Valkyrie let herself into Gordon’s house, deactivating the alarm. She went through, passing the rooms she normally visited, noting how clean everything looked and how fresh everything smelled. She pushed open the double doors into the ballroom, turned on the light. Brand-new chandeliers hung from the ceiling, sparkling like diamonds. The floor was polished, with tables and chairs stacked up on one side, ready to be set out. It was quiet right now, her every footstep echoing around the empty space, and she tried imagining what it would look like filled with people. The last time the house had been full was at Gordon’s funeral.

She climbed the stairs to Gordon’s study where he’d done all his writing when he was alive. In here Valkyrie flicked the switch and the bookcase opened. She walked through into the hidden room. Gordon Edgley looked round, smiled, and held up a hand while he finished speaking.

“… it lunged, this thing of claws and fangs and muscle, and with a swipe, it opened the belly of the prison guard, spilling his entrails across the rough stone floor. Recording end.” The electronic device on the table beeped, and Gordon grinned. “The new book is going really well.”

She nodded appreciatively. “It sounds it.”

“I dare say it’s better than anything I wrote when I was alive. It has pathos. It has emotion. It has entrails. It has everything you could want in a posthumous bestseller, recently uncovered in a hidden archive. This is going to make you a lot of money, my dear niece. But then, what do you care about money? When have you ever cared about money?”

Valkyrie shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll come in useful. Probably more for Mum and Dad than for me, though.”

“And little sister,” Gordon said. “Don’t forget the new addition. I was thinking, I might write a book for younger readers when I’m finished with this one – give her something to read when she’s a little older. Oh, the possibilities. To think, if it wasn’t for you insisting that I reveal my existence to Skulduggery and the others, I’d be spending my days in the Echo Stone, waiting for you to drop by for a visit.”

The stone lay in its cradle on the desk, the cradle itself standing on a symbol that China Sorrows had carved into the wood. It fooled the stone into thinking there was a living person in the room at all times, meaning Gordon’s image could stay active. In this room he had voice-activated televisions and computers, gadgets of all kinds. He was loving this second chance at life.

“I like the chandeliers,” said Valkyrie.