“He mightn’t believe you. He might think I’m still hallucinating. You’d better tell him I’m not. I think he’d want to know that he’s not a figment of my imagination. I know I’d want to.” Skulduggery put on a hat that matched his suit, cocked it low over his eye sockets and admired himself in the mirror. “I have missed this,” he murmured.

“Ghastly was arrested,” Valkyrie said, trying to get him to focus. “Him and Tanith. They’re being held at the Sanctuary.”

“What for?”

“For helping me get you back. Guild made it clear that we were not to open that portal again. He said we couldn’t risk something escaping through.”

“Hmm. That was very wise of him.”

She glowered. “That’s not helping me in the slightest.”

“Now, Valkyrie, opening that portal was very dangerous. Sometimes you’ve got to admit it when you’re wrong.”

“You never admit it when you’re wrong.”

“But I’m rarely wrong, you see. You, on the other hand, are wrong a bizarrely large amount of the time. Statistically, it’s quite amazing.”

He opened a wooden box and slowly reached his gloved hand in. His revolver gleamed when he withdrew it. “Smith & Wesson,” he said lovingly. “You had it cleaned?”

“Last week,” she said and found herself smiling. “Thought you might want it.”

He opened the cylinder, took six bullets from the box and slid them into the chambers then clicked it shut and thumbed on the safety. He tucked the gun into the holster under his jacket.

“There,” he said. “I feel complete again.”

Fletcher walked in. “Hey,” he said.

“Fletcher,” Skulduggery nodded. “Did I thank you for opening the portal and getting me home?”

“You didn’t,” Fletcher said. “But you’re welcome.”

“You could have been responsible for the end of the human race,” Skulduggery continued happily, “but I for one am not going to hold it against you. You may leave us now.”

“I may what?”

Skulduggery hesitated for just a moment. “Your hair. It’s distracting. I’m sorry, I thought someone ought to tell you.”

“You want me to go because of my hair?”

“There’s just so much of it, to tell you the truth.”

“Are you being serious?”

“Can’t you tell?”

“Not really.”

“Well, for future reference, this is my serious face.”

Fletcher looked at Valkyrie and she shrugged. “We’ll call you when some of us are feeling a little more…sensible,” she said.

“OK,” he said. “Then I’ll…I’ll go then.”

He vanished and Skulduggery turned to her. “Now,” he said. “Where is she?”

They went outside and Valkyrie opened the garage. She grabbed the tarp and pulled it off the car, a 1954 Bentley R-Type Continental, one of only 208 ever made, retrofitted with modern luxuries and the apple of Skulduggery’s eye. If he’d had an eye. Skulduggery ran his hand over the bodywork.