At the bottom of the steps there was a steel door the colour of storm clouds. He took out the set of keys that he’d found in the control room and looked at each key in turn. He found the one most likely to fit and eased it into the lock. It turned smoothly, with a deep and satisfying clunk, and he pushed the door open.

It was a small room. Circular. No light. No ornamentation. In the middle of the room, there was a metal box on a pedestal.

Cadaverous approached. The hair on his arms, on the back of his neck, stood on end. The ring held a small key, much smaller than the others. He found it by touch, unable to take his eyes off the box.

The key turned in the lock. The lid opened ever so slightly.

Cadaverous pocketed the keys and reached out with trembling hands. He hesitated only a moment, then raised the lid fully. It was surprisingly heavy.

In the box, there was a heart.

In his head, there was a voice.

It said, Good.

22

Bad things happen all the time.

That’s the number-one lesson Valkyrie had learned in the last twelve years. Bad things happen, and they generally happen to good people. Innocent people. Passers-by, caught in the crossfire, consumed by the madness. Like Fletcher.

She stood by his bed in Reverie Synecdoche’s private medical practice, a three-storey building in one of the more affluent parts of town, and watched him. He didn’t move. A machine helped him breathe.

She reached out, touched his arm.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “We were stupid and you saved us. It’s our fault you’re here.” She leaned down. Spoke softer. “I don’t think I can do this. I don’t think I’m able to do this any more. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to tell him.”

Voices reached her – Reverie talking to a nurse passing in the corridor outside. Valkyrie squeezed Fletcher’s hand. “Please get better,” she said.

Reverie walked in and Valkyrie turned.

“He’s stable,” Reverie told her. “We’ve stopped the bleeding. There is some nerve damage that we’re correcting. It’s a slow process, repairing nerves always is, but he’s going to be fine. Would you like to stay? I can have a chair brought in for you.”

“Thank you,” said Valkyrie, “but no. The Supreme Mage has requested a meeting. How’s Skulduggery?”

“We’re putting him back together. Again. His jaw has been reattached, so he just has to wait for his arm to set. He’ll be out within the hour.”

“Thank you, Reverie. Sincerely.”

“It’s what we do. I’ll let you know if there’s any change to Fletcher’s condition.”