“Teleporters,” Scarab murmured, shaking his head. “Never did like them.”

“We’ve beaten you,” she said with real, undiluted hatred. “All these horrible things you’ve done and all my friends you’ve hurt, or killed, and it’s all for nothing. We’ve beaten you and you’ve failed. Where is Guild’s family?”

Scarab rubbed his eyes. His hand, she saw, was trembling. He looked so old now. Old and sad and pathetic.

She put her hand on his shoulder, and dug her fingers into a nerve cluster. He twisted in sudden pain, but she didn’t let go. “Where’s his family?”

“Billy-Ray has them,” he spat.

“Are they alive?”

“Who knows?”

She dug in harder. “Where are they?”

“Don’t know the street name. Call him. Ask him for directions if you’re so damn eager.”

She snatched the phone he took from his coat and as she did so, she snapped a handcuff around his wrist. She stood, stuffing the phone in her pocket and pulling him to his feet. She got him out on to the steps and cuffed his other wrist. She pushed him in front of her, heading back to the officials’ tunnel. The same official who had scowled at her came up to block their way. Valkyrie raised her hand to his chest and snapped her palm. The air rippled slightly and the official shot backwards. The people around her, unaware of the magic she’d just used, thought this was hilarious.

She brought Scarab to the cover of the tunnel and shoved him towards Skulduggery.

“Guild’s family?” Skulduggery asked.

“I’m going for them now,” she said and hurried away, ignoring his protestations.

She ran up the steps and looked at Scarab’s phone. There was only one number listed. She left the roar of the football crowd behind her and dialled it.

“I ain’t seein’ no thousands of dead people on TV,” came Sanguine’s voice.

“That’s not happening today,” she told him. “Your daddy’s in shackles and the Desolation Engine is far away from here. All your little buddies have been beaten. There’s just you left.”

“An’ you’re comin’ for me, that it, Valkyrie?”

“That’s it. Just you and me, Billy-Ray.”

“Is it my imagination or are you soundin’ particularly angry today?”

“If Fletcher is dead, I will kill you.”

“An’ you’re in a vendetta kind of mood, huh? Well, heck, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, am I right? Get a car to Howth. Number forty-one, Nashville Drive.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I’ll be waitin’.”

She hung up.