Other stories tell how I eat innocent newborns, how I’m ten feet tall, how I breathe fire and have great dragon wings. None of these are wholly accurate. I don’t have dragon wings, I don’t breathe fire, I’m only eight feet tall and I’ve never eaten a newborn that didn’t have it coming. My name is Mevolent. What’s yours?

She turned to Skulduggery and held out her arms. “Come here, you.” He tilted his head. “My hugs are for special occasions only.” “Hug me.” “I prefer the old tradition.” “Hug.” “Would a handshake do?” “Hug.” “A pat on the back?” She stepped forward and wrapped her arms round him. “Hug,” she said. He sighed, and his hands settled on her shoulders. The others were warm and their embraces strong – with Skulduggery the hug was cold, and there were areas on his jacket that gave way beneath her fingers, and she could feel the emptiness within. She didn’t mind.

Life isn't fair,' Skulduggery said. 'In my experience, death isn't so different.

Suddenly Saracen Rue looked old and tired, and Skulduggery Pleasant came into focus as what he really was – a genius, a killer, a tortured soul, and the only true dead man among them.

You have no idea about presents or what they mean. The last present you gave me was a stick.” “You wanted a weapon.” “It was a stick.” “It had a bow on it.” “It was a stick.” “I thought you liked the stick. You laughed.

Then I reckon we got ourselves a good old-fashioned standoff." ... Nobody moved, or said anything, for the next few moments. "Old-fashioned standoffs are mighty borin

An untied shoelace can be dangerous,' he said. 'I could have tripped.' She stared at him. A moment dragged by. 'I'm joking,' he said at last. She relaxed. 'Really?' 'Absolutely. I would never have tripped. I'm far too graceful.