Scepter of the Ancients by Derek Landy Page B

making her way to the toilets at the back. Once secured inside a stall, she pulled open the string, and the parcel unfolded before her. It was the clothes. They were the deepest black, made of a material she had never seen before.
    She got changed quickly, noting how perfectly everything fit, and stepped out of the stall to admire herself in the mirror. The trousers and thetunic, a sleeveless garment with silver latches, were pretty good by themselves, and the boots fit as though she’d been wearing them for years, but it was the coat that completed the picture: three-quarter length, shaped especially for her, made of a material so black it nearly shimmered. She resisted the temptation to leave her other clothes in the toilet, and instead wrapped them in the brown paper and left the restaurant.
    “Surprise!” Skulduggery said when she was back in the Canary Car. “It’s the clothes!”
    She looked at him. “You are so weird.”
    Twenty minutes later they were walking into the Waxworks Museum. The building was old, in dire need of repair, and the street wasn’t much better. Stephanie didn’t say a word as they paid and went wandering through the dark corridors, surrounded on both sides by imitation celebrities and fictional characters. She had been here two or three times as part of school trips when she was younger, but couldn’t see the point of visiting
now
. They hung back from a small group of tourists until they were certain they were alone, and only then did Stephanie say anything.
    “What are we doing here?”
    “We’re here to visit the Elders’ Sanctuary,” Skulduggery replied.
    “And are the Elders made of wax?”
    “I like coming here,” he said, taking off his sunglasses and ignoring her question. “It’s very liberating.”
    He took off his hat and wig and pulled the scarf from his neck. Stephanie looked around nervously.
    “Aren’t you afraid someone might see?”
    “Not in the slightest.”
    “Well, maybe we should go and talk to the Elders, then.”
    “Good idea.”
    Skulduggery moved to one side of the corridor and traced his hand over the wall. “Where is it?” he muttered. “Bloody idiots keep changing it….”
    The tourists came back around the corner and Stephanie went to drag Skulduggery out of sight, but it was too late—they had already seen him. A small American boy left his parents’ side and walked right up to him. Skulduggery was frozen to the spot.
    “Who’s that supposed to be?” the boy asked, frowning slightly.
    Stephanie hesitated. Now the entire tour waslooking at her, including the tour guide. “This is,” Stephanie said, racking her brains for a likely-sounding explanation, “this is Sammy Skeleton, the world’s worst detective.”
    “Never heard of him,” the boy said, giving Skulduggery’s arm a poke. He shrugged and lost interest, and Stephanie watched the tourists move on. When they were out of sight, Skulduggery swiveled his head to her.
    “‘World’s worst detective’?” he asked.
    She shrugged and hid her grin, and Skulduggery
hrmph
ed good-naturedly and went back to running his hand along the wall. He found what he was looking for and pressed inward. A section of the wall slid open to reveal a hidden passage.
    “Wow,” Stephanie said. “The Sanctuary is
here
? I used to come here when I was little….”
    “Never knowing that beneath your feet was a world of magic and wonder?”
    “Exactly.”
    He tilted his head slightly. “Better get used to that feeling.”
    She followed him in, and the wall sealed shut behind them. The stairway downward was lit bytorches that flickered in their brackets, but the closer they got to wherever it was they were going, the brighter it became.
    They emerged into the gleaming foyer of the Sanctuary. It would have reminded Stephanie of the lobby of a high-tech company’s building—all marble and varnished wood paneling—had it not been for the lack of windows. Two men stood guard against the far wall,