“Careful,” said Skulduggery, but he sounded so far away. “There’s a wall in front of you.”

She knew that. Behind the steam and the shadows, she knew there was a solid wall. She knew she was still in the cellar. She knew what was real and what wasn’t.

Only there was no wall. Frowning, she kept walking, hands out in front, and with each step she expected to come into contact with the wall and yet each step brought her deeper and deeper into the steam. She turned, looked back.

“Skulduggery?” she called.

He didn’t answer. She couldn’t see him.

She heard something, though. Someone whistling a tune. A familiar tune. Something old. Sweet yet sad. ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me.’ It moved from right to left. She went to investigate, but something about the tune made her pause, and she realised she didn’t want to know who the whistler was. She stayed still, listening to the tune fade.

A line of people trudged out of the nothingness, walking right into her, dissipating upon contact. She watched them, their heads down, their footsteps heavy. Men and women and children, bags on their backs, bags in their hands. Faces tired and anxious. Scared, even. A continuous line. So many of them.

The steam stole the people away, and she turned and there were flames all around her. A town was burning. Screams mixed with car alarms. Before her, two figures, side by side. She recognised Omen Darkly, his face older, and bleeding. Beside him, a handsome boy, clutching his injured shoulder. She became aware of figures behind her and she turned, saw their forms without faces, felt their anger, their hatred, their aggression. Omen and the other boy, his brother perhaps, clicked their fingers and summoned fire into their hands.

“You actually think you’re going to win?” somebody asked, and she turned, saw the Plague Doctor a moment before the steam stole him away. She looked back and the burning town was gone and Saracen Rue was dead on the ground, his throat torn open.

Valkyrie held her hand over her mouth. “Skulduggery!” she called. “Skulduggery, where are you?”

Cadaverous Gant emerged from the steam, holding a rag doll in his left hand, a rag doll in a blue dress. He walked so quickly that she put out a hand to stop him and his image broke apart, and beyond him she saw Tanith Low, her blonde hair cut to above her shoulders, backing away from something, fear in her eyes.