Do you think we’ll be waiting long?” Valkyrie asked, keeping her voice low. “The last time we were in this building, we accused the Grand Mage of being a traitor,” Skulduggery said. “Yes, I think we’ll be waiting long.

Are you hurt? Are you injured?" / "No, just a bruise or two. I'm fine, really. You don't have to worry about me." / "Stephanie, you jumped off a building." / "Yes, but the branches broke my fall. Every one of them." / "And how were the branches?" / "A lot unlike pillows.

Her parents wanted her to find her own way in life. That’s what they’d said countless times in the past. Of course, they’d been referring to school subjects and college applications and job prospects. Presumably, at no stage did they factor living skeletons and magic underworlds into their considerations. If they had, their advice would probably have been very different.

The next time? Oh, my dear Eliza, you're not going to carry on with this, are you? The Faceless Ones had their chance. They returned and they were sent away again. It's time to move on. Time to take up another hobby, like crocheting, or serial killing.

What?" she asked again. He pointed ahead of them. "See that?" "What, the snow?" "Beyond that." "More snow?" "Stop looking at the snow.

Mum said earlier what a lovely dress you’re wearing.” Beryl’s eyebrows wriggled like two tiny tapeworms. “This?” she said. “But I’ve had this for years.” It was a beige dress that would have looked better on an eighty year-old. Any eighty-year-old, man or woman. “I think you’ve really grown into it,” Valkyrie said. “I always thought it was a little shapeless.” Valkyrie resisted the urge to say that was what she meant.

I have sought you out to cure me.' 'To cure you of what?' 'Of this cursed affliction.' 'I cannot cure stupidity.' Scapegrace frowned.