at him, fear and fury bubbling inside her. She heard him laugh again.
“I just want to come in,” he said. “Open the door for me, girlie. Let me come in.”
“The police are on their way,” she said.
“You’re a liar.”
Still she could see nothing beyond the glass and he could see everything. She moved to the phone, snatching it from its cradle.
“Don’t do that,” came the voice.
“I’m calling the police.”
“The road’s closed, girlie. You call them, I’ll break down that door and kill you hours before they get here.”
Fear became terror and Stephanie froze. She was going to cry. She could feel it, the tears welling up inside her. She hadn’t cried in years. “What do you want?” she said to the darkness. “Why do you want to come in?”
“It’s got nothing to do with me, girlie. I’ve just been sent to pick something up. Let me in. I’ll look around, get what I came here for and leave. I won’t harm a pretty little hair on your pretty little head, I promise. Now you just open that door right this second.”
Stephanie gripped the poker in both hands and shook her head. She was crying now, tears rolling down her cheeks. “No,” she said.
She screamed as a fist smashed through the window, showering the carpet with glass. She stumbled back as the man started climbing in, glaring at her with blazing eyes, unmindful of the glass that cut into him. The moment one foot touched the floor inside the house Stephanie was bolting out of the room, over to the front door, fumbling at the lock.
Strong hands grabbed her from behind. She screamed again as she was lifted off her feet and carried back. She kicked out, slamming a heel into his shin. The man grunted and let go and Stephanie twisted, trying to swing the poker into his face but he caught it and pulled it from her grasp. One hand went to her throat and Stephanie gagged, unable to breathe as the man forced her back into the living room.
He pushed her into an armchair and leaned over her and no matter how hard she tried she could not break his grip.
“Now then,” the man said, his mouth contorting into a sneer, “why don’t you just give me the key, little girlie?”
And that’s when the front door was flung off its hinges and Skulduggery Pleasant burst into the house.
The man cursed and released Stephanie and swung the poker, but Skulduggery moved straight to him and hit him so hard Stephanie thought the man’s head might come off. He hit the ground and tumbled backwards, but 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