don’t think I came into the kitchen.”
“Oh, well, there it is: the sort-of-new fridge. Now, dinner won’t be ready for about a half-hour or so. Are you hungry? I think we have some biscuits, unless your father ate them.”
“I’m OK.”
“You’re sure? They’re chocolate chip.”
“I’m fine.”
The front door opened and closed.
“There’s a strange car parked outside,” came her father’s voice. “We should be on the lookout for odd people acting oddly in the neighbourhood.”
He walked in, grinning.
“Hi, Dad,” said Valkyrie.
“Hello, oddball,” her father replied, coming over to give her a hug. “Good God! It’s like hugging a statue. Melissa, you’ve got to try this.”
“We’ve already hugged.”
“It’s like hugging a statue!”
“Yes, dear.”
“Obviously, a statue that I love very much, and a wonderful statue full of life and warmth and all those other things, but holy God, those are some hard muscles.” He poked Valkyrie’s arm.
“Ow, Dad.”
“Sorry,” he said, then poked again.
“Ow.”
“Sorry.”
“Des, stop poking her.”
“Right, yes,” he said, and stepped away. He poked his own arm and his face fell. “Why don’t I have muscles like that?”
Valkyrie’s mum passed her a mug of tea. “Because you don’t work out like your daughter does.”
“But why can’t they be hereditary?”
“That’s not how hereditary works. Things are passed down, not up.”
“Stupid DNA,” he grumbled. “Do I at least get a cup of tea?”
“You do if you make it yourself,” said her mum. “I made one for Stephanie because she’s a guest.”
“No, she’s not. This is her home and I, for one, refuse to treat her any differently. Stephanie, fetch me my pipe and slippers.”
“No.”
“Ah, go on.”
“You don’t even have a pipe,” Valkyrie said.
“My slippers, then.”
“I don’t fetch, Dad. I’m not a dog.”
“Where is your dog, by the way? Did you bring her?”
“She’s at home, guarding the house.”
“And how is life up where you live? Up there in foreign climes, with your strange customs and language and everything?”
“It’s fifteen minutes away.”
“Which begs the question: why haven’t you been down to see us more?”
“I’ve just been busy, that’s all.”
“Too busy to call in on your way past?”
“Des,” her mum said, “she keeps unconventional hours, remember.”
Her dad shrugged. “Ah, yeah, but we’ve barely seen her in six months. How’s work?”
“It’s OK. I mean … yeah, it’s OK. I’ve been easing back into it.”
“Saved the world lately?”
“Not quite. But working on it.”
Her mum leaned forward slightly. “You are keeping safe, aren’t you? You wouldn’t do anything silly now.”
“No, Mum. I’m keeping safe.”
“Because I still have nightmares about—”
“Hey now,” her dad said. “We had an agreement, didn’t we? We don’t talk about that day at the dinner table. It puts everyone off their food and puts some of us in a bad mood. Besides, we have to watch what we say around the munchkin.”
And, right on cue, Alice came running into the room. “Stephanie!” she cried, delighted.
“Hey there,” said Valkyrie, getting off her chair just in time to catch Alice in a hug. She laughed as her little sister squeezed her with all her tiny might. “I love your top.”
“Thank you,” said Alice, stepping back, full attention now on her clothes. “Do you like the sequins? They catch the light.”
“They do catch the light,” Valkyrie said. “That’s a very grown-up thing to say. They’re lovely.”
“Thank you. Do you want to see my shoes? Look at the heels.”
“Oh! They have lights!”
“Red lights and orange lights,” said Alice. “Do you wish you had lights in your shoes?”
“I do. I really do.”
“They don’t make them for grown-ups, though, I don’t think. Mom, do they make them for grown-ups?”
“I don’t think so,” said Valkyrie’s mother.
Alice nodded. “They don’t. They’re only for small feet like mine.”
Valkyrie raised an eyebrow at her mother. “Mom?”
Melissa sighed. “All the kids call their mums mom these days. I think the young moms kind of encourage it.”
“Do you want to see my dolls?” Alice asked. “I have princess dolls and soldier dolls. Today, the princess dolls rescued the soldier dolls from the evil dragon.”
“Sounds exciting,” said Valkyrie.
“It’s very exciting. Would you love it very much to play with me?”
“I would love it very much.”
“Hold on, hold on,” Desmond said. “Don’t rush off yet. You can play dolls with Stephanie after dinner, OK?”
“But can I show Stephanie my room?”
Desmond sighed. “Of course you can.”
Alice took Valkyrie’s hand and led her upstairs, to Valkyrie’s old bedroom. The walls were light blue with interlocking rainbows traced along the borders. It was the same bed with brighter sheets, the same bedside table and dresser. The same wardrobe.
Valkyrie opened the wardrobe. There was a new mirror on the inside door, to replace the smashed one, the one her reflection used to step out of. That was one of the main secrets Valkyrie still kept from her parents, the fact that they had had a duplicate daughter living with them for years and they never suspected she wasn’t the real thing.
“Do you like my clothes?” Alice asked.
“I do,” said Valkyrie, and closed the wardrobe. “This used to be my room. There were books everywhere and weird posters on the walls … You keep it a lot tidier than I ever did.”
Alice nodded. “That’s what Mom says.” She picked up a small doll, dressed in green with wings and pointed ears. “This is Sparkles. She’s my fairy.”
“I like her wings.”
“She uses them to fly. When there are no humans around, Sparkles comes alive, but when humans come back, she has to pretend to be a toy again.”
“That’s pretty cool,” Valkyrie said, sitting on the bed. “Is she your friend?”
Alice nodded.