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Back Resurrection Save as PDF
Chapters (81)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Contents
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. Glossary
  78. Dramatis Personae
  79. Keep Reading …
  80. The Skulduggery Pleasant series
  81. About the Publisher

“And what if you’re wrong? What if, the moment I stop speaking, I put my gun to your head and blow your semi-remarkable brains out? In your final moments, how much are you going to regret these last five years? How much are you going to regret that you’ve refused to rejoin your family, that you’ve cut yourself off from so many of the vulnerabilities that make you who you are? Are you going to find yourself wishing, as the bullet pulverises all that grey matter, that you’d let yourself enjoy the life you’d made for yourself? Or are you just going to stand there with a terrified look on your face and hope beyond hope that I don’t … stop … speaking?”

Skulduggery stepped to her quickly, pulling the trigger twice and then placing the muzzle against her forehead. She stiffened, her breath caught somewhere in her throat, her hands splayed by her sides.

“Tell me honestly,” he said, “are you happy you’re back yet?”

He dropped his arm, pressed the gun into her left thigh and pulled the trigger. The shot was deafening and Valkyrie cried out and collapsed, clutching her leg, the cry turning to a wail of pain and panic as she watched the blood pumping through her fingers.

“I should be heading back to my new friends,” Skulduggery said, putting his gun away. “I don’t know how close they are to resurrecting my ex, but I certainly want to be there when it happens. So hey, if you don’t bleed out and die right here, I’ll see you soon, OK? Maybe I’ll get a chance to introduce you to Abyssinia before I kill you.”

He lifted up off the ground, rising high above the rooftops, and then he let the wind take him.

35

Air Force One touched down at Joint Base Andrews a little after two. The stair truck was there immediately to meet it. Six minutes later, President Martin Maynard Flanery emerged, the wind lifting his hair, playing with his tie, flapping his jacket.

He tried keeping the jacket closed over his gut as he descended. He didn’t like the wind, and he didn’t like stairs. He preferred air conditioning and elevators. There was no one on the ground to greet him, just the usual soldiers and Secret Service agents and the huge, armoured Cadillac they called the Beast. The photographer was there, too, taking snaps from ground level. This irritated the hell out of Flanery, as he knew damn well that every single one of those snaps would add a couple of chins to his jawline.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and got into the Beast without even glancing at the photographer. Wilkes got in after him.

“I want the photographer fired,” Flanery said the moment the door was closed. “Get me a new one. A better one. One who knows how to take a good picture.”