Skulduggery Pleasant: Mortal Cole (23 page)

Caelan watched Valkyrie with her family, through the window of their kitchen. He watched her talk and smile and laugh. He was in love with that part of her, the part she didn’t allow him to see. When they were together, her guard was up, she was always careful around him, always wary. But here, at home, she could relax. She could drop the act. She could be
herself. He doubted even Skulduggery Pleasant got to see this side of Valkyrie Cain. He doubted even the great Skeleton Detective knew this part of her.

Caelan sat back against the wooden fence of the garden. Finding her had been easy. Now that he had tasted her blood, there was nowhere she could go that he couldn’t follow. There were many aspects to being a vampire that he hated, but even he had to admit, sometimes his predatory abilities came in useful. Because of them, Valkyrie would never again be alone during the day. While the sun was up, she would always be protected, always watched over.

She didn’t know it yet, but he was her new guardian angel. The only thing left for him to do was to find a way to be around her at night, when the monster within showed its face.

Even his love wasn’t strong enough to protect her from that. Since he had tasted her blood, in fact, the monster had got stronger, more ferocious. In a frenzy, it had torn apart his room in the Midnight Hotel, which was undoubtedly why Anton Shudder had abandoned him.

The day before, he had returned to find that the hotel had already moved on without him. He didn’t blame Shudder. The only part which surprised him was the fact that it had taken so long. Caelan had barely made it to his emergency cage by
nightfall, and he’d shackled himself up just as he felt the monster emerging. Just in time.

He didn’t like to think what would have happened if he’d been too slow. His mind, robbed of its reason and superficial humanity, would have focused on Valkyrie, and Valkyrie alone. Caelan knew he would never forgive himself if he harmed her in any way.

It was getting late. The sun would be down soon, and night would swoop in. His insides tearing, he forced himself to his feet. He took one last look at Valkyrie through the window, and jumped the fence.

V
alkyrie smudged her mascara and stormed away from the mirror, cursing. She hated make-up. She hated the fact that she had to
wear
make-up. Her dress was fantastic, her hair was glossy, her shoes had actual heels. So why did she need make-up? She was going for the bare minimum, but she had still managed to almost poke herself in the eye three times already. Growling, she returned to the mirror to finish the job.

Finally, she was done. Her phone rang.

“Hey,” said Fletcher. “You ready?”

Valkyrie looked at herself in the mirror. Presentable. “Yes,” she said.

“Cool, I’ll be there now.”

“Don’t teleport.”

He paused. “What?”

“Fletch, you can’t teleport into my
room.
This is a
date.
You knock on the front door. You meet my parents.”

“You were serious about that?”

“Oh yes. I’ve told them about you. You are my boyfriend, we’ve been going out for three weeks, you used to go to my school, where you were two years ahead of me. You’ve just started college. You’re studying economics.”

“Economics? Val, I know nothing
about
economics.”

“Neither do my parents. It’ll be fine. Your folks are separated and you live with your dad, somewhere not too close to here. You’re taking me to an under-eighteens’ disco. Say no more about it than that.”

“I really don’t know about this. Val, parents don’t like me when they first meet me.”

“Fletch,
nobody
likes you when they first meet you. You’re incredibly annoying, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Knock on the front door in a few minutes.”

“How many minutes?”

Valkyrie sighed. “I don’t know. Surprise me.”

She hung up, put her phone in her purse, hung the purse off her shoulder, and went downstairs. Her parents were in the living room, watching TV. The Christmas tree was all lit up, the fire was roaring, and the mantelpiece was filled with cards. Her dad frowned at what she was wearing.

“It’s a little black dress,” she told him.

“It’s a little
too
little,” he frowned back. “And where’s the rest of it? I can see your knees.”

“Don’t be a prude,” his wife said from where she was sitting. She was far too comfortable, and pregnant, to get up. “Steph, you look lovely. Tell her she looks lovely, Des.”

“Stephanie, you look lovely. I do think the knees are a bit much though.”

“Dad.”

“Des.”

“I’m just expressing an opinion, that’s all. Personally, I think knees should be kept for the eighth or ninth date, or the wedding day. As a nice surprise, you know?
‘Oh, my darling, you have knees! I never would have thought!’
”

The doorbell rang, and Valkyrie’s dad barred the way out of the room.

“Sorry, Stephanie,” he said, hiking up his trousers, “but it is a father’s duty to open the door to the first boyfriend. You stay here with your mother and talk about knitting patterns. If I approve of him, and like the cut of his jib, we may even adjourn to my study for brandy and cigars.”

“You don’t have a study.”

“I mean, obviously, the downstairs toilet.”

“And do you even know what a jib is?”

“Of course I do,” he said defensively. “It’s a hairstyle of some description.”

“No, it’s one of the sails on a ship.”

“And how do
you
know that?”

Valkyrie shrugged. “It’s just one of the things I know.”

“Well, just for that piece of showing off, young lady, you get to wait here while I interrogate your gentleman caller.”

And he was gone. Valkyrie looked back at her mum, who smiled and shrugged. “Let him have his fun,” she said.

Valkyrie strained to hear what was being said out in the hall, but all she could pick up were mumbles. She had a terrifying image of her father and Fletcher, standing there mumbling and looking down at their shoes. But then she heard the front door close, and footsteps approached. Her father led the way in.

“His hair is huge!” he exclaimed.

Fletcher followed him in, looking sheepish but cute in dark jeans and a black shirt.

“Look!” her dad continued, pointing. “It’s just sticking up at odd angles! Like a demented porcupine!”

“Stop teasing,” Valkyrie’s mum said, clambering to her feet. She shook Fletcher’s hand. “Your hair looks wonderful, Fletcher. I’m Melissa, and this is Desmond.”

Her dad glared. “I told him he should call me Mr Edgley.”

“Don’t mind him, Fletcher. You can call him Des.”

“Stop undermining my authority.”

“Sorry, dear. You say something now.”

“Thank you.” Her father peered at Fletcher through narrowed eyes. “What are your intentions towards my daughter then? I hope you don’t think you’re going to be holding her hand or anything. Just because her knees are visible does not mean she is the kind of girl to hold the hand of a strange-haired boy on their first date.”

“No, sir,” Fletcher said, “not at all.”

“Where are you planning to take her?”

“A dance, sir.”

“And yet you brought no flowers, no heart-shaped box of
chocolates. It’s been a few years since I was on a date, Fletcher, as you can see by my wife…”

“Oi.”

“…but I still remember the rules. A bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. Every girl loves them.”

“I don’t like bouquets of flowers,” Valkyrie said.

“Every girl apart from my daughter, naturally.”

“I wouldn’t have minded the chocolates, though.”

“Hear that, Fletcher?”

“Des,” Valkyrie’s mother sighed, “would you please leave the poor boy alone? Fletcher, Stephanie tells us you’re in college. How’s that going?”

“Really well,” Fletcher said, trying to smile. “I’m doing economics. That’s the study of the economy. I love it.”

“Which college?”

“Hmm?”

“Which college do you go to?”

Fletcher nodded. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh,” Fletcher said, and laughed.

Valkyrie’s parents looked at Fletcher in near bewilderment. Fletcher looked back at them in total bewilderment. Valkyrie shook her head.

“He’s not good with first impressions,” she said sadly. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying. We should go, before he starts to dribble. Fletcher, I expect you have the taxi waiting outside?”

“Um. Yes?”

“Perfect. Mother. Father. He’s not a total idiot. Please believe that. Fletcher, let’s go.”

She led the way out and Fletcher followed.

“You’re going to need a jacket!” her dad called after them.

“I’ll be fine!” she called back, and then stepped outside and gasped at the cold, but kept walking. Fletcher hurried to keep up.

“That went well,” he said.

“The moment we’re out of sight,” said Valkyrie, “teleport.”

A gust of freezing wind tore in across the sea and Valkyrie fought to keep her dress from flying up around her waist. She wasn’t used to dresses.

She stepped out of the queue to see how much further they had to go, and groaned. There were a lot of people waiting to get into Shenanigans, the number one nightspot in Haggard’s neighbouring coastal town. Valkyrie wasn’t sure, but she had a suspicion it was also the
only
nightspot in
Haggard’s neighbouring coastal town, which wasn’t much to brag about.

According to her mother, it had once been an amusement arcade, out here on the tip of the peninsula, practically on the stony beach itself, back before the advent of home computers and games consoles. It had closed down, been extensively remodelled, and reopened as a pub, then a nightclub, then both. Now, finally, it was a nightclub again – a two-storey den of loud music, smoke machines and flashing lights. The place had changed owners more times than it had changed names.

Valkyrie’s parents used to take her here as a child. She played on the rocks, with the smell of the fishing boats coming in with their haul. Tonight, however, the tide was in and the fishing boats bobbed on the waves, and all she could smell was the sea.

She glanced at Fletcher, saw him visibly straining against his own irritation. He hated queues. Getting where he wanted to be instantly was as much a part of his life these days as breathing, and he really resented having to wait in line with other people.

The wind was getting stronger, threatening to mess her hair. She moved her hand discreetly, diverting the gusts around her. Standing in a bubble of calm, Valkyrie hoped nobody would
notice that her hair was now still and her dress was staying down. Thankfully, they all seemed to be far too busy shivering.

They reached the front of the queue and passed in through the doors, into the warmth, just before the doormen announced that the club was full. Fletcher turned to her and she grinned, kissed him, then took his hand and led the way to the dance floor.

G
hastly parted the blinds and looked out on to the quiet street. Still dark. Still empty. Still glistening.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone,” Ravel said from behind him. “Anyone I know?”

“I’m just looking, Erskine.”

Ravel took a sip from his mug of tea. “You know who I’d like to meet again? Tesseract. And this time we’d be ready for him.”

Skulduggery, not bothering to lift his gaze from his
newspaper, said, “I wouldn’t be too eager for a rematch, if I were you.”

Ghastly lifted a swatch of material to a small table, and sat at the sewing machine. “It’s been a while since I faced anyone that good. It was only a few seconds, but it was enough.”

Ravel smiled. “You boys have lost your sense of adventure. There was a time when we’d have raced headlong into something like this.”

“We’re not young men any more.”

“Be honest, though – doesn’t the thought of the Dead Men getting back together fill you with a dangerous kind of glee?”

“The Dead Men aren’t getting back together,” Skulduggery said. “It’s just
us,
sitting around at Christmas because we’ve got nothing else to do.”

Ghastly pressed his foot to the pedal. The low
whir
of the machine caught his thoughts and settled them. He was always calmer when working. “Besides, I don’t go looking for fights any more, especially against people like Tesseract. I have responsibilities now. I have this shop. And you two are going to have to grow up sooner or later, you know. People expect a certain level of maturity from Elders.”

There was the sound of fingers digging into newspaper. “Do not joke about that, Bespoke,” Skulduggery said.

Ghastly smiled as he fed the sleeve of the jacket through the machine, making minute adjustments as it went. “You haven’t changed your mind about taking it on?”

“I think I would be a horrifically bad choice. Maybe Corrival can be convinced to ask someone who is less controversial than I am – China, perhaps.”

“Oh, everyone would love that,” Ravel laughed. “A founding member of the Diablerie and a devout follower of the Faceless Ones.”

“Ex-follower.”

“That will make such a difference to the people with long memories.” Ravel sat back. Then he said, “Your friend Tanith is an interesting girl.”

Ghastly hissed as the sleeve bunched up under the needle. He corrected the mistake and nodded. “That she is.”

“How long have you known her?”

“A few years,” Skulduggery said. “Not long. Bliss brought her in to help out against Serpine. She’s been a good friend to Valkyrie, and a good ally to the rest of us. And you, Erskine, are to stay away from her.”

Ravel laughed. “And why is that?”

He looked at Skulduggery and Skulduggery tilted his head, but said nothing. Ravel’s smile died away, and he glanced over at Ghastly. “Oh,” he said. “Right. Sorry.”

Ghastly raised an eyebrow. “Sorry about what?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Tanith’s great, but she’s not my type. I mean, I’m not saying there’s anything
wrong
with her. She’s amazing. But, you know, not for… not for me, basically. For someone else, though, I’d say she’d be, uh, perfect. If, you know, if someone else liked her.”