he next morning Valkyrie went back to her own room. It was freezing. There was glass all over the floor and the desk was in pieces. She called China Sorrows and told her what she needed. For the past six months China had been instructing young sorcerers in the language of magic, and she said she would send her students to construct a warning system around the town.

      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 not the type.”

      “Strong and silent, eh?”

      “I suppose. Also the sun was going down.”

      “Ah, OK. He probably didn’t want to turn into a horrible monster and tear you apart on your first date.”

      “I’m sensing that you don’t like him very much.”

      “Well, no, on account of the horrible monster part. Do you?”

      “Like him? No. I don’t even know him.”

      “Well, all right then.” Fletcher seemed satisfied. “Can I ask you a question?”

      “You already did.”

      “Can I ask you another?”

      “Can you ask me somewhere my parents won’t hear?”

      He took her hand and in an eyeblink they were standing on the roof of Bespoke Tailor’s. These days, teleportation didn’t even make Valkyrie dizzy.

      “Ask away,” she said.

      He hesitated and then said, very casually, “Do you think things will return to normal for you when we get Skulduggery back? You and him, out solving crimes and having adventures and stuff?”

      “I expect so. Don’t see why they wouldn’t.”

      “That’s