hen Dreylan Scarab had been locked away in his little cell, he’d thought about nothing but murder. He liked murder. Murder and long walks had been two of his favourite things when he was younger. He’d walk a long way to kill someone, he’d often said, and he’d kill for a long walk. But after close to 200 years in that cell, he’d kind of lost interest in walks. His passion for murder, however, burned brighter than ever.

       They let him out of prison a few days early, and he stepped into the Arizona sunshine an old man. They had kept his power from him, and without his power his body had withered and aged. But his mind stayed sharp. Try as they might, the years could not dull his mind. Still, he didn’t like being old. He counted how long it took him to cross the road and wasn’t pleased with the result.

      He stood there for two hours. The dust kicked up and got into his eyes. He looked around for something to kill, then quelled the urge. The entrance to the underground prison was within spitting distance, and killing something while the guards were still watching was probably a bad idea. Besides, Scarab’s magic hadn’t returned to him yet, so even if there were something in this desert worth killing, he might not have been able to manage it.

       A shape came through the shimmer of the heat haze, solidifying into a black, air-conditioned automobile. It pulled up and a man got out slowly. It took Scarab a moment to recognise him.

       “Why the hell didn’t you break me out?” Scarab growled. His voice depressed him. In the open air, away from the confines of the prison, even his growl sounded old and frail.

       The man shrugged. “I was kind of hopin’ you’d die in there, to be honest. You sure you didn’t? You look pretty dead. Smell dead, too.”

       “I’m staying alive long enough to do what has to be done.”

       The other man nodded. “I figured you’d be wantin’ revenge. Eachan Meritorious is dead though. Nefarian Serpine killed him. Few others’ve been killed since you were put away, too.”

       Scarab narrowed his eyes. “Skulduggery Pleasant?”

       “Missin’. Couple of Faceless Ones came through their little portal ten, maybe eleven months ago. They were forced back, but they dragged the skeleton with ’em.”

      “I miss all the fun things,” Scarab said without humour.

      “His friends have been lookin’ for him ever since. You want my opinion, he’s dead. For good, this time. You might get lucky though. They might find him, bring him back. Then you can kill him.”

       “What about Guild?”

       A bright, white-toothed smile. “He’s the new Grand Mage in Ireland. He’s a prime target for you.”

       Scarab felt a tingle, a slight buzz in his bones, and his heart quickened. It was the sensation of magic returning to him after all this time of being kept locked away. He kept the elation out of his dry, croaky voice. “No. It’s not just him. It’s all of them. I’m going to make them all pay. Their world is going to crumble for what they did to me.”

       “You got a plan, I take it?”

       “I’m going to destroy the Sanctuary.”

       The man took off his sunglasses and cleaned them. “You goin’ to need some help with that?”

       Scarab looked at him suspiciously. “I’ve got nothing to pay you with, and there’s no profit in revenge.”

       “This would be a freebie, old man. And I know some people who might be interested in gettin’ involved. We’ve all got scores to settle in Ireland.” Billy-Ray Sanguine put his sunglasses back on, covering up the black holes where his eyes had once been. “I’m thinkin’ of one li’l lady in particular.”