Craven had found his voice and he used it to scream for help. The Cleaver darted towards Wreath and he darted back, cursing himself for his impatience. He brought the shadows in around him and stepped through them to the next room, moving quickly, shadow-walking again to the other side of the walls, emerging into the morning sun. He ran, took off before they could follow him. He’d left a car out there for a quick escape, but even as he jumped in and gunned the engine, he realised he had only one place left to go – and it wasn’t going to be pretty. Roarhaven never was.

He parked off Roarhaven’s main street, if it really could be called that, and waited for the Bentley to show up. The town was small and withered and nasty, and the Sanctuary was big and grey and ugly. He was hungry, but he didn’t dare step into the squalid café that jutted from the street beside him like an uneven tooth. Apart from all the obvious concerns regarding his personal safety, the place just didn’t look sanitary.

An hour or so after his stomach first started rumbling, the Bentley swept by, and parked outside the Sanctuary. Wreath got out, wondered about the likelihood of Skulduggery Pleasant shooting him before he got halfway across the road, and then decided to shadow-walk over to them. The shadows curled around him, and when they dissipated, he was standing by the rear wheel as Valkyrie closed the passenger door.

“Now, before you do anything rash—” Wreath started, and she spun and hit him, cracked her knuckles painfully along his jaw. He went back a step, one hand to his face, nodding. “OK, that’s fair, but before this gets out of control—”

Skulduggery jumped and slid across the roof of the Bentley, the heel of his shoe slamming into the side of Wreath’s head. Valkyrie snapped her palm at the air and his cane flew from his grip. Wreath staggered, waving his hands.

“Please,” he gasped, “stop hitting me for five seconds.”

Valkyrie glanced at Skulduggery, who paused. Wreath spat blood and straightened up. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ve come to discuss—”

Skulduggery punched him and Wreath’s head rocked back, and he dropped.

“There,” Skulduggery said as his consciousness left him. “That’s five seconds.”

When Wreath opened his eyes, he was lying on the floor of a room in the Sanctuary with his hands shackled behind his back. Skulduggery sat on a chair with his legs crossed, looking down at him. Valkyrie stood beside him.

“Interesting,” Wreath said. “You haven’t killed me.”

Skulduggery took off his hat, flicked something from the brim, and put it on his knee. “There’s still time,” he said.