“Show me!” Valkyrie demanded, unable to stop her own smile from spreading.

Ghastly pulled apart the collar of his shirt and she saw the small tattoos, freshly burned into either side of his neck. He touched them and unblemished skin flowed upwards, rippling over his scars until it covered his whole head.

“Oh my God,” she said.

Ghastly smiled. “What do you think?”

“Oh my God,” she said again.

His features were strong, his jaw square and his skin, though slightly waxy, was clear and unscarred.

“China wanted to give me hair, but I thought that would be just a little too much, you know?”

“Oh my God.”

“You keep saying that. Tanith, what do you think?”

“I like it,” Tanith said. “But I dig scars too.”

He smiled, and touched the tattoos, and the perfect skin melted back into them, revealing the scars once again.

“Are we ready?” he asked, looking at the Waxworks Museum.

“I don’t like going anywhere without my sword,” Tanith grumbled. “You do realise that if the Cleavers come for us, they won’t care that we’re on the same side. They’ll cut us into ittybitty pieces just because they can.”

“If that happens,” Ghastly said, “you’ll at least die comforted by the fact that you had the moral high ground.”

“Well, that’ll be nice,” she muttered.

They went around the back of the Waxworks Museum and entered through the open door. It was dark and the corridor they walked along was narrow. They passed three wax statues. Valkyrie wasn’t surprised they’d been left here when the museum closed down. They weren’t very good and only one of them had a head.

They finally came to a wax statue that looked like the person it was supposed to be – Phil Lynott from the band Thin Lizzy. It turned its head as they approached.

“Hello,” it said.

“Hi, Phil,” replied Valkyrie.

Tanith, who had actually known the real Phil Lynott when he was alive, found the figure too unnerving, so she stayed at the back and didn’t look at it.

“We request an audience with the Grand Mage,” Ghastly said.

“Do you have an appointment?” the figure said, looking down at a page it had stuck to the back of its guitar. “You’re not on the list.”

“We don’t have an appointment, but we request to be seen.”

The wax head of Phil Lynott frowned. It didn’t like its new role. It was originally supposed to only open and close the door, but now that the Sanctuary didn’t have an Administrator, its job description had expanded.

“I’ll tell him you’re here,” it said and closed its eyes.