Resurrection
The best-selling return of skeleton detective Skulduggery Pleasant and it will rearrange your world.A lot has changed. Roarhaven is now a magical city, where sorcerers can live openly. Valkyrie Cain has been out of action for years, recovering from the war against her alter-ego Darquesse, which nearly destroyed her and everyone else.Some things never change though: bad people still want to do bad things, and Skulduggery Pleasant is still there to stop them.When Skulduggery learns of a plot to resurrect a terrifying evil, he persuades Valkyrie to join him for just 24 hours. But they need someone else on their team, someone inconspicuous, someone who can go undercover.Enter Omen Darkly. Student at the new Corrival Academy. Overlooked. Unremarkable in every way.24 hours to save the world. One sharply-dressed skeleton. One grief-stricken young woman. One teenage boy who can’t remember which class he’s supposed to be in.This cannot end well…
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First published in Great Britain by
HarperCollins Childrenâs Books in 2017
HarperCollins Childrenâs Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,
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Skulduggery Pleasant rests his weary bones on the web at:
Derek Landy blogs under duress at
Text copyright © Derek Landy 2017
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Cover design © blacksheep-uk.com
Cover illustration © Tom Percival
Derek Landy asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work.
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Source ISBN: 9780008169022
Ebook Edition © ISBN: 9780008219581
Version: 2017-07-14
This book is dedicated to Yve.
Yve, our friendship is like a fine wine: it improves with age, is fragrant and ebullient, and it has aromas of mulberries and pencil lead and â¦
No. No, thatâs not it.
Our friendship is less like wine and more like a journey. It has twists and turns and sometimes you lose the signal for the radio and find yourself driving around in circles thanks to the cheap sat nav you bought from that guy with the â¦
No, thatâs not it either.
Our friendship is less like wine, and less like a journey, and more like a ⦠a â¦
Listen, Yve, theyâre going to print in the morning and I have to get this dedication done in the next few minutes but I really canât think of anything that adequately describes our friendship so itâd be much easier if we just werenât friends any more.
Really sorry.
In the nothing before the beginningthere was a thought. And the thoughtbecame the beginning.
Contents
A new beginning.
Thatâs what this was. A fresh start. He was going to deliver this one piece of information and then leave. He could go home, back to New York, or maybe Chicago, or Philly. Ireland didnât suit him any more. He was done with it â and it, apparently, was done with him. He was OK with that. Heâd had some good times here. Heâd had some fun. Heâd made some friends. But a new day was about to dawn. All Temper Fray had to do was survive the night.
The wall up ahead cracked. By the light of the streetlamps, the cracks spider-webbed. Any last vestige of hope that heâd just be able to walk out of here vanished with those cracks. Temper had seen this trick before. A redneck psycho called Billy-Ray Sanguine used to jump out at people as they passed, kill them before they blinked. Temper had met Sanguine once. For a hillbilly hitman, heâd been all right. Whoever this guy was, he was no Billy-Ray.
The wall spat out a skinny little runt who came at him with a big knife and a bigger snarl. Temper ignored the snarl for the moment, focused on the knife, batting it away and slamming an elbow into the runtâs mouth, dealing with the snarl almost by default. The runt went down, all flailing limbs and broken teeth, and Temper hurried on.
Yep. Things were going badly. But of course they were. Nothing ever went well for Temper Fray.
A motorbike came round the corner ahead of him, its single headlight sweeping the storefronts, and slowed almost immediately. Temper kept walking, keeping his head down, his hands swinging loosely by his sides. The guy on the motorbike wasnât wearing a helmet, and he wasnât looking at Temper. He was focused on the road, keeping his head straight. Just a guy on his bike, thatâs all, going about his business. As he drew parallel, his right hand drifted into his jacket.
Temper lunged, shoving him as he passed, and the bike toppled and the driver cried out as he fell. Temper kicked the consciousness right out of him and the guy flattened out. Bending over him, Temper reached into his jacket, found the gun and pulled it free. He checked it was loaded, then flicked off the safety. His own gun was on the kitchen table in the house heâd been staying in, alongside his phone. Heâd have traded all the guns in the world for his phone right now. What he wouldnât give for a chance to call in reinforcements.
