let me be the one you call / if you jump I'll break your fall

[impudentsongbird]

Book Four: Dark Days
1 | into the breach
2 | finding skulduggery
3 | retreat to the tunnels
4 | into the cacophony
5 | sanctuary in the cathedral
6 | reuniting old friends
7 | kenspeckle's new patient
8 | holy water and disinfectant
9 | objecting to china sorrows
10 | the roadtrip
11 | baffling guild
12 | shenanigans at the safehouse
13 | reassuring fletcher
14 | valkyrie's intervention
15 | solomon's revelation
16 | visiting the edgleys
17 | recalled to the sanctuary
18 | guild's confusion
19 | gabe is busted
20 | the psychic tattoist
21 | envisioning the cacophony
22 | angel's first migraine
23 | the morning after
24 | china and solomon
25 | detectives' council of war
26 | china's foolishness
27 | the collector dethroned
28 | finding crux
29 | skulduggery's vileness revealed
30 | sorrows in aftermath
31 | finding equilibrium
32 | the devil's number
33 | at the carnival
34 | meeting authorities
35 | solomon's confession
36 | the stray soul
37 | sanguine unsettled
38 | solomon's choice
39 | a cowboy underground
40 | in scarab's basement
41 | striking midnight
42 | craven contested
43 | emergency services
44 | on your feet
45 | and don't stop moving
46 | easy recognition
47 | a deuce of an evening
48 | engines roaring
49 | compromising judgements
50 | solomon's conflict
51 | axis turning
52 | thinking circular
53 | blasting the past
54 | reviling vile

Book Five: Mortal Coil
55 | sanctuary unsanctified
56 | shudder unravelling
57 | catching an angel
58 | layering dimensions
59 | dead men meeting
60 | when it rains
61 | power plays
62 | sing on gold
63 | the valley of death
64 | grand aspersions
65 | no evil feared
66 | new days rising
67 | angelic neuroses
68 | step-brothers working
69 | the many sorrows of china
70 | peacefully wreathed
71 | tarnished gold
72 | the secret in darkness
73 | magical intent
74 | scars worth keeping
75 | benefits of a beau
76 | grand magery
77 | lighting the darkness
78 | old dogs and new tricks
79 | flouting traditions
80 | drawing lines
81 | brothers and sisters in arms
82 | channelling angels
83 | return of the carnies
84 | the death bringers
85 | meriting agelessness
86 | knick knack, paddy
87 | give a dog a bone
88 | americans propheteering
89 | the right side of honour
90 | tailored shocks
91 | hosting angels
92 | elders anonymous
93 | rediscovered strays
94 | changings and changelings
95 | a state of reflection
96 | adding hope
97 | the devil's truth
98 | dead mens' hospitality
99 | lives half lived
100 | next to godliness
101 | devilish plans
102 | beached angels
103 | lights of revelation
104 | heroes worshipped
105 | new devilries
106 | angels under the yoke
107 | brains frozen
108 | father, mother, daughter
109 | parental guidance recommended
110 | driven round the bend
111 | ongoing training
112 | privileged information
113 | reasonable men
114 | passing the buck
115 | gifting magicks
116 | strengths and weaknesses
117 | immaturity's perks
118 | priests and prophets
119 | scaling evil
120 | blowing covers
121 | marring an afternoon
122 | lie detection
123 | five-dimensional pain
124 | reliving nightmares
125 | taking stock
126 | sampling spices
127 | sleeping prophets lying
128 | rueful returns
129 | dead men reunion
130 | medically-approved hugs

The life of an angel was a contradiction in changes and stability. On one hand, they understood very well the way the cosmos was shaped by events within it. On the other, they stood at one step apart from it—or at least had, for a very long time, up until their Master's recent wager with Lucifer. Changes in the recent past had, even for angels, been fast and turbulent, but there were none that concerned Raphael more than Gabriel's abrupt reserve.

In the aftermath of the wager Gabriel had been almost the only one to know where their Lord was at any given time, a fact which had put the Archangel very firmly under Lucifer's radar. Raphael had joked that Gabriel ought to arm himself with more jokes or worse clothes to drive the fallen angel away; Michael had offered the peace of the Garden Coast. (Rafe thought his idea was better.)

Either way, even though their Master was fair hidden, every angel knew that they had only to ask Gabriel and the Archangel would pass on a message.

Then Gabriel had simply blipped off the radar himself. Poof! Gone! No one had noticed at first, because, well, they weren't exactly in constant connection. It was just when Raphael had taken a whim to seek out his younger brother that he'd noticed it, and let it be, because there was absolutely a reason for it. Gabe did not just off and vanish, except that once with his self-exile, and that didn’t count.

But when Gabriel had come back, he had been strangely agitated and yet close-mouthed. The younger Archangel had vanished off to wherever their Master was hidden for a long chat Raphael was dying to have listened into, and yet couldn't (but only partly because it would have been rude). Now he was here, floating among the stars and examining a black hole with unnerving intensity.

For a time Raphael watched without letting on that he was there, but eventually Gabriel spoke. “I’d rather you came to join me instead of lurking, brother.”

Absolutely refusing to feel chagrined, Raphael let himself manifest with an arm around Gabriel’s shoulders and ruffled the younger angel’s hair. Gabriel threw a fond, longsuffering glance up at him, but there was something in his eyes, something distracted and sharp, which indicated that Gabriel still wasn’t truly present. Raphael only wished he knew where the other Archangel was.

“Just wondering what you’re doin’ all the way out here,” he said teasingly. “There’s a party going on down there on Earth, Gabe.” There was always a party going on down on Earth. “You oughta be down there bobbin’ for apples and switching up party-hats!”

“I can’t,” Gabriel said quietly, with a sort of seriousness Raphael had, for all Gabriel’s literalness, rarely heard from him. So Raphael fell into the same seriousness, lost his playful accent, and spoke directly.

“Why not, brother? You’ve been reserved of late. I conf—I’m worried for you.”

For a very long time Gabriel said nothing and stared into the slow-turning swirl of the black hole. Raphael waited patiently, his arm still companionably across the other Archangel’s shoulders. Eventually Gabriel spoke. “Did you know, Raphael,” he said, “that the universe you see around you here isn’t the only one our Master has created?”

Raphael was so startled that he couldn’t answer. That wasn’t what he was imagining. He hadn’t been sure what he’d been imagining, but that wasn’t it. “I’m not sure what you mean, Gabriel,” he said after a moment. “Our Lord told me the story of Creation not all that long ago, and he never mentioned anything of the kind.”

Gabriel nodded. “He told me that story as well. And then He asked if I really wanted to know details.” He hesitated. “I … admit, I declined. It’s something He said—about faith. I decided I didn’t need to know details. But it’s true, nevertheless. Just beyond this …” The Archangel reached out his hand and touched that gossamer and unbreakable fabric that supported reality. “There are other universes, even with different versions of us.”

“Different versions of us?” Raphael repeated, appalled and uncertain and entirely confused. How could that be possible? What could their Master want with more than one of any of them? What was going on? Where had Gabriel gone in that time he’d vanished? Then something occurred to him and he smiled with relief. “This is a joke, right?”

Gabriel looked up at him and smiled back with such a gentle understanding that for a moment Raphael felt very small indeed. “No, Rafe. I’m not joking. It was a shock to me too. That isn’t the point, though.”

“Isn’t it?” Raphael asked, feeling as dazed as an angel possibly could, especially when he wasn’t even inhabiting an actual physical body.

“No.” Gabriel returned to watching the black hole intently. “I met some people from other realities. One of them is in a kind of Hell, and he very much does not deserve it. I promised him that, if I could, I would save him from it.”

Which did not in the least explain why Gabe was staring at a black hole, let alone a million other questions Raphael would have liked to ask and for which he couldn’t find the words. Finally he found one. “How?”

“First,” Gabriel said with a sort of tranquillity Raphael had heard in his brother’s voice a million times but never after delivering so turbulent a piece of news, “I’m going to jimmy open a crack in the door through this hole.”

Raphael stared at Gabe, and then at the black hole, and then back at Gabe. He opened his mouth to ask whether their Master knew he was planning this and then closed it, because that was a stupid question. He opened it again to query if Gabriel had asked whether he could go around lifting the sheets and then realised that was also a stupid question, because whether he had or not, their Master probably would have told him to do what he felt was best.

It was equally clear that Gabriel very much planned to go through with this, no matter what Raphael said, and really, did Raphael have the right to object? Surely if this carried a risk, their Master would have already forbidden Gabriel from making the attempt?

“I’ll come with,” Raphael said at last, and this time when Gabriel glanced back the younger Archangel’s expression was startled. A moment later that expression shifted into grateful apology.

“I’m sorry, Rafe, but I’m not entirely certain I’ll make it through, and we can hardly leave Michael here alone.” He grinned. “Did you see what he was wearing last festival day on the Garden Coast? He hasn’t moved out of the eighteenth century yet. How would he possibly handle the rest of the world?”

Raphael laughed out loud, warm but startled, and the sound of it rang through space. Gabriel chuckled quietly beside him, and for a few minutes there was just companionable humour that faded into an equally comfortable silence.

Still, Raphael had a lot of questions. How did Gabriel plan to find his friend, let alone the universe he was in? How was he going to get back? What would he do if he met another version of himself? Or, worse, Lucifer? Finally the Archangel just asked, “Have you figured out how to crack open the door?”

“I think so,” Gabriel said, considering the black hole. “Once I figured out what to look for. I wouldn’t have gotten even that far if it weren’t for some things our Master said.”

Which meant that, in some fashion, this expedition was sanctioned by their Master, Raphael translated, and something tense in him relaxed. “Something do to with this drain here, I’ll bet,” he said, falling into his casual accent once more. “Gonna rip out the kitchen sink, li’l brother?”

“Just to see what’s hiding underneath,” Gabriel said with a grin.

“I’ll try’n keep it open for ya,” Raphael promised, and Gabriel sent him a smile which lit up the very space around them with its brilliance.

“Thank you, Rafe,” he said, and straightened. Raphael took his arm away as Gabriel lifted his hands, not exactly stepping back so much as giving Gabriel space. The youngest Archangel didn’t often reveal his power, but it was always a sight to see, a song to hear, when he did.

As it was now. Gabriel’s voice started deep, lifted high, split and wove and became more melodies than one would think a single being could possibly sing at once. The sound of it made Raphael’s heart soar, made him want to fly and laugh. It was so deep, so light, so resonating that it was physical; it touched the slow turn of the black hole and made it, for just the briefest of moments, still. In that moment Gabriel sent a carefully-aimed bolt of energy into the heart of it.

It was the kind of sight Raphael hadn’t seen in thousands of years, a play of physics and metaphysics which he hadn’t thought possible, let alone imagined. There was an eruption in the centre of the black hole, where gravity was condensed; the cascade of energy plumed upward and was dragged back down as quick, a tear in the fabric of the reality not allowed the time to widen or become a danger.

Raphael didn’t even know Gabe had moved until the younger Archangel was gone, he was so busy staring in awe. With a start the Archangel stretched out his senses and just barely managed to catch a glimpse of his brother shooting toward the hole at speeds few angels could have achieved through such a gravity well. Raphael certainly couldn’t have.

How, he suddenly wondered, was he meant to keep that open if he didn’t even have the speed of thought to track Gabriel’s movements through it?

Desperately the Archangel cast about for something to jam in the door, as it were. There was some dark matter nearby and with a thought he fashioned it into a spear and pitched it toward the centre of the black hole. It struck just as Gabriel flitted through the crack nearly wholly collapsed in on itself; the star’s gravity caught it, pulled it in, and plugged the opening like a metaphysical sink.

Slowly Raphael made every part of himself relax. For good or ill, Gabe was gone on this quest of his, and now Raphael should probably go and round up some of their younger siblings to guard the area. Just in case.


Book Four: Dark Days
into the breach | finding skulduggery | retreat to the tunnels | into the cacophony | sanctuary in the cathedral | reuniting old friends | kenspeckle's new patient | holy water and disinfectant | objecting to china sorrows | the roadtrip | baffling guild | shenanigans at the safehouse | reassuring fletcher | valkyrie's intervention | solomon's revelation | visiting the edgleys | recalled to the sanctuary | guild's confusion | gabe is busted | the psychic tattoist | envisioning the cacophony | angel's first migraine | the morning after | china and solomon | detectives' council of war | china's foolishness | the collector dethroned | finding crux | skulduggery's vileness revealed | sorrows in aftermath | finding equilibrium | the devil's number | at the carnival | meeting authorities | solomon's confession | the stray soul | sanguine unsettled | solomon's choice | a cowboy underground | in scarab's basement | striking midnight | craven contested | emergency services | on your feet | and don't stop moving | easy recognition | a deuce of an evening | engines roaring | compromising judgements | solomon's conflict | axis turning | thinking circular | blasting the past | reviling vile

Book Five: Mortal Coil
sanctuary unsanctified | shudder unravelling | catching an angel | layering dimensions | dead men meeting | when it rains | power plays | sing on gold | the valley of death | grand aspersions | no evil feared | new days rising | angelic neuroses | step-brothers working | the many sorrows of china | peacefully wreathed | tarnished gold | the secret in darkness | magical intent | scars worth keeping | benefits of a beau | grand magery | lighting the darkness | old dogs and new tricks | flouting traditions | drawing lines | brothers and sisters in arms | channelling angels | return of the carnies | the death bringers | meriting agelessness | knick knack, paddy | give a dog a bone | americans propheteering | the right side of honour | tailored shocks | hosting angels | elders anonymous | rediscovered strays | changings and changelings | a state of reflection | adding hope | the devil's truth | dead mens' hospitality | lives half lived | next to godliness | devilish plans | beached angels | lights of revelation | heroes worshipped | new devilries | angels under the yoke | brains frozen | father, mother, daughter | parental guidance recommended | driven round the bend | ongoing training | privileged information | reasonable men | passing the buck | gifting magicks | strengths and weaknesses | immaturity's perks | priests and prophets | scaling evil | blowing covers | marring an afternoon | lie detection | five-dimensional pain | reliving nightmares | taking stock | sampling spices | sleeping prophets lying | rueful returns | dead men reunion | medically-approved hugs

Comments

[skeletonenigma]

Waiting around for three hours had made Fletcher so unbelievably antsy that he nearly Teleported to Australia more than once, just for something to do. At one point, his mind wandered so far that he almost did, taking an entire table of lab equipment with him. He was back within the space of a second, though, and even the Professor hadn't noticed the absence. That was good. Fletcher didn't really feel like getting yelled at today.

Part of the hatred of waiting came from the fact that Fletcher had never needed to wait for anything in his life. If he wanted something, he Teleported in to get it. No waiting in lines, no muss, no fuss. It was a simple life he'd lived before the day Skulduggery and Valkyrie came to find him, but after a year of helping to track down Skulduggery's skull, Fletcher was starting to feel like he'd been missing something all that time. Friends, he supposed. Being part of a team.

But the main reason why Fletcher didn't enjoy waiting around for so long was that it gave him time to think. Time to second-guess himself. And he didn't want to; he didn't want to go back on his word and leave, not with how grateful Gabe had been. The gratitude and the hug made him feel strong and proud, but the longer Fletcher waited and watched and felt completely useless, the more he realised just what he was doing.

He'd heard enough horror stories about Lord Vile. He should be terrified. And he was certainly on the path to it, would probably even get there if they waited around for any longer. But even though Fletcher knew Gabe would completely understand if he needed some space, a small part of Fletcher didn't want to let Gabe or Skulduggery down. And that had nothing to do with the fact that Gabe was an Archangel, either. It was because out of the all the others, Fletcher was the one with the least magic experience, combined with the most experience dealing with people you should be able to count on giving up on you.

Listen to him. Thinking about Archangels like it was normal. Normal to know them, normal to have ridden one experimenting with being a dinosaur. The thought made Fletcher smile. He'd ridden a dinosaur. How many other kids his age could -

- what?

If it wasn't for who was saying it, Fletcher could have sworn he'd just heard Gabe flirting. Or... well, something close to flirting, anyway. Words that, if they'd come from anyone else and were spoken to anyone else, Fletcher would have called flirting. But really? Skulduggery and Gabe? Dear God, Tanith's insanity was getting to him.

"We're done?" he asked, unable to keep the relief and excitement out of his voice, or to bite off the following word: "Finally. Sorry, it's just..." I was getting bored didn't really sound like the right thing to say, and it wasn't quite the truth besides. After a few awkward moments, Fletcher forced himself to brighten. "Yeah, okay. Next stop, safe house." He bit his lip and then threw a last "Thank you, Professor!" over his shoulder just before Teleporting the three of them over.

They were back in the same living room as before, which looked exactly the same as before - same table dragged out into the middle of the room, the cards still laid out on top of it in the same pattern as before. But because Gabe hadn't put away his wings or his true form yet, the room suddenly looked very different - much more bright, much more colorful. Much more beautiful. And, of course, the ginormous wings stretched all the way across, brushing every side of the room, somehow managing not to block any overhead light regardless.

"Wow." Fletcher was amazed all over again, despite himself, as he looked around. He would never get used to that.

~~

Ghastly barked out a short laugh as the bartender fulfilled the man's request. A short, dry, humourless laugh. How old was the man? 40? 50? Maybe a few years past 60? It wasn't even 1700 yet when Ghastly was that young. It always amused him whenever mortals tried to pull the 'I'm older than you' card, even though if he was given the choice, Ghastly would have much preferred the hundred year lifespan without magic. The familiar envy blossomed again, and Ghastly impatiently drank it down.

"Believe me," he assured the man once he'd swallowed, "I'm older than I look. Do you mind? Not that I don't appreciate the drink, because I do, but I'm really not in the mood for any bar bonding."

It happened all the time in the movies, and Ghastly had always scoffed at it. A convenient plot point used by lazy writers when they couldn't think of any other way to advance a character's emotional development. It was contrived, petty, and never happened in real life.

No buzz yet. A little lightheaded, but that wasn't nearly enough. Ghastly downed his second drink in far too little time, very aware during every second of the man's eyes still on him. The unwanted attention was beginning to grow annoying.

[impudentsongbird]

Once Gabriel actually focussed on Fletcher again, the Archangel noticed his boredom and his brewing apprehension at once. Gabe didn't get a chance to address it while they were in Kenspeckle's lab, but then they weren't, and the Archangel laughed again at Fletcher's awe. "Take it in. It's going to be like that until we leave and I have to hide myself again."

No point in straining himself when he didn't have to. A moment later Gabe squeezed the teen's arm reassuringly.

"Thank you," he said warmly, "for waiting. I know it can't have been easy." Fletcher was not someone prone to patience, and having too long to think could be a hazard on its own. That, Gabriel knew full well, and personally.

"Skul and I need to figure out where to go from here," he said. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to, but if you do, we'd appreciate your advice." He was entirely sincere. Right now, Fletcher was the only one who'd been here this past year who was willing to get even close to Skulduggery. Willing to help him at all. If Fletcher wanted to leave, Gabriel understood the need for space; but if he stayed, it would make things that much easier.

~~~

The old man guffawed, and unlike Ghastly's laugh, this one was amused. "Who said I was anglin'? Nothin' wrong with two people bein' in silence y'know, mister older-than-I-look. Worst place a man can be, alone with his thoughts. S'why God invented company."

With a shrug the old man knocked back his own glass without even a hint it affected him and grinned mischievously, challengingly, at Ghastly.

[skeletonenigma]

Gabe seeing right through him shouldn't have surprised Fletcher as much as it did, but he still physically jumped. "It wasn't hard," Fletcher objected immediately. "I'm just not used to it." He grinned. "But you're welcome, anyway."

The happy grin vanished when Gabe next spoke, though not because of any bad reason. Fletcher was just... floored. People never usually asked for his opinion, and he'd never minded it, because he was too happy just being a part of something. At a loss for words, Fletcher glanced towards Skulduggery, though he didn't really expect to find any help there. The skeleton wasn't exactly easy to read.

"Why are you looking at me?" Skulduggery asked. "Like Gabe said. We'd both appreciate it."

There was a slight and subtle intonation on the word both that made Fletcher wonder if Gabe had told Skulduggery about their talk outside the safe house yesterday, but it was hard to care just then. The grin was back, and it was uncomfortably wide on his face. "Then it wouldn't be very sportsmanlike of me to leave you hanging in the wind, would it?" he replied, attempting a nonchalance he couldn't quite reach. "I'm staying."

~~

Ghastly couldn't argue with that. Sitting alone with his thoughts was the absolute worst thing he could do. That was why he'd been trying to drink them into oblivion.

The mention of God reminded him of Gabriel, and how the Archangel hadn't even been surprised when Skulduggery... turned. Hadn't hesitated in stopping Skulduggery from killing China, even though he'd made very clear his thoughts on Necromancy. Gabe had known. Whatever the two of them went through together before Skulduggery was rescued, it must have been huge. Because Ghastly was having a hard time accepting that an Archangel could feel any sort of friendship toward someone like that. Someone who had killed... what, millions?

This wasn't helping.

Now drinking. Drinking would be helping. Ghastly stared at the man outright for a moment, the meaning of the grin certainly not lost on him. And after a short time, he managed to smile back, even managed to copy a small amount of the mischief. Drinking contests with strangers. Why not. Why the hell not. It wasn't as if Ghastly had anywhere to be, or anything to do. Or anything to think about. If he spent the rest of his life in a drunken stupor, he would be a happy man.

"Keep them coming," he told the bartender. If the man had an objection to the cost, he wouldn't have offered the challenge. Ghastly couldn't even begin to predict how much alcohol the stranger would be able to hold, and it was practically an exciting thought. He didn't back down from challenges. Well, not fun ones, anyway.

[impudentsongbird]

That was precisely why Gabriel had said what he said. And it was all true; that was the beauty of it. Fletcher had legitimate things to offer far beyond being a mere taxi, and the Archangel was determined to prove--to Fletcher, and to anyone else--that the teen did indeed have those things.

Gabe hadn't been expecting Skul to not follow him up, but the detective's answer was perfect to encourage the Teleporter's self-esteem, and Gabriel beamed as much at that fact as for Fletcher's happiness and choice to stay.

"We'd better get started then," he said, and despite the seriousness of the situation his smile didn't fade much. Instead Gabe guided the pair of them back to the seats and took his, arranging himself carefully and with fewer pain-lines as he angled his wings to fit over the top of the chair.

"Is ... Caelan still an option as a lead?" he asked them both, a furrow in his brow that accompanied the hesitation in speaking of his distaste. "Without Valkyrie? I mean, do you know much about how to contact him, Fletcher?"

~~~

The old man's laugh was long, ringing and filled with delight. "That's the ticket!"

He grinned broadly, immediately creasing his face with the kind of laughter-lines permanently and irrevocably etched upon a person's face. The bartender, looking mildly interested now in this obviously unprecedented occurrence, set two glasses down in front of them. The old man picked his up and toasted Ghastly. "Bottom's up, me laddo."

And then he drained the glass as easily as if it was water, slamming it to the counter and looking expectantly at Ghastly, his good-natured mirth never fading.

[skeletonenigma]

"No," Fletcher admitted. "Valkyrie kind of went behind our backs a lot. I never even met him. I don't think Ghastly or Tanith did either."

Skulduggery nodded. He hadn't been expecting it to be that easy. He'd also expected to feel a new pang of guilt every time someone's name or the fact that they wouldn't help anymore was mentioned, and so he ignored that too.

Caelan was out, then; China was quite definitely not an option anymore, for multiple reasons. Sanguine could be anywhere, and therefore, nowhere. So could his father. Guild would probably call at this point if anybody from the Sanctuary discovered anything about the vampires that had attacked them, which meant if Skulduggery hadn't heard anything by now, he wasn't holding out much hope in that area either.

All of which left them with nothing. So. Skulduggery, who was the only not to sit down, sighed and ducked carefully down under one of Gabe's wings to give himself a little more room. "There are information dealers who may have heard something. Scarab isn't the sort of man who would hide away in a nondescript hole. Someone's noticed him. We just need to find out who that someone is."

~~

Ghastly blinked. Bottom's up, me laddo, and then the glass was emptied as quickly as Ghastly's first had been. Outdated phrases, and a promising start.

This should be fun.

Ghastly let his mind slowly empty of all the endless worry while he drained his own glass - not quite as quickly, but that was deliberate. Long nights of drinking with friends during the war had taught all the Dead Men that as impressive as drinking fast looked, your chances of winning competitions increased when you gave your metabolism even a slight bit of extra time to deal with the sudden intake. No buzz yet, but Ghastly could feel some of his initial icy demeanour melting. That was a good sign.

"Where are you from?" he asked the man as the bartender refilled their glasses for the next round. An accent that may or may not have been American? It wasn't often Ghastly couldn't place an average stranger off the street from the way they spoke. Sorcerers tended to take on several different accents all mixed together, depending on where they'd lived and traveled throughout their extended lifetimes.

[impudentsongbird]

Frowning, Gabriel reached out to pick up the cards, combine them into the deck and shuffle them absently. His wing, half of its own accord, lifted to give Skul more room to manoeuvre without having to hunch over, the same way someone in a crowd is conscious of the people around them and gives them berth.

"The question is whether that someone will be friends or enemies, either or us or of him," he pointed out, fanning the cards and plucking two of them out without looking, but keeping them turned away from the others. "Our friends might not have heard anything. People who walked the same circles as China might. But people in Scarab's circle almost certainly would have."

The people currently imprisoned in the Sanctuary wouldn't be much help--unless, of course, they had been imprisoned only within the next few days, with time enough to have heard rumours off the streets after Scarab escaped. Anyone who'd just been released would similarly be searching for information themselves. "Do you have any informants?" he asked, and flipped one card between two fingers to reveal the black-and-white Joker. "People who deal in information other than China?" And then the other, to reveal the coloured Joker. "Or petty criminals, maybe? People who'd hear things and can be talked into talking about it?"

And he grinned down at Skulduggery, teasing and faintly smug at his little just-for-the-Hell-of-it sleights of hand.

~~~

"Me?" The old man laughed again, something he seemed to do as easily as breathing, and picked up another glass. He held it and waited until Ghastly had finished his, though, grinning. "Everywhere and nowhere, son. Been so many places it don't matter where I came from originally anymore. Too many amazin' things to see to just stick in one place all the time!"

He spread his free hand cheerfully around to the bar, as if he considered this high on his list of 'amazing things to see', so much so that even the bartender stopped to stare at him in disbelief.

[skeletonenigma]

It always amazed Skulduggery whenever Gabe could think in convoluted manipulations like this. It shouldn't have; he was an Archangel. Technically a general, and at least a million years old. But he acted so naive a lot of the time, so openly honest and accepting and cheerful, that Skulduggery had a difficult time seeing him as any sort of detective, seeing through peoples' lies and motives. And in a lot of ways, Gabe wasn't; the number of times Skulduggery had to teach him something... however, as useless at proper interrogation as Gabe had turned out to be, he could still reason like a detective. All the many hundreds of centuries without proper free will hadn't dimmed his propensity for individual thinking, apparently.

The card trick, though. That was just showing off. Skulduggery remained stubbornly unimpressed as Fletcher's eyes grew wide with admiration.

Can be talked into talking about it... There were likely plenty of such criminals, but the phrasing gave Skulduggery an idea. He did know someone who had once been the go-to man for information, before his life had been suddenly and irreparably destroyed. Most people didn't give him a second thought anymore, but if the man was still as good as he once was... it was possible he'd heard something China herself hadn't. "Possibly," Skulduggery murmured thoughtfully, instinctively reaching for his phone before he realised he wouldn't have the number. "Fletcher, have you ever heard of a man called Myron Stray?"

The teenager frowned. "No. Why?"

"He might know something." Skulduggery glanced towards Gabe. "Myron used to be almost as good as China, before a colleague of mine discovered his true name. He keeps a low profile now, but he still occasionally hears things. If anyone would know at least where to start looking, it would be him."

~~

Was the man, Ghastly couldn't help wondering, a sorcerer? He didn't know many other people who spoke like that, or so heavily implied that they were older than they seemed. If the man was about the same age as Kenspeckle Grouse, that would make him just over 700 years old. Definitely old enough to have been 'everywhere and nowhere,' as he so eloquently put it. The trouble was, the older a sorcerer got, the more tired and cynical they became. This man was the exact opposite, in every way. He laughed far too easily, grinned far too openly, still had so much zeal for life. Too much zeal. He couldn't seriously be getting excited over a dingy bar, could he?

The man was definitely interesting, Ghastly decided simply as the alcohol kicked in and a small haze began to settle. He'd only taken three drinks so far, and already he was feeling the effects. Strange. Maybe that first one had been stronger than he thought.

"Whatever floats your boat." Ghastly tipped his empty glass over with a finger and watched it roll gently to a stop. It occurred to him that if he was going to get drop-dead drunk today, he might as well get all the important facts while he could still think straight. "What do I call you?"

[impudentsongbird]

Gabriel couldn't help but wince, even as he flicked the cards back into the deck. "Someone discovered his true name? He must have gone out of business within the day."

Anyone whose true name was known couldn't be trusted as any kind of source of information. And that was only considering the business aspects--let alone the issue of free will! The poor man was no longer his own; let alone to the mercy of the people around him to determine who he was and what he did.

Horrible. Awful. Gabriel couldn't, and didn't, want to imagine. "We'll go to him then," he said. "Surely someone in the Sanctuary has kept an eye on where he is--politicians don't like giving up any advantage."

~~~

"Aw, I'm everybody's dad," the man said with a shrug, and for some reason his grin only broadened. "Just call me that, why don'tcha?"

He knocked back his drink and beckoned the bartender, grinning wildly at Ghastly. "C'mon, boy. We've only just begun."

[skeletonenigma]

"Indeed." Skulduggery had been away from the war at the time of the incident, but he remembered what it was like to come back into the fold and see the balance of information so completely changed, solely because of Bliss and his mysterious method of discovering things. "The only situation I know of where 'it happened overnight' was not an exaggeration," he added with a nod.

Skulduggery had always suspected China of being involved. She and her brother would both have had a vested interest in taking Stray out of the picture. But since Skulduggery couldn't prove anything, all the Sanctuary was able to do was put Myron Stray under some sort of protection. People left him alone nowadays, fortunately. It was a good thing Myron Stray hadn't been a particularly powerful sorcerer, and - if it had to happen - that someone used his true name before he could seal it. A sorcerer who knew their true name where no one else did would have been... problematic. And Mevolent had been dangerous enough.

Skulduggery made a noise like he was clearing his throat. "Yes, someone in the Sanctuary did. The same person who kept his location secret for a number of years. An impressively powerful person. Noble, with a dash of charm. Fortunately, I do believe he'll help us."

"Really?" Fletcher asked, confused. "I thought the Sanctuary doesn't like us."

"He doesn't particularly like the Sanctuary."

"Okay, but... is he a friend of yours? Because I thought someone who knows their true name is supposed to be really dangerous. He'd just tell us?"

"First of all," said Skulduggery, a touch of a smile in his tone, "they're only dangerous until their true name is used against them. Secondly, he is a friend, yes. A good friend. In fact, I can guarantee you all you'll have to do is ask, and he will feel such a crippling sense of obligation to me that he'll answer right away."

Fletcher's puzzled expression cleared. "You're talking about you, aren't you?"

"Myron lives just off the suburbs outside Dublin. Or at least he did, up until I was fired. But he hasn't moved around much."

~~

Ghastly laughed. He wasn't sure why; he just thought that was funny. "I have a dad," he informed the man with a short smile that was almost becoming genuine. "Pretty sure he was born here in Dublin. What, you don't have a name?"

The part of him that was still able to think noted that if the man was a sorcerer, a reluctance to give his name might mean he hadn't taken one yet. That was, of course, ridiculous; if he'd lived half as long as he implied, he would have taken one ages ago. So was he a sorcerer or not?

What he is, Ghastly told himself sternly, is a drinking partner for the afternoon. Does it really matter beyond that?

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Ghastly took his next drink and downed that too, more quickly now that his reasoning capabilities were diminishing. "Plenty of other things I could be doing, believe me."

[impudentsongbird]

Halfway through the beginning of Skulduggery's explanation as to his mysterious 'friend', it clicked in Gabriel's head. The Archangel bent inward a little, covering his face with his hand to hide the laughter--vainly. It didn't work in the least.

"Well then," he said after a moment, once he'd recovered. He was still grinning. "I suppose it's a good thing we know a noble Sanctuary agent, then."

He set the deck neatly down on the table and took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment to assess himself and figure out how far he could push himself, and whether he should take his cloaking slow. Definitely slow, he decided after a moment. He had oil, but he hadn't used it yet and his body still ached, even though his head and wings felt better. "Just give me a minute to weave up my human form."

~~~

"I got too many!" the stranger informed Ghastly back, the same sort of way except that his smile was genuine. "'Dad' just keeps everythin' simple. Can't have too many dads."

When Ghastly drained his next drink as easily as if it was water 'Dad' grinned at him proudly, like the tailor really was his own son and had done something Ghastly had been working toward for years. "Aw, there's always plenty of stuff people can be doin'. People forget to enjoy what's here and now. Like this be-yoo-tiful rotgut fit to strip your engine."

Within the blink of an eye, his next drink was gone too.

[skeletonenigma]

"Would you rather stay here?" Skulduggery asked. "Fletcher and I can handle this."

It was easier, this time, for Fletcher to hide his surprise and excitement at being so readily included - but he was pretty sure it still showed on his face. For the first time since Skulduggery disappeared through the portal, Fletcher actually felt like a proper detective. Even Gabe being hurt wasn't enough to completely dispel the feeling, although Fletcher did make an effort to wipe the smile off his face.

~~

"Okay, fine." Ghastly was too tired to argue. Maybe a little too intoxicated, as well. "Dad." He hesitated, and then shrugged. "I'm Ghastly." It would definitely be another indicator of whether the man was a sorcerer, because mortals had never not given him strange looks when he introduced himself. Of course, up until yesterday, mortals gave him stranger looks just upon seeing his scars.

Ghastly watched the next drink disappearing just as quickly as the one before it, and he frowned. Slightly worrying. He'd lost track of how many they'd had by now, but... five? Six? And the man's eyes weren't even beginning to glaze. Quite the contrary, they were twinkling more than ever. That couldn't be normal.

"What brings you here?" Ghastly asked, once he'd knocked back his own.

[impudentsongbird]

Gabriel shook his head, and couldn't help the slow spread of a smile across his face when it didn't immediately pound into complaint. He opened his eyes again, directing that smile at Skul, and it took a gentle edge. "No. I want to meet him. Losing one's name ... it's awful. One of the worst things I can imagine happening to any living person--to a broad definition of living."

The last he added on with a pointed, but amused, look at the skeleton, before Skulduggery could twist the word. "I want to see if I can do anything for him. I mean, if ..." The Archangel's brow furrowed a little, his tone turning hesitant. "If I'm allowed to?"

He hadn't forgotten his promise to Skul, and the fact he felt better now might only encourage him to forget it. Stopping Skulduggery had been an emergency; what did helping Myron qualify as?

~~~

"Well, hello, Ghastly," said Dad amiably, holding out his hand. "Good meetin' you. I'm here 'cos here's where I am." He laughed. "Naw. S'been a while since I was around these parts, and I felt the need for a return. Just to look around, see how things have changed, y'know?"

He nodded sombrely, the kind of sombre which was entirely affected--a whimsicality which could well have come from tipsiness. "There's magic in this place. Magic everywhere, of course, but there's special magic here. Just gotta look at those fields and that coast to know it."

Another drink, raised and gone in a heartbeat.

[skeletonenigma]

Allowed to? Skulduggery paused in his absentminded pacing. He wasn't God. He couldn't tell Gabe what not to do - at least not as anything more than a friend. They'd agreed, together, that Gabe should try to keep more of a low profile. His question just now reminded Skulduggery of exactly how new to free will Gabe was, and how incredibly familiar he was with orders. Ultimatums.

Of course, all that being said, the Archangel did make a promise. Skulduggery would just have to help him keep it.

"It's when you're feeling better that you need to take the most rest," Skulduggery told him, painfully aware of exactly what he would do in a similar situation. What anyone would do. "Just stick with appearing human for now, and we'll see how things go."

He didn't mention that Myron hadn't exactly been the friendliest or most likable of people. It would probably mean very little to the Archangel, anyway.

"What would you do for him?" Fletcher asked. "If you could, I mean? Could you seal the name?"

~~

Ghastly shook... Dad's... hand when he offered it, and nodded in agreement. He knew the feeling. Ireland, in particular, had changed beyond recognition in the last century.

And the man was, apparently, definitely a sorcerer. Someone who had taken multiple names? It explained 'Dad,' anyway. Ghastly had heard stranger names than that. But even sorcerers were bound by the same physical laws as mortals, and Dad... just didn't seem to be affected by any of the alcohol yet. Ghastly might have thought he was a little under, at least, until he saw the next drink disappear in far too short a time.

Short of some form of magic, Ghastly was beginning to think that this just wasn't possible, or that some kind of cheating was going on. But he gave the man the benefit of the doubt and finished his own drink, definitely properly hazy by the time he finished it. "And why here?" he asked, indicating the bar with the same wide gesture Dad had used a short time ago, but with much less enthusiasm. "This isn't exactly a prime tourist attraction."

[impudentsongbird]

It's when you're feeling better that the most rest is needed? Gabriel couldn't help the bafflement that crossed his face.

"Isn't that the other way around?" he asked with a frown. After all, if he was feeling better then too much extra rest wasn't needed. His next words were directed at Fletcher, but it was obvious he was still trying to figure out Skul's logic.

"Possibly. I'd have to return it to him, and it would be dangerous for him to know it and hold it himself. But there's a few things I could do, to make sure he doesn't misuse it."

The sponge analogy was useful there. It was a matter of gathering up the water that belonged to Myron and restoring it to him. Aside from Gabe's Master Himself, Gabriel was the most likely person to be able to do that. The Archangel hummed a steady, gathering note, quickly touching the places of power in his body--where his pulse-points would be if he was human, his solar-plexus, heart, throat, head; the 'chakra-points'. A moment later he sat there, human and with a minimum of a responding ache in his body.

"Okay. I'm ready."

~~~

Dad looked around with an odd sort of satisfaction. "Maybe not, lad. But the places no one goes to 'cos they can't see the magic in it are the best places. At least one person's enjoyin' 'em then. And you can shine 'em off to make sure other people see and enjoy 'em too."

Then he turned back to Ghastly and his smile was oddly gentle, oddly knowing. "We make our tourist attractions, boyo. No place was ever an attraction 'til someone made it one."

[skeletonenigma]

It was always fascinating to watch Gabe pulling on the human cloak. There was something bittersweet about watching all the beauty of the surroundings leach back into nothingness, objects falling back to their normal state, so dull after being so bright. But Skulduggery had to confess that he never got tired of watching Gabe's wings vanish. They were so solidly physical one moment, and then there was a quick split second of fading before they were gone, too quick for him to catch. It was one of those 'blink and you miss it' moments, but as Skulduggery couldn't blink, it looked even more interesting to him. Partly because he might as well have blinked, with how quickly Gabriel the Archangel became Gabe the barefoot human once again.

He was almost sad they'd lost the cowboy hat. As amusing as it had been at first, it really did complete the picture.

"In your case, Gabe," he answered the earlier question, "it isn't the other way around. You haven't healed as much as you think you have, but you'll try things anyway. Things that strain you. And you'll spiral back down. Feeling better does not equate to actually being better, especially where the Professor and his numerous painkillers are concerned."

~~

Ghastly was getting the distinct and uncomfortable impression that however old this man was, 'boyo' was somehow an understatement.

But he had to concede the logic of what Dad was saying, even if it was hard to translate to this dim, dirty bar. Ghastly didn't try to reply, however, because he had a sneaking suspicion that the words would have come out slightly slurred. Or at least nowhere near as meaningful. The alcohol was definitely starting to get to him.

"People don't end up drinking alone in bars for no reason." Ghastly started on his next drink, no longer knocking them back, but taking each new glass one glorious sip at a time. "What's yours?"

[impudentsongbird]

"From what the professor has said, I haven't healed at all," the Archangel murmured, and his expression flickered with apprehension. "I didn't--I mean, it occurred to me, but these circumstances haven't arisen before. Ever. There's always been someone to tend to us on the rare occasions we do get hurt like this."

He bit his lip, looking first at the wall past them both and then at Skulduggery. "But this is his being, Skul. His whole being is defined not by himself, but by everyone around him. His soul. This is what China tried to do to me. How can I refuse aid to a person in such need?"

~~~

"Why not?" Dad shrugged easily, and this time he took his own drink slow as well. Whether he was following Ghastly's lead or needing the extra leeway was hard to say. "And who said I was alone?"

He grinned. "Funny thing, see. There's always a bartender in a bar, so no one's ever drinkin' alone. Unless the bartender don't have anyone to sell drinks to. Then he's drinkin' alone. May as well keep him company."

~~~

It had been a long, long time since Lucifer had returned to this broken, decaying land. The fallen angel stood on one of England's cliffs and sneered at the landscape before him. Such a fantastically powerful empire, and it had only taken a push to topple. It was like a domino: a set-up for one nation to rise and then cascade into another, each affecting their successors.

America's turn was next. Or would have been, should have been, if not for that blasted wager. Because he was alone, Lucifer granted himself the luxury of letting his lip curl and his fist crush the head of his cane. America would have spearheaded that nuclear war, if not for precious Joby.

"Sir?" One of his lackeys' voices behind him made him still, smooth his expression and turn with a raised eyebrow. The damned soul stammered for a moment, a sight Lucifer would have ordinarily found gratifying if it weren't so irritating. He was about to lose his patience when the man blurted, "They're moving against the Garden Coast."

Ah, yes. Lucifer trained his senses on America, and even distant as it was he felt the ripples of Michael's surprise and steadfast defence. Lucifer smiled coldly. "Always so predictable, brother."

Of course Lucifer wasn't going to be there himself. Of course not. That would be foolish, and besides, the attack was only a diversion. A judiciously applied suggestion to some of his fellow prisoners, that perhaps the Garden Coast may be best served eradicated before the Grail was recovered.

Without waiting or caring about the soul who'd served as a courier, Lucifer vanished from the cliffs and reappeared in full glory in a circle of stones. His presence, difficult to view even to the other Archangels, completely blinded the younger angels on watch. The fools blundered about in shock and surprise. The first two were easy prey for a well-placed bolt of energy; the last, realising what had happened made to flit away, but Lucifer caught her before she could escape.

"Now, now, little sister," he said jovially, his fist around her neck and crushing her. Air or no air, the younger angel flailed, her wings beating wildly and pained terror written over her face. "Let's see what Michael's been hiding, shall we?"

The Archangel rarely left the Garden Coast. Why would he come here so regularly, so suddenly? And more specifically, after both Gabriel and Raphael had so uncharacteristically vanished? Even when his brothers were on the other side of the cosmos, where Lucifer couldn't reach, he had an awareness of them. Their presences. Their existences.

He hadn't even known it, actually. Hadn't known it until Gabriel had blipped away for a few weeks before returning. Even then, the fallen angel had assumed warding. But then ... again. And months later, Raphael too!

There was something being hidden from him, and he wanted to know what it was. The Devil cast his critical gaze across the wards and sneered as he broke them. They were stronger than he thought; they rattled his body, though he showed no sign of it. Strong, but not strong enough. He'd have noticed anything stronger.

He'd noticed anyway, thanks to one of his idiotic mortals destined for Hell's tables. A fluke. Chance, only, to let him see there was even something here to be seen. He wasn't going to object; merely seize the opportunity the old codger had let slip.

A scan of the circles inside Stonehenge made him have to conceal his surprise. What was this, now? Something about a doorway? A doorway to where, exactly?

Well, Lucifer decided with a glance at his erstwhile sibling. There was one way of finding out. The Devil smiled kindly at his sibling as he stretched out his hand to lay it on one of Stonehenge's pillars and pour power into it and the circle binding it. The lesser angel's eyes bulged almost comically and she tried to shake her head, but it was too late; Lucifer was already striding into the circle.

Power flowed. The air whipped. An opening fizzled into existence in the centre of the spell. They were both assaulted by noise of a kind neither had ever endured before; Lucifer shied back before he could catch himself, gritting his teeth and folding his presence before him like a shield. His sibling screamed and shook.

And then, quite unceremoniously, Lucifer tossed her in.

The loathsome sound built ripple after ripple into her being, like heatwave upon heatwave, tearing her this way and that as a stick in a current; distorted and radiating wordless, overwhelming agony. And what a current. Lucifer might not have had Gabriel's understanding of music, but he understood enough to know that the way the tones hit his sister's body were important.

He had enough time, before the opening closed again, to see her ripped apart by the metaphysical sound alone.

Then the Morningstar merely stood there, amazed and stunned and, by slow degrees, gleeful at what his foolish brothers had wrought.

[skeletonenigma]

Because Myron Stray is really not the nicest person around, Skulduggery failed to answer. And that was putting it mildly.

But, with a sigh, Skulduggery let that particular argument go. It wouldn't convince Gabe of anything except that Myron needed even more help, and it wasn't in an Archangel's nature to give up on anyone for any reason. Skulduggery was a perfect case in point. Likewise, trying to point out that Gabe needed to look after himself would also fall on deaf ears. The Archangel hadn't been injured before. Skulduggery had serious doubts that Gabe even believed yet it had happened here - he probably forgot he was in pain until he tried moving.

"He's lived perfectly happily for the last hundred years like this," Skulduggery pointed out instead. "And how would you explain it? I guarantee you that if Myron finds out who you really are, the entire magical community will know within days. That's not a risk we can afford."

~~

It may have been the alcohol, but everything Dad said seemed to make a whole lot of sense. And again, Ghastly didn't really have anything to say in return that wouldn't sound... even half as sensible, really. He took a moment to stare down into the bottom of his current glass, trying very hard to form coherent thoughts through the haze.

He asked questions. Dad gave sensible answers. Answers that made sense. The next logical step, therefore, was to ask the important questions that were twisting Ghastly up inside. Some part of him didn't want those answers, but Ghastly was not going to spend the rest of his life in this drunken haze. He couldn't. He'd never be able to make his clothes, for one thing.

"Where do you draw the line?" he asked without thinking. "With company. When is something so bad that you can't... see them, anymore?"

Did that make sense? Ghastly couldn't tell anymore.

[impudentsongbird]

Nevertheless, Gabriel saw everything Skulduggery wasn't saying in his soul. And the detective wasn't wrong; it didn't make him want to help Myron any less. It didn't matter if Myron was a good person or a bad person--his self had been subverted. Who could say who he was or where he was meant to go, when his very essence was putty in everyone's hands?

It was wrong. Pure and simple.

But Skulduggery had a point. They couldn't very well reveal anything of Gabriel's true self either. The Archangel frowned. "Existing doesn't mean happiness, Skul. I can't imagine anyone whose true self isn't in their own hands, hidden or not, would be very happy." Then he shook his head. "Maybe we can say that's what my magic is based on. Names. Words. I don't know. I'll have to see when we get there."

He rose and held out his hands to each of them. "Shall we?"

~~~

Dad was certainly taking the questions seriously, too. He looked thoughtful, drumming his fingers on the side of his glass in an oddly musical rhythm. "I figure that line depends on the person," he said finally. "We all got lines in the sand. Maybe sometimes they ain't where they should be. But it's something a man's gotta find out on his own, where his lines oughta be. Sometimes that means they gotta be adjusted. Takes a big man to admit his lines might be in the wrong place."

He glanced at Ghastly with a keen light in his eye--keen but unpressuring, unchallenging. "Got one in mind?"

[skeletonenigma]

A man like Myron wouldn't be fooled by a vague basis for impossible magic. Like China, he would know the magical language that symbols and sigils were based off of. He may not be quite such a master manipulator of them, but he would know enough to call a lie when he heard it. Besides which, Skulduggery couldn't completely trust Gabe to stick to so-called 'safe' magic when helping an individual in need. The angel could easily stray into using something Myron didn't understand, and Myron - who was a paranoid man by necessity nowadays - would never let it go.

But as Gabriel said. They'd just have to see when they got there.

"Where am I taking us?" Fletcher asked as he took Gabe's hand. "I have no idea where this place is."

Skulduggery might have suggested Teleporting the Bentley with them so they could drive properly around Dublin, but he did not want to see his beloved car getting Teleported anywhere. Proficient as Fletcher already was from years of practice, he wasn't even 18 yet. There was simply no way Skulduggery was going to risk seeing that car in pieces.

"Anywhere in Dublin," he answered instead. "If we're near one of my backup cars, we'll take that. Otherwise..." he practically shuddered at the thought. "We can always take a cab."

~~

"Yeah." Ghastly was thinking just well enough to avoid mentioning magic directly; he didn't know for sure, after all. But other than that, he just did not see a reason to keep anything hidden anymore. "A friend. A... someone I know. Just found out that..."

... that what? He'd betrayed them? Tried to kill them? Killed all their friends? Spent five years being one of the worst war criminals in the history of the world?

Ghastly's expression closed against the fresh surge of pain. "His line's about as messed up as lines can get."

Another drink. Ghastly hadn't given up on the impromptu competition, exactly, but this one was more for his own sake than for any real chance of winning.

[impudentsongbird]

"God forbid," Gabriel teased Skulduggery with a laugh just as they vanished from the safehouse. A moment later they were outside, standing in a narrow alley behind a closed pawnshop. As far as alleys went, it wasn't even half bad; it didn't smell like much other than concrete and bitumen.

The Archangel turned to Skulduggery, still with his hand on Fletcher's arm. "Well?" he asked with a grin. "Are we doomed to ride a yellow cab, or is a bright-orange convertible the way to go?"

~~~

The way Dad nodded indicated some kind of acceptance or understanding, and the sadness in his grey eyes only cemented it. "Seen that happen before. Lines get all snarled, can't cast the bait. Hard to fish that way."

He didn't even seem to notice the shift in his metaphor. He just signalled the barman and drank his glass slow. Yet when the glass was empty, the old man continued before it had even hit the counter. "'Course, it also takes a big man to see that kind of mess and go ahead to try'n untangle it. Can take a long time, that. Lotta effort. Hard to know if you're gonna see the end, or if your friend's line's just too knotty. And then again ..." He shrugged, simply and easily. "Then again, sometimes those knots never go away. Don't mean the line's not good and strong anymore. Just means it needs a bit more care in the handlin', instead of relyin' on a rod to do the work."

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery was already striding toward the end of the alley by the time Gabe finished his question, pausing just before he stepped into the sunlight where his bright white skull would be visible from the road. He didn't recognize the pawnshop, but he did know what street they were on. It actually wasn't far from the fancy hotel they'd first found Fletcher in.

The teenager shrugged when Skulduggery turned to look at him. "What? I just picked a place at random. I ducked back here once to - " Fletcher cut off abruptly, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to put together a list of what that sentence might have ended with, and none of it was good. Skulduggery decided not to ask.

"That depends," he answered Gabriel instead, glancing towards the back door of the pawnshop. "There's a car just under two miles away. We could walk that distance easily, if you're feeling up to it."

"Uh." Fletcher's brow furrowed as he looked Skulduggery and Gabe up and down - the living skeleton in a suit, and the barefoot man wearing khaki shorts and a shirt in the pleasantly cool Irish weather. "No offense, but I'm kind of the only normal-looking person here," he pointed out. "You might freak a few people out just walking down the street."

"That too," Skulduggery agreed. "Which is why it's a very good thing, Fletcher, that you've taken us to a pawnshop. An empty pawnshop, by the looks of it."

Fletcher burst out laughing. "You're going to do the whole hat, wig, and scarf thing? You don't think that's going to look weird? I really think we should just take a cab."

~~

It was a good thing Skulduggery had dragged Ghastly fishing a lot when they were young men, or the change in metaphor would have flown right over Ghastly's vaguely dizzy head. As it was, the tailor understood what Dad was talking about. He understood it much too well.

It was a long few minutes before he was able to speak again, a long few quiet minutes Ghastly spent staring into however much liquid there was left in his glass. He was, ironically, trying to think, where he'd gone to such lengths to avoid it. The half-formed intent wasn't working, and each time Ghastly lost track of his own thoughts again, he took another sip. A whole glass and a half was gone before he turned back to Dad.

"Normally, I agree with you. But this isn't knotted fishing line I'm talking about. This is...broken rope." No. Forget it. Ghastly was too far gone to try and continue any stupid metaphor. "This is murder. He killed people. He killed people I care about-"

He bit off the last part with a short noise of anguish and downed some more alcohol. He was hazy and lightheaded and dizzy, and Ghastly still couldn't avoid the violent gut reaction that made him want to throw up. Actually, the alcohol was just making that part worse.

"And then... he stopped, I guess. He just stopped. Cold turkey off of this addictive thing that he shouldn't even have been able to get, let alone use. We all thought the murderer was dead or at least gone and the entire time, the entire time... he never said a word to me."

And that, Ghastly suddenly realised with a clarity only the alcohol had been able to provide, was what cut the deepest. Not the murder. Not the Necromancy. It was the years of silence. The simple fact that Skulduggery didn't trust him, hadn't ever trusted him, had never seen their friendship the same way Ghastly had. That the level of faith Ghastly had always assumed existed between them never existed on Skulduggery's side, and was utterly shattered on Ghastly's.

And now. Now, Ghastly was supposed to just... get over it, and start worrying about whether the Faceless Ones' dimension had cracked Skulduggery enough to let Lord Vile through. Lord Vile. Well, apologies to Gabriel and his whole family, but Ghastly just couldn't do it.

[impudentsongbird]

"It's just too bad the cabbie would also notice," Gabriel said wryly, and then grinned. "I have to admit, though, I'm curious about this disguise. I've never seen it before. And it'll make me look normal." He really should have thought of dressing better for the weather. Usually the Archangel spent so long invisible that it didn't matter what he wore.

"I don't think I should strain myself, though," he said with utmost innocence, his brown eyes wide and earnest. "I mean, I need to rest and all. And the physical strain is the one thing we haven't managed to properly address yet. I really shouldn't exacerbate it, so I think we should take the cab."

Then he winked at Fletcher and laughed, knowing perfectly well that Skulduggery did not like cabs.

~~~

The older man only waited patiently, matching Ghastly mouthful for mouthful, staring at the shelved alcohol behind the counter and idly humming '99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall'.

He set his glass down gently, watching Ghastly with a thoughtful expression. "Broken rope, eh?" he said. "He still doin' it behind your back? He still hurtin' people just for the Hell of it? When it came out, he lie to you or make excuses? Try to avoid responsibility? Try to pretend it was all okay?"

Dad shrugged. "Ain't gonna pretend it's easy. Never is, to know someone's gone wrong and you couldn't stop it." He surveyed Ghastly from under his brow. "But the question I'd be askin' ain't why you didn't mean enough to him for him to trust you with what he did. What I'd be askin' is whether he means enough to you to go help keep savin' him. 'Cos he wouldn't have stuck by you unless you were important enough for him to stop with this 'addictive thing'. Cold turkey, eh?"

Wordlessly he hummed '99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall', swaying to the music in his seat and draining the rest of this glass.

[skeletonenigma]

"I think it's interesting," Skulduggery said to Gabe with a Look only the Archangel would have understood while trying the pawnshop back door, "that you only seem to agree you're hurt when you find something amusing." The door was, of course, locked, and Skulduggery didn't have his lockpicks with him - or anything that might suffice as one. "Fletcher, would you mind picking something up at my house for me?"

A minute later, Fletcher had Teleported away with clear instructions on where to find Skulduggery's lockpick set. Skulduggery had made sure to thank the teenager, tried not to hide the fact that he was genuinely grateful. And Gabe was right; Fletcher did respond well to it. The whole thing was markedly satisfying and refreshingly simple. And after everything that had happened, Skulduggery needed simple.

"It may not be the most elaborate disguise, but it does what it's designed to do," Skulduggery defended himself once Fletcher had vanished. He was purposely ignoring the comment about taking a cab, because the idea was already depressing enough to think about. "Valkyrie's the only one who seems so concerned about people staring. I thought it was a mortal trait, but Fletcher doesn't seem to mind. Have you noticed his hair?"

~~

"... No." No, Skulduggery had done none of that. Almost a century since the end of the war, and Ghastly had never even suspected Skulduggery might be an ambidextrous sorcerer - and Ghastly knew how addictive powerful magic like Necromancy could get, probably better than most. Hell, Skulduggery had given up his family crest. It was one of the first things he did when he reappeared. He'd been lighter, more relaxed, able to joke again, but with a disturbing undercurrent of doubt and uncertainty that Ghastly had never been able to place.

Until now, obviously.

And although Dad couldn't possibly have any clue what he was talking about... he hit it. Right on the head of the nail. Exactly what had snapped Skulduggery out of being Vile? Stopped him from ever using Necromancy again, after five years of being one of the most powerful sorcerers the world had ever seen?

If Dad was right, it was them. The Dead Men. A world free of the threat of the Church of the Faceless. But no, it couldn't be that simple. Couldn't be. Vile was one of Mevolent's Three Generals. It would have taken a lot more than a stray thought to convince Vile to stop killing people.

To convince Skulduggery to stop...

Ghastly couldn't finish the thought, and so he finished his glass instead. Angrily and guiltily, because he knew he shouldn't still be struggling with this. It should be simple. Skulduggery wasn't Vile anymore. Skulduggery was Ghastly's friend. What Ghastly should do was ask Skulduggery himself. Sit down, get the whole story, try very hard to understand.

Fail to understand. Argue. Maybe fight again. Stop fighting the instant Ghastly remembered exactly who he was fighting. Start the whole bloody process all over again. It was inevitable and maybe even necessary, but Ghastly just wished there was a way to bypass it. Bypass everything. Suck the knowledge from his brain so he didn't have to deal with it anymore.

"He killed my mother," said Ghastly quietly. "Almost killed me. And you're saying I should pretend he had no control over it? Be happy he feels guilty? And forgive him?"

How much control did Skulduggery have over it? Back when it happened? Did he make a conscious decision to abandon them? Make a conscious decision to join Mevolent? How much control did he have now, especially after a year of torture?

One more sip, and Ghastly decided to just stop thinking. It was getting in the way, and it wasn't getting him anywhere.

[impudentsongbird]

"I have," Gabriel said with great and innocent dignity, "no idea what you're talking about." But he couldn't stop the grin, either at the conversation or with pride in both Skul and Fletcher at their exchange. Skul was definitely catching on, and the praise was helping Fletcher grow in leaps and bounds even here at the beginning.

"I did notice his hair, yes," the Archangel agree with a suppressed smile. "And I've seen worse. Trust me. You didn't want to see some of the styles going around Europe a thousand years ago."

~~~

"'Course not, boy," Dad growled, whapping Ghastly lightly on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "Doin' that's not gonna do either of you any favours. You can't take away the weight of what he did. Probably it's one of the things that defines him now, and he ain't gonna give it up 'til he's good and ready. No."

The old mariner shook his head, gesturing for another drink which came far too quickly before the bartender hustled down the other end of the counter, apparently having decided he didn't want to be anywhere near here. "You don't pretend. Knowin' when to accept someone else's help to carry the burden he's already got is what he's gotta learn. When, if and how you forgive him's up to you."

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery laughed for the first time since leaving the church. The sound had the same velvet quality it always did, even if the laugh itself was a little rusty around the edges, a touch uncertain, like maybe he hadn't quite earned the right yet. "Forget a thousand years ago. Remember some of what was going around in the seventeenth century? Or the sixteenth?"

Skulduggery had been raised to be respectable, and elegant fashion was a pleasure he'd never quite given up. Or really, even started to give up. But becoming a sorcerer had offered him a unique perspective on things; specifically about how short-lived and ridiculous most of the fashions of the time were.

"I drew the line at those ridiculous wigs," he added with one last chuckle. It was a shame cameras hadn't existed back then. Drawings and models just didn't do those wigs and those canes and those ostentatious jackets justice.

~~

Ghastly was now well past the point where he could make proper connections, and so Dad backhanding him on the shoulder took the tailor completely by surprise. The shock was substantial enough to further hit home exactly what the grizzled old man was saying, as well.

When logic and reasoning wasn't a part of the equation anymore, Ghastly agreed with the analysis wholeheartedly. Skulduggery was defined by that experience in ways Ghastly had always picked up on and wondered about, but never known the reason for. Skulduggery didn't accept help for personal burdens, either. He never had. The one time Meritorious tried to instigate mandatory counseling sessions through the Sanctuary after the war, he'd given up on getting Skulduggery to cooperate within a matter of hours. No one had been surprised.

When logic and reasoning were no longer factors, a small part of Ghastly was startled to realise that nothing much stood in the way anymore. Not of the anger, or the betrayal, or of - God help him - forgiving anything. But of going back to talk?

Something had been strong enough to draw Skulduggery back to the right path, the right side. It didn't matter what, there was something. Something the detective deemed important enough to fight for. In the face of that... what was really stopping Ghastly from giving his oldest friend the benefit of the doubt? It was a difficult sentiment to catch, but catch it Ghastly did. Firmly. Hoped to save it for when he slept off the stupor, could think clearly again; hoped it would be strong enough to survive a reboot through the resurfacing logic once again. This was much too important to overthink.

"He's good." Thinking out loud was probably not the best way to go either, but the doubt didn't even occur to Ghastly just then. "He's a good guy. Lot of nasty stuff happened to him, but..." Another long gulp, another glass finished. "The guy I remember didn't deserve a lick of it. The guy now, I just... I don't know."

The fact that he was saying all of this to a total stranger, and one who seemed entirely too accepting of some of the things Ghastly had said, didn't particularly matter. The remarks, the advice, the look in the man's eyes and the grin he'd been sporting before they began drinking, were all combining in one pleasant memory swirl in Ghastly's head. At that moment, the man who called himself 'Dad' was the most important person in the world. Because somehow, someway, he understood.