A/N: This is a re-write of my fanfic about Skulduggery Pleasant. I hope that you'll like it even better than the last one. ^^ Feel free to hate me, but don't judge me.
Prologue:
A Night in Dublin
An old man was running down the street. The moon was high up on the sky and the street lights were lit, throwing an almost ghostlike light on the man. In his arms, he held a book. A book which he knew could cause hell if it ended up in the wrong hands – something he had to prevent.
Something was chasing him; he couldn't exactly tell what it was. All he knew was that it would kill him if it got its hand on him and the book.
He made a turn in to an alley that led to the street on the other side of the houses. But someone was waiting there for him. Two Cleavers were there and between them, stood a man. His face was played with by shadows and his eyes stared at the old man from their sockets.
"Hello, Mr. Pieters."
The old man – Mr. Pieters – heard a growling behind him. "What do you want?" he said.
"The book, Mr. Pieters. Give it to me," the man said.
"Go to hell," Mr. Pieters hissed.
The man grinned. "I will, but not without the book."
Mr. Pieters managed to evade the monster that tried to attack him and started running again. For a man soon in his seventies, he had a very good health and condition.
He managed to hide in another alley, just for a few minutes, and look at his book. He sighed. He would have to do it. If he by some miracle would survive, he could go and get it back.
"Travel to safety," he whispered.
The book turned to dust and disappeared in the wind. He peeked around the corner of the alley and saw the monster smelling the air. He braced himself and started running again. But he was stopped by the two Cleavers. He turned around to the sound of the clearing of a throat. The man came up next to the monster with a grin that soon faded away when he saw that the book was gone.
"What did you to with it?" he hissed.
"I sent it to somewhere you won't ever find it," Mr. Pieters said.
The man started grinning again. "Let me guess – to that granddaughter of yours? What is she now? Sixteen? Hasn't she stopped believing in magic?" he said.
"They'll know you did it. They'll find it out and they'll take you down," Mr Pieters said.
Now, the man laughed. It was a cold laugh, without any actual joy. "Is that what you think? I work for them! They'll never find it out!"
"They might not, but he will," Mr Pieters said.
The man snorted. "What does he know?" he spat. "He'll just wander around, with his little side-kick and hope that he finds something. But believe me. There won't be any proof." He raised his hand. "Now, tell me. Where is the book? I might even spare the girl."
Mr. Pieters shook his head. "I won't tell you. If he can't get to you, then I'm telling you – she sure will and when she has, she will have absolutely no mercy on you."
"Fine," the man said. "I'll find it myself."
It started from the heart and spread out to the rest of his body – a cold that was completely unable to describe. It wasn't painful in any way, just cold.
Adam Edward Antonius Pieters died with a smile on his lips.