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.”