“That I am,” said the reflection, smiling.
“Especially since I don’t have Tanith or Fletcher any more.”
“Or even China.”
Valkyrie couldn’t help but laugh. “My God, do I have any friends left?”
“Skulduggery,” the reflection said. “Ghastly, of course, not that you’ve ever spoken to him about anything other than clothes and hitting people. And me.”
“What more could a girl want?” Valkyrie asked, her eyebrow raised. The reflection gave her a smile in return, and stepped into the mirror. Valkyrie touched the glass, absorbing two days’ worth of memories. The reflection at school. The reflection at the dinner table. The reflection playing with Valkyrie’s little sister. All nice memories. All unexceptional memories. So unlike the two days that Valkyrie herself had experienced.
She checked the time as she climbed into bed. Five in the morning.
An early night for a change.
Valkyrie woke but didn’t open her eyes, preferring instead to drift slowly in darkness for a while. She loved her bed. She’d slept in others, of varying degrees of comfort, but her own bed in her own room was by far her favourite. It was smaller than was probably practical, narrower, and the mattress wasn’t as firm as she’d have liked, and there was a spring by her hip that threatened to jab into her every time she turned, but for the overall experience of a good night’s sleep, her bed was definitely the best.
She shifted on to her back, finally letting her eyes open. The ceiling sloped upwards from the wall beside her. When she’d been little, she’d had a load of horse pictures stuck up there, and they’d be the first thing she’d see every morning. She moved her leg from under the duvet, raised it and pressed her foot against the space where the posters had once been. Nothing there now. No horses. China Sorrows had said something once about taking her riding and Valkyrie had been looking forward to it. But that was before Eliza Scorn had told them about China’s involvement in the deaths of Skulduggery’s wife and child, a slice of history that China herself had always managed to skip over.
Lazily, Valkyrie reached for her phone to check the time. When the screen lit up, she sprang out of bed, cursing. She pulled on her dressing gown, flung open the door and bolted down the stairs into the kitchen, going straight for the cereal in the cupboard.
“Good morning,” her mum said as she fed Alice.
“I’m late!” Valkyrie responded, grabbing the milk from the fridge. “Alarm didn’t go off! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Oh, I suppose I should have,” her mum said, delivering another spoonful into Alice’s waiting mouth. “But then I got so distracted by the cuteness of your sister here, and then by the cuteness of your father, and then I saw my reflection in the toaster and I got so distracted by my own cuteness, that I completely forgot about you. I’m a bad mother. I’m a bad, bad mother.”
“I’ve already missed the bus. Would you be able to drive me to school?”
“But I’m still in my slippers.”
Valkyrie paused, the first spoonful of cereal halfway to her mouth. “Or... you know... I could stay home today. Do some studying at home. There are a few tests I need to revise for...”
“I don’t know,” her mother said dubiously. “Stay home? From school? Stay home from school on a Saturday?”
Valkyrie dropped the spoon back in the bowl. “What?”
Her mum grinned. “It’s the weekend, Steph. You’re allowed to sleep in.”
Valkyrie shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Two sets of memories and neither of them bothered to inform her of this fact. “I’m overworked,” she decided. “I’m doing too much in school. I need to cut down on my studying, maybe stop doing homework. I should definitely switch to a three-day week.”
“Somehow,” her mum said, “I don’t see any of that happening. Maybe instead you could try paying attention to what day it is.”
Valkyrie frowned. “I don’t see how that’s going to decrease my workload,” she said, and munched on her cereal.
The front door opened, and her father walked in, placing a grocery bag on the table. “The great hunter-gatherer has returned victorious,” he announced. “I bring the womenfolk newspapers, fresh milk and bread. The newspapers led me on a merry chase but the bread and fresh milk didn’t stand a chance.”
“Well done, dear,” Valkyrie’s mum said.
Her dad sat. “And I’ve also found Stephanie a new boyfriend.”
Valkyrie choked on her cereal and her mum looked up sharply. “You’ve done what?”
“I know,” he said. “You’re impressed. You send me out for bread and I come back with a boy. Well, not literally. That would be weird. Even for me.”
“Dad,” Valkyrie coughed, “what did you do?”
“I met Tommy Boyle in the shop,” he said. “You know Tommy Boyle, don’t you? About my age? A little smaller than me, with sandy-coloured hair? He always wears these polo shirts. You know him, you do. You’ve seen him around. He’s from Navan originally, so he has this real Navan accent when he speaks. He’s married to that woman with the brown hair, who always wears those shoes. You know him.”
“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
“No, you do,” her dad insisted. “He’s got sandy-coloured hair.”
“Dad, I don’t.”
“You do. I don’t know how else to describe him. Melissa, how would you describe him?”
Valkyrie’s mum fed another spoonful to Alice. “He’s only got one arm.”
“Oh, yeah, the arm thing.”
Valkyrie stared. “Why couldn’t you have started with that? Wouldn’t that be the most obvious characteristic?”
Her dad looked confused. “But his hair is really sandy, and he always wears those polo shirts. He’s always in them, no matter the weather.”
She sat back in her chair. “Right, so that’s Tommy Boyle. I’ve seen him around town. So what? What’s that got to do with a boyfriend?”
“His son. His name is Aaron. Very nice lad. He’s your age. Tommy was saying that Aaron’s never had a girlfriend, and I said he should go out with you, so Tommy’s bringing him over to introduce you.”
“Oh, Desmond,” Valkyrie’s mum said. “Oh, Desmond, no.”
“What? What’s wrong? We’re just introducing them, not arranging their marriage. They might like each other.”
“Get on the phone,” Valkyrie said, “and tell him you’re calling it off.”
“I can’t do that, Steph. It’d be rude. Just meet the boy. Have a chat. No pressure.”
“Lots of pressure, Dad! Loads of pressure! I can’t believe you did that!”
He folded his arms. “I don’t see what you’re both getting so upset about. I thought you’d be happy. You haven’t had a boyfriend since Fletcher, so any day now you were going to walk in with this strange fella on your arm and say, Hey, Dad, hey, Mum, this is my new boyfriend. And then we’d have to get to know him and get used to him, and figure out if he’s a good sort. Who knows what kind of lad you’d bring back to us? Fletcher was older than you so the next one would probably be older still, and have tattoos or piercings or ride a motorbike or something. I don’t want you going out with someone in their twenties. You’re too young for that. I’ve met Aaron Boyle and he’s a nice lad, Stephanie. He’s