Chapter Text
Amber Lamont, like anyone who traveled the demon road, had developed a keen weird-shit-o-meter. It was especially necessary for a girl who had a bounty on her head that amounted, essentially, to get out of jail free card from the Shining Demon himself. Plenty of suspicious characters seemed to have realized it would be worth their time to get a hold of the demon girl before anyone else did. And even if she hadn’t seen her parents in weeks, she and Milo had had more than enough close encounters for a lifetime.
Milo had told her a few days ago that their best hope was the chance the rest of these competing threats would just quietly kill each other off before they got anywhere near them. It was about as reassuring as everything else he said.
So the weird-shit-o-meter was a necessary pre-caution that helped her avoid overly friendly strangers, or weird cults, or, on one memorable occasion, a possessed McDonalds.
But the downside of this safety instinct was how often it kicked in a little too late – that too long period of blissful ignorance where she was already getting herself too deep into said weird shit.
On one particularly memorable occasion, she and Milo were browsing a gas station store, empty save for them. The attendant had heard something outside and ran out with barely a glance at them minutes earlier, and either trusted them enough not to steal or was far beyond caring.
“I’m getting tic-tacs,” Amber announced. “Any flavor preference?”
Milo glanced her way for a moment and then returned to leafing through the gas station’s paperback collection as way of response.
“Orange it is,” she muttered, and added it to her basket. She continued glancing through the candy. She couldn’t believe they still sold bubble tape. She was debating between original and blue raspberry when she heard yelling coming from outside.
She had darted out the open door before Milo had even looked up from his book, and as the cool evening breeze hit her bare legs, she watched as the gas station attendant stood in a parking spot, his face red with anger as he yelled incomprehensibly. At first she thought this was somehow aimed at her, and she ducked behind a gas pump – but he continued yelling, and she raised her eyes and saw a skinny man in a hat and suit and a girl in a black bomber jacket.
“I didn’t say your wife was ugly,” the skinny man said, speaking over the other man’s angry words. “I just said that there was, you know, the possibility-”
The gas station attendant suddenly switched languages (and volume), which did not seem to deter the tall man from continuing to talk. Amber watched as the gas station attendant eventually let out a scream of frustration and then stormed off towards a car, and stared wide-eyed as he sped off into the night, tires screeching.
She dragged her eyes back to the man he had been arguing with like she was watching a tennis match.
“Well,” said the man, shrugging a shoulder. “That went well.”
This was when the weird-shit-o-meter finally went off.
“This is your fault,” muttered the girl next to him. They both spoke with an accent. “Damn it. Now what? We’re in the middle of no where, there’s no one else around-”
“There’s a car right there,” the man said, pointing to the Charger. “Whoever’s that is has to be close by.”
Amber took a sharp breath. Someone who managed to chase off someone in the middle of his shift in a rage was not exactly someone she wanted to encounter. Plus, they gave her the creeps. Or maybe that was too mild a phrase – something about the two of them made her feel like she was too close to an open flame.
Or a volcano.
She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them, like it would activate some sort of invisibility, and slipped between two gas pumps while they were distracted.
Or at least she had thought they were distracted.
“Excuse me,” came the man’s voice, slippery smooth. “Miss?”
Amber’s heart slammed in her chest, and she dropped to her knees, trying to let the gas pump cover her.
“I can still see you,” the man said. “Your hair is rather large.”
She scooted to the left slightly.
“Better,” he said. “But you may want to work on your hide and seek skills.”
She heard an irritated noise, followed by the girl’s voice. “Ignore him. Sorry, do you have five minutes to spare? We’re, er, rather lost.”
Amber straightened, mouth dry, and saw Milo slip through the entrance of the store, eyes steady on her and gun in hand. She felt a little less heavy, a little less alone.
“Uh, yeah, of course,” said Amber. She didn’t think she could fake a smile, so she just tried to look bored and haughty instead. She didn’t think it was working.
“Great,” the girl said, and the two strode towards the entrance. As they approached, Amber was able to fully appreciate how tall they both were – the girl was close to six feet, and the man was well over that. He was thirty something, with a nice hat at a jaunty angle and an even nicer suit, and incredibly thin. He looked like a strange broad-shouldered grasshopper.
But it was the girl who really caught her attention. As she approached, Amber could appreciate how stunning she was – she was maybe about eighteen or nineteen, with lovely big expressive eyes and clear skin. Her long dark hair trailed behind her, loose and straight. She looked like a superhero, with an overwhelming aura of confidence and power. She was almost difficult to look at – an overpowering reminder of everything Amber wanted to be but wasn’t. (Or at least everything she wasn’t in this skin.)
“Hi,” the girl said gently, making eye contact, and Amber felt herself blush. “Right. First question. Where are we, exactly?”
Amber blinked. “Um. I think we’re Washington? I don’t know the town, maybe my-” she cut herself off, suddenly. She had been about to say that Milo might know – he had an apt for remembering these things - when she realized that if they were, in fact, demons or demon hunters or some other threat, she probably didn’t want to give that away. “… I don’t know,” she reiterated, feeling like an idiot.
“Ah,” said the man. “Wonderful. Excellent.”
“Follow up question,” the girl said, ignoring him again. “Have you, uh, seen any other …” she paused, in thought. “Strange characters around?”
“Strange … how?” Amber asked.
“Strange like him,” she said, pointing at the man next to her.
“Why not strange like you?” the man said, sounding offended.
“I’m not strange.” The girl crossed her arms. “I’m a perfectly normal young lady.”
Amber noticed for the first time how odd her jacket was – like it was made of several different cuts of fabric stitched together – all the same bottomless pit black, but worn and damaged in different ways, like several outfits fashioned together.
The tall man made a face and was probably going to counter with some other witty comeback, but Amber cut in before he could.
“Um. No offense, but you’re both a little strange. I don’t meet a lot of people from … not the US? Where are you from, exactly? Scotland?”
“We’re from Ireland,” said the girl, and Amber paled.
“What,” said the man flatly. “Do you not like the Irish?”
“No, I – uh-”
“I thought you were all supposed to be accepting. What if my partner and I had been new immigrants? Do you know how difficult things were for Irish immigrants in America?”
“Yes?” Amber answered, vaguely remembering something about potatoes.
“And despite this – despite knowledge of our people’s struggle, you mock us. I am hurt. I am, quite frankly, deeply offended. Does this gas station have a Yelp page? Do you have a Yelp page? Because I assure you, my review will be scathing.”
“I’m… sorry?” Amber, overwhelmed by hearing more words in this reply than she probably heard in the entire last week, took a step back, and then heard the familiar sound of cowboy boots on pavement.
Milo had finally made himself known.
She glanced at him, both reassured by his appearance and made anxious by the fact that the situation had grown to a point where he had felt his presence was needed.
She turned back to the strange Ir… what was the word? There wasn’t any singular person word equivalent to ‘American’, was there? Just Irish. Strange Irish people? That worked. Anyway.
The Irish girl was looking at Milo. Not looking – ogling. Like, head to toe ogling.
Something about it made Amber feel extremely uncomfortable.
“You have a gun,” the girl said, tilting her head.
“I do,” Milo said. “Is that a problem?”
“The opposite, actually,” the girl murmured, and Amber thought the expression on the tall man’s face matched her own perfectly. “Not that you’ll have to shoot anyone, hopefully. As long as this one keeps his mouth shut.”
“I,” said the man, and then his friend slapped a hand over his mouth without even glancing in his direction.
“Figured as much,” she said, and then quickly replaced her annoyed expression with a brilliant smile. “Let’s start this over. I’m Valkyrie Cain, and this is Skulduggery Pleasant. We are, as you have probably guessed by now, not from around here. We would love to get out of your hair as soon as possible, but, uh, we don’t have a car, and someone has managed to offend all possible resources-”
Amber heard a muffled response from behind Valkyrie’s hand.
“No, you may not,” said Valkyrie.
Another muffled response.
“Fine,” she said, sighing. “But be nice.” She dropped her arm. “Thank you for not licking my hand.”
“No need to thank me,” he said, “as most people don’t feel the urge to lick other people’s hands.”
“Your gloves do not taste very good,” was all Valkyrie said in response, and Amber noticed for the first time that the man was wearing black leather gloves.
Skulduggery turned to Milo and Amber, his expression and posture suddenly the picture of politeness. “If we could get a ride to the nearest town, your hospitality would be greatly appreciated.”
Amber glanced back at Milo.
He did not look very hospitable.
Skulduggery looked like he had just remembered something. “Ah,” he said, and then patted his suit jacket like he was looking for something. “I also have a gun.”
Valkyrie glowered at him.
“I told you to be nice.”
“How are guns not nice? Guns are very nice.”
“I swear to God,” she muttered, and then brightened again. “So! Ride? Yes, no?”
Amber and Milo looked for each other for a long moment. She didn’t feel like they had much of a choice.
“Er,” Amber said. “Yeah. No worries.”
Milo picked up a plastic shopping bag from the floor and wordlessly handed it to Amber, stomping off to go start the Charger.She winced, already sensing the silent disapproval and disappointment in the form of a bad mood that could last for days.
Valkyrie, unperturbed, peered over her shoulder. “Ooh,” she said. “Orange tic tacs.”
Amber decided Skulduggery should probably take shotgun, seeing as he was made up of about eighty percent leg. Milo shot her a look, which she ignored, and she slid into the back and Valkyrie squished in next to her. She smelt nice, too, like citrus and the air before a thunderstorm.
“I’m Amber, by the way,” she said, watching as Skulduggery tried to keep his hat on and then gave up, instead letting it balance on his knee. His hair was a mousy color, and thin.
“Nice to meet you, Amber,” Valkyrie said. “This is a cool car,” she said, ducking her head around the seat to look at Milo.
“Thank you,” Milo said.
Skulduggery muttered something that Amber didn’t catch. She assumed it was not a compliment.
“So,” Valkyrie said, as they made their way onto the main road. “Your friend - tall dark and mute. What’s his name?”
Amber waited for Skulduggery to start blabbering before she answered. “His name’s Milo.”
Valkyrie didn’t look impressed. Amber felt weirdly defensive.
“Milo Sebastian,” she added.
“Oh,” Valkyrie said. “Yeah, that’s much better.”
Amber stared. It wasn’t – well, she had certainly seen a lot of women … appreciate Milo over the past couple months, but … Valkyrie was considerably younger than they had been. … Or at least she thought she was.
“How old are you?” Amber asked.
Valkyrie smiled. “How old do you think I am?”
“Um. Eighteen?”
“Let’s go with that, then. What about you?”
“… Sixteen,” said Amber, amazed that this encounter had managed to get even weirder.
“Oh, my sister’s a little younger than you.”
“You have a sister? What’s she like?”
Valkyrie laughed. “Honestly? She’s a terror. She’s in like, four sports and eight clubs and is very determined to show how much better she is at school then I ever was. How about you? Got any sisters?”
“No,” she said automatically. “Or. … Yeah. She died before I was born,” she said, and the smile slipped from Valkyrie’s pretty face.
“Oh,” Valkyrie said. “That … sucks.”
“Yeah.” Amber chewed on her lip, falling silent.
“Valkyrie,” Skulduggery said, taking advantage of the lull in conversation. “The Bentley is from 1955, correct?”
“Yesss…?” Valkyrie said slowly, expression wary.
“And yet we want for nothing. Climate control, power locks, satellite navigation … This car is a 1970 model, and yet Mr. Sebastian here says the radio won’t even turn on.”
“You don’t even like listening to the radio,” Valkyrie said, eyes narrow.
“Most importantly,” Skulduggery continued, as if Valkyrie hadn’t spoken. “Where are your seatbelts? Nowhere to be seen, you say? You and young Amber here could be thrown through a window. Tragic. Heartbreaking, even. A disaster easily preventable.”
“If you know a mechanic that could successfully alter this car,” Milo said, cool and collected as usual, “I’m all ears.”
“See,” Valkyrie said, cutting in. “People can be happy with their cars without constantly upgrading them. Plus, you have to admit that this car looks a lot more intimidating than the Bentley does.”
Skulduggery didn’t have a reply to that.
“He’s sulking,” Valkyrie explained to Amber, as if it wasn’t obvious from how he turned and stared at the window sullenly. Valkyrie put her hand on the back of Milo’s seat. “Your car is fine,” she said. “Don’t take any of this to heart.”
“I’ll try to console myself,” Milo said, and Amber mentally marked down joke number three.
The car suddenly braked hard, and Valkyrie threw out an arm to keep Amber from slamming face first into the back of Milo’s seat.
“We’re here,” Milo said, and she heard the click of the doors unlocking. “Get out.”
Amber made a face. “Milo.”
“Please get out,” he amended.
Skulduggery recovered his hat from beneath the glove compartment and shot Milo an icy look. He slipped out without another word and began walking to the entrance of the inn Milo had parked out in front of.
Valkyrie gave them an apologetic smile. “It was a pleasure meeting both of you,” she said, and hopped out of the car.
Amber watched as the smile melted off Valkyrie’s face as soon as she rejoined Skulduggery. They immediately started bickering. Amber rubbed her temple. Listening to them felt like a Ping-Pong match inside her brain.
She and Milo watched them for a while in silence.
“They’re weird,” she said, eventually.
“Yes.”
“Weird names too,” she added.
“Yes.”
“They didn’t try to kill us, at least.”
“No,” Milo agreed.
“And yet,” Amber said, watching as a crowd started to form (subtly, of course, as only gossipy tourists can) “I don’t feel very assured.”
Milo let out a drawn out sigh, and she knew he understood without her having to say another word.
“Why are these strange people always Irish?” Amber groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Are we cursed? Is that it?”
“Possibly,” Milo said, opening the door and pushing the driver’s seat forward so she could get out. He leaned against the Charger while Amber got her bags from the trunk. She peered around the car to stare at him while he did his cool lean-y thing.
Not for the first time, Amber wondered what people saw in him. Sure, he was tall and thin and – okay, fine, super hot, but he had a cloud of doom and gloom following him that rivaled Eeyore’s.
Milo caught her staring, and his frown deepened. She stared back. He raised an eyebrow. She set her jaw.
“You’re very good at staring contests,” she said after a few moments, eyes itchy.
“Weirdo,” said Milo, taking a bag from her and slinging it over his shoulder.
Amber couldn’t argue with that.
It was a really nice inn, at least. Cozy, with a pretty fireplace and armchairs in the lobby that looked comfy enough to fall asleep in.
Valkyrie and Skulduggery stood right in the heart of the lobby, standing on a large circular rug. Milo was checking in at the desk, and she wondered what she was supposed to do. Talk to them? Try to figure out what was going on? Or just avoid them and watch unnoticed and unintimidated from the balcony?
The last option seemed the least likely to get her cornered into another bizarre conversation, but being sneaky had never been her forte.
Amber noticed for the first time the object strapped to Valkyrie’s back – like an extra long lacrosse stick, or a … holy shit, was it a sword? Could she get any more badass?
Like she was aware she was being watched, Valkyrie turned to face her. “Amber!” she said. “What a … surprise?”
“We figured we should stop in for the night. If you two don’t, er, mind?”
“Of course not,” she said. “Why would it be? "This inn ain’t big enough for the four of us,” she joked, in what Amber figured was an attempt at an American accent.
“That was terrible,” said Skulduggery, without turning around.
“Can you do any better?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, yeah? Let’s hear it.”
“I don’t need to prove myself to you,” he said, “as I think we already know that I’m better than you at everything.”
Valkyrie made an outraged noise, and grabbed Skulduggery’s sleeve.
He turned, and Amber saw … that it was not Skulduggery.
“What?” she said, aloud, interrupting them before they could start up again. “What happened to your – who are you?”
“Skulduggery Pleasant,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “We were introduced. Do you have short term memory loss?”
But it wasn’t. Skulduggery’s hair was lighter, and was paler, and he – to be blunt – was less attractive as this man standing before. But he spoke with his voice, and wore his clothes and Valkyrie still stood next to him like they were those best friend necklaces that fit together perfectly.
“I … never mind,” Amber said, feeling her headache increasing. “I guess I was just … confused.”
“Happens to the best of us,” said Skulduggery, cheerfully. “I’m going to look around.”
“Don’t get lost.”
“I’ll try not to.”
He walked around them, his fingertips brushing Valkyrie’s waist just so, and then disappeared down a warmly lit hallway.
Something about the gesture made Amber feel like she was intruding on something, but it was like Valkyrie didn’t even notice.
“Um,” she said. “Skulduggery does look different though, right? I’m not crazy?”
“Hmm? Yeah,” Valkyrie said, smoothing down rug tassels with the toe of her boot. “Sure.”
Amber felt like her frown was going to sink permanently into her face. “I’m serious. He’s like … it’s like he has an entirely different face. What’s happening?”
Valkyrie looked back up at her, and seemed to be considering something. After a while, she said, “Don’t stress about it. I told you, he’s weird.”
Amber tried not to let out a frustrated noise or swear. It seemed like this was going to be the best answer she’d get. It seemed like vague half answers and jokes were going to be the only answers she’d get.
Valkyrie was ready to change the subject. “Jesus, this inn is strange. Why do they have a calendar from 2015?”
Amber’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Look,” Valkyrie said, pointing at the wall behind the check in desk. “2015-2016. Weird.”
Amber stared at her, trying to gauge if she was kidding. “Valkyrie,” she said, after a long, long moment. “It is 2015.”
Valkyrie grinned, and then when Amber didn’t grin back, looked at the calendar again, looked at the people in the lobby, and her expression grew increasingly concerned.
“Fuck,” Valkyrie said, her voice low, “oh, fuck.”
“Skulduggery,” Valkyrie called, speed walking down the hall. “Skulduggery!”
Amber was having trouble keeping up with her pace. What was apparently a nice brisk walk for Valkyrie was practically a run for Amber. And she hated running. She wished Milo were here. She wished Milo were carrying her.
They found him by the elevators, and Amber expected him to crack another joke – but he just took one look at Valkyrie’s face and his expression grew serious.
“What happened?” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“Ask Amber what year it is,” Valkyrie said, swallowing.
He looked down at her, and Amber squirmed under the intensity of his gaze.
“Um,” Amber said. “It’s … 2015. May 2015. Is that … is that a problem?”
Skulduggery looked at Valkyrie, and they seemed to be having some sort of mental conversation. Maybe they could read each other’s minds; Amber wouldn’t doubt anything at this point.
“We,” he said, at last, “are very far from home.”
“Alice is never going to forgive me if I don’t come back,” Valkyrie groaned. “She will kill me.”
“Look on the bright side,” Skulduggery said, rubbing her arm consolingly. “If you don’t come back she can’t kill you.”
Valkyrie glared at him. “Don’t you care that you might never see your precious Bentley again?”
“Of course,” he said. “But I have what I care about most here with me.”
Valkyrie’s expression softened. “Do you really mean that?”
“Of course,” he said, and patted the crown of his hat, and the glare popped right back on Valkyrie’s face.
Amber’s headache was threatening to crack open her skull. “Um,” she said, taking a step back, “I’m really sorry that you guys are … lost? But, I don’t think there’s anything I can do to help, so…”
They spun around to face her, as if they had forgotten she was there.
“Actually,” Valkyrie started.
“You might be of some help-” Skulduggery said.
“And we’d really appreciate it-”
Amber took another step back. Something about them was putting her on edge, something that felt familiar. As her head throbbed she could feel her skin tingling, buzzing with the temptation. Shift. Get them to leave you alone for good. Shift.
Something must have shown on her face, because Valkyrie and Skulduggery were frowning now, their stances shifting slightly, defensive, even, and Skulduggery’s hand was moving to where Amber remembered he kept his gun….
She was being paranoid, she thought, she shouldn’t shift here, she thought, but – but--
“Amber,” said Milo, and she spun to face him. He looked sad. And mad. Worried, her brain provided, a second too late. It was always a weird expression on him.
He glanced her over, saw she wasn’t shot or eaten or hurt in any way, and relaxed slightly. “Jesus,” he said, his hand over his heart. “Never do that again.”
“Sorry,” she said, walking closer to him. “I was … following her.”
“Following her?”
“I was suspicious,” she added, in a whisper. He raised an eyebrow, skeptical, and she flushed.
“Whatever reason you followed her,” he said, “let me know next time. You have to stop running off like that, Amber. I had no idea what had happened to you, or where you went…”
She tried to think of some sort of snappy come back, something that Valkyrie would say, and found herself coming up short. She had been scared. Really scared. “You’re right,” she said, swallowing. “It was stupid.”
He held up a hand, stopping her from apologizing farther. “You’re not dead. That’s all that matters.”
Which was about as affectionate as Milo Sebastian got. She turned away from him, and realized that Valkyrie and Skulduggery had disappeared into the elevators while they were talking.
“Who are they?” Milo asked, looking at the place they had seen them last.
“I have no idea,” Amber said, shaking her head.
“Do you think they’re part of all of this?”
“Like they’re on the demon road?” Amber asked. He made a face at the name. “No,” she continued. “I think they really aren’t from around here. I don’t think belong here at all.”
Milo looked down at the carpet, deep in thought, his expression serious.
“Also,” Amber said, double-checking her pockets, “she stole my tic-tacs.”