Valkyrie was the first to her feet, and she hauled Melancholia up and threw her against the wall. Melancholia whipped her hand at her but Valkyrie knocked it away, stepped in and crunched an elbow into her chin. Melancholia staggered, her eyes wide but unfocused. Valkyrie pressed the attack. To hesitate would be to allow her enemy to stir the shadows into a storm and rip her apart, just like she had done on the cliff top in Haggard. Valkyrie hit her again and Melancholia howled in pain.

“Leave her alone!”

Valkyrie turned, saw the fighting behind her, saw Skulduggery and the White Cleaver go at it, saw Craven staggering towards her with a bloody nose. “Leave her alone!” he screeched again, hurling sharpened shadows.

Valkyrie threw herself down and the shadows missed and continued past her. Melancholia wasn’t fast enough to dodge them. They cut through her flesh, shearing her from left shoulder to right hip.

She gave a small gasp as her body came apart.

Valkyrie stared as the two halves of Melancholia collapsed on to the stage. She was aware of the sounds of battle, of grunts and yells and cries, and she was aware of Craven’s screaming. Melancholia’s face was turned towards her. All those small scars on that pale face, the lips that used to sneer at her now parted slightly, the eyes that used to glare at her now blank and staring sightlessly.

Craven rushed by, completely forgetting Valkyrie was even there. He fell to his knees, ranting and raving, screeching obscenities, howling like a wounded animal.

The sounds of fighting died. The Necromancers stood there, horrified looks on their faces.

The White Cleaver leaped on to the stage, and shadows curled from the amulet around Craven’s neck, wrapped them both in darkness with the remains of Melancholia, and then they were gone. Up and down the room, Necromancers were suddenly shadow-walking away, only the unconscious and those restrained by Valkyrie’s colleagues remaining.

Bony hands picked her up, and Skulduggery led her off the stage. No one spoke.

Valkyrie sat on the concrete step of the Retirement Home, watching the sorcerers and the Cleavers depart. Skulduggery sat beside her. “Are you OK?”

She exhaled. “I don’t know. I suppose so. I’m not the one who got chopped in half. And she would have killed me if she’d had the chance, so that stops me from actually, you know, feeling sad about it.”

“But you still didn’t want her to die.”

“No. Of course not. She wasn’t like Vengeous or Serpine. She was…”

“Like you.”

She scowled at him. “She wasn’t a bit like me. She was an idiot. And smug. God, she was always so smug and condescending. But still… she was only a few years older. She never even got the chance to realise what an annoying little twerp she was being.”