“You just have to hope she doesn’t,” said Skulduggery.

“And we just have to hope that you’re really Valkyrie,” said Stephanie. “Otherwise we’re the ones who’ll be walking into a trap.”

Finbar paused, then said, “I really don’t like you.” He frowned. “I have to go. I’ve talked to you for too long.”

Skulduggery squeezed Finbar’s hand. “I’ll see you soon, Valkyrie.”

Finbar managed a smile, and then his face went blank. A moment later, he snorted, raised his head and opened his eyes, looked around. “Well? Did it work?”

Stephanie pulled her hands back, and folded her arms.

“Oh, it worked,” said Skulduggery.

He was insufferable. Stephanie walked beside him as they made their way through the Sanctuary’s corridors, and Skulduggery would not shut up. He cracked jokes, he told stories, he was by turns smug, arrogant and whimsical and, worst of all, he was paying attention to her.

“I thought you wanted me to talk more,” he said when he noticed her silence. “Can’t have it both ways, Stephanie. I can’t be quiet when you want to sulk and chatty when you want to chat. That’s not how it works. That’s not how I work.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“Well, you’re doing something with your face that resembles sulking. Are you glowering? You might be glowering. Glowering is like sulking only scarier.”

They stepped into the elevator, and Skulduggery thumbed the button for the top floor. The doors slid closed.

“You’re definitely frowning, though,” he continued as they started to move. “Do you know how many muscles it takes to frown, as opposed to the muscles it takes to smile? I don’t. I doubt anyone does. What constitutes a smile anyway? Is it just the movement of the mouth, or are the eyes involved? And to what extent is each muscle utilised? The old homily about how frowning uses more muscles than smiling is entirely redundant unless, of course, you’re talking about the underlying message, and as a message, it’s a wonderful, life-affirming thing that bypasses anything so pedantic as actual, provable facts.”

“Could we go back to the awkward silences, please?”

“We’ve moved beyond the silences, Stephanie. We’re on new ground now.”

“I hate new ground.”

“Do you want a hug?” asked Skulduggery.

“God, no.”

“You’re probably right. I should probably save my hugs for later.”

The elevator stopped and they got out. They approached a set of double doors guarded by the Black Cleaver.

Skulduggery knocked, then nodded to the Cleaver. “Hi.”

The Black Cleaver didn’t acknowledge him.