By the time they got to Denholm Street, day had been beaten back and the night was soaking through the city.

Her father sagged as relief spread through him. “I thought something awful was happening.” She frowned. “Something awful was happening. It could have got stuck in my hair.

You look angry," he said. "You put me on hold." "For a very good reason." "You put me," she said very, very slowly, "on hold.

Thank you,” Skulduggery said to her. “I fear he was about to start insulting me.” “I couldn’t let that happen,” she said. “Your ego is a fragile and delicate thing.” “You see? You understand me.

We don’t need a cure,” the other zombie said. “That’s right,” Scapegrace nodded. “We’re happy the way we are.” “Happy with the power,” Scapegrace clarified. “Very happy, just the two of us, and there’s nothing wrong with us either. It’s very natural in fact. Nothing to be ashamed of—” “Thrasher,” said Scapegrace, “shut up.

Stairs," Valkyrie said, disappointed. "Not just ordinary stairs," Skulduggery told her as he led the way down. "Magic stairs." "Really?" "Oh, yes." She followed him into the darkness. "How are they magic?" "They just are." "In what way?" "In a magicky way." She glared at the back of his head. "They aren't magic at all, are they?" "Not really.

Embrace your inner lunatic.