Impossibly, a pale hand emerged from the box. It trembled slightly as it lengthened, and it was an arm now, that curled. The hand gripped the edge of the box.

She ducked down.

“What’s happening?” Fletcher asked.

“They’re climbing out,” Valkyrie said dumbly.

“If they’re as dangerous as you say they are,” Fletcher said to Skulduggery, “then let’s go. Let’s get out of here.”

“They need to be contained,” Skulduggery said. “That’s why the killer brought them, to cover his escape. We can’t leave – there’s no telling what they’d do if they were allowed to roam free.”

Valkyrie took another look. At first, she thought there was something wrong with her eyes. A girl climbed out of the box. A little blonde six-year-old, wearing a white dress with a bow, moving like bad animation. She was stiff, jerky, missing out the smooth motion between the lifting of the foot and the placing it down as she walked. There was no other word for it. She jittered.

Behind her, another pale hand emerged. “How do we fight them?” asked Valkyrie softly. “I don’t know,” Skulduggery said. “Fletcher. Go see China. She must have something in her books about fighting these things.”

Fletcher shook his head. “I’m not leaving.”

“It wasn’t a request.”

“Then come with me,” Fletcher said. “Valkyrie, at least. I’m not leaving her here.”

Valkyrie turned to him. “Yes you are. Go. Be quick.”

He grabbed her. “I’m not—”

She took his hand off her. “We don’t have time to argue. Do it. Go.”

He stared at her, torn, then narrowed his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

He didn’t even kiss her – he just vanished.

Valkyrie turned back to the window. “Hell,” she breathed.

All three Jitter Girls were out, and all three were walking towards the cottage.

Chapter 4 - Craven

Chapter 4
Craven

raven walked into the High Priest’s office with his head bowed.

“Late again, Cleric?” said Auron Tenebrae, High Priest of the Order, Patriarch of this Temple and a man with a gaze so withering the sun itself dared not show its face when he was in one of his moods. Or so the legend went. “This is the third time this week. If our little meetings are too much of an imposition for you, please let it be known and we will surely reschedule around your most arbitrary of whims.”

Craven bowed again. “My deepest apologies, Your Eminence. I have no excuse for my tardiness, other than I work without cease for the good of the Order.”

“And I’m sure we appreciate it,” Tenebrae said, already sounding bored.