“We haven’t made a mistake, Omen. It’s you we want.”

A frown creased Omen’s forehead once more. “Why?”

“Your brother would draw too much attention,” Valkyrie said. “From what I’ve heard, people notice when he walks by. We need someone who disappears in a crowd.”

Omen smiled widely. “That does sound like me.”

“What we’re about to ask you to do shouldn’t be dangerous,” Skulduggery said, “but, if it turns out that way, your skills could come in useful.”

My skills? Omen thought.

“My skills?” Omen said.

“Your brother has received the best combat training available anywhere since he was four years old. You help prepare him, don’t you?”

“I’ve … I’ve trained with him since we were kids, yes. What’s this about, please?”

They came forward. Omen had to resist the urge to step back.

“There is an organisation,” Skulduggery said, “which doesn’t have a name. We’ve been hearing rumours about it for years, an anti-Sanctuary, designed to sow the seeds of chaos and discord around the world and, ultimately, force a war between sorcerers and mortals – a war that sorcerers, presumably, would win, though not without heavy cost. We don’t know who’s in charge. We don’t know where it’s based. We don’t know how many agents it has or how powerful it may be. What we do know is that it’s been working behind the scenes for decades. We have had run-ins with only three people who we suspect were directly connected to it. The first was a man called Bubba Moon, who claimed to have been visited by a ‘being of wonderment and awe’, demanding blood sacrifice. The next two were a couple of killers with a mission to complete – Cadaverous Gant and Jeremiah Wallow.”

“What was their mission?” Omen asked.

“To kill me,” said Valkyrie.

“Oh.”

“Out of those three individuals,” Skulduggery continued, “all were American, and only Gant is alive and at large. Whether their nationality is a coincidence or means something more, I can’t say yet. In the last three years, however, the rumours I’ve been hearing have intensified. Apparently, the anti-Sanctuary is now operating out of Roarhaven.”

“OK.” Omen tried smiling again. “I still don’t know what you want with me, though.”

“An associate of mine went undercover,” Skulduggery said. “Temper Fray. He infiltrated a group of sorcerers who talk about mortals like they’re vermin. He befriended them, and started giving me names. Melior. Smoke. Lethe. Then he disappeared.”

Omen stared. “Is he dead?”

Skulduggery tilted his head. “Hopefully not. Before he vanished, Temper became convinced that the anti-Sanctuary had someone inside Corrival Academy recruiting young and impressionable students.”

“Oh my God,” said Omen. “You want me to go undercover.”

“Yes.”

“Even though the last person you sent undercover got killed.”

“Temper might still be alive,” Skulduggery said, sounding irritated.