Wreath smiled. “You could never offend me.”

“I bet I could,” said Skulduggery. “Solomon, we want to talk to you about a friend of yours we ran into yesterday. Absolutely charming fellow – bald, he was, with a terrible goatee. He set the Jitter Girls on us while he made his escape.”

“That’s dreadful,” Wreath said. “But I’m afraid it doesn’t ring any bells. Anything else? Any other distinguishing marks or specific traits?”

“He was killing an old woman because she knew something about the Passage, and a few days earlier he’d killed a homeless man for the same reason,” Skulduggery said. “Is that specific enough for you?”

“That all sounds terrible,” Wreath said. “And yet, again, no bells are ringing.”

“Solomon,” Valkyrie said, “come on. He was a Necromancer. He was one of you.”

“That doesn’t mean I know anything about what he was doing.”

“But you do know him, yes?”

He looked at her. “Bald, with a goatee? I might.”

“The people he killed were of no threat to anyone. Paul Lynch was a Sensitive with a history of mental health problems. The only person who was ever going to listen to him was the old lady who was killed next.”

Wreath nodded. “It does seem quite… excessive.”

“What’s the bald man’s name?” Valkyrie asked.

Wreath sighed. “Dragonclaw.”

She frowned. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“That’s a ridiculous name.”

“We are quite aware of how ridiculous it is, thank you. He’s used for black ops, but not very often. He tends to… go too far. Using the Jitter Girls as a delaying tactic is a perfect example of this.”

“And you know nothing about it?” Skulduggery asked.

“Not a thing,” Wreath said. “I’ve been busy lately, in case you haven’t noticed. I was ready to take Valkyrie to the next stage of her training – but now it seems as if Melancholia will be taking up everyone’s time. Joy of joys.”

Valkyrie heard the main door open again as someone else entered the Temple. She heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

“So when might we get to experience this wonderful and world-changing Passage?” Skulduggery asked.

“Soon enough,” Wreath said. “Don’t you worry about it.”

“We heard we had until Sunday. Would that be about right?”

Wreath did an impressive job of keeping the frown off his face. “Where did you hear that?”

“So it is Sunday, then.”

Wreath scowled. “Maybe. By our calculations, Sunday would seem to be the best time to attempt it. Whether or not things work out the way we’d like remains to be seen.”

“On Sunday the world changes.”

“On Sunday the world is saved.”

“Yes,” Skulduggery said, “well, we’ll see about that.”

They turned, saw Dragonclaw coming down the steps. He caught sight of them and froze.

“Some people here to see you,” Wreath called lazily, and Dragonclaw spun on the step and ran back the way he had come.