“Do you think we’re all like that, maybe? People, I mean. Behind all their ideas about themselves and who they are, do you think they’re all just … bad? Hmm. Not in the mood for a philosophical debate, eh? Yeah, I get that. That’s OK. I think … I think Valkyrie, though, because I knew her so well, much better than either of you ever did, I think Valkyrie would agree with me on this one. She had a dark heart, deep down. Dark and twisted. I just thought you ought to know that about your own daughter before you died.”

Darquesse brought her hands together and then splayed them out to either side, and Desmond and Melissa Edgley came apart in such an outrageous display of blood and innards that it actually made Darquesse queasy. She laughed at the absurdity of her reaction, and walked over to Valkyrie, careful not to step in the puddles of her parents.

The body of Valkyrie Cain lay broken and battered at her feet, and the energy inside her was gone. Darquesse could taste it in the air, it lingered faintly, but her essence had dissipated in the moments after her death. That energy was now lost, flowing as it had back into the stream of existence. She hadn’t meant to kill her like that. She hadn’t meant to throw her so hard. She’d thought that after everyone else was dead it would just be her and Valkyrie, exchanging words at the end of the world. Then Valkyrie would finally surrender and Darquesse could become whole again.

But life, being life, had a funny way of disappointing you.

Darquesse brushed her hair back, trying to get rid of that awful feeling of Cassandra’s hand on her scalp. She tucked a few strands behind her ear, looking up as she did so. At the end of the street there was a black hat, blowing along in the wind. It tumbled behind a corner, out of sight, and Darquesse allowed herself a sad smile.

95

“Is it working? Tell me it’s working.”

96

She took what she had learned from Fletcher’s magic, and teleported to the corner. She watched the hat blow into the middle of the street and then settle like a slowly spinning coin. Skulduggery emerged from a side alley. He stood over the hat for a moment, then reached down, picked it up and brushed it off. He returned it to his head, angling the brim.

He’d seen the vision. He knew what was coming.

Darquesse walked up behind him. He turned to her slowly, dumping spent shells from his revolver. She watched him take bullets from his waistcoat pocket and slip them into the empty chambers. One by one. One to six. Enjoying the ritual of it.

“My favourite little toy,” said Darquesse.