Free Playing with Fire (Skulduggery Pleasant, Book 2) by Derek Landy

do?"
    "People sleep with the Stone close by for three nights, and by doing so, they imprint it with their personality."
    "Oh. Yes, you're quite right," he said, and looked a little disappointed. "It's generally used by the dying, to help their loved ones through their grief, or to answer any lingering questions they might have, things like that. For me, however, it was more like a writing aid."
    "A writing aid?"
    "I imprinted my consciousness onto the Stone. Or rather, the real Gordon imprinted me onto the Stone. He comes in whenever he's stuck on a plot point or when he needs a new perspective on a story, or when he just wants a conversation with someone who can actually challenge him, intellectually. We have some pretty interesting talks, let me tell you."
    "That's . . . that's so . . ."
    "Narcissistic?"
    "I was going to say weird, but okay, we'll go with yours. How long do we have before it runs out of power?"
    Gordon, the Echo-Gordon, shook his head, and
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    gestured to the centerpiece that held the Stone. "When the Echo Stone is in its cradle, it's constantly recharging. I could stay out here forever-- providing there was someone around, of course. It'd be pretty boring if it was just me.
    "I have to say, Stephanie, while I welcome the chance to talk to you, and I would give you a hug only I'd pass right through you and that would be strange, Gordon himself is going to be a mite annoyed that you found your way in here."
    "Um, actually ... I don't think he will be. Do you remember the last time you spoke with Gordon-- the other Gordon, the real Gordon?"
    His eyes narrowed. "Why? Stephanie, what's wrong?"
    She hesitated. "My name is Valkyrie."
    "Valerie?"
    "Valkyrie. With a k. Valkyrie Cain. You left this house to me in your will."
    He stared at her. "Oh. Oh no."
    "Yes."
    "Oh my God, I'm ... I knew, I mean, I knew I might be in danger, once I had the Scepter of the Ancients, but, but . . . Tell me the truth, okay? Just be totally, brutally honest, just tell me
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    flat out. . . . Am I dead?"
    "Yes."
    He covered his face with his hands.
    She waited for him to look up. When he didn't, she searched for words to fill the silence. "I understand that this must come as a shock. ..."
    Finally, he raised his head. "How did I die?"
    "Nefarian Serpine killed you," Valkyrie said, as gently as she could under the circumstances. "Well, killed Gordon. Killed you, I suppose. . . ."
    "Serpine killed me? Then he has the Scepter! Quickly, Stephanie, we have no time to lose-- "
    "Don't worry, he's dead. Skulduggery killed him last year."
    "Oh," Echo-Gordon said, his impetus interrupted. "I see. You know Skulduggery, then?"
    "He's been showing me the ropes."
    "And the Scepter?"
    "It's not a threat to anyone anymore."
    "Did you solve the clues I left? The brooch, and the caves?"
    "Yes, we did. That was very clever of you."
    "The riddle was my idea," he said proudly. "Gordon, the real Gordon, just wanted to leave clear instructions in case anything bad happened to
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    him, but I convinced him to do it all in a riddle. It gives the whole thing an extra flair, don't you think?"
    His lower lip quivered for a moment.
    "Are you okay?" asked Valkyrie.
    "Not really. I'm the memories of a dead man. I'm struggling to find the purpose of my existence. Was there uproar? When I died, I mean? Was there a national day of mourning?"
    "Uh . . . not a day, I don't think. ..."
    He frowned. "But I was a bestselling author. I mean, I was loved. What about a minute's silence, observed throughout the country?"
    Valkyrie rubbed her arm. "A minute? I'm not sure if, you know, if it was an official minute, but I'm sure I noticed that people were ... quieter than usual. ..."
    "What about sales?"
    "Oh, well, your last two books went straight back into the top ten."
    "What about my last book? What's happening with that?"
    "The release date is three months away."
    "That'll sell well," he said, stroking his chin. "That ought to sell really well, now that I'm