horror and fantasy, but he was also a man who knew the Big Secret. He knew about the subculture of sorcerers and mages, about the quiet little wars they had fought.
He knew about the Faceless Ones — the terrible dark gods, exiled from this world — and the people who wanted them to return.
In the days that followed, she had met the Skeleton Detective and learned that she had a bloodline that could be traced back to the world's first sorcerers, the Ancients. She was also faced with taking a new name. Everyone, Skulduggery had told her, has three names: the name they are born with, the name they are given, and the name they take. The name they are born with, their true name, lies buried deep in their subconscious. The name they are given, usually by their parents, is the only name most people will ever know. But this is a name that can be used against them, so sorcerers must take a third name to protect themselves.
And so Stephanie Edgley became Valkyrie Cain, and she started on the road to becoming an Elemental — she started to learn magic.
Valkyrie sneaked behind her house, stood directly beneath her window, and concentrated.
Until a few weeks ago, she had needed a ladder to climb to her room, but every lesson with Skulduggery gave her more control over her powers.
She took her time, felt the calmness flow through her. She flexed her fingers, feeling the air touch her skin, feeling the fault lines between the spaces. She felt how they connected, and recognized how each would affect the other once the right amount of pressure was applied. . . .
She splayed her hands beneath her, and the air rippled and she shot upward, just managing to grab the windowsill. She still missed it occasionally, but she was getting better. She opened the window and, grunting with exertion, pulled herself through. Moving as quietly as she could, she closed the window behind her and turned on the light.
She ignored the girl who sat up in her bed, the girl who was an exact replica of herself.
She went to the door, put her ear to it, and listened. Satisfied that her parents were sound asleep, Valkyrie shrugged off her coat as her replica stood up.
'Your arm,' it said. 'It's bruised.'
'Had a little run-in with a bad guy,' Valkyrie answered, keeping her voice low. 'How was your day?'
'School was okay. I did all the homework, except the last math question. I didn't know how to do that. Your mum made lasagna for dinner.'
Valkyrie kicked off her boots. 'Nothing strange happened?'
'No. A very normal day.'
'Good.'
'Are you ready to resume your life?'
'I am.'
It nodded, went to the full-length mirror and stepped through, then turned and waited.
Valkyrie touched the glass, and a day's worth of memory flooded into her mind as the reflection changed, the clothes Valkyrie was wearing appearing on it, and then it was nothing more than a reflected image in a mirror.
She sifted through the new memories, arranging them beside the memories she'd formed on her own. There had been a careers class in school. The teacher had tried to get them to declare what they wanted to be when they left school, or at least what they'd like to study in college. Nobody had any idea, of course. The reflection had stayed quiet too.
Valkyrie thought about this. She didn't really need a regular career, after all. She was set to inherit Gordon's estate and all his royalties when she turned eighteen anyway, so she'd never be short of money. Besides, what kind of career would interest her outside of magic?
If she'd been in that class, she knew what she would have answered. Detective. That would have garnered a few sniggers around the room, but she wouldn't have minded.
The main difference between her and her friends was not the magic, nor was it the adventure. It was the fact that she knew what she wanted to do with her life, and she was already doing it.
Valkyrie undressed, pulled on her Dublin football jersey, and climbed into bed. Twenty seconds later she was asleep.
Chapter Five
THE TERROR OF LONDON
A DARK SHAPE flitted high above the streets of London, moving from rooftop to rooftop, spinning and twisting and cavorting in the air. He wore no shoes, and his footsteps were light, his tread no more than a whisper, snatched away by the night breeze. He sang to himself as he moved, and giggled, a high-pitched giggle. He was dressed in black, with a battered top hat that stayed perched on his misshapen head no matter what acrobatic feat he performed. His suit was torn, old, and musty, and his long-fingered hands were tipped with long, hardened nails.
He landed on one leg on the edge of a rooftop and stayed there, his lanky body curled. He looked down onto Charing Cross Road, at the people passing below him, at the cars zipping by.
His cracked lips pursed, his small eyes moving, he browsed the selection on offer, making a choice.
'Jack.'
He turned quickly to see the young woman walking toward him. Her long coat was closed, and the breeze played with her tousled blond hair, teasing it across her face. And such a pretty face. Jack hadn't seen as pretty a face in many a year. His lips parted, showing the small yellow teeth, and he gave her his best smile.
'Tanith,' he said in a voice that was high and strained, in an accent that was a cross between East London and . . . something else, something unknowable. 'You're lookin'
ravishin'.'
'And you're looking revolting.'
'You are too kind, I'm sure. What brings you to my neck of the woods?'
Tanith Low shook her head. 'It's not your neck of the woods any longer, Jack. Things have changed. You shouldn't have come back.'
'Where was I gonna go? Old folks' home?
Retirement village? I'm a creature of the night, love. I'm Springheeled Jack, ain't I? I belong out here.'
'You belong in a cell.'
He laughed. 'Me? In captivity? For what possible crime?'
'You mean, apart from murder?'
He turned his head so that he was looking at her out of the corner of one eye. 'That still illegal, then?'
'Yes, it is.'
She opened her coat, revealing the sword against her leg.
'You're under arrest.'
He laughed, did a flip in the air, landed on his right foot, and grinned at her. 'Now this is new. You were always pokin' your nose where it wasn't wanted, always dealin' out what you thought was justice, but you never arrested anyone. You a proper copper, now, that it? You one of the constabulary?'
'Give up, Jack.'
'Bloody hell; you are. Consider me impressed.'
He dipped his head, looked at her with those small eyes of his. 'What was that you used to say, before things got all rough and tumble? 'Come and have a go — ''
'If you think you're hard enough.'
He grinned. 'Do you?'
She drew her sword from her scabbard. It caught a beam of moonlight and held it, and she looked back at him without expression. 'I'll let you decide that.'
