'Is that so? Of maybe they thought I would be intimidated by you.'
'They thought you'd listen to me. This Truce will hold only for as long as both sides want it to.
The Elders want it to hold.'
'That must be nice for them.'
Mr. Bliss looked at him as if he was trying to read his thoughts. 'Be careful, Nefarian. You might not like what's at the end of this road you 're on.'
Serpine smiled. 'You 're sure you won't join me for a drink?'
'I have a plane to catch.'
'Going somewhere nice?'
'I have a meeting in London.'
'I hope that goes well for you. We'll have a drink some other time, then.'
'Perhaps.'
Mr. Bliss inclined his head in a small bow, and left.
Chapter Eight
Ghastly
Stephanie went to bed as soon as she got home, and woke at a few minutes past two in the afternoon. She padded to the bathroom and showered, her body aching as she stood under the spray. Her knees were scraped and cut from when she'd been dragged along the road. Her skin was mottled with deep bruises. Her neck was stiff.
She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, dried herself off, and pulled on fresh jeans and a T- shirt. Barefoot, she took her old clothes downstairs and threw them into the washing machine, added the powder, and turned it on. It was only after she'd had something to eat that she allowed herself to think about the previous night.
Well, she said to herself, so that happened.
She tied her shoes and went out, the sunshine warm on her face. At the end of her road, she passed the old pier and started toward Main Street. Normality. Kids playing football, riding bikes, and laughing; dogs running about, tails wagging; neighbors talking to neighbors and the world being as she'd always thought it was. No living skeletons. No magic. No men trying to kill her.
A crazy laugh escaped her lips when she reflected on how much her life had changed in the space of a day. She had gone from being a perfectly ordinary girl in a perfectly ordinary world to being a target for water-soluble weirdos and a partner with a skeleton detective out to solve her uncle's murder.
Stephanie faltered. Her uncle's murder? Where had she got that from? Gordon had died of natural causes; the doctors had said so. She frowned. But these were doctors who lived in a world without walking, talking skeletons. But still, why assume he'd been murdered? What on Earth had made her think that?
There are items that cannot be taken, China had said, possessions that cannot be stolen. In the case of such an item, the owner must be dead before anyone else can take advantage of its powers.
Her attacker and whoever had sent him — they wanted something. They wanted something badly enough to kill her to get it. And if they wanted it that badly, would they really have waited for her uncle to die of natural causes before they went looking for it?
Stephanie felt cold. Gordon had been murdered. Someone had killed him, and no one was doing anything about it. No one was asking the questions, no one was trying to figure out who did it.
Except for Skulduggery.
She narrowed her eyes. He must have known Gordon was murdered. If he hadn't already suspected it when they first met, he must have worked it out in the library. China probably knew as well, but neither of them had told her. They didn't think she could handle it, maybe. Or maybe they didn't think it was any of her business. It had to do with their world, after all, not hers. But Gordon was still her uncle.
A car pulled up behind her. People stared. She looked back and saw the Bentley.
The driver's side was still badly buckled from where the car had rammed it, and the windshield was cracked. Three of the windows were without glass, and the hood had a series of ugly dents running up its left side. The usual purr of the engine was replaced by a worrying rattle that cut out abruptly when the engine turned off. Skulduggery — in hat, scarf, and sunglasses — went to get out, but the door wouldn't open.
'Oh boy,' she muttered.
She watched him lean away from the door and raise his knee, and then he kicked it open and got out, adjusting his coat as he walked over.
'Good afternoon,' he said brightly. 'Wonderful weather we're having, isn't it?'
'People are staring,' Stephanie whispered as he neared.
'Are they really? Oh, so they are. Good for them. So, are we ready to go?'
'That depends,' she answered, speaking softly and keeping a smile on her face. 'When were you going to tell me that my uncle was murdered?'
There was a slight hesitation. 'Ah. You worked that out, then?'
Stephanie turned down a narrow lane between two buildings, moving away from the prying eyes of Haggard's gossipmongers. Skulduggery hesitated a moment, then caught up to her, walking fast.
'I had a very good reason for not telling you.'
'I don't care.' Now that no one could see her, she dropped the smile. 'Gordon was murdered, Skulduggery. How could you not have told me?'
'This is a dangerous business. It's a dangerous world that I'm part of.'
She stopped suddenly. Skulduggery kept walking, realized she wasn't beside him anymore, and turned on his heel. She crossed her arms. 'If you don't think I can handle it — '
'No, you've certainly proven yourself capable.' She heard the tone of his voice change slightly.
'I knew from the moment I met you that you're just the type of person who would never walk away from danger, simply out of stubbornness. I wanted to keep you out of it as much as I could. You've got to understand — Gordon was my friend; I thought I owed it to him to try to keep his favorite niece out of harm's way.'
'Well, I'm in harm's way, so it's not your decision anymore.'
'No, apparently it isn't.'
'So you won't keep anything from me again?'
He put his hand to his chest. 'Cross my heart and hope to die.'
'Okay.'
He nodded and led the way back to the Bentley.
'Though you don't actually have a heart,' she said.
'I know.'
'And technically, you've already died.'
'I know that too.'
'Just so we're clear.'
'What's he like?' Stephanie asked as they drove.
'What's who like?'
'This guy we're going to see. What's his name?'
'Ghastly Bespoke.'
She looked at Skulduggery to make sure he wasn't joking, then realized there was no way she could tell. 'Why would anyone call themselves Ghastly?'
'All manner of names suit all manner of people. Ghastly is my tailor, and also happens to be one of my closest friends. He first taught me how to box.'
'So what's he like?'
'Decent. Honorable. Honest. But more fun than I'm making him sound, I swear. Also, he's not magic's biggest fan. ...'
'He doesn't like magic? How could he not like magic?'
'He just doesn't find it interesting. He prefers the world he reads about in books and sees on TV, the world with cops and robbers and dramas and sports. If he had to choose, I expect he'd choose to live in the world without magic. That way, he could have gone to school and gotten a job and been . . . normal. Of course, he's never been given the choice. I suppose, for him, there could never really be a choice. Not really.'
'Why not?'
Skulduggery hesitated for only a moment, as if he was choosing how best to say it, then told her that Ghastly was born ugly.
