The early morning was cold. Ghastly was tired of the cold. He was tired of the chill, the way his bones ached with it every time he moved. He was tired of his tent, of the fighting, of the war. Ghastly was tired. He was tired of all of it.

He stormed through the camp back the way he had come, fists balled and jaw clenched. Whatever sort of sick joke that was being played here, Ghastly was tired of that, too. He could see in Hopeless' face as he had turned to him that the man believed the words that had fallen from his mouth and it had struck Ghastly like a fist. Ghastly responded the best way he knew how to- he struck back. He hardly even saw Hopeless hit the ground before he had spun on his heel and stalked away. Ghastly had just buried the bodies of his friends' family and he was going to make whichever of Mevolent's sick freaks had come up with this plot answer for it.

There was a shout from behind him, but Ghastly didn't slow down. He heard the footsteps approaching, and so he was ready to turn and throw the hand that landed on his shoulder away from him as soon as it made contact. It was Ravel, and Hopeless stood a few feet behind him, breathing hard and holding his injured jaw. Ghastly felt a pang of regret, but that dissipated as soon as Ravel spoke.

"Bespoke," he said, "please."

Ghastly swung at him, too, but Ravel dodged out of the way, obviously expecting it. Ghastly went to kick him, but Ravel batted the leg down and moved in. A punch landed squarely in Ghastly's stomach, and the breath left him in a hurry. Ravel stepped away as Ghastly doubled over, gasping.

"You aren't thinking straight," Ravel said and Ghastly glared at him between breaths. "You can't even fight properly."

"Touch me again," Ghastly growled as he struggled to straighten, "and I'll show you a real fight."

"Ghastly," Hopeless said, stepping forward, "you need to calm down."

Ghastly rounded on him. "No. Don't you dare tell me to calm down. I don't know why you're buying into this, Hopeless, but I refuse too."

"We aren't buying into anything," Ravel tried, but Ghastly glared at him.

"You are. I could see it in your faces. You didn't want to tell me."

"We aren't," Ravel repeated, "buying into anything. That's just what he told us."

"This thing says a handful of words to you and you're already calling it a he."

"We're taking everything with a grain of salt, Bespoke."

"You shouldn't be taking it with anything. Skulduggery is dead. End of story."

Hopeless took a step forward. "Ghastly," he said softly, "I know that. I know it better than most. But Skulduggery died in pain. He died in agony, Ghastly, and I know you don't want to hear it, but a soul like that isn't going to rest easy."

"And so you think he's back," Ghastly snapped, "and he's been out wandering the battlefield, causing all this ruckus, before suddenly deciding to wander here."

"We don't know what we believe yet," said Ravel, "so we're going to find the truth, and believe in that. But we can't have you storming off or getting yourself killed."

"I'm not going to get myself killed."

"You're angry and you have that look in your eye. You want to hit someone. We need you to listen to us. Are you listening, or do I need to punch you again?"

Ghastly felt some of the anger leave him, and it was replaced once again with that icy grip.

"Fine."

"Wonderful. We're trying to keep this quiet until we know what's going on. Obviously, some sort of necromancy or death magic is at play here. This either means Mevolent is running some experiments, or the necromancers are. We need to find out which."

"You think they're maybe trying to build an undead army?" Hopeless asked. "But all of the rumors have said it's been attacking Mevolent's men."

"That is the puzzling bit."

"So what are you going to do about it?" Ghastly asked, and Ravel hesitated and then looked at Hopeless.

Ghastly narrowed his eyes. "You want Hopeless to verify."

"Yes."

"That could be incredibly dangerous. You have no idea what could be wrong with that thing."

"We are aware."

"You could be asking him to walk straight into a trap."

"Which is why we're leaving the choice up to him."

Ghastly sighed and rubbed his forehead, attempting to dissipate the rest of his anger. His scars were rigid and uneven as his hand traveled across his face and then to the back of his head.

"No matter if it is him or not," Ghastly said, "who knows what kind of effect this might have on Hopeless. We have no idea how broken a mind like that could be."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Hopeless said softly, "if it means putting these rumors, and our friends name, to rest. And if it's telling the truth, he's going to need your support."

Ghastly was silent for a moment. Hopeless was looking at him, his eyes hard and Ravel had folded his arms behind his back, watching him. The air was cold as they stood there, in the quiet. Ghastly nodded.

"If it's lying," he said finally, "I want to be the one to kill it."

The camp where they had been stationed was in all actuality centered on an old plot of farmland. The family that had lived here had left their ancestral home for safer areas of the country, but had taken gladly to a resistance regiment making base there- it at the very least lowered the chances of their land becoming a battleground. The farm itself was flat and barren this time of year, and it held a grand total of four buildings.

One was an old stable and the second an old grain silo. The other two, an old barn and the farmhouse itself, were quaint little things. The barn had become a medical station for anyone who may need longer term care and the farmhouse was where the supplies were kept. The latter was the driest and the cleanest of all the buildings.

It was the farmhouse Ghastly found himself walking to, Hopeless by his side. It had been decided that the two of them would go, alone. Large amounts of people, Ravel had argued, might be seen as a threat. He and Corrival, intent on keeping the apparitions presence a secret for as long as possible, would keep watch over the building while the pair were inside. They had said it was to ensure no straggling soldier entered and interrupted- Ghastly knew it was for their own protection.

A pit opened in his stomach, and Ghastly tried to ignore it.

"You don't have to do this," he said, and Hopeless smiled softly.

"Yes," he said, "I do."

"We don't know what's in there."

"I do."

"No, you don't. You've seen memories, but you have no idea what this might do to you, the kind of impact it may have. This is your mind we're talking about, Hopeless."

"I am fully aware."

Ghastly stopped abruptly. Hopeless took a few more steps and then turned, facing him.

"Why have we stopped?" He asked, and Ghastly crossed his arms.

"I need to know you're taking this seriously. You might be walking into hell."

"Do you have any other suggestions? I know you, and I know that unless I walk in there, you'll never be satisfied."

"This isn't about me."

"Yes," Hopeless corrected him, "it is. I appreciate your concern. I have no intention of going insane."

Ghastly didn't say anything, but he knew that Hopeless was trying to assuage his fears. Hopeless was some of the only family he had left. Ghastly nodded and joined Hopeless, and they turned to the house.

The front door was closed as they approached, and Ghastly kept a close eye on Hopeless. His face was blank, impassive. The moment anything seemed to be wrong, Ghastly was prepared to either fling his friend to safety, or knock him out cold. He winced, slightly, as he remembered he had almost done that already.

"I'm sorry for hitting you," Ghastly said.

"It's fine," Hopeless said simply. Ghastly looked at him. Blank.

The porch was empty and the front door swung slowly open and they entered. Hopeless wasn't screaming or crying or begging, and Ghastly took that as a good sign. Hopeless led the way, slowly, to the back room, and they stopped in the doorway.

The room was bare, the furniture removed to make way for the crates stacked against the wall. The cold was just as sharp in here as outside the walls, and the fireplace had been empty since the house's inhabitants had left. The window was open and light was pouring through as they stepped in, and Ghastly felt his heart stutter. His hands, he noticed as he stood there, had begun trembling slightly. Ghastly tried to tell himself it was just the anticipation, but he knew that was a lie. He was afraid. Fear and tension had set his muscles on fire.

The thing stood at the window, light passing through its empty frame, dressed in ragged clothing and covered in dust. Ghastly could see that the clothes it wore were much too big, and there was a rope cinching the ripped trousers to its hips. It was facing away from them, and Ghastly glanced at Hopeless. He was frowning now, eyes trained on the creature before them.

"Hello," Ghastly said, surprising himself. There was no response. The skeleton stood there, absolutely motionless.

"Do you know who we are?" Ghastly continued. "My name is Ghastly Bespoke. Hopeless is here with me, too."

Silence.

"We're looking for answers. Who are you? Where did you come from? What do you want?"

Nothing.

Anger flashed across Ghastly's vision. "You told our compatriots who spoke with you earlier that you are Skulduggery Pleasant. Skulduggery Pleasant and his family are dead. I suggest you start answering my questions before I get any angrier than I already am."

Hopeless still only stared as silence persisted, making no move to break it. Ghastly glared at the skeleton before him, becoming more convinced that it was fake, that this really was a joke, and contemplating how soon he should walk over and punch it.

"You shouldn't be here."

The voice, sudden and unexpected, hit him like a bullet, driving Ghastly back a step. It was clearly male; dry, and empty, and barely recognizable, and it sliced through the silence. Ghastly saw Hopeless grit his teeth out of the corner of his eye, and he looked visibly agitated now. Something was wrong.

"Who shouldn't be here?" Ghastly managed to ask.

The skeleton moved finally, turning halfway and looking at them with its big, empty eye sockets. The sunlight framed it from behind, keeping them cast in shadow, and they were no more than two gaping black pits threatening to swallow Ghastly if he looked at them too long.

"You shouldn't be here." The skeleton said again, and Ghastly realized its eyeless gaze was trained on Hopeless. "This is too much for a mind reader."

The icy grip around Ghastly's heart wrenched violently, but he ignored it, ignoring what that comment might entail. Hopeless didn't respond, he only stared at it, his brow furrowed in agitation.

"How do you know about his discipline?" Ghastly asked. "No one knows about his discipline."

"I do," the skeleton responded. Its jaw opened and closed as it spoke. There was quiet for a moment, and then it tilted its head, ever so slightly.

"You can't read my thoughts," it said, and Ghastly watched as annoyance flashed across Hopeless face.

"No," he said tightly, "I can't."

"That's a first for you, isn't it?" The skeleton asked, its voice still a low, empty thing. "Of course, that makes this much more difficult. If you can't read my mind, there's no telling what I may be lying about."

Ghastly looked at him. "You aren't getting anything? Anything at all?"

"There's nothing," Hopeless said softly. "I didn't sense anything walking in, and I don't sense anything standing here now. Nothing. Not even a whisper."

"What are you?" Ghastly asked, voice as sharp as he could make it. "Some sort of spy? One of Mevolent's experiments?"

The skeleton turned its head slightly and Ghastly felt the weight of its gaze land on him. It didn't respond.

Ghastly felt his jaw clench. "You better start telling me who the hell you are," Ghastly said, voice low, and he saw Hopeless look at him. "And if you lie to me, I swear to God, I'll rip you apart myself."

The skeleton observed him for a moment, then observed Hopeless, and Ghastly was moments away from blasting it with a ball of fire when it opened its mouth.

It closed. There was a moment of stillness. Then the jaw opened once more, and this time, words.

"You are Hopeless," it said, and Ghastly narrowed his eyes. "We met in a bar. You had just informed a man that his wife was cheating on him. You had good intentions, but the man took it to mean she was cheating on him with you, and was trying to get his hands around your throat."

The head swiveled to Ghastly. "You are Ghastly Bespoke. We met on a ship. We were both striking out on our own for the first time, and thought the life of a sailor would be full of adventure. We fought pirates. We lost to pirates."

It hesitated for a moment, and Ghastly felt like the floor had been tugged away from underneath him. He fought against the truth that was bubbling to the surface, fought the sadness that was rising as he looked at what was becoming less of a creature and more like the broken remains of a man, and willed the words that would come next to be untrue.

"I," the skeleton said softly, "am Skulduggery Pleasant. I was married twenty-two years ago on April 25th and I had a daughter. We were killed, the three of us, by Nefarian Serpine. I came back. They did not."

The silence that followed this time was heavy and Ghastly could feel it settling on his shoulders, smothering his breath. This was the weight of guilt, Ghastly realized, raw and ravaging, and he felt it add to the ice around his heart, the cold seeping through his body.

"I know," the skeleton continued, "that there is little that I can say that will convince you that I am real and I am telling the truth. It's all very difficult to believe. I know it is for me and I would love for you to convince me this is all a horrible little dream."

"I believe you," Hopeless said softly, and the skeleton turned his head to him.

"Really?"

"I… had a feeling, hearing all the stories and rumors about an apparition sweeping the battlefield. Ravel confirmed my suspicions when I saw he had spoken to you. I am so sorry for what has happened, my friend. How are you back?"

No response came, and Hopeless nodded. "Do you remember? What happened, I mean."

There was a hesitation. "There are parts that are… muddy. Clouded. Moments that have been blocked out. But I remember Serpine. I remember him murdering them, torturing me, killing me with that red right hand. And then I have images, emotions. I'm not quite sure. I woke up on a beach."

Ghastly frowned. "A beach?"

"Not a beach. A rivers edge. They had gathered up my remains and put them in a bag and thrown the bag in the river. Some curious children fished me out, I think, and started to put me together, like some sort of puzzle. I think I frightened them when I sat up and finished the job." There was quiet for a moment. "I realize how morbid that all sounds."

"And you've been wandering ever since?" Hopeless asked, and the skeleton shook its head.

"Not… exactly. I went looking for Serpine. I'm going to kill him." The skull swiveled to Ghastly. "You don't believe me."

"I don't know what to believe. I don't know if I want you to be who you say you are."

"But the fact that you are unsure goes to say that some part of you does recognize me as your friend." The skull moved slightly. "I'm not offended. I'm struggling with this all, too, I can assure you."

Ghastly suddenly felt very guilty. "Are you… are you ok?"

There was a hint of amusement in that dull voice. "Not in the slightest. I have no brain. I have no skin. I have no heart. I'm having a little crisis of being at the moment. I'm a thing now, I suppose. An it. I'm not quite sure how to cope with that."

"Are you coping?"

"Not even a little."

Skulduggery, Ghastly couldn't ignore it anymore, leaned against the windowsill. "I saw Dexter Vex."

Hopeless nodded. "I heard about his report."

"You did? Of course you did. What did he say?"

Hopeless hesitated, and Ghastly could tell he was choosing his words carefully. "He said on their mission to retrieve Rumin Sundry they were saved by an… unknown figure."

Skulduggery let out a barked laugh. "Saved by an unknown figure. That's a laugh. I didn't even know it was him until he started yelling at me. You should have seen the fear in his eyes. The terror. I've been looked at like that before in the last few weeks, seen it in soldiers, in bystanders, in reflections. But seeing it on the face of someone I knew was something else entirely."

"Is that why you came back? Back here, I mean."

"I suppose. I wasn't getting anywhere doing anything else. When I woke up in that dirt, all I could think about was Serpine. Seeing Dexter snapped me back, forced me to think clearer." He was silent for a moment. "Did you find them? When you went to Serpine's castle?"

"We did," Hopeless responded. "We buried them past the edge of camp."

Skulduggery nodded, and Ghastly looked at him for any sign of emotion. He found himself looking away moments later- there was something incredibly uncomfortable about how impassive and unmoving the skeleton before him was. Ghastly shifted slightly.

"We had a wake," Hopeless said, "before we left for Serpine's castle. There was no funeral, but we held a memorial at your home. I admit I haven't been back since, but it's still yours. No one's living there."

"I know," Skulduggery responded, moving his arm slightly and shifting his gaze. Ghastly became aware of the chain that was wrapped tightly around the bones of his wrist.

Ghastly frowned. "You went there?"

"Before I came here, yes. I saw all the candles. The house isn't there anymore, though."

"What do you mean it isn't there anymore?"

The skull moved up slightly and that empty gaze landed on Ghastly again.

"I burned it."

The room went silent and they stared at him in disbelief. Skulduggery, for his part, remained perfectly still.

Hopeless responding first, speaking what was on both of their minds. "You burned it? Why?"

Skulduggery shrugged. This was the first major movement he had made since they'd arrived, and Ghastly could see the bones of his shoulders shift and move to accommodate the gesture.

"There was nothing left for me there," he said. "It felt fitting. Is that my gun?"

Ghastly blinked at the rapid change of topic and looked down at his hip where the firearm was strapped. "It is. I retrieved it from your tent. I have your coat and sword, too. Do you want it back?"

The skull tilted slightly. "You hardly believe I am who I say I am, and yet you would trust me with a weapon?"

Ghastly hesitated. "No. I suppose that was more out of respect, I guess."

Skulduggery made an amused little grunt. "That would be wise. I hardly trust myself. Ravel and Deuce are outside, I assume? Listening for any screaming?"

"Watching to make sure no one else enters. What do you mean you aren't sure you hardly trust yourself?"

Another shrug. "For all I know, I could be a very advanced, very decomposed zombie. I can still use magic, though, you know."

"Zombies can't use magic."

"And such a reassurance, that is." Skulduggery looked down at his hands. "It's difficult to produce a spark, and I couldn't feel the air at first. Everything seems muted."

"But you can see and hear and speak," Hopeless said. "Can you smell? And feel pain?"

"No. And… yes. Unfortunately. Putting myself together was surprisingly painful." Skulduggery flexed his fingers and they coiled and uncoiled slowly. The phalanges bent and moved, but stayed intact. "This all makes me very uncomfortable," he murmured.

He raised his head. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Do with you?" Hopeless smiled warily. "What do you mean?"

"I think you should tie me up. I could still be a threat. I came here because it was the only place I could think of, not because I wanted to hurt anyone."

Hopeless waved his hand. "Nonsense. If someone was commanding you around, you probably would have killed us already."

"Probably?"

"Most likely."

"You have a surprising amount of faith in a creature whose mind you can't read."

"You aren't a creature," Hopeless said firmly, "you're our friend."

Skulduggery observed him for a moment before turning his skull to Ghastly. "And what do you think?"

"I think," he said slowly, "that we need to get you a new set of trousers. Where did you find all that? Behind a tavern?"

"Someone's clothesline," Skulduggery admitted. He sounded slightly sheepish, and Ghastly was starting to hear the voice of his friend break through the empty monotony.

"Ravel and Deuce are going to want to keep your return a secret, at least for now." Hopeless said. "You could be the advantage we very much need."

"A weapon," Skulduggery said softly.

"An inspiration," Hopeless corrected. "You're a miracle, Skulduggery."

"I don't feel very miraculous."

"You don't need to. We're here to help you, get you back on your feet. Are you willing to let us do that?"

Ghastly watched him as he sat there, propped up by the sill of the window, his skull impassive and silent. And then Skulduggery nodded, and Ghastly felt that ice around his heart begin to melt.