So yeah, hey guys. Basically this is after Dark Days, and is kind of a replacement for Mortal Coil, because I'm absolutely awful at plotlines. So I'm stealing the Mortal Coil plot, possibly adding a bit extra, and just changing the characters a bit. I don't own any of the Skulduggery Pleasant stuff. I do own, however, Willow Nightshade and any plotline deviations you may or may not find along the way.

Chapter 1: Late night wander

Valkyrie's POV

For a dark, sinister place that is teeming with equally-dark and – sometimes – equally-sinister people who thrive off death, the Necromancer Temple can be boring as hell.

I'm at one of my Necromancy lessons that I now take once a week for four hours with Wreath; Skulduggery eventually caved and accepted that Necromancy could be useful on our side, allowing me these lessons. Alone, however, as he still does not care to linger in the Temple. I may be seeing the reason for this now.

Wreath was called out of my lesson to discuss some "matters of interest with his Eminence", leaving me with no teacher; they don't offer substitutes like they do in mortal schools. Wreath's been gone half an hour, and I started wanting to climb the walls twenty minutes ago. Knowing Tenebrae, he knows that I'm reacting like this and so, because of his dislike of me, Wreath won't be back for another hour at least.

This knowledge in mind, I've been waiting for the surprisingly incessant and busy footsteps outside the "classroom", hurrying up and down, to quieten, waiting for my opportunity to go to my favourite place in the Temple. Finally, finally, I get my wish, and I pull the thick, heavy door slowly towards me, peeking my head out to confirm my hope, then slipping out of the room. Keeping my hand on the door so it closes softly behind me, I turn to the right, heading straight down that corridor and following a route I've long since memorised.

I first happened across this room by accident, as I was doing some exploring – whilst avoiding Craven. I had first thought the room inside was a miracle in a place like this. But what the room contained is even more so, and is what is drawing me there now.

I reach the fairly-familiar door and check both ways before knocking softly twice, then opening it. Immediately it's like I've stepped into another world as the now-present gap in the one-way Sound Seal allows Avril Lavigne's "Best Damn Thing" to meet my ears. I smirk at the source of the noise – the just-right-sized black speakers hung "floating" on either side of the head of the tasteful, if slightly punk-Gothic, hot pink-heart bed covers in the thick black wooden double-bed frame lined along the back wall in the right-hand corner. A fine black-and-white photo of the New York skyline hangs between the two speakers, the black control panel of the music system being next to the large white corner desk diagonally from the bed, with an iPod nano currently in the dock. The full-length mirrored-door wardrobe in the middle of the left wall makes the room full of light despite the too few LED lamps dispersed about the room. And the bookshelves; "floating" black, white and red shelves above the desk; the enormous white bookcase next to the wardrobe – all filled with books with titles such as "1000 Funny Pranks You Can Play With Elemental Powers".

Basically it's a way-cool teenage Elemental's bedroom. In the middle of the Necromancer Temple.

As I step further into the room, intending to flick through the songs, my hands tingle with a change in the air pressuring around me; too late for me to do anything to block the kick to the head, but enough warning to connect a fist to my opponent's jaw afterwards. Their head jerks to the side, and they use that momentum to balance on their hands and swing both feet into my ribs, knocking the breath out of me and making me collapse, thankfully, onto the bed.

I lie on my back, doing my fish-out-of-water impression until a face and outstretched hand appear in my vision. The face – I will freely admit – is fabulous: below-the-shoulder, light-auburn, and perfect large corkscrew curls compliment pale, unblemished skin and unnaturally vibrant green eyes, the colour you would make grass when painting as a five-year-old. The annoyingly straight and bleached teeth, now grinning down at me, mar nothing on this face. Were I able to share with anyone that I know the existence of this girl, I'm sure many young Necromancers would agree that Willow Nightshade is quite a catch.

"Nice," her voice – much like any seventeen-year-old's, if smoother – sounds genuinely impressed. "Your reflexes are improving."

I grin back up at her, clasping her hand so she can help me back to my feet. "Thanks," I say, secretly revelling in the fact that she is impressed with me. "It's not as if yours have got any worse either." She chuckles, allowing that praise.

Now that I'm standing up, I can appreciate her clothing too; black jeans with black Doc Marten-esque boots, much like mine. A long white figure-hugging T-shirt with an assortment of colour and images and words splashed randomly across it, with her trademark black hoodie on top of it. And of course, earrings with electric guitars, black treble clefs and hot pink quavers hanging down, and her black leather necklace/choker with the magnetic clip at the front which looks like two loops of rope just beginning to be tied together, one resting through and on top of the other. When I asked her about it before, she said it used to mean something, and so is very precious to her. She hasn't told me what it means though, but I wrestle with my curiosity; something about Willow, maybe in her face or eyes, promises openness and honesty with you, and so I know I must wait until she has gathered enough courage to tell me about it. She hasn't even hinted at how old she is, so I figure her past must be a sensitive subject, which makes me even more careful about keeping my interest at bay.

"You know," I tell her, distracting myself from these thoughts, "the pink doesn't exactly go with your hair."

Waving her hand dismissively, she grimaces slightly. "I know, I know, but it's a really good colour, and there aren't many greens out there that scream 'don't mess with me'."

"Yeah, but even with those earrings, don't people try and have a go at you anyway? They only find out that they shouldn't have messed with you after they're on the floor with multiple – possibly severe – injuries."

We both laugh at how true that statement actually is, then collapse onto her surprisingly comfy bed, sighing. I relish these moments; the ones where I feel like a normal human girl, with her best friend, collapsing onto her bed for a chat over the latest gossip.

"So-o" she smirks at me, and I prepare myself; never underestimate a question that comes after the word "so" containing two syllables. "How are things with you and Fletcher?"

I can't help the rush of heat that fills my face as I look down. "Yeah," I mutter. "We're good. We're good."

She smiles knowingly, teasingly, but then her face softens, almost saddens. "You know, you're lucky to have a boyfriend, and by your description, a cute, sweetie-pie of one too. A Teleporter no less. I bet it must be cool to go anywhere for a date." She looks to me for confirmation, and my head bobs before I can stop it, knowing it would make her sad. She drops her gaze to her bedcovers. "All the boys here are either boring or obsessed with death. Or both." The air suddenly seems too heavy for anything more than a humourless huff. "I need to get out of here," she whispers.

"Then why don't you?" I try to be the reassuring friend. "Come with me tonight. Sneak out – you know this place like the back of your hand – and I'll wait for you out front. I'll take you back to my place, pretend to my parents that you're a friend from school."

She smiles slightly at me, looking up from picking her bedcovers. "That all sounds great. Thank you. But I can't. I can't leave this place yet."

I raise my eyebrows in question.

"Well," she stutters. "I…ah, it would be easier if you knew my story first, but…basically, I've been here for a very long time. Because I've been gathering my strength from the air of Necromancy magic, so in time I can stay outside the Temple…and stay alive, too." She groans in frustration at the shock and incomprehension in my eyes. "I'll explain it all to you one day soon, I promise. And anyway, I can't leave here because who knows what'd happen to Wreath."

"Wreath?" I ask, wondering why she seems quite protective of him.

"Wreath is the one looking after me. He's been practising sparring with me, and teaching me Necromancy. The latter for defensive purposes only; I'm not a big fan of the idea of manipulating death, although I haven't got much against those who do." She pauses a while there, curiously, before continuing. "Anyway, Wreath is, in relation, the 'good guy'. He's the best of all the Necromancers, the one who would actually stick on your side if he knew it was morally right, rather than judging it on if it would have the best outcome for Necromancers alone. He's also got a sense of humour, which is seriously needed in this place."

"Oh, so I don't provide those services?" I feign hurt, placing my hand over my heart and looking down.

She laughs, proving my point. "I meant before you stumbled, awestruck, into my room."

"Oh, come on; can you blame me? This place is like an oasis in the Temple, and you're so lucky to get a place like this."

Half-smiling again, she says, "Yeah, well maybe that's just because I have to stay in this place twenty-four-seven. Trust me, it gets kind of boring after over four hundred years."

I freeze. Turning to her with my mouth wide open, I see that she has that look on her face. You know, the one that says, "Oh God, I've said too much."

"What?" I'm completely breathless, so my question doesn't come out as more than a whisper. "But you don't look over seventeen! How can you stay that young after that amount of time? Even Ghastly and China don't look that young."

She seems to wince slightly as I mention China, which I filed away for later evaluation. "Listen, I need to go now anyway, and I know your history is a hard subject for you, so this'll give you time to gather your thoughts. When I come back – I don't know when that'll be – I'll completely understand if you tell me you're not ready yet to say. Just think about it."

I start to get up when she tugs on my sleeve, drawing my attention again. "Thanks," she says, looking down. "It's not that I don't trust you or anything, it's just…"

"I know," I reassure her. "I know it's hard for you."

She bobs her head slightly in agreement, seemingly unconsciously. I can see the edges of her eyes shimmering slightly from this angle, and I sit down on the bed again to wrap my arms around her. It seems backward; the younger of the two of us looking like the strong protector of the eldest, when I know for a fact that she could probably kick anyone's arse in the world, considering she would have nothing else to do here except practice magic and combat.

Eventually her sniffles die down, and I take my leave, giving her one last hug of reassurance before quickly exiting and quietly making my way back to my "classroom". I sit down on one of the side-benches, acting trèscasual, like, "Me? Sneaking out of class? How dare you insinuate such an obscenity?"

After about another five minutes of waiting, Wreath returns, looking distressed to say the least. His brow is creased in intense concentration on a topic other than my education, and his eyes seem troubled yet faraway.

"Bad meeting?" I guess.

His head whips toward me, as if he hadn't before realised that there's someone else in the room. His eyes eventually focus on me properly, and take on the chastising tint, like he was talking to a badly-behaved kitten that he can't help but love.

"That's none of your concern," he says, a playful smile tugging slightly at the corners of his mouth. But the worry lines remain on his forehead. "Now come on; back to your training."

We practice both defensive and offensive moves for the rest of the lesson, but my entire concentration isn't in it. I'm thinking about how someone over four-hundred-years-old manages to remain looking only seventeen. I'm thinking about what Tenebrae said that Wreath obviously doesn't agree with – will he do what Willow said he does, and disregard his orders for the sake of morality? And, most importantly, I'm thinking our situation – my situation – is about to get a hell of a lot worse.

Willow's POV

She reminds me of me. There's something about her – whether it's that she's easy to talk to, or the caring nature she shows towards me, or her stubbornness to continue in a fight, or a combination of all of them – that gives me a huge case of déjà-vu. And that empathy, that similarity, makes me want to just blurt it all out to her.

She knows Skulduggery anyway, so I won't have to explain the details of what happened to me; odds are, he's already told her. She's an easy person to trust. It's just…that leap of faith I'd take with telling her…I won't be able to jump back ever again. As soon as my secret's out of this Temple, it's going to spread like wildfire. People will hear, "Hey, you know Willow Nightshade? Yeah, the Earth Caller? She's actually alive." As soon as the wrong ears catch a glimpse of that, they'll be after me.

Skulduggery would hear too, of course. Who knows what he'd think of me? Effectively hiding from him for four hundred years. He'd accuse me of psychologically torturing him. He'd hate Wreath and Tenebrae for sure, but he might even hate Valkyrie, his partner, for hiding this from him as well.

I huff in frustration, falling to the side, so I lie with my head on the Gothic pillow. As soon as Valkyrie Cain had stumbled into my room, I had seen a friend, a way to vent all the emotions inside me, a way to get rid of the burning of my suppressed secret. And I can't even tell her. Mum always said that I assessed the consequences of my actions too much, that I should just go for something blindly and see where it took me. Tears prick at my eyes as I think of Mum. After four hundred years, you'd think I'd have gotten over it. After all I've been through even when she was alive, you'd think it wouldn't matter so much to me anymore. But no; I'm Willow Nightshade, the Earth Caller, lying on my bed in the Necromancer Temple – a place I had no desire to be anyway – and I want my Mum.

I've never felt so pathetic and weak in my life.