Mortal Coil. Derek Landy

      he closer you got to Roarhaven, the sicker the trees looked, the browner the grasses, the blacker the lake. Its streets were narrow, its buildings hunched, their windows squinting. Paranoia and hatred, seething resentment and bitter hostility – these things leaked through the town like its lifeblood. It was a creature, a mangy, diseased dog, afflicted with fleas and ticks and lice, kept alive by its own loathing.

      The man with the golden eyes stood by the stagnant lake, his coat buttoned up against the cold. “Marr?” he asked.

      “Still alive,” said the old man behind him.

      The veiled woman in black spoke quietly. “I thought we hired the best.”

      The old man didn’t bother to keep the irritation out of his voice. “We did.”

      “She needs to die,” said the woman. “She’s far too dangerous to be languishing in chains.”

      “Tesseract assures me she will be dead soon.” The old man looked away from the woman. “Do they still think the Americans are to blame?”

      The man with the golden eyes shrugged. “Who knows what Skulduggery Pleasant thinks? We can only stick to the plan. If he begins to suspect us, we’ll deal with him then. For the moment, though, we’re on schedule. This town will hold the new Sanctuary. From here, we’re going to change the world.”