“That’s my way of looking at it,” Skulduggery said happily. “Give me a few minutes and that way will change.”

Even at this time in the morning the tattoo parlour was open. The low buzz of the tattooist’s needle greeted them the moment they stepped through the door. They climbed the narrow steps, passing all the photos of tattooed body parts.

The parlour’s only customer was a fat man lying face down on a tilted table. The skinny tattooist with the shaved head and the Dublin football jersey looked up from his work and a grin broke across his face.

“Skul-man!” he exclaimed as he rushed forward to shake his hand. “How is this possible? Last I heard you were trapped on a dead world overrun by evil trans-dimensional superfiends!”

Skulduggery nodded. “Just got back.”

“That’s awesome, man. That’s really great. So did you get me anything?”

“Like…a souvenir?” Skulduggery asked doubtfully.

“Doesn’t have to be anything big. A rock, maybe, or a twig. Just something from an alternate universe, you know? It’d be something to show the kid when he’s older, tell him it was an early birthday present from his Uncle Skulduggery.”

“I’m sorry, Finbar, I don’t have anything.”

“That’s OK, that’s OK. I suppose I could just give him any old rock, couldn’t I? He’d never know that it wasn’t from an alternate universe. He’d be so happy. I can just see him, bringing the rock into school, showing his little friends, carrying it around with him everywhere. I used to have a pet rock when I was a kid, but it ran away. At least, my mother said it ran away, but I think my dad just picked it up one afternoon and threw it out the window. I went looking for it, but…” Finbar’s voice cracked. “They all looked the same, you know? They all looked the same…” He narrowed his eyes. “Hey, Skul-man – you wearing a new head?”

“Yes, actually,” Skulduggery said, sounding very pleased. “What do you think?”

“Oh, man, I like it. Don’t get me wrong, I liked the other one, but this is just…better looking, y’know? The cheekbones are higher.”

Skulduggery looked at Valkyrie, his better-looking head tilted at quite a smug angle. She sighed then gestured to the fat man on the table. “Is it OK to be talking about, um, business stuff with…?”

“Oh, don’t worry about him,” Finbar said. “He came in as soon as we opened, asked for a growling panther on his shoulder blade. He fainted the moment I started.”

“A growling panther?”

“Yep.”

“Then why are you giving him a tattoo of a kitten?”

Finbar shrugged. “I’m just in a kitten kind of mood, y’know? So if you’re not here to give me a present, why are you here?”