“You’re going to kill me anyway.”

“You all keep using that word. Kill. I’m not killing you. I’m changing you back to your natural form.”

“Whatever you call it, you’re going to do it whether I give you the grimoire or not.”

“True,” said Darquesse. “But this way, you have a few more moments of awareness before I snuff you out. Isn’t that worth a little surrendering? Maybe even a little grovelling?”

“You … you want me to grovel?”

Darquesse’s smile grew wider. “I want you on your knees.”

“I don’t beg.”

“Just because you don’t like begging doesn’t mean you’re not going to. Give me the grimoire, get on your knees, and beg for mercy.”

Stephanie reached her hand behind her, fumbling against the backpack.

“Friendly warning,” said Darquesse. “If you go for the Sceptre, I’ll make your death go on for days.”

Stephanie paused, then resumed her fumbling, much slower. Darquesse laughed softly.

Stephanie grabbed the door handle, twisted it and it swung open behind her. She staggered back, fell, scrambled up, but Darquesse was already walking in behind her, starting to say something, not noticing the circle of symbols painted on the floor.

The circle flashed with a blinding light as Darquesse got her power reflected back at her. The force spun her around and she staggered, her eyes unfocused, and fell to her knees. She dropped on to her hands, her movements heavy. Stephanie crouched by the symbol in the centre, ran her finger along it just like NJ had shown her, and the circle stopped glowing. She stood, yanked the Sceptre from the backpack with her left hand and pointed it at Darquesse’s head.

One command. That’s all she had to do. Just think that one command and the crystal would fire out that black lightning and Darquesse would turn to dust. There’d be no coming back from that. Darquesse would be dead, Valkyrie would be gone forever, and Stephanie could live a normal life.

Just one simple command.

Scowling, Stephanie banged the heel of her broken hand against the triangular piece of metal on her belt, and a moment later Fletcher teleported in with Cassandra and Finbar and Deacon Maybury. Deacon saw Darquesse and his courage deserted him, but Cassandra grabbed him, pushed him forward. Panicking, Deacon immediately clasped Darquesse’s head between his hands and the others formed a circle of their own, their hands linked, and Darquesse gasped and snapped her head up.

Her eyes were wide. Unfocused. She didn’t try to rise.

“We have her,” Finbar whispered.

Skulduggery charged in, slamming the door behind him. He didn’t even look at Stephanie. He crossed to where Darquesse knelt, and crouched in front of her, took her hands and held them.

“The sparrow flies south for winter,” he said. “The sparrow flies south for winter.”