Valkyrie doesn't wake up until the third mile. Usually, she ran later in the day, burning up any leftover adrenaline. However, it had been painfully slow at the Sanctuary, and the last time she had run in the afternoon, she only made it a mile before she had called Skulduggery to pick her up.
So, she had hauled herself out of bed at five-thirty, stumbled down the stairs, and run. She didn't feel the ache in her legs until the sun crept its way around the curve of the Earth. Already the air was heavy, her top and shorts sticking to her.
The worst unprecedented heat wave in the last century; of course Valkyrie was alive for it.
Valkyrie did her seven mile loop, and she was just opening the door when her phone rang. She took a few deep breaths and answered.
"Valkyrie Cain."
"Val," Billy Mercurial greeted.
Valkyrie grinned. "What are you doing calling me?" She kicked off her shoes, waving a quick good morning to Skulduggery.
"Well, I have something interesting, if you're not too busy running."
"I'm not running," Valkyrie said quickly. Skulduggery pointed to her shoes, and then over his shoulder toward their training room. Valkyrie nodded and sat on the ground, pulling her shoes back on. "What's up?"
Valkyrie followed Skulduggery into the training room. He tilted his head when she entered and settled into fighting position.
"Anything interesting?"
Valkyrie stretched quickly, wincing when a bruise on her stomach complained. "I think it's worth looking into, if we have nothing better to do. Plus, it's inside, so there's that. Cool, air conditioned." Her mouth twisted. "It's a murder, though."
"The price we pay for modern comforts."
But of course, Valkyrie's luck being ever on the uptrend, the apartment was cramped, tiny, and sans air conditioner. Valkyrie tugged off her jacket, scowling at Skulduggery as he led her through the upturned furniture.
The place was a mess. Whoever had attacked Beleaguer Menta had not done a very good job of it.
"Thoughts?" Skulduggery murmured.
"No signs of forced entry, so either Mr. Murderer knew her, had a key, or he knocked and she answered." Valkyrie looked around. "She ran from him, and he chased her through the kitchen, knocked over all this lovely furniture." Valkyrie's eyes followed the path of destruction to the closed door. "Into there," she said finally.
"Into there," Skulduggery agreed.
They stepped carefully over broken plates and displaced books. Valkyrie hated murder scenes; she preferred finding bodies in the woods, in an alley, not in the home. There was something so sad about seeing someone's house, knowing it would be empty soon.
Beleaguer liked to read, and she liked to write. There was paper everywhere, scattered from folders, and books like tombstones on shelves or crowded desks. A computer was abandoned on the coffee table; the screensaver was going. Bubbles floated across a PDF file.
It seemed to take forever for them to reach the door, and Valkyrie knew what was coming when Skulduggery turned the handle.
The smell hit her like a fist. Valkyrie grimaced and took a quick step back, breathing through her mouth and bracing herself. She followed Skulduggery into the room, wincing. It had taken a day for the smell to seep to the apartment above, but she—it had festered in the tiny, dark room for hours .
Beleaguer lay on her back. Valkyrie squinted in the semi-darkness, unsure if she should lift the blinds and let the morning light in or not. Even in the gloom, Valkyrie could see the deep stab-wound in her side, the blood that had dripped down Beleaguer's pants.
Skulduggery walked carefully around the body, and Valkyrie crouched. Slashes on the hand—Beleaguer trying to defend herself. More stabs around the neck and face. Valkyrie had to stand and look away for a moment.
Valkyrie's gaze fell on the floor, on the blank paper, on the dark, red-black blood that had dried onto the carpet. She followed the pools to Beleaguer's wrist. The hand was gone.
"Why would he try to cut her hand off when she was still alive?" she asked, voice too loud in this small place.
"Maybe he didn't want to kill her," Skulduggery said, attention on the desk, sifting through the books.
"He certainly stabbed her a lot for not wanting to kill her. I'm waiting outside."
Valkyrie walked quickly through the apartment, and she heard the chirp of birds, hungry and lonely. She ducked under the police tape and nodded to the Sanctuary guard as she strode past.
Outside, the air was muggy and thick. Valkyrie tugged on her jacket and let out a miserable, little noise. Ghastly's clothes might as well have been made of cotton the way they seemed to soak up the heat.
The town was rundown—the normal for hidden sorcerers. The residents passed her on the street, shooting Valkyrie and the building dirty looks. Sick of them, Valkyrie let her eyes close and imagined clouds amassing in the distance, heavy and dark with rain.
Eventually, Skulduggery made his way down from the apartment. He unlocked the Bentley and they got in. A notebook landed in Valkyrie's lap, and she flipped through it as Skulduggery started the car for the AC. They sat idling.
"Seems kind of familiar."
Skulduggery tapped his fingers slowly against the steering wheel. "Hm?"
"Nothing." Valkyrie flipped through the rest of the notebook quickly. "There's nothing written in here. Actually, there wasn't anything written anywhere. She was an author, but all I saw were lots of books and lots of blank paper."
"Right. Seems a little strange, doesn't it?"
"The whole thing was weird." Valkyrie sighed. "So, Mr. or Ms. Murderer barges in, chases her around the apartment, traps her in—would you call it a study? The study, stabs her in the side, gets her on the ground, cuts her hand off, kills her…"
"He started cutting off her hand, then killed her, then finished cutting off her hand. The stump of the hand," Skulduggery lifted one hand and twisted his wrist, "was uneven. He started, stopped, and was calmer cutting off the rest of the hand."
Valkyrie frowned and opened the notebook once again. "She must have been writing something. Do you think it was secret stuff?"
"Secret stuff?"
"You know: confidential, scary secrets people with knives wouldn't want out in the world." Valkyrie remembered the bubbles, and she felt bad for a moment. "Do you know if she published anything? Billy didn't mention anything specific."
Skulduggery shook his head. "Not off the top of my head, I don't."
"We can check a library."
"Usually, I'm all for encouraging you to practice your severely lacking reading skills, but I think it might be quicker to ask someone who knew her."
Valkyrie thought. "Oh, God, I don't have to comfort a sister or someone, do I? I'm so bad at it. Skulduggery, people hate me when I try to make them feel better. And you can't do it, so what are we even going to do?"
"I can comfort people," Skulduggery said, looking over at her.
"You really can't."
"You're annoying. After she was identified, her friends and family were called. It probably won't be long until someone comes to see the body, collect personal artifacts, cry…"
"Ugh. I feel bad, and everything, but… Ugh."
"Indeed. It's your turn on Scrabble, by the way."
They played on Valkyrie's phone until it ran out of battery, then switched to Skulduggery's. Valkyrie kept an eye out on everyone entering and leaving the building, and it only took an hour before a woman stumbled out of the building, looking sick.
"I think we have our first contender," Valkyrie muttered and opened the door.
The woman sat on the steps of the apartment building, arms around her stomach. She looked at the cracked sidewalk, dazed and confused. Valkyrie casually walked up to her, standing near the rusted railing of the stairs. She cleared her throat when the woman didn't look up.
The recognition was instant. "Valkyrie Cain."
Valkyrie tried a smile. "The one and only."
The woman swallowed, started to look over her shoulder but stopped. "Are… I assume you're investigating Be's—" She cut off. "Investigating it, then." She covered her face with her hands.
Valkyrie glanced over at the Bentley before returning her attention to the woman. "I'm sorry. You were close?"
"We were. She… Yes. Sorry. God, sorry. He wouldn't let me in the room, but he let me get some things. Look around." She hid her face again. "God."
Valkyrie's hand hovered over the woman's shoulder, but she decided against the gesture.
There were a few awkward minutes, but finally the woman looked up, nose running and eyes red. "Sorry. You have… I'm sure you have questions for me?"
"I do. What did Beleaguer write about?"
"She collected things on recent events. I… I didn't really ask about it, it was work and it was home. She went away for a while—New Zealand, stuff like that. Politics, now, because nothing was really happening." The woman shook her head. "Not… Nothing to get her killed," her voice cracked at the last word.
"Her most recent work?" Valkyrie prompted.
"Just some stuff on Necromancers, what happened to their temples." The woman hugged her stomach. "She said she was safe. She always—always said that. Because it was afterwards, you know? Never… Never in the middle of anything." Her words were getting softer; shock.
"Did she interview anyone?"
"She hadn't gotten that far yet. It was just the preliminary stuff, background, figuring it all out. Who she should interview. It… doesn't make any sense. Does it?"
Valkyrie looked away from the woman. "It doesn't. Is there anything you can think of? Anything strange she's said recently? Emailing, texting anyone strange?"
The woman looked lost. "No. No one. Nothing."
Valkyrie digested this. "Do you know where Beleaguer kept her research?"
She was getting quieter, looking at the sidewalk again. "In the study."
Skulduggery needed to hear this, but Valkyrie felt terrible just walking away. "Look, if you need anything, you can call me, all right?" Valkyrie typed her number into the woman's offered phone, sent herself a text, and handed it back to her. "If anything comes to mind, if you're concerned with your safety…"
"Thank you," the woman said numbly.
"Well?" Skulduggery asked when Valkyrie collapsed into the cool car.
"Nothing. She did politics, according to the girlfriend. Some Necromancer stuff, no interviews though, covered some of the stuff that happened in New Zealand." Valkyrie chewed on her lip. "Was there anything in the study?"
Skulduggery put the car into gear and pulled away from the gear. "A body."
Valkyrie allowed a quick smile. "Research. The girlfriend said it was in there."
"No, just blank notebooks like the one I gave you."
"All right. Okay, well, it could just be random." Valkyrie nodded. "It probably was—just a mortal, broke into a random, shabby apartment. Takes the hand as a trophy. The notebooks could be written in that ink. The, uh…" Valkyrie snapped her fingers. "Gnome ink, or whatever."
Skulduggery nodded. "I was thinking the same thing. Of course, I know it's called Gambit Ink, but you can't be expected to hit every mark. It should be relatively easy to find something to reveal the ink at a shop, but the real issue is if there isn't any writing."
"Think of the positive: maybe there will be writing."
"And if that writing reveals nothing new or helpful? I'm almost certain digging into Necromancers nowadays wouldn't warrant an assassination, let alone such a strange one." Skulduggery changed gears quickly, movements sharp.
Valkyrie raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"
Skulduggery sighed. "I can't help but feel I'm forgetting something."
I love your guys' reviews. You ask all these questions that I would totally answer, but they literally reveal huge things lol.
Anyways, thoughts, theories, comments welcome! They motivate me! :)