have a better plan?” Valkyrie asked.
“Of course not. I’m a man of action, not thought.”
Valkyrie nodded. “You’re definitely not a man of thought.”
“Why are you in charge anyway? What do you know about organising something like this?”
“I have faith,” Tanith said.
“As do I,” said Ghastly.
Valkyrie smiled at them gratefully. “So you think the plan will work?”
“God, no,” said Ghastly.
“Sorry, Val,” said Tanith.
Valkyrie stood with Tanith outside the old Waxworks Museum, letting the rain drench her hair. The windows were boarded up and there was a rusted gate pulled across the door. Even before the museum had closed down, it had never been impressive. She remembered school visits, trudging through dark corridors, gazing blankly at wax statues of boring politicians. She often wondered how things would be now if, as a little girl, she had wandered away from the tour group and found the hidden door.
If she had entered the Sanctuary then, would she have been taken under Skulduggery’s wing that much earlier? Or would the Cleavers merely have chopped her head off the moment they saw her? Probably the latter.
At least, back then, Eachan Meritorious had been Grand Mage of the Council of Elders. These days they didn’t even have a Council, only the Grand Mage, Thurid Guild, whom Skulduggery had once suspected of treason. Even now that Valkyrie knew he wasn’t guilty of that charge, she still viewed him as a dangerous individual with his own agenda.
And Guild had the skull.
Needing a replacement for Remus Crux, Guild had poached Davina Marr and her subordinate, Pennant, from one of the American Sanctuaries, and provided them with whatever they needed to do their job. Guild’s first decree had been that the portal never be opened again, lest more Faceless Ones come through. He had known Valkyrie and the others were hunting for the skull, and until today they had managed to stay one step ahead of him. But now, it seemed, Guild had overtaken them at the last hurdle.
The wind took the rain in at an angle and Valkyrie pulled her collar tight. She had called China, who had listened to the plan, such as it was, and assured her that if it did in fact work, then she would be available to help. She also said that there were two Sanctuary agents watching her at all times, and another two at Aranmore Farm. She had barely been able to send out her students to set up that perimeter around Haggard without the agents noticing. Valkyrie didn’t care. Only one thing mattered.
A bald man in a nice coat smiled as he passed them. Tanith ignored him, but Valkyrie returned the smile politely. There was something very familiar about him. He walked on and she looked around, wary of anyone trying to sneak up behind them.
“Ladies.”
She looked back. Ghastly stood where the bald man had been a second ago. Valkyrie was about to ask him what was going on, but Tanith figured it out before she spoke. “The façade tattoo,” she said, astonished. “It works!”
Ghastly smiled. “No more hat and scarf disguises for me, thank you very much. I can only use it for half an hour each day, but China’s working on a way to extend that.”
“Show me!” Valkyrie demanded, unable to stop her own smile from spreading.
Ghastly pulled apart the collar of his shirt and she saw the small tattoos, freshly burned into either side of his neck. He touched them and unblemished skin flowed upwards, rippling over his scars until it covered his whole head.
“Oh my God,” she said.
Ghastly smiled. “What do you think?”
“Oh my God,” she said again.
His features were strong, his jaw square and his skin, though slightly waxy, was clear and unscarred.
“China wanted to give me hair, but I thought that would be just a little too much, you know?”
“Oh my God.”
“You keep saying that. Tanith, what do you think?”
“I like it,” Tanith said. “But I dig scars too.”
He smiled, and touched the tattoos, and the perfect skin melted back into them, revealing the scars once again.
“Are we ready?” he asked, looking at the Waxworks Museum.
“I don’t like going anywhere without my sword,” Tanith grumbled. “You do realise that if the Cleavers come for us, they won’t care that we’re on the same side. They’ll cut us into itty-bitty pieces just because they can.”
“If that happens,” Ghastly said, “you’ll at least die comforted by the fact that you had the moral high ground.”
“Well, that’ll be nice,” she muttered.
They went around the back of the Waxworks Museum and entered through the open door. It was dark and the corridor they walked along was narrow. They passed three wax statues. Valkyrie wasn’t surprised they’d been left here when the museum closed down. They weren’t very good and only one of them had a head.
They finally came to a wax statue that looked like the person it was supposed to be – Phil Lynott from the band Thin Lizzy. It turned its head as they approached.
“Hello,” it said.
“Hi, Phil,” replied Valkyrie.
Tanith, who had actually known the real Phil Lynott when he was alive, found the figure too unnerving, so she stayed at the back and didn’t look at it.
“We request an audience with the Grand Mage,” Ghastly said.
“Do you have an appointment?” the figure said, looking down at a page it had stuck to the back of its guitar. “You’re not on the list.”
“We don’t have an appointment, but we request to be seen.”
The wax head of Phil Lynott frowned. It didn’t like its new role. It was originally supposed to only open and close the door, but now that the Sanctuary didn’t have an Administrator, its job description had expanded.
“I’ll tell him you’re here,” it said and closed its eyes.
While they waited, Valkyrie became aware of how fast her heart was beating. If this didn’t work, they could all be arrested and it would be her fault. Worse, their one opportunity to get Skulduggery back would pass, and she’d never see him again.
The wax figure opened one of its eyes. “Any of you going to the final?” it asked.
Valkyrie took a moment. “I’m sorry?”
“The All-Ireland,” the figure said. “Dublin versus Kerry. Going to be a good one. I asked if I could go. I’ve never been to Croke Park. The Grand Mage said no. He said it would raise some questions if I’m recognised.”
“He’s probably right,” said Valkyrie slowly.
The figure opened both eyes. “The Grand Mage has been informed,” it said. “He has instructed a guide to take you to the Greeting Room, and he will be with you as soon as his schedule allows.”
“Thank you,” Valkyrie said, and the wall beside them rumbled and parted, and they went through.
They got to the bottom of the stone stairs and a sour-looking man beckoned to them impatiently. Valkyrie glanced at the grey-clad Cleavers as she passed them, their faces hidden behind visored helmets. She used to find them threatening, but compared to the White Cleaver who stood with the Necromancers, they were positively cuddly.
The impatient sorcerer herded them quickly through the corridors.
“I don’t have time to be doing this,” he griped. “I’ve got work to do, for God’s