Skulduggery didn't answer. Neither did Valkyrie, at first, and she didn't try to look around at the detective, for several reasons. First and foremost, she was pretty sure she'd start crying again, and that was the last thing anyone needed. But she also knew what would be on Skulduggery's mind, and - for the first time since she met him - she knew how angry the memory would be making him, whether he wanted it to or not.
She didn't know what else she could say, though, to take attention off of him for the few moments he no doubt needed. Well, no; she knew what she could say, thus sentencing herself to a lifetime of being completely grounded, but she didn't want to give her parents those aforementioned heart attacks. Besides, would it soften her mother to know Skulduggery once had a daughter of his own? Probably not.
As it turned out, it didn't matter. Skulduggery spoke first. "You're right. There were any number of opportunities where I could have put my foot down, and I didn't. I should have involved you on the first day. I apologise for not doing so."
Why didn't he? Valkyrie couldn't help wondering. Was it really because he thought he didn't have any right? Because he thought everyone had the right to their own decisions? Or was his intent just a little more selfish than that?
She couldn't tell. But she did know that right here, right now, he was genuinely apologetic. Valkyrie wasn't sure how to feel about that.
Her father, who had been uncharacteristically quiet until now, shifted noticeably in his chair. Valkyrie imagined that his hands were fisted on the table, and shaking. Because his voice, when he spoke, was uncharacteristically quiet and shaky. "Your skin." She heard the chair creak as he leaned forward. "What the hell does that mean, 'your skin?'"
Only then did Valkyrie turn to look at Skulduggery, who in turn had glanced towards her with a question in his illusory eyes. He was, as usual, leaving the choice up to her. That was fine, though. On an unforgivably selfish level, Valkyrie really just wanted her mother to be shocked into silence by something. It was like listening to Kenspeckle being mad at Skulduggery, but about a thousand times worse.
So she nodded, and watched Skulduggery reach up to brush the sigil on what appeared to be his chest under his suit. The skin retracted off his skull, in reality taking up the space of a second, but in Valkyrie's perception taking more like an eternity. For the first time, she noticed every little detail of the transformation, like someone had unzipped a zipper and just let the clothes fall. Only Skulduggery's skin didn't fall anywhere. It retracted off his skull, fell down through the shirt collar, and then disappeared.
It was normal for Valkyrie. She preferred things this way. So while the familiar sight of his bone-white scalp helped her relax a little, it was a completely different story for her parents. Desmond Edgley reeled backwards in his chair, almost kicking it out underneath him, barely managing to keep from falling by clutching the edge of the table.
no subject
She didn't know what else she could say, though, to take attention off of him for the few moments he no doubt needed. Well, no; she knew what she could say, thus sentencing herself to a lifetime of being completely grounded, but she didn't want to give her parents those aforementioned heart attacks. Besides, would it soften her mother to know Skulduggery once had a daughter of his own? Probably not.
As it turned out, it didn't matter. Skulduggery spoke first. "You're right. There were any number of opportunities where I could have put my foot down, and I didn't. I should have involved you on the first day. I apologise for not doing so."
Why didn't he? Valkyrie couldn't help wondering. Was it really because he thought he didn't have any right? Because he thought everyone had the right to their own decisions? Or was his intent just a little more selfish than that?
She couldn't tell. But she did know that right here, right now, he was genuinely apologetic. Valkyrie wasn't sure how to feel about that.
Her father, who had been uncharacteristically quiet until now, shifted noticeably in his chair. Valkyrie imagined that his hands were fisted on the table, and shaking. Because his voice, when he spoke, was uncharacteristically quiet and shaky. "Your skin." She heard the chair creak as he leaned forward. "What the hell does that mean, 'your skin?'"
Only then did Valkyrie turn to look at Skulduggery, who in turn had glanced towards her with a question in his illusory eyes. He was, as usual, leaving the choice up to her. That was fine, though. On an unforgivably selfish level, Valkyrie really just wanted her mother to be shocked into silence by something. It was like listening to Kenspeckle being mad at Skulduggery, but about a thousand times worse.
So she nodded, and watched Skulduggery reach up to brush the sigil on what appeared to be his chest under his suit. The skin retracted off his skull, in reality taking up the space of a second, but in Valkyrie's perception taking more like an eternity. For the first time, she noticed every little detail of the transformation, like someone had unzipped a zipper and just let the clothes fall. Only Skulduggery's skin didn't fall anywhere. It retracted off his skull, fell down through the shirt collar, and then disappeared.
It was normal for Valkyrie. She preferred things this way. So while the familiar sight of his bone-white scalp helped her relax a little, it was a completely different story for her parents. Desmond Edgley reeled backwards in his chair, almost kicking it out underneath him, barely managing to keep from falling by clutching the edge of the table.
In spite of everything, Valkyrie almost laughed.