Cover illustrations © Tom Percival; Skulduggery Pleasant TM Derek Landy; Skulduggery Pleasant logo TM HarperCollinsPublishers Cover Design © HarperCollinsPublishers

Illuminated letters © Tom Percival; Skulduggery Pleasant™ Derek Landy; Skulduggery Pleasant Logo™ HarperCollinsPublishers

Derek Landy asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBNs

Kingdom of the Wicked (9780007480258), Last Stand of Dead Men (9780007489244), The Dying of the Light (9780007489299)

Ebook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2015 ISBN: 9780008164812

Version: 2015-10-26

COVER

TITLE PAGE

KINGDOM OF THE WICKED

LAST STAND OF DEAD MEN

THE DYING OF THE LIGHT

KEEP READING

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

This book is dedicated to the HarperCollins Children’s Books Publicity Department.

Publicists are an odd bunch. Part manager, part bodyguard, part servant, you’re only happy when you take over an author’s life completely. I would berate you for this, but I have yet to find a publicist who stops talking long enough for me to say anything.

To the Ireland branch, the legend that is Moira O’Reilly and the quiff that is Tony Purdue.

To the UK branch, both past and present (regrettably not future, though, but future publicists, feel free to accept this dedication as your own):

Emma Bradshaw – for that time I mocked your iPod choices. Oh how we/I laughed.

Catherine Ward – for that moment we shared, bonding over The Princess Bride. What do you mean you don’t remember it?

Tiffany McCall – you had ‘The Imperial March’ as your ringtone. How could we not get along?

Sam White – I like to think I played a part in why you married an Irishman. You’re welcome.

Mary Byrne – Gilmore Girls. Just... Gilmore Girls.

Geraldine Stroud – this is for that English/Polish dictionary you got me. It didn’t get me anywhere with the check-out girl, but at least you tried...

This is for all of you, without whom my life would be so much simpler. I’ve learned a lot from you, and I daresay you’ve learned a lot from me. Specifically, to never leave me on a train platform unattended. I will get on the wrong train.

COVER

TITLE PAGE

DEDICATION

PROLOGUE

EPIGRAPH

1 THE BUTTERFLY AND THE WOLF

2 THE WEREWOLF OF DUBLIN

3 COUNCILS MEET

4 ELIZA

5 EARLY NIGHT

6 BACK IN THE SANCTUARY

7 THE STORY OF WALDEN D’ESSAI

8 GAOL TIME

9 HUNTED

10 NADIR

11 SCENES FROM A COFFEE SHOP

12 THE BEDROCK OF INVESTIGATION

13 MANIPULATIONS

14 KRAY

15 KILLING CHRIS

16 THE OTHER HERE

17 KEEPING THE DEMON DOWN

18 A JAR WITH A VIEW

19 JUMPING FROM AIRPLANES

20 LAMENT’S SORCERERS

21 ARGEDDION

22 CONVERSATIONS WITH MY KILLER

23 THE PLOT

24 SEARCHING THE SANCTUARY

25 THE INEVITABLE RETURN OF FLETCHER RENN

26 POOR TOMMY PURCELL

27 MAYHEM

28 HER SECRET AGENDA

29 ALL BECOMES CLEAR

30 THE EXPERIMENT

31 CAROL

32 STRANGERS IN A STRANGE LAND

33 THE MAN IN BLACK

34 INSIDE THE CITY

35 CHIPPING AWAY

36 THE OLD MAN IN CHAINS

37 THE DEBRIEF

38 TWO AGAINST THREE

39 FORCED HANDS

40 OLD FRIENDS

41 THEIR GUIDE

42 COLLECTING THE RESULTS

43 18 MOUNT TEMPLE PLACE

44 THE WAY IN

45 THE PERFECT BODY

46 THE PROBLEMS WITH MORTALS

47 INTO THE PALACE

48 KITANA’S QUANDARY

49 THE DEAL

50 SUPERCHARGED

51 ARGEDDION FALLS

52 FEARFUL SYMMETRY

53 A LITTLE BIT OF WAR

54 HEAD OVER HEELS

55 A HAPPY ENDING

EPILOGUE

t was a beautiful spring day and they were standing on the roof.

“Do it,” said Kitana. Her voice was low but urgent, tinged with an excitement that bubbled up from somewhere within her. Her straight white teeth bit lightly on her bottom lip. Her face was flushed. Her eyes sparkled. So eager to learn a new way to hurt people.

Doran turned to the chimney and held out his hand. He grunted, his face going red and the muscles in his neck standing out. It looked pretty funny until his hand started to glow. There was a light under his skin, and it was getting brighter the more he concentrated.

“Oh, great,” said Sean. “We have the power of flashlights. Let the world beware.”

“Quiet,” Kitana said sharply. “Let him focus.”

Sean didn’t like it when Kitana dismissed him like that. Elsie could see it in his face. Angry, embarrassed, hurt. If Elsie had ever taken that tone with him, she doubted he’d even notice. Not that she ever would treat him like that. She wasn’t like Kitana, who could spend a whole day mocking him and then, with one smile the next day, would have him back under her thumb.

Elsie wasn’t mean like Kitana, but then she wasn’t pretty like her, either, or blonde like her, or slim like her. She was fat and ugly and all the dyed hair and black clothes and pierced lips in the world couldn’t hide that.

A beam of light shot from Doran’s hand, crackling and sizzling, and blasted a hole through the chimney.

Kitana whooped with joy and Sean stared, mouth open. Doran dropped his hand and grinned.

“It was easier that time,” he said. “Gets easier the more you do it.”

Kitana ran to his side. “Teach me! Oh my God, teach me now!”

Doran laughed, stood behind her, used one hand to guide her arm while the other hand was on her hip. He spoke softly, into her ear, and she nodded as she listened. Elsie looked at Sean. He wasn’t looking impressed any more. Now he just looked jealous. Elsie couldn’t help it – she was disappointed. Doran was just a thug and an idiot who followed Kitana around like almost every other seventeen-year-old boy in their school. But Elsie had thought Sean was different. She walked over.

Light flared in Kitana’s hand and the chimney blew apart. She screamed in delight, hugged Doran.

“That was cool,” Elsie said to Sean. He murmured. She smiled. “Maybe we should try it.”

“Knock yourself out,” he said, and walked away from her.

Her heart did that sinking thing again. Sometimes it seemed like the only reason it ever rose up was just so it could sink back down. She followed Sean over to them, half-listened to the instructions they were given. Doran lost his temper, started calling her names, and Kitana laughed and egged him on. Sean was too preoccupied with figuring out how to do the new trick – she doubted he even noticed they were picking on her again. Maybe that was for the best. If he did notice and he didn’t do anything to stop it, wouldn’t that be worse?

Finally, after many curses and insults, Elsie began to feel the power in her hand, felt how hot it was getting. Beside her, Sean’s arm was trembling.

“Feel that heat?” Doran asked. “Make it even hotter. Make it so that it almost hurts.”

They stood in a circle, all four of them, with their arms held up towards the sky. Kitana had already done it twice.

“Feel it?” Doran asked.

“Yeah,” said Sean impatiently. “Now what?”

“Now you just push it out of you,” Doran said. “All the energy, just push it straight out. Like this.”

A beam of crackling energy shot out of his hand. A moment later, Kitana’s beam joined it, a slightly deeper colour that mingled with his.

“This is so cool,” she whispered.

Sean gritted his teeth. Sweat rolled off his forehead. But then the light in his hand flashed even brighter, and his own beam of energy raced towards the clouds and he laughed shakily.

Elsie became aware of Kitana’s eyes on her.

“Last one, Elsie. You can do it.”

Elsie licked her lips. “I’m trying.”

“Try harder.” Kitana’s voice had lost the playful lilt she used with the boys. When she spoke to Elsie, there was always a harder edge to it. “You can’t be the only one of us not able to do this stuff. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link, have you ever heard that?”

Of course Elsie had heard that. Who hadn’t heard that? But that was part of Kitana’s way, to treat her like an idiot. Elsie didn’t respond. Instead, she took that frustration and added it to the heat in her hand. It was really burning now. It was like her hand was about to explode.

“Hurry up,” said Doran, straining slightly. “Can’t keep this going for ever.”

Elsie felt that heat and pushed it, tensing every muscle in her body, pushing it up, out of her skin, away from her, and then it burst through, a beam of orange energy, flashing to the sky, joining the others. Elsie couldn’t help it, she laughed. It was all so pretty. So beautiful.

Doran was the first to cut off his beam. He lowered his hand with a gasp. Kitana followed soon after, and then Sean, and finally Elsie. She was tired, like she’d poured all of her strength into that beam, but every part of her was tingling. Sean and Doran were both smiling, too. Only Kitana’s eyes were narrowed, like she hadn’t really wanted Elsie to be able to do it.

A car pulled up on the road below, and a man got out. He looked furious. “Get down from there!” he shouted.

“We’re allowed up here,” Kitana called out. “We have the owner’s permission. Unless you are the owner, in which case get lost or we’ll kill you.”

“Let’s use him for target practice,” Doran whispered.

Before Elsie could object, the man swung his arms. A strong wind suddenly blew and he rose upwards like he was flying. Sean cursed and they all jumped back, and the man landed in front of them.

“Do you have any idea how risky this is?” he raged. “You’re out in the open, for God’s sake. How stupid are you kids?”

“You’re... you’re like us?” Kitana asked.

“I could see your damn lightshow from miles away. What were you trying to do? Were you trying to get noticed?”

“We didn’t think there was anyone else,” Kitana said.

The man stared. “Anyone else? What? What do you mean?”

“I mean other people like us, people with super-powers.”

“What? What are you talking about? Listen to me, all right? You’re not superheroes, you’re sorcerers, and sorcerers don’t use their powers where normal people can see. You’ve got to be very careful. Secrecy has got to be the number-one rule for you from this moment on.”

“We’re very sorry, mister,” said Kitana.

He sighed. “My name is Patrick Xebec.”

“That’s a stupid name,” said Doran.

“Doran,” Kitana said, her tone scolding.

“We don’t have time to get into this now,” said Xebec, “but you need to take on a new name, otherwise other sorcerers will be able to control you.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m always serious. I’ve never had a very good sense of humour, and I’ve never been particularly good with children.”

“We’re not children,” said Doran, flipping up his hoodie. “We’re seventeen.”

“Anyone below the age of ninety is a child to me,” Xebec said. “Sorcerers live longer than mortal people.”

“Cool,” said Sean.

“So your name wasn’t always Xebec, then?” Kitana asked.

“This is a name I took. It felt right, so I took it, and it’s been my name ever since.”

“And if I changed my name from Kitana Kellaway to, like, Kitana Killherway, that would stop me from being controlled?”

“If you want that as your taken name, sure.”

Doran grinned. “I’ll be Doran Kickass.”

“That’s the stupidest name ever,” Kitana said, giggling. “Sean, what about you?”

“I don’t know,” Sean said. “How about Sean Chill? Or Sean Destiny, or something? Sean the King.” He laughed. “Yeah, I’ll be Sean the King.”

All three of them laughed. Kitana didn’t ask Elsie what her name would be.

“Look,” said Xebec, “pick whatever names you want, I don’t care. I’m not qualified to take you through this. I don’t get involved in any of that Sanctuary stuff. I just live my life and get on with it.”

“What’s the Sanctuary?”

“It’s like our own private government. It has cops and soldiers and they’re always saving the world or getting themselves killed. You need to go to them, they’ll tell you everything you need to know. But if you want my advice, the moment that’s done with, walk away. Don’t become part of it. You’ll just wind up dead.”

“Magic cops,” Kitana said. “I don’t like the sound of that. Can they do what we do?”

“There are all different disciplines of magic,” said Xebec. “I’m an Elemental. What can you do?”

“We don’t know yet,” said Kitana. “We keep on finding new things. Like, at first we were just strong, but then we could move things without touching them. And now today we can fire beams of energy from our hands.”

“I figured out how to do that,” Doran said proudly.

Xebec frowned. “You can do all those things?”

“Probably more, as well,” said Doran. “Every day there’s something new.”

“I don’t know what you are,” Xebec said. “You should only have one of those abilities, two at the most. But even then you’d have to train for years.”

“Maybe we’re naturals,” Kitana said, smiling. “So the cops can’t do the things we can do?”

“No,” said Xebec. “No one can, as far as I know.”

Kitana bit her lip. “Oh, that’s good to hear.”

“I’ll call the Sanctuary,” said Xebec. “They’ll be able to figure out what’s going on. Come on.”

He turned, walked to the edge of the roof. Sean went to follow, but Kitana tapped his arm, holding him in place.

“I don’t think you should make that call,” she said.

Xebec turned. “Listen, kid, I don’t know what to do. I wouldn’t be of any use to you.”

“Actually, you’ve been a great help already. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done. But we can’t let you tell the magic cops about us.”

Doran raised his arm and his hand glowed. Xebec stepped back, eyes wide, didn’t even have time to say anything before a beam of energy burned through his leg. He fell, screaming.

Kitana took a deep breath, narrowed her eyes, and Xebec stiffened and collapsed, as dead as anything could get.

Sean looked at Kitana. “What did you do?”

“I squashed his brain with my mind,” Kitana said, and she started laughing.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

– The Tyger, William Blake

’m a butterfly!” screamed the fat man as he ran, flapping his arms like two really flabby, really rubbish wings.

“You’re actually not,” Valkyrie Cain told him for the eighth time. He ran around her in a big circle, bathed in moonlight, and she just stood there with her head down. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and moments earlier she’d had to drag her eyes away from his wobbling bosoms before they made her feel queasy. Now that his trousers were starting their inexorable slide downwards, she was averting her gaze altogether. “Please,” she said, “pull up your trousers.”

“Butterflies don’t need trousers!” he screeched. A moment later, those trousers landed by her feet.

She took out her phone and dialled. “He’s in his underpants,” she said angrily.

Skulduggery Pleasant’s smooth voice sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. “I’m sorry? Who is in his underpants?”

“Jerry Houlihan,” she said. “He thinks he’s a butterfly. Apparently they don’t wear trousers.”

“And is he a butterfly?”

“He isn’t.”

“You’re quite sure?”

“Quite.”

“He could be a butterfly dreaming he’s a man.”

“Well, he’s not. He’s a big fat man dreaming he’s a big fat butterfly. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

There was another hesitation. “I’m not sure. You don’t happen to have a large net handy, do you?”

“I want to hit him. I want to hit you, but I also want to hit him.”

“You can’t hit him. He’s an ordinary mortal under some kind of magical influence. It’s not his fault he’s acting this way. I assume you have him out of public view at the very least? Valkyrie? Valkyrie, are you there?”

“I’m here,” she said dully. “He’s started leaping with every third step. It’s kind of mesmerising.”

“I can only imagine. The Cleavers should be with you in half an hour or so. Can you contain him until then?”

She gripped the phone tighter. “You’re not serious. You can’t be serious. We’ve saved the world. I, personally, have saved the world. This here, right now, this is not something I do. This is something other people do and then you and me laugh about it later.”

“We do what needs to be done, Valkyrie. Once you’ve handed him over to the Cleavers, meet me in Phibsborough.”

She sighed. “Another busy night?”

“It certainly looks that way. I really must go. Sally Yorke has just set fire to her knees.”

The line went dead. Valkyrie gritted her teeth and stuffed the phone back in the pocket of her black trousers. This was not how a seventeen-year-old girl was supposed to spend her evenings. She blamed the Council of Elders for making this a priority. Yes, she accepted that it was a major problem that previously unremarkable mortals were suddenly developing magical abilities – aside from the threat they posed to themselves and others, they also risked exposing the existence of magic to the general public, and that was not something that could be allowed to happen. But why, out of all the cases that were popping up all over Ireland, did Valkyrie have to deal with the weird ones who thought they were butterflies? There were a few dozen sedated mortals back in the Sanctuary and not one of those was as weird and unsettling as Jerry Houlihan in his underpants.

Valkyrie frowned, and wondered why she couldn’t hear Jerry’s footsteps any more. Then she looked up and saw him flying through the night sky, flapping his arms and squealing with glee.

“Jerry!” she shouted. “Jerry Houlihan, get down here!”

But Jerry just giggled and jiggled, unsteady in the air but flying – definitely flying. He reversed course, flapping back towards her. Stupidly, she looked up as he passed directly overhead. The image seared itself into her mind and she felt a little piece of herself die.

Jerry veered off course, drifting from the safety of the park towards the bright streetlights of Dublin City. Valkyrie reached up, felt the air, felt how the spaces connected, and then she pulled a gust of wind right into him, knocking him back towards her. She needed a rope or even a piece of string, just something to anchor him in place like a fat, man-shaped kite.

“Jerry,” she called, “can you hear me?”

“I’m a butterfly!” he panted happily.

“I can see that, and a very pretty butterfly you are, too. But aren’t you getting tired? Even butterflies get tired, Jerry. They have to land, don’t they? They have to land because their wings get tired.”

“My wings are getting tired,” he said, puffing heavily now.

“I know. I know they are. You should rest them. You should land.”

He dipped lower and she jumped, tried to grab his foot, but he beat his arms faster and bobbed up high again. “No!” he said. “Butterflies fly! Fly high in the sky!”

He was gasping for air now, losing his rhythm, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep himself from dipping lower once more. Valkyrie jumped, grabbed him, closed her eyes and tried to send her mind to a peaceful place. Jerry was sweating from all that exertion, and his skin was warm and sticky and hairy. Valkyrie remembered the good times in her life as she pulled him out of the sky, handhold after handhold. He made a last-ditch effort to soar away and she had to grip the folds of flesh on his hips to hold him in place. Then Jerry gave up and stopped flapping, and Valkyrie fell screaming beneath his weight.

“I’m not a butterfly,” Jerry sobbed, as Valkyrie squirmed and wriggled beneath him.

The Cleavers arrived on time, as they usually did. They escorted Jerry Houlihan into their nondescript van, treating him surprisingly gently for anonymous drones with scythes strapped to their backs. Valkyrie hailed a cab, told the driver to take her to Phibsborough. They pulled over beside Skulduggery’s gleaming black Bentley.

Skulduggery was waiting for her in the shadows. His suit was dark grey, his hat dipped low over his brow. Tonight he was wearing the face of a long-nosed man with a goatee. He nodded up to a dark window on the top floor of an apartment building.

“Ed Stynes,” he said. “Forty years old. Lives alone. Not married, no kids. Recently split from his girlfriend. Works as a sound engineer. Possibly a werewolf.”

Valkyrie glared at him. “You told me there were no such things as werewolves.”

“I told you there were no such things as werewolves any more,” he corrected. “They died out in the nineteenth century. Unlike certain other creatures of the night that I could mention but won’t, werewolves were generally good people in human form. So appalled were they by their carnivorous lunar activities that they actively worked against their darker selves. They sought cures, isolation, whatever they needed to make sure that they didn’t spread the curse to anyone else.”

“Unlike vampires,” Valkyrie growled.

“You mentioned them, not me.”

“So if werewolves are extinct, why do you think Ed Stynes is a werewolf?”

“Last night, people in the area reported sightings of a large dog, or a man dressed as a bear,” Skulduggery said. “He didn’t hurt anyone – werewolves seldom do on their first time out unless they’re cornered. But on their second time, things get a lot more violent.”

“But if werewolves are extinct...”

“The infection has been diluted down through the generations, but it’s still there in a tiny fraction of the world’s population. Too weak to ever manifest into any actual transformation – unless the carriers of this infection were suddenly and inexplicably to gain magical abilities.”

“So Ed is like my butterfly man earlier.”

“Yes. The latest in a worryingly long line of mortals developing magic. Unfortunately in Ed’s case, it triggered a long dormant aspect of his physiology. You’re going to need this.” He handed her a long-barrelled gun.

Her eyes widened. “This is mine? You’re giving this to me? This is so cool.”

“It’s a tranquilliser gun.”

Her face fell. “Oh.”

“It’s still cool,” he insisted. “But I’m going to need it back afterwards. It’s part of a set. I have the other one, and I like to keep them together. It’s already loaded with a single tranq dart, so all you have to do is point and pull the trigger. The dart is loaded with enough sedative to bring down a—”

“Small elephant?”

He looked at her. “What?”

“You know. In the movies, if they’re going after something dangerous, they always say their tranquilliser darts have enough sedative to bring down a small elephant.”

“What do people have against small elephants?”

“Well, nothing, but—”

“There’s enough sedative in these darts to bring down a werewolf, which is exactly what we’re hunting. Why would we want to bring down an elephant if we’re not hunting elephants?”

“It’s just something people say in movies.”

“In elephant-hunting movies?”

“No, not particularly.”

“If we were hunting a were-elephant, I would understand the reference.”

“There’s no such thing as a were-elephant.”

“Of course there is. There are were-practically-everythings. Weredogs, werecats, werefish.”

“There are werefish?”

“They don’t generally last very long unless they’re near water.”

“I don’t believe you. I’ve fallen for this too many times in the past.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He started across the road.

She followed. “Oh, don’t you? You’ll insist they’re real and I’ll eventually start to doubt myself, and then I’ll ask, Are there really werefish? And you’ll look at me and say, Good God, Valkyrie, of course not, that’d be silly, and I’ll stand there feeling dumb. Just like with that colony of octopus people.”

“The what?”

“You told me once that octopus people were real.”

“And you believed me?”

“I was twelve!”

They reached the door of the apartment building. “And yet most twelve-year-olds don’t believe in octopus people.”

“I was twelve and impressionable, and I believed whatever you told me.”

“Ah, I remember those days,” Skulduggery said fondly, then took out his revolver. “There is such a thing as a werefish, though.”

She watched him loading the gun. “Those don’t look like tranquilliser bullets.”

“That’s because they’re not. They’re silver. Only thing guaranteed to kill a werewolf. Apart from decapitation. But then—”

“Decapitation kills most things,” Valkyrie finished.

“Exactly.”

“Apart from zombies.”

Skulduggery slid the revolver back into his shoulder holster. “This gun is just for emergency, last-resort back-up. Ed Stynes is a good man – I have no desire to take his life just because he changes into a wolfman a few nights a month.” He took a pair of lock picks from his jacket and started on the door.

“Why don’t we wait until morning to do this?” she asked. “Wouldn’t that be smarter?”

“And leave him free to roam and kill tonight?”

“It’s dark and the moon is full and I don’t hear any howling. Maybe it’s not as bad as you think.”

“He just hasn’t transformed yet. All day he’ll have felt grouchier than usual. This evening the headaches will have started. Once night fell, the cramps will have kicked in. Judging by the position of the moon, we have about ten minutes before he changes. He’ll spend roughly three hours covered in fur, and when the moon slips further away, he’ll change back.”

“So we tranq him while he’s still human?”

“Rarely a good idea,” Skulduggery said, opening the door and putting his lock picks away. “Sometimes it works, but most of the time the transformation occurs anyway, and the adrenaline rush clears the sedative from the system. The wolf wakes up angry and it takes a double dose to put it down again.”

“So we have to wait until he changes into a monster before we can do anything?”

“Indeed.”

“It seems a lot more dangerous.”

“It is.” He took out a tranq gun identical to Valkyrie’s. “Ready?”

“Uh...”

“That’s the spirit.”

They took the stairs to the third floor. The building was quiet, still, like it was holding its breath. They approached Ed Stynes’ door and Skulduggery picked the lock silently. He nudged the door open a little. There were no lights on inside. His hand went to his collarbones, pressing the symbols etched there. The false face melted away, revealing the skull beneath.

He entered, and Valkyrie crept in behind him and shut the door with a soft click. The tranq gun was heavy. She held it in a two-handed grip, just like Skulduggery had taught her.

So far, no growling.

They stepped into the living room, sweeping their guns from corner to corner, making sure Ed Stynes hadn’t lain down to sleep on the couch. It was hard to make anything out in the gloom, but since Skulduggery didn’t shoot anything Valkyrie figured the couch was empty. She may have been the only one with eyes, but his night vision was still better than hers. They moved across the hallway, checked inside the small kitchen. The moonlight washed over the headache tablets that were spilled across the countertop. There was a sudden groan from the bedroom and Valkyrie nearly pulled the trigger in response. Skulduggery tilted his head in her direction and she glared.

He moved through the hallway like he wasn’t even there. A cat would have made more noise. Valkyrie followed, keeping close to the wall, where the floorboards beneath the carpet would creak less. Skulduggery moved past the bedroom door, took up position on the other side.

Valkyrie edged forward, using the mirror on the opposite wall to look through into Stynes’ bedroom. She heard a curse, and there was movement in the darkness, and then the bedside lamp came on. She froze, adrenaline pumping through her, but all Stynes did was push the covers away as he sat up in bed. He was unshaven, pale. Sweating. He looked to be in pain. He groaned as he stood up. Valkyrie glanced at Skulduggery, mouthing the word Hide? But he just shook his head and so she stayed where she was, eyes on the mirror.

12 След.

Skulduggery Pleasant: Books 7 - 9

Те, кто искали эту книгу – читают

COPYRIGHT

CONTENTS

CONTENTS

Другие книги автора