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three wax statues. Valkyrie wasn’t surprised they’d been left here when the museum closed down. They weren’t very good and only one of them had a head.
    They finally came to a wax statue that looked like the person it was supposed to be – Phil Lynott from the band Thin Lizzy. It turned its head as they approached.
    “Hello,” it said.
    “Hi, Phil,” replied Valkyrie.
    Tanith, who had actually known the real Phil Lynott when he was alive, found the figure too unnerving, so she stayed at the back and didn’t look at it.
    “We request an audience with the Grand Mage,” Ghastly said.
    “Do you have an appointment?” the figure said, looking down at a page it had stuck to the back of its guitar. “You’re not on the list.”
    “We don’t have an appointment, but we request to be seen.”
    The wax head of Phil Lynott frowned. It didn’t like its new role. It was originally supposed to only open and close the door, but now that the Sanctuary didn’t have an Administrator, its job description had expanded.
    “I’ll tell him you’re here,” it said and closed its eyes.
    While they waited, Valkyrie became aware of how fast her heart was beating. If this didn’t work, they could all be arrested and it would be her fault. Worse, their one opportunity to get Skulduggery back would pass, and she’d never see him again.
    The wax figure opened one of its eyes. “Any of you going to the final?” it asked.
    Valkyrie took a moment. “I’m sorry?”
    “The All-Ireland,” the figure said. “Dublin versus Kerry. Going to be a good one. I asked if I could go. I’ve never been to Croke Park. The Grand Mage said no. He said it would raise some questions if I’m recognised.”
    “He’s probably right,” said Valkyrie slowly.
    The figure opened both eyes. “The Grand Mage has been informed,” it said. “He has instructed a guide to take you to the Greeting Room, and he will be with you as soon as his schedule allows.”
    “Thank you,” Valkyrie said, and the wall beside them rumbled and parted, and they went through.
    They got to the bottom of the stone stairs and a sour-looking man beckoned to them impatiently. Valkyrie glanced at the greyclad Cleavers as she passed them, their faces hidden behind visored helmets. She used to find them threatening, but compared to the White Cleaver who stood with the Necromancers, they were positively cuddly.
    The impatient sorcerer herded them quickly through the corridors.
    “I don’t have time to be doing this,” he griped. “I’ve got work to do, for God’s sake. Don’t they know I have work to do? Showing you people where to go is an Administrator’s job. Do I look like an Administrator to you?”
    “No,” Tanith said. “You look like a remarkably grumpy man.”
    He glared at her and she narrowed her eyes. He looked away.
    “In there,” he said, pointing to a room. “The Grand Mage will be with you when he’s with you. If you want anything, tea or coffee, get it yourself and don’t bother me any more.”
    He stalked off and they looked at each other.
    “Guild wants us left alone so that we’ll go after the skull,” Ghastly said quietly. “He wants us arrested and thrown in the cells. He’s just waiting for us to make a wrong move.”
    “Let’s not disappoint him then,” Tanith responded. They ignored the Greeting Room and took the first corridor to their right. The people they passed didn’t even glance at them.
    They passed the Gaol, where the sickest, most evil sorcerers in the country were kept in cages hanging off the ground. An average criminal would be sent to one of the maximum security prisons, but the Gaol was reserved for the worst of the worst.
    Beyond the Gaol was the Repository. Making sure no one was watching, Tanith pushed open the double doors and they crept inside. Ghastly held up his hand and read the air, feeling any disturbances.
    “We’re alone,” he announced and all three of them immediately strode among the dimly-lit