She ran to the window at the end of the corridor, flattened both hands against the air. The glass exploded outwards and the frame splintered. “Come on,” she said, climbing on to the narrow sill.

“Uh,” Ryan said.

She looked back in. “Move!”

He swallowed, and did what she ordered. As he searched for the securest position possible, fingers curling round the edge of the wall, he tried not to look at the concrete courtyard below them. “We’re… we’re not going to jump, are we?”

She took hold of his arm, and said gently, “Not if you don’t want to.”

He relaxed, his grip on the edge of the wall loosening slightly, and that’s when she stepped off the sill and yanked him after her.

Ryan screamed as they plummeted to the ground, the wind rushing into his mouth and up his nose and through his hair and suddenly it was buffeting them both, slowing their descent. He saw Valkyrie’s hand move, like she was orchestrating the air. They landed heavily, but at least they didn’t go splat.

Ryan staggered away from her. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

Skulduggery dropped down in front of him and Ryan screamed again.

“Well said,” Skulduggery muttered, reloading his revolver. “We’d better hurry, now. Come along.”

They ran through the tunnel connecting the courtyard to the street on the other side of the apartment buildings. Skulduggery put his gun away and let his façade flow over his skull. They got in the Bentley and the car roared and shot forward.

“Everyone OK?” Skulduggery asked.

“I’m in pain,” Valkyrie groaned. “Ryan?”

Ryan nodded quickly. “I’m fine. I’m OK. I’m not hurt.”

“Are you shaking yet?”

Ryan looked at his hand. “No.”

“It’ll start any minute now.”

Ryan’s hand began to tremble violently. “Oh wow, yeah. I’m definitely shaking now.” He laughed. It was a weird sound.

“Geoffrey’s going to have his hands full explaining this one,” Valkyrie said as she brushed the dust off her jacket. It rose from her in small clouds.

“Please don’t do that in the car,” Skulduggery said.

“You didn’t say Mercy could do that,” Ryan said. “She changed shape. She’s a shape-changer.”

“Actually,” Skulduggery said, “she’s not. Francine was a psychic image. Basically, an illusion. Physically, there was no disguise. That was Mercy sitting at the table, talking to us, in her normal form. But our minds reinterpreted Mercy as Francine. We heard Francine’s voice.”

“I smelled her perfume,” Ryan said.

“All an illusion. The only person in Dublin, in all of Ireland really, capable of disguising her like that is a man called Robert Crasis. In wartime, his skills were invaluable. We might have twenty people ready to storm an enemy position, but thanks to Crasis it would look like we had a thousand.”