nine what?”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “It’s a golf term. Men my age say it all the time. I wanted to take them to the football final on Sunday, but golf this afternoon will have to do.”
“You don’t play golf,” his wife pointed out.
“But I’ve seen it on television and it looks pretty straightforward. Hit the ball with the thing.”
“Club.”
“What could be easier?”
“Your hand-eye co-ordination isn’t the best though, and you hate long walks and carrying things. And you also regularly say that you think golf is stupid.”
“Golf is stupid,” he agreed.
“Then why would you want to take your clients golfing?”
“Primarily, it’s the outfit. The V-neck jumpers with the diamond patterns and the trousers with the socks pulled up.”
“I don’t think people wear those any more.”
“Oh.”
Valkyrie often thought her parents were ideally suited to one another. She doubted that anyone else would be capable of appreciating just how odd they really were.
She finished her breakfast and went back to her room to change into her black clothes. The reflection took each item of school uniform as it was removed and put it on.
In a town called Roarhaven, almost two years earlier, Skulduggery had shot the reflection and killed it. Its original purpose had been to fill in for Valkyrie while she was with Skulduggery, but as a result of its overuse, it began developing certain quirks of behaviour, a problem compounded when it “died”. They had returned the body to the mirror, and the reflection came back to its imitation of life, but after that it became even more erratic. It had broken free of some of its own boundaries—the changing of its clothes being a primary example—and every now and then there were short gaps in its memory.
But Valkyrie didn’t have time to worry about any of that now. She needed to get Skulduggery’s head. Besides, someone had to go to school today and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be her.
She buttoned up her black trousers and pulled on her boots, letting the trouser turn-ups fall over them. The top was sleeveless but warm, and when she slipped into the coat, it was like she was suddenly wearing thermals. The material reacted to the environment and to her body temperature, keeping her in comfort no matter what. The coat was black, but its sleeves were the dark red of dried blood. A Ghastly Bespoke creation.
The reflection picked up Valkyrie’s schoolbag and left, closing the door behind it.
Valkyrie rang Fletcher Renn and he stepped out of empty space beside her. The phone crackled in her hand as the network struggled to compensate, then gave up. His blond hair was painstakingly untamed, and his grin was the usual mix of cocksure and mocking. He wore old jeans, scuffed boots and an army jacket, and the only problem with how he looked was that Fletcher knew he looked good.
“What happened here?” he asked, the grin vanishing as he noticed the mess.
“I was attacked.”
His eyes widened and he grabbed her, as if making sure she was still alive. “Are you OK? Are you hurt? Who did it?”
“I’m fine, Fletcher. I’ll tell you about it when I tell the others.”
“It wasn’t the vampire, was it?”
“What?”
Fletcher let Valkyrie go and stepped back. “What’s-his-name, from yesterday. Mean and moody vampire boy.”
“His name’s Caelan. And no, of course not.”
He nodded slowly. “OK then. And you’re sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“What did he say anyway? The vamp.”
“He set up the meeting, like he said he would.”
“No chit-chat then?”
“He’s