esmond Edgley threw back his head and sang, “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, you look like a monkey, and you smell like one, too!” and laughed like a drain as Valkyrie blew out her candles. It had been the same lyrics every year since she was old enough to know what a monkey was. She had grown up and matured. Her father had not.

      Her mum and baby sister clapped and Valkyrie sat back down, grinning. Faint trails of smoke rose, twisting, from eighteen candles, and were quickly dispersed by her mother’s waving hand.

      “Did you make a wish?” her dad asked.

      She nodded. “World peace.”

      He made a face. “Really? World peace? Not a jetpack? I would have wished for a jetpack.”

      “You always wish for a jetpack,” her mum said, cutting the cake. “Have you got one yet?”

      “No,” he said, “but you need to use up a lot of wishes to get something like a jetpack. On my next birthday, I’ll have wished for it forty times. Forty. I’ll have to get one then. Imagine it, Steph – I’ll be the only dad in town with his own jetpack …”

      “Yeah,” she said slowly, “I’ll be ever so proud …”

      Her mum passed out the plates, then stood and tapped her fork against a glass. “I’d like to make a toast, before we begin.”

      “Toast,” said Alice.

      “Thank you, Alice. Today is a big day for our little Stephanie. It’s been a big week, actually, with the exam results and the college offers. We’ve always been proud of you, and now we’re delighted beyond belief that the rest of the world will be able to see you the way we see you – as a strong, intelligent, beautiful young woman who can do whatever she puts her mind to.”

      “Toast,” Alice said wisely.

      “You’ve been in our lives for eighteen years,” her mum continued, “and you have brightened every single day. You’ve brought joy and laughter to this house, even when times were tough.”

      Her dad leaned in. “It is not easy being married to me.”

      “And today is also the day that Gordon’s estate passes into your name. You are now the sole custodian of his books, the owner of his house, and the spender of his money. And even though you’ve known that this was coming since you were twelve years old, you never slackened off. You never took anything for granted. You finished school, you got excellent results, and you made sure you faced the future on your own terms. We couldn’t be prouder of you, honey.”

      Before her mum could start crying, Valkyrie’s dad stood up. He cleared his throat, pondered a bit, and then began. “It is no secret that I always wanted a son.”

      Valkyrie howled with laughter and her mum threw a napkin at her husband, who waited until things had calmed down before continuing. “I thought that having a daughter would mean there’d be pink everywhere and I’d have to take her to ballet lessons and when she was old enough to have a boyfriend I’d be really weird around him. Thankfully, none of this turned out to be the case.”

      Valkyrie blinked. “You were extraordinarily weird around Fletcher.”

      “No, you’re misremembering. I was cool.”

      “You kept touching his hair.”

      “I have no recollection of that ever happening.”

      “Des,” her mum said, “you were really, really weird to that boy.”

      “Can I be allowed to finish my speech? Can I? Thank you. So, to recap, I never wanted daughters. But when Stephanie was born I looked into her big eyes and I was so overcome by both her cuteness and the baby fumes that I decided to let bygones be bygones, and start over. It was a noble and selfless act by me, but you were only two days old so you’re probably too young to remember it.”

      “Probably,” said Valkyrie.

      “And now look at me!” her dad said. “Eighteen years on and I have two daughters, and the smaller one can barely walk in a straight line, let alone do ballet. What age are you, Alice? Four? Five?”

      “Eighteen months,” said Valkyrie’s mum.

      “Eighteen months and what have you to show for it? Do you even have a job? Do you? You’re a burden on this family. A burden, I say.”

      “Toast,” Alice responded, and squealed as her dad scooped her up and did his face-hugger walk round the kitchen.

      “I’m pretty sure that when that speech started it was about you,” Valkyrie’s mum said, “but then he kind of got distracted. Des. Des, don’t you think it’s time to give Steph her birthday present?”

      “Present!” Alice yelled, as her dad held her over his shoulder by one ankle.

      “Fair enough, wifey. I suppose it can’t be put off any longer. Steph, now that you have large sums of money, you can of course buy one of these brand-new if you so wanted. But I like to think that a second-hand one, bought by your parents, would have a sentimental value that you just wouldn’t be able to get in a—”

      Valkyrie sat up straight. “You got me a car?”

      “I didn’t say that.”

      She stood. “Oh my God, you got me a car?”

      “Again, I didn’t say that. It might not be a car. It might be a drum kit.”

      “Is it a drum kit?”

      “No. It’s a car.”

      “Toast!” Alice yelped.

      “Ah, yes, sorry,” Valkyrie’s dad said, setting his youngest daughter back on the ground. She wobbled and fell over and started laughing.

      “You are so dumb,” her dad murmured.

      Valkyrie ran to the front door, yanked it open, and froze. There, in the driveway, was a gleaming Ford Fiesta. And it was orange.

      She’d been in an orange car before. One of Skulduggery’s spare cars had been orange.