Last Stand of Dead Men. Derek Landy
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dark. It doesn’t, though.” He sounded dejected. “If you want a different colour, we can take it back. I mean, the salesman will probably laugh at me, but that’s OK. He was laughing enough when I drove off in it.”
Valkyrie walked up to the car, traced her fingertips along the side. The interior was dark green. Just like an Oompa-Loompa’s hair. She looked back at her parents.
“You got me a car. You got me a car.”
Her mum dangled the keys. “Do you like it?”
“I love it!”
Valkyrie caught the keys and slipped in behind the wheel. Her car had a very nice dashboard, and a very nice smell, and her car was very clean. She adjusted her rear-view mirror in her car and slid her seat back in her car and it was her car. It wasn’t the Bentley and apart from the colour it wasn’t very flashy, but it was her car. “You are the Oompa-Loompa,” she said, patting the dash, “and I love you.”
She put on Pixie Lott as she got ready, sang along as she danced round her bedroom, doing the hip-grinding thing in the mirror whenever the chorus popped up. The white dress tonight, she reckoned, laying it out on the bed. Tight, white and strapless – her dad was going to have a fit when he saw it. But this was her night, and she was going out with her friends, and she was going to wear whatever the hell she wanted. She was eighteen, after all.
As she sang into the hairbrush, she realised that she was actually looking forward to spending time with Hannah and the others. A girls’ night out – the first girls’ night out since school had ended. It was going to be fun. The fact that she had butterflies struck her as weird, though, until she tried to remember whether or not she’d actually met all of her friends, or if some were friends the reflection had made and then simply transferred the memory to Valkyrie’s mind. She laughed at the oddness of her life, and then her phone rang and she paused the music.
“Happy birthday,” Skulduggery said.
“Thank you,” she grinned. “Guess what my parents got me.”
“An orange car.”
Her grin faded. “How did you know?”
“I’m looking at it.”
“You’re outside?”
“We got a call. You’re not doing anything, are you?”
She looked at her dress, at her shoes, and felt the butterflies slowly stop fluttering. “No,” she said, “not doing anything. I’ll be out in a minute.”
She hung up, and sighed. Then she tapped the mirror in her wardrobe and her reflection stepped out.
“I know,” Valkyrie said. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”
“You deserve a different kind of fun,” the reflection said.
Valkyrie pulled on her black trousers, hunted around for some socks, and grabbed her boots. “It’s fine. Most of them are your friends anyway. I’ve never talked to them. What would I even say?”
“You’re really going to use that excuse?”
“I’m going to use whatever excuse I have to. Where’s my black top?”
“I put it in the wash.”
“It was clean.”
“It had blood on it.”
“Yeah, but not mine.”
The reflection held up a spaghetti-strap T-shirt.
“That’s pink,” said Valkyrie.
The reflection pulled it on. “It looks cute on you.”
Valkyrie raised an eyebrow. “It does look cute on me. Wow. I look hot in that. Where did I get it?”
“I bought it last week,” the reflection said, giving a twirl.
“OK, you’ve convinced me.”
The reflection threw it to her and Valkyrie put it on, then zipped up her jacket.
“Do me a favour, OK?” said Valkyrie. “Have a good time tonight.”
“I’ll do my very best,” said the reflection, and smiled. “You try to do the same.”
Valkyrie opened the window. “I’ll be with Skulduggery,” she said. “No trying involved.”
She slipped out as Pixie Lott started playing again, and she jumped.
Right before they reached the hotel, Skulduggery’s gloved fingers pressed the symbols on his collarbones, and a face flowed up over his skull.
Valkyrie raised an eyebrow. “Not bad.”
“You like this one?”
“It suits you. Can you keep it on file, or something?”
He smiled. “Every time I activate the façade, the result is random, you know that.”
“Yeah, but you’ve had it for a few years now. It might be time to start thinking about settling down with something a little more permanent.”
“Are you trying to make me normal?”
“Heaven forbid,” she said, widening her eyes in mock horror. He opened the door for her, followed her through. They walked into the lobby, passed the reception desk and went straight to the elevators. Skulduggery slipped a black card into the slot, and pressed the button for the penthouse. The doors slid closed.
“So …” said Valkyrie.
“So.”
“It’s my eighteenth.”
“Yes it is.”
“The big one eight. I’m an adult now. Technically.”
“Technically.”
“It’s an important birthday.”
“Well, you’re doing fine so far.”
She laughed. “Did you … y’know … Did you get me a present?”
Skulduggery looked at her. “Did you want me to get you a present?”
Her smile dropped. “Of course.”
The elevator stopped with a ping, and the doors opened. She was the first out, walking quickly.
“I see,” he said, following her. “Do you have any suggestions?”
“I think you know me well enough by now to figure it out for yourself.”
“You’re mad at me.”
“No I’m not.”
“Despite my handsome face, you are.”
She stopped before they reached the penthouse and turned. “Yes, I’m mad at you. People buy presents for people who are important to them. After all this time, I didn’t think I had to tell you to buy me a present.”
“And I didn’t think I had to buy you a present to prove that you’re important to me.”
“Well … I mean … you don’t, but … but that’s not the point. It’s not about proving it, it’s about showing it.”
“And a gift is an accurate measurement? Your parents got you a car. Does this mean you are as important to them as a car is? Do they love you a car’s worth?”
“Of course not. A birthday present is a token gift.”
“A token gift is like an empty gesture – devoid of any kind of value.”
“It’s a nice thing to do!”
“Oh,” Skulduggery said. “OK. I understand. I’ll get you a present, then.”
“Thank