She couldn’t say any of this out loud, however, not as an agent of the Sanctuary, and certainly not as its Prime Detective. It was part of her job to protect the mortals, to keep them safe from the dangers posed by the magical community. But was she still the Sanctuary’s Prime Detective now that Skulduggery Pleasant was back? Instead of doing her job, tracking down the vampire that had led the raid on the Sanctuary, Marr had been relegated to checking out castles as per the skeleton detective’s request. Such a task was so far beneath her it would have been almost laughable if it wasn’t so humiliating.

She became aware of the man standing beside her, but she didn’t look at him. “You’re late.”

“I had to make sure you weren’t leading me into a trap,” the man responded, his golden eyes scanning the menu above them. “Forgive me if I’m sceptical, but you have already turned us down twice. Why the change of heart?”

“I’m seeing things clearer.”

The dim-looking boy came back, checked her order and went away again.

“Guild isn’t fit to run the Sanctuary,” she said. “He’s making stupid mistakes. Shirking his responsibility.”

“We heard he demoted you.”

The heat rose in her face, but Marr kept her voice even. “Temporary reassignment,” she said. “Just one of his recent errors of judgement.”

“So you’ll help us then?”

“Yes.”

“We had Mr Bliss in line to take over,” the man told her. “His death has meant a drastic change in our plans. I hope you realise that.”

“How drastic?” she asked.

“We’re going to destroy the Sanctuary,” he said, “and take over what’s left.”

The dim-looking boy returned with her sandwich. It was completely wrong, but she wasn’t hungry anyway. She paid for it and collected her change, catching the man’s eye as she turned.

“Suits me,” she said and walked out.

35 MYRON STRAY

35
MYRON STRAY

The house had a face.

The two large windows on the first floor peered down at the Bentley as it drew to a halt. The paint was like dried skin, cracked and peeling back, and the front door was open like a great gaping mouth. It would have been creepy, Valkyrie reflected, were it not for the drawn blinds that gave the face a half-asleep expression. As it was, it looked as if it was caught in the middle of a giant yawn.

“Once upon a time,” Skulduggery said, “Myron Stray was an information broker, much like China is today. He was respected too. Until it all fell apart for him.”

“What happened?” Valkyrie asked.