Her head hurt. It hurt and her eyes ached and it was way too bloody hot for November. She kicked off her blankets, rolling over and hugging her pillow tight. She lived alone, which was the one and only reason she dared flounder around while she slept in a camisole and little else.
She liked her camisole. In fact, she liked this time's fashion. It was pretty, functional, and comfortable at the same time. She liked jeans, too, and would wear them for as long as she could without appearing odd. That would take several centuries, so- Jeans, away!
Brown hair was pulled as she rolled back onto her back, and she winced, opening her eyes and freeing the locks from under her. She surveyed the room. Nothing was out of place. Except for the sun streaming in through the window.
…Wait, that was in place as well. She had no reason to hate the sun for rising in the east: Where her room faced. What was out of place was the reason she actually knew the sun was up. She had closed the curtains last night. Now they were open. She was out of her bed in a flash, pulling on the nearest pair of jeans from the ones strewn across her floor, grabbing one of the few weapons she could keep on her person without getting tossed in a containment cell: A pocketknife.
Her head ached and her vision nearly blacked out as she stood, making her wonder why she was so tired: Oh, right. Last night she hadn't been able to sleep, which had left her sitting in the windowsill, staring at the moon. She had closed the curtains, but that did not mean she didn't open them again to stare blankly at the glass. The woman tossed the pocketknife back onto her nightstand.
Barefoot, she padded down the hall to the spiraling staircase, and descended sideways. On her way down she passed several paintings of various people: Her sister, a few of her friends, and a single odd painting of a flaming tree. She had painted all of them herself, because at the time she did not own a camera, and even then…
She twirled past a few more paintings: A painting of her entire family, a ripple on a lake, a single red leaf, and a bunch of her kitchen knives spilt on the ground. The room blurred around her, and she giggled like a child before brushing the wall next to a drawing of a rose in full bloom. She stared at it for a moment, watching the reds and browns she had used to draw it settle. After that, she stared at it for a few more seconds, noting a few small errors, before whispering, "Wow, I'm really bored."
In the kitchen she searched the cupboards for something tasty. Multi-colored rings caught her attention. The green box they were in caught her attention because she had neglected to go shopping and thus they were the only things left. Fruit Loops it was.
Spinning across the kitchen, the hardwood floor and red carpets near the grey marble counter-tops, she slammed the green box down on the stone and reached up, for the cupboard. Two fingers latched under the brown-black metallic handle, and the small door opened with no sound. A stack of white bowls, white plates, and clear glass cups awaited her. Spinning on the spot, she smiled towards her imaginary audience and nearly began mouthing the words to a play she was in long ago- long ago when she was an actor in London. The title of the play had slipped away, but she still remembered her role- the happy and rather ditzy innkeeper, who made sure that all her customers were happy. A minor role, but one that left quite her impression on her.
"That's me: Echo Fated, a background character that makes sure that nothing bad happens to the main ones." The smile fell off her face, and the minor lines that disappeared when she smiled and laughed returned. She estimated her human age was a little more then 25, but she had been alive for so long that she was still surprised sometimes that she had so much time left. So long… Her heart felt heavy in her chest, and the lines deepened.
The cereal clinked as it hit the plain white ceramic of her bowl, then crackled slightly as the equally white milk ate away at the red and orange and green and purple, such bright colors-
The fruit loops were not the only thing that crackled. She turned suddenly, one hand going for the knife block while the other pushed her away from the counter and the only window near enough to be of use to an attacker. In the middle of the room, she quickly backed into a wall, holding a plain cutting knife at her side. Her heavy heart suddenly beat much faster and her breathing automatically became shallow as she watched the window, waiting for the thing out there to move again. When it did not, she sighed.
"Echo, you're such a paranoid freak…" She kept the knife by her side, though, as she ate her tasty and way-too-bright breakfast. Her eyes tracked the shadows that moved when the leaves did, searching for any shapes that were out of place, before realizing that she was being completely ridiculous.
If someone were to attack, they would have done it by now. They would have noticed from her little display with the knife earlier that she knew they were there, and if she knew they were there and they knew that she knew, they would not allow her to prepare herself: They would attack immediately, having lost the element of surprise. Any time spent afterwards was simply time for her to prepare herself. She left the knife in the kitchen when she left, as well as the bowl, now empty. The silver spoon leaning against the rim cast a shadow almost parallel to the shadow of the figure outside that straightened up, and followed her from window to window.
It disappeared again as she picked up an easel from the ground, set it up, and picked up a brush. She had an idea, and intended to use it to eat this week.
It was several hours later when the person came to the door, and by then she had tied back her hair into a lazy half-bun with a hair-tie she kept on her wrist, before turning on her music system.
It began with the loud slam of a car door outside: The neighbors were so careless… Echo tutted mentally as she added a few details to the easel in front of her. Hmm… That color didn't seem right… Echo painted it over with the original backdrop's tan.
When the doorbell rang, she blinked and looked around for a second. That car door slam… Right. Neighbors, huh? She didn't think so now, unless it was the neighbor's kids wanting to play with her again. Echo sighed, as she set down her brush on the edge of a metal pan she used to mix paints in, careful to make sure it wouldn't fall and hit the floor. She couldn't refuse the kids, but that also meant she would not be able to paint any more today.
Despite her wariness with the brush she set down, she didn't seem to care as her paint-covered hands left marks on the doorknobs she passed. (Namely, browns and blacks, with a little streak of grey here and there.) She prepared herself for salesmen as she walked down the wooden hall to the door, pausing by a mirror to check her appearance. There was a smear of paint on a cheek… Oh well. Nobody would care. (Anyone that she wanted to care, anyways.)
She smiled as she opened the door. "Hello," she started, before she noticed who it was. Her smile dropped from her lips to be replaced by apathy. Abandoning the door, she walked back inside the house, leaving the portal ajar. How could HE be here?! She barely noticed his company, instead making her way back through her house to the living room. When she looked over her shoulder, he was following her.
He had helped himself inside. Typical smug bastard.
--
Valkyrie Cain was sitting at the desk in her room, staring vacantly at the homework she was supposed to be doing while wondering vaguely why she had homework on a Saturday. It was a sunny day, several years ago she would have been outside, playing on the beach and hating that the water got grey and choppy this time of year. That was when she was four.
Now she was fourteen, and God forbid she ever have any fun… Between magical lessons and regular old lessons, her teachers kept her very busy. Not that she was complaining about magical lessons: Those were very fun, and she had never learned any thing quite like it during regular school. Then again, in regular school if she started lighting her hand on fire everyone would consider her a witch, and send her off to a loony bin. That… Was a fate much worse then homework.
A knock on her window drew her attention away from her personal horrors. Crouching on the outside of the panes was a man who deserved a straightjacket. If, of course, a skeleton could be considered a man… She waved her hand, and a breeze caught the latch that held the window closed. Valkyrie had not needed one before she met Skulduggery Pleasant.
"You didn't have that latch last week." So, he noticed. "Is that a challenge? I am sure, that with my endless wit and grace-"
"I have that latch so certain stalker skeletons don't sneak into my room in the middle of the night."
"Do you think that a flimsy piece of plastic will stop me?"
"If you break it, I'll be able to stop you. That 'flimsy piece of plastic' got me a week taking out trash so my mother would pay for it."
"Hmm, interesting. Anyway, want to do something fun today?"
"Do I get to beat you up?" Valkyrie asked, hopefully.
"…No. That's impossible. You could never beat-"
"Sure, I'll go." She stopped him before he started.
Skulduggery looked put-off at being cut short. "…Fine." His head fell towards the floor.
Valkyrie blinked at the unexpected depression. "…That's it?"
The skeleton, wrapped up in his garish disguise of orange wig, hat, huge sunglasses, and scarf covering the rest, seemed to look back at her. He had no eyes, so it was impossible to tell if he was really looking at her. "You were expecting more? Children these days…" Again, he was looking at the carpet, though this time as if in exasperation, shaking his skull as he did so. "Expecting more then my usual-"
"-Arrogant and egotistical rambling." The young woman knew this game. He could go on for precious minutes if she did not stop him. She had known him for a year now, and during that time he had gone from just comments on his own greatness into comical and ridiculous speeches. As far as she knew, he only did this for her: China never mentioned it, and Tanith wasn't around often enough to tell about it.
Again, there was a few moments of silence. This time, though, instead of looking at the floor, he was staring straight at her and seemed to be either amazed or shocked. Valkyrie figured he was a bit of both.
"Can we go now?" She asked, stretching her hands above her head as she stood.
"You want to leave your parents a note?"
"Why? I'll just use the reflection." Valkyrie opened her closet door and poked the surface: A second later, a person that could have been her exact twin stepped out and looked at her blankly.
Skulduggery seemed a bit hesitant, but let it slide. "Yes, okay, that'll work."
When she turned around again, he wasn't sitting on her windowsill again. Two seconds later, the Bentley drove around the corner and the driver, Skulduggery, honked impatiently.
It was a bit unnerving to be stared at by… well, herself, so Valkyrie merely nodded to her before jumping out the second story window, using air to cushion her fall. She was very good at it by now, and she was partly sure that if she ever had the misfortune to fall off a 70 story building that she might be able to get out of it alive. Unharmed, however…
The sun beat down on her shoulders, evoking a faint smile from her. She had gotten out of homework on a good day, which meant that there might be a fight involved with whatever business Skulduggery had planned… A fight on a sunny day and no worrying about school...
Best. Day. Ever.
The reflection watched from the open window as her mistress and her mistress's teacher drove off in her mistress's teacher's car. Her mistress's homework lay on the desk, yet the mistress gave no specific instructions… But her mistress may notice if she came back home and it was not done.
A pity. It might have been a good day to test her boundaries. She already knew that she could hide a few minutes' worth of activity from her mistress and her mistress would not notice it, but it was hard to do so. Maybe she could come up with an alternate way to hide events…?
She sat down and stared at the blank page. Math. This would be easy.
The house they pulled up in front of was vaguely generic, with ivy hanging from trellises under the porch that seemed to extend almost all the way around the four sides of the dwelling. The dwelling itself was light blue, with dark wooden steps leading up to a dark wooden door. The frames around the windows were also a dark wood, as well as the porch and the numerous wind chimes hanging around it. The entire color scheme was very well planned out, giving the place a rather homey and cheerful feel.
Skulduggery got out of the car quietly, and Valkyrie followed his example with a slight adjustment: She slammed the door rather loudly. The skeleton seemed to twitch slightly, as though it annoyed him for her to be so callous. Jeez, could he care more about the car?
"So, why are we here again?" She asked.
"Visiting an old friend," he replied carelessly. She stopped, staring at his back. He continued walking up the concrete path to the house. The grey cut between the yellow-green on the lawn, leading to the steps of the porch.
"…If this is a social call, why did you bring me?"
"I thought it would be good for you to meet someone who is as close to a citizen as a magic-user can get. You know, educational." He didn't stop to wait for her, so she ran a few steps to catch up.
"How would meeting a regular magic user be educational?"
"Because this particular magic user happens to be one of the two people involved in founding the Cleavers."
Valkyrie blinked and her steps threatened to falter again. ''…So he would be an adept?"
"Yes, she's an adept." The slight emphasis on 'she' didn't go unnoticed by the teen, and she winced.
"Sorry, she. If she founded the Cleavers, why is she… here?"
"You mean out in the middle of Suburbia?" He asked, stopping in front of the door and seeming to consider.
Valkyrie nodded, knowing that if he were reading the air he would be able to pick up the movement.
"I have no idea." The doorbell was the regular 'ding-dong' of nearly every house on the block, yet the person inside used magic… And helped found the Cleavers.
It sunk in to Valkyrie then. The Cleavers… the faceless, emotionless guards of the Sanctuary's of the world, each one stronger then a normal man (or even an abnormal man). They moved incredibly fast, and in perfect teamwork, and the person inside helped create them?
It was almost half a minute before the door opened, to reveal a brown-haired woman with some grey paint smudged beneath her right eye, who was barely taller then Valkyrie.
Valkyrie concluded when the woman nearly greeted them, then turned and walked back inside looking like she had swallowed something sour that Skulduggery had been pulling her leg.
Skulduggery, however, followed the woman inside without any preamble. Valkyrie decided once again to follow his example, noting that the décor on the inside of the house was probably designed by the same person as the outside: The walls were cream, with a light brown floor. The stairs matched the floor, and the floor matched the paintings on the walls.
One of the paintings seemed to catch the skeleton's attention: It seemed to be a family portrait. One of the women was clearly the woman who had answered the door, looking cheerful in a white dress-like thing and with her hair hanging around her face instead of being pulled back. Next to her was a blond woman who seemed blazingly happy, hanging onto the arm of a man with black hair. The area around the man was darkened, and he was frowning at the painter. His eyes were red, and the more the teen stared at him the angrier he seemed to look, as if he was blaming her for making him sit there next to the blond lady clutching him. Valkyrie giggled: The painter had a sense of humor, then.
Next to him was nobody: They were the last people on the right in the front row. Valkyrie did not know any of the people in the painting, she realized, then also realized that Skulduggery had left her behind.
"That was a cheerful painting in the hall, back there." He noted when he found Echo painting again, standing in the middle of the room. Some sort of modern music was playing, and he winced inwardly.
"Which one? The one of the burning tree?"
"No, the one of the clan."
"Oh, yes, that one." She continued painting serenely.
A second or two later, Valkyrie trotted into the room, making Echo turn around in surprise.
Echo looked her up and down once; taking in her regular clothes, tennis shoes, and band t-shirt for a band Valkyrie didn't even listen to anymore. Valkyrie felt a little self-conscious under the woman's penetrating gaze, and when the lady raised an eyebrow at her she figured that her original shock at this person being the creator of the Cleavers was sorely mistaken.
The eyebrow was transferred to Skulduggery. "Who is this?" She had a faint accent of… Valkyrie couldn't place it, but it wasn't Irish, Scottish, British, French, American, or anything else… Or maybe it was a mix of all of them. It was a pleasant purr, nice to listen to.
It was odd how much it reminded her of Skulduggery's way of speaking: When he was being at-least mildly serious, it was much like this.
"This is Valkyrie Cain, my student."
"Student? You're taking on pupils?"
"Hardly."
Though the woman said nothing, she was not silent: Her face spoke of disbelief, as well as her crossed arm and the way she shifted her weight to her back leg and tilted her head slightly.
"Valkyrie is an exception."
"Is that so? Then you must be quite the young lady, Valkyrie. I am Echo Fated, pleased to meet you."
Valkyrie blinked at the suddenness of the conversation being directed back at her. "…I'm pleased to meet you too…?"
Echo laughed, more of a giggle then a laugh really, but at a joke that Valkyrie didn't get. With a sinking feeling, she realized that this person was just like Skulduggery- only she was a girl.
"Skulduggery told you that I was someone grand and important, didn't he?"
"I didn't tell her anything that wasn't true!" Skulduggery protested.
"You told her things that affect what she thinks of me. If I told her that you are the Skeleton detective, you wouldn't object because that is true and applies to the present. If I told her that you were one of the generals at the battle of Victoria's cliff, if she even knows what that means, you would protest because that would affect how she thinks of you."
"…Battle of Victoria's cliff?" Valkyrie asked, feeling lost.
Echo, who had been looking at her since her greeting, seemed to refocus on her. "Or it couldn't affect her judgment of you, because if you're a teacher then you're a poor one." She turned to look at the skeleton again. "Long story short, stop telling people about me if you're planning on them meeting me."
Skulduggery tilted his head to the side as she began to clean up her painting materials, picking up a bunch of used brushes and dumping them into a metal pan. When Echo passed her, Valkyrie noticed that the bottom of the pan was covered in different colors of paint.
It was odd, the way that Echo expected them to follow her into the kitchen without any orders, and even odder the way that they followed her anyway. Even Skulduggery, who nearly had all sorts of things to say, was silent. Valkyrie realized that this was one of the few times he did not monopolize any sort of conversation they had.
Something was going on between the two of them, and Valkyrie had always liked a challenge.