Scapegrace tried one last desperate attack, which Skulduggery cut short by punching him very hard on the nose. The Killer Supreme wobbled, and he collapsed and started crying.

8

Chapter Two

KILLER ON THE LOOSE

THE CAR WAS A 1954 Bentley R-Type Continental. It sliced through the quiet Dublin night like a black shark, gleaming and powerful. It was a beautiful car. Valkyrie had grown to love it almost as much as Skulduggery did.

They turned onto O'Connell Street, passed the Spire and the Pearse Monument. Scapegrace sat in the back and complained that the shackles were too tight. It was four in the morning. Valkyrie fought a yawn.

This time last year she would have been in bed,

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snuggled up and dreaming about . . . well, whatever it was she dreamed about back then. Things were a lot different now, and she was lucky if she could get a few hours' sleep a night. If she wasn't going up against crazies like Scapegrace, she was practicing magic, and if she wasn't practicing magic, she was training to fight with either Skulduggery or Tanith. These days, her life was a lot more exciting, a lot more fun, and a lot more dangerous. In fact, one of the major downsides to her new life was that she rarely had sweet dreams anymore. When she slept, it was the nightmares that came to her. They waited patiently, and they were always eager to play.

But that was the cost, she reasoned. The cost of living a life of adventure and excitement.

The owners of the Waxworks Museum had closed it down after the events of the previous year, and set up a new and improved version in another part of the city. The building now stood quietly beside its neighbors, humble and drab, its front doors closed and locked and sealed. But Valkyrie and Skulduggery had never used the front doors anyway.

They parked in the loading area at the back and

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took Scapegrace in through the rear door. The corridors were dimly lit, and they walked past the lonely historical figures and cinematic icons that had been left here to collect dust. Valkyrie traced her hand along the wall to find the switch, and the door slid open beside her. She led the way through and down the steps, her mind flashing back to the summer of the previous year, when she had stepped into the Sanctuary's foyer littered with dead bodies. . . .

Today, however, there were no corpses in sight. Two Cleavers stood guard against the far wall, dressed all in gray, their scythes strapped to their backs, visored helmets pointing straight ahead. The Cleavers acted as the Sanctuary's law enforcers and its army. Silent and lethal, they still gave Valkyrie the creeps.

The double doors to their left opened and the new Grand Mage, Thurid Guild, came out to them. He looked to be in his sixties, with thinning gray hair and a lined face and cold eyes.