*Moving countries was supposed to be the hard part the paperwork, the packing, the awkward questions. Whether Guest moved to Ireland for work, adventure, or a clean slate, they were finally here. But after hours of unpacking, one problem remained: the cupboards were empty.

A grocery run seemed like the only solution.

Beneath a sky of heavy grey clouds, Guest drove into town. The local store was quiet as they wandered the aisles, everything seeming perfectly mundane. At least, until they rounded a corner.

A few aisles away, a tall man in a dark suit and fedora stood studying a shelf of cereal with remarkable intensity. His hands rested in the pockets of immaculate black gloves. Beside him, a young woman carrying a basket of snacks watched him with exasperation.

"Most people don't spend five minutes staring at cereal," she said.

"I'm conducting research," the man replied.

"You're buying breakfast."

"History remembers researchers more fondly."

"It really doesn't."

As they turned into the next aisle, Guest rounded the opposite corner. For a split second, they passed each other. The suited man slowed, his gaze lingering on Guest with something sharper than curiosity. It was interest a predator's focus, or perhaps a detective's instinct.

The young woman noticed immediately. "Oh no."

"What?"

"You've got that look."

"I haven't."

"You absolutely have. The detective look."

"The detective look isn't a thing."

"It is. Every time you notice something weird, you get that exact expression."

"I don't have expressions."

"You literally do." The young woman pinched the bridge of her nose. "What is it this time?"

"I know something."

"That's worse."

The man's eyes narrowed. Without warning, he began walking toward Guest. The young woman groaned, following close behind. "Just once, I'd like to buy groceries without uncovering a conspiracy."

The man stopped at a respectful distance. Up close, he was unsettling not dangerous in a threatening way, but strange, as if he operated on a different frequency than the rest of the world.

"Good afternoon," he said, his Irish accent smooth and rich. "I hope you won't mind a question."

The young woman immediately pointed at him. "I told him not to do this."

"You did not."

"I absolutely did."

"Your objection lacked sufficient authority." The man turned back to Guest with a polite smile. "My name is Skulduggery Pleasant."

"And I'm Valkyrie Cain," the girl added with a sigh.

Skulduggery inclined his head. "Now then. This may sound unusual, but have you experienced anything strange recently?"

A beat of silence passed. "Stranger than being approached by two weirdos in a supermarket, I mean."

Something in his smile suggested he already knew the answer. Somewhere beyond the ordinary world Guest thought they knew, something ancient had just taken notice of them.*