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Back The Dying of the Light Save as PDF
Chapters (115)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Table of Contents
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
  83. 78
  84. 79
  85. 80
  86. 81
  87. 82
  88. 83
  89. 84
  90. 85
  91. 86
  92. 87
  93. 88
  94. 89
  95. 90
  96. 91
  97. 92
  98. 93
  99. 94
  100. 95
  101. 96
  102. 97
  103. 98
  104. 99
  105. 100
  106. 101
  107. 102
  108. 103
  109. 104
  110. 105
  111. 106
  112. 107
  113. 108
  114. Also by Derek Landy
  115. About the Publisher

“That would be most kind,” says Jeremiah, trailing after the old man as he walks from the store.

They leave, and the bell tinkles, and silence rushes in.

19

ME AND HER

Image Missingtephanie dripped ice cream on to her T-shirt and made a face. “Aww.”

“Should have got you a bib,” Skulduggery muttered, leaning out past her to take another look through the café window at the Dublin Art Gallery. The face he wore was good-looking and clean shaven. Out there, through the window, Dublin City was in full night-time mode, with people spilling out of one bar and piling into the next. Nobody was paying attention to the sleek, gleaming art gallery and its tastefully minimalist garden protected by a high wrought-iron fence. The fence was new.

“I probably shouldn’t have got an ice cream,” Stephanie said after a moment. “Technically, it’s still winter. Why is this place even selling ice-cream cones in winter?”

“Because there are people like you who will buy them presumably.”

The café was warm and quiet. A bored girl sat behind the till, reading a magazine. It was nearly closing time. Stephanie got up, dumped the ice cream in the bin, and used a napkin to dab her T-shirt. She’d also got some on her jacket, but she didn’t mind that. One wipe and it came right off.

She headed back to the table, but stopped, looking out through the glass partition in the door. “You’re about to get a ticket,” she said.

Immediately, Skulduggery was on his feet, putting his hat on and stalking outside. Grinning, Stephanie followed him over to the man standing by the Bentley.

The traffic warden looked up. “This your car?”

“It is,” said Skulduggery.

The traffic warden nodded. “Very nice, very nice. But you can’t park here, day or night.”

“I wasn’t aware of that.”

“There’s a sign right over there.”

“I didn’t think it applied to me.”

“Why wouldn’t it have applied to you?”

Skulduggery tilted his head. “Because I’m special.”

“Don’t care how special you think you are, you’re parked in a no parking area and as such you’re—”

“We’re here on official police business.”

The traffic warden narrowed his eyes. “You’re Garda? I’m going to need to see some identification.”

“We’re undercover,” said Skulduggery. “This is a very important undercover operation which you are endangering just by talking to us.” He opened his jacket. “Look, I have a gun. I am Detective Inspector Me. This is my partner, Detective Her.”

The traffic warden frowned. “Her?”

“Me,” said Stephanie.

“Him?”

“Not me,” said Skulduggery. “Her.”

“Me,” said Stephanie.

“You?” said the traffic warden.

“Yes,” said Stephanie.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

Stephanie looked at him. “I’m Her, he’s Me. Got it? Good. You better get out of here before you blow our cover. They’ve got snipers.”

The traffic warden swung round, scanning rooftops. “Snipers?”