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

[impudentsongbird]

It took a lot to nonplus Anton, but Skulduggery's final comment did it. For a moment the sorcerer stared at the phone in his hand, his mind turning over those words and their implications. A stranger called Gabriel. A stranger in the same room as a Remnant, a Remnant who--given what Sanguine had said--been offered him as recompense for its service. A Remnant no longer in Professor Grouse, but certainly not anywhere in the room.

Anton turned to look at Gabe ... Gabriel. He could be possessed, Anton reasoned. It was a thought in his mind. Even if he had been, the best thing to do would be to get him somewhere else, somewhere they could contain the Remnant in question. Which was why Anton hadn't been opposed to Teleporting him out.

What surprised Anton, truly surprised Anton, was that Skulduggery hadn't even seemed to think of suggesting putting the man in quarantine of any kind. Maybe he was expecting the Remnant not to bother hiding its presence, and therefore Renn's actions were proof enough. Except that Skulduggery Pleasant never assumed anything.

Maybe he was insane and believed what he'd implied: that Gabe, Gabriel, was an Archangel of the Lord.

Or maybe it was just Anton who had misheard. Or was insane.

Definitely altruistic, but only sometimes benevolent.

Renn was focussed on supporting Gabe ... riel while he drank, but as if he felt Anton's gaze on him, the curly-haired man looked up into the sorcerer's face. The pain-lines looked more acute from this angle, Anton noted absently. Most of him was concerned with the look in the man's eyes. A knowing look. As if he'd heard every one of Anton's thoughts.

It wasn't a look Anton had never seen before. Occasionally, he'd seen the same look on Hopeless's face. Yet, this was different again somehow. Not just knowledge, but recognition. Understanding.

If he isn't possessed, and neither is Grouse, just where did the Remnant go? The soul-catcher wasn't in the room.

Abruptly Anton came aware of the fact that chills were running down his spine. The Gist stirring within him in response, an instinct replying to the adrenaline and sudden heightened awareness of potential danger nearby. As if he'd felt it too, Gabriel's face creased and he bite his lip, looking away.

Anton let out a slow breath and found his hands trembling minutely with adrenaline. He ignored it, tucking his phone away, and strode toward the pair. "Scarab got away with one of the Engines," he said without preamble. Gabe's shoulders slumped. "Skulduggery is remaining with the Sanctuary's forces to ensure the one we do have is taken care of. He'd like to be picked up from the main entrance in fifteen minutes, Renn."

It was rude, and it was less than the boy's courage deserved, but Anton found he wasn't quite able to take his gaze off Gabe long enough to look at the teen in the face while he spoke to him. "As for you," Anton continued, "he wants you to go to bed and get some rest. Frankly, you look as though you need it."

For a moment Gabe hesitated, his gaze flickering toward Grouse, but finally he nodded. He downed the rest of the glass and set it quietly aside, and then leaned on Renn to stand. It wasn't exactly instinct that made Anton reached forward to lend him a hand.

Gabe flinched and pulled away. "I can manage," he said automatically, and Anton let his hands drop. Not once had his gaze wavered.

This man, this ... this being, could see Anton's Gist. Or feel it. Or something similar, Anton wasn't sure what, and the details didn't matter. Gabriel could sense his Gist.

"I see," he said with astounding evenness. His Gist stirred. Gabe flinched.

Anton turned and walked deliberately away, and wasn't sure what to do with the way his gut had tightened.

[skeletonenigma]

Fletcher frowned at Gabe's uncharacteristic treatment of Shudder, but he didn't ask. Not even when he was supporting Gabe alone into the same bedroom the Archangel had used last night, and Shudder remained back in the living room. Fletcher figured it wasn't any of his business, and Gabe had enough to worry about with the worsening injuries, so Fletcher ignored the burning curiosity and helped him get situated instead.

There was a weird tingle to the air in the room, similar to the fading tingle in his hand, except that this was a nice tingle. A healing tingle. And Fletcher was pretty sure he wasn't imagining this one. With China's control over magical symbols, he wouldn't rule anything out.

He didn't end up waiting the full fifteen minutes, or even half of it. When Fletcher walked back into the lounge and realised Shudder might have a lot of questions, he also realised he couldn't quite face sitting down and answering all of them.

"I'm getting Skulduggery," he announced once he was over the threshold. Fletcher waited a beat for any objection, and then Teleported away.

Which meant that he was waiting in the front hall a little longer than Skulduggery anticipated. When the detective finally came down to meet him, Fletcher tried to head off any questions before they could start. He didn't want any questions. For some reason, he just couldn't handle questions right now. Everything that happened in the last few hours was really starting to get to him.

"Gabe's fine," were the first words out of Fletcher's mouth. "He'll be okay. He was acting weird around Shudder, though."

"I'm not surprised. How's Anton?"

It was a question, but Fletcher was a little too confused to mind this one. "He's... he's fine. He's probably the most fine out of all of us. Why?"

"I told him who Gabe really was."

Fletcher froze as Davina Marr and a pair of Cleavers entered the hall, Marr barking out orders as she went, holding what Fletcher could only assume was the Desolation Engine. His eyes fell on it, and he instinctively pulled away before turning to stare at Skulduggery all over again. "You what?"

"He took it well, apparently. Not even a question yet?"

"I... didn't really give him a chance," Fletcher admitted.

Skulduggery chuckled. "The next few hours should be fun, then. There's nothing more we can do here. Let's go."

"Scarab got away?"

"For now. The important thing is, Professor Grouse is safe, Gabe is back, Scarab has to choose between two unknown targets he was counting on, and I still have my hat. It's progress."

"Your hat?"

"I very nearly lost it. Is there a reason you're avoiding the trip back?"

"No." Fletcher knew he'd answered a bit too quickly, but he didn't try to add anything else. "Are you ready?"

Skulduggery tilted his head in what Fletcher was beginning to recognise as an expression of amusement. "Yes."

At least he wasn't angry. At least he wasn't lashing out. Not that Skulduggery did lash out, except for that one time at China, but it still made Fletcher feel infinitely better to see that Scarab's escape hadn't killed Skulduggery's sense of humour. "Okay then."

They Teleported back into the safehouse, and for the first time in a while, Fletcher was relieved he wouldn't have to Teleport again for a bit. Not that he was getting dizzy or anything, but... Gabe was right. He didn't particularly enjoy being a taxi service.

[impudentsongbird]

Anton didn't turn as Fletcher helped Gabe out of the room, but that didn't mean the sorcerer didn't see in the reflections. The room was so clean, it wasn't hard to use reflections as a tool. He stayed where he was, far opposite the door, until the simmer of the Gist settled into stillness.

He still wasn't sure he believed Skulduggery's assertion. There were a number of different possibilities. And yet none of them changed the fact that Gabe, whatever or whoever or however the magic from his dimension worked, could see Anton's Gist. Which meant he could see Anton's soul. And there had been something in it which he found repulsive.

Anton made it a point to not be unnerved by much. He wasn't sure which part unnerved him more: the fact that he, his Gist, and possibly his Geas, were all an open book to this man, or the fact that this man might be an Archangel.

Either way, with that kind of magic it wasn't any wonder why Skulduggery was able to use him as a lead.

Anton sat on the edge of an armchair by Kenspeckle's sofa and watched the man breathe, a crinkle in his brow. His thoughts were going around in circles and he knew it. He also knew why Renn had left so quickly. The boy was young, wanted to avoid responsibilities and consequences. He shouldn't have taken up with Skulduggery, in that case.

The sorcerer rose again, resisted the urge to pace. He was restless. It wasn't often he got like this, but he was now, and without quite meaning to he found himself moving into the hallway. It wasn't his standard policy. He didn't bother his guests.

Gabe wasn't his guest, and this wasn't his Hotel.

Without stopping to think Anton laid his hand on the knob and turned it to step into the bedroom. For a moment he was framed in the doorway, but with an unhurried swiftness he closed it behind him. There were dim lights set into the ceiling; they were enough for him to see Gabe roll over on the bed and open his eyes to watch Anton without saying anything.

He looked vulnerable. One hand was tucked under the pillow, the other laid on the mattress, his legs tucked up under him. The curls framed his face in a way that made him look almost child-like.

He wasn't breathing.

He wasn't breathing, and yet he watched Anton.

Wordlessly Anton looked back. There was no clock in the room, but he could feel the seconds ticking by.

Finally he moved, without breaking gaze, to take a seat in the chair in the far corner, behind the door. There he settled, crossing his legs and arms, and watching. He'd locked the door from the other side. There was no getting out for either of them, now. If there was a Remnant in Gabe, it would go nowhere but Anton. And if Gabe was something else ... hallucination, soul-reader, mind-controller ... Anton would discover that too.

In time, Gabe closed his eyes again. Anton said nothing, did nothing, and simply watched.

[skeletonenigma]

Anton was gone. It took barely a glance around the room to establish that. He wasn't the sort of man to go wandering, or exploring, particularly in the face of today's events, so it was odd. Then again, maybe he'd needed the space. Skulduggery wouldn't hold that against him. Not after the way he'd reacted when he first found out.

"Thank you," he told Fletcher with a brief smile the boy wouldn't see, but would perhaps hear. "And good job, getting them both out of there."

Fletcher mumbled something not quite discernible, and then straightened up. "Do you mind if I go somewhere quickly?"

Skulduggery turned on his way out the door, surprised. "Why?"

The teenager shifted uncomfortably. "I just... I want to go Teleporting around without someone else in tow, that's all. I'll be right back."

Skulduggery cocked his head as he observed the young Teleporter, and he could quite suddenly see exactly what Gabe had been talking about. Fletcher wasn't used to a life like this, and... still, he was asking permission to take a break from it. Like he didn't have the right to just go. Like Skulduggery actually had the authority, or the inclination, to stop him.

His tone softened slightly without his willing it to. "You don't need to ask. Just stay in contact. The last thing I need is you disappearing."

Something a lot like gratitude flickered across Fletcher's face. Gratitude, and... surprise. "Thanks."

And without another word, he was gone.

Skulduggery took a moment before he made for the bedrooms, and tried the handle of the original one. It didn't turn. Assuming Fletcher must have locked it in some mistaken attempt at safety, Skulduggery put his hand against the lock to break it apart. He stopped when he remembered the lock worked both ways, twisted it open, and froze with his hand on the door handle while he picked apart his own conflicting thought processes.

It didn't make any sense. He didn't contradict himself, not even in his own head. In Skulduggery's line of work, he couldn't afford it. Why was it happening now?

He gave himself a little shake, moved the conundrum to the back of his mind, and pushed the door open. "Gabe?"

[impudentsongbird]

The Garden Coast. Michael. Raphael. Merlin. Joby and the others. Some of his younger siblings, almost vibrating with curiosity and delight, who dropped by to participate.

One of the best memories Gabe had, because it was just after the wager. Because they were revelling in their right to choose, and there was nothing but family and beauty all around. Everything that made his Master's Earth so magnificent.

The Archangel didn't let himself get lost in it, because he knew Skul would be coming back soon, but he did drift in the memory enough to take the edge off his headache and the low-grade irritant Shudder's Gist was. It was enough that when Skulduggery approached the door, Gabe sensed his soul through it--the strength and the restraint and the worry. By the time the detective actually entered, Gabe's eyes were open and he was pushing himself upright.

"I'm okay," he said, and then let his mouth twist ruefully. "Mostly. Headache. Sanguine was daydreaming of murder."

That headache hadn't left, quite, but at least now Skulduggery's proximity took the edge off Shudder's presence. Gabe didn't draw attention to the man, or his (understandable) reason for being there. Indeed, Gabe assumed that Skulduggery knew Anton was there. The detective didn't exactly miss much. When Skulduggery came right up to the bed and sat down, that helped even more, and unconsciously Gabriel both made space for him and yet leaned up against him in a way he sometimes had at the Institute, when he'd been exhausted from shapechanging and there were no pillows nearby.

There. That was much better. Gabe close his eyes and exhaled slowly, feeling himself relax in ways he hadn't been able to before. Skulduggery's soul was like a quiet wash of surf. Soothing. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop Scarab getting the Engines. I didn't realise Kenspeckle would be able to build them so quickly."

There was something else, too. Something important he needed to tell Skul. It wasn't that Gabe had forgotten it, but in the face of his condition and situation he'd set it aside. For the moment he let the comfort help him relax until the memory teased itself forward again.

[skeletonenigma]

That was what Skulduggery had been afraid of, when he watched Sanguine drag Gabe down into the concrete outside the Hibernian. Not that Sanguine or Scarab or even Dusk would be able to harm him, but that Sanguine was a cut-and-dry sociopath, and he would be pressed up against Gabe for who-knew-how-long. Pressed up against a soul-reader. Sanguine wouldn't know the effect he was having, but even if he did figure it out - especially if he figured it out - his 'daydreams' would only get worse.

Daydreams. Murder. A man who'd killed countless times, only making Gabe's headache grow worse.

"That can't have been a walk in the park," Skulduggery said softly. "Is it a migraine?" It didn't seem like it; Gabe wasn't anywhere near as bad as he'd been last night. But in a way, he looked almost worse. More physically exhausted. More generally pained. Stiffer. More like a sick human than an injured enhanced being.

"Gabe - " Skulduggery started to ask, but was cut off when he sat down on the bed and Gabriel fell gently against his shoulder instead.

He'd done it before. Back at the Institute, where all of their powers were heavily dampened and Gabe could barely change shape once without needing to rest for minutes on end afterward - back before Skulduggery knew he was an Archangel. But the simple and momentary comfort never affected Skulduggery before quite like it did now. Then, it was a necessary inconvenience. Now, there was nowhere to get to, plenty of softer things to fall against on the bed, nothing needing immediate attention...

In a way, it was easier when Skulduggery didn't know where Gabe was. He could focus on other things. Fletcher, the investigation, Anton... the concern he couldn't deny was ever-present these days shifted to the back of his thoughts and he could do his job. Things were simple. Now, he was the cause of intense suffering in a person who'd never been through physical pain before, and no matter what he did, that suffering didn't stop.

He was making it worse. He had to be making it worse.

He'd put an arm around Gabe's shoulders, Skulduggery realised with a jolt. He didn't remember doing that. With a deep breath to focus back on his original question, Skulduggery squeezed once and let go. "It's not your fault. You're probably the only reason Professor Grouse is still alive." And the speed at which the Engines had been assembled was something Skulduggery would have to ask Kenspeckle about, once the man was awake, but that didn't have any bearing here.

"Why are you repulsed by Sanguine, but not by me?"

[impudentsongbird]

"No." Gabe moved to shake his head, and then changed his mind when even the beginnings of the motion made his temples throb. "But I have some first-person images of gutting Valkyrie I'd really rather not have. I wasn't expecting the rebound off Sanguine's magic, when he was carrying us underground."

That was the part that had made it worse. Up on the surface, in the open air--even in the dungeon, without that cocoon of magic keeping the stone and soil from plunging in on them--he could accept such homicidal thoughts as a matter of expectation from a damned soul and let them pass by.

The weight of Skulduggery's arm around him made Gabe feel almost as if he was being hugged by one of his brothers, wings and all. In the abrupt silence, the comfortable silence, Gabe let himself rest his head on Skulduggery's shoulder with a sigh. Yes. Better. Maybe the magic in the room was even helping things along, but Gabe thought he could almost feel the ache in his head receding moment by moment. Or maybe it was just the inherent calm in Skulduggery's soul which made it more tolerable.

Well. Relatively. There was a ripple there, under the surface, a quiet thought Gabe had sensed previously and left alone because it was so quiet. And, well, because they'd been busy with other things.

He still found himself faintly disappointed when Skulduggery dropped his arm, though he did appreciate the hug. The detective's question, however, made the Archangel lift his head again, surprise and bafflement registering on his face. "Sanguine's soul is nothing like yours," he said, not sharply but definitely. "That's like saying a festering sewer is the equivalent to Crater Lake. You--"

Abruptly Gabe cut off as the byplay between soul and question and intent became clear, and the Archangel peered into Skulduggery's face with a frown. Yes. Yes, he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. Gabe blinked. "You've been thinking you've been hurting me all this time? Just by being near me?"

It wasn't exactly an illogical conclusion to draw, Gabriel had to concede. Not given Skulduggery's experience and expectations of himself. But it was so incredibly wrong that Gabriel couldn't quite contain the note of indignant incredulity in his voice. The indignation was all on Skulduggery's behalf.

"Sanguine's soul was like being in the middle of an opera house with sewerage on the floor," he said, "and the orchestra couldn't produce anything more melodious than a squawk, but played just as loudly as if they were in concert. It hurt, and it put things in my head I can't get out of it. You know," he added, smiling lopsidedly, "like when you hear a song and it mentally repeats for what seems like in perpetuity."

The smile dropped, and Gabe's expression with full of earnest seriousness. He knew Anton was there, still. But so did Skulduggery, and he had still asked. And this was not a subject on which Gabriel was willing to wait. "Yours is like a stained-glass window on a sunny day. It's soothing. Almost as soothing as--" he hesitated a beat, decided the comparison was appropriate and damn Skul's insecurities anyway, and finished, "almost as soothing as one of Michael's hugs. I don't know how I could have endured the pain in some moments if you hadn't been with me."

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery should have expected images like that from Sanguine. Maybe it was the fact that Gabe now had those images too, but something still clenched hard in the place where his gut used to be, underscored by a short surge of anger. Skulduggery fought it down. He wasn't even sure Valkyrie would still be his partner in the next few days; he couldn't assume anything for the moment about what might happen to her, or what she might want.

In the next few minutes Skulduggery found, with a numbing ability to think, that even the things he should have been taking for granted were being pulled firmly out from under his feet.

It wasn't hard to imagine that souls could slowly change over time. Contrary to popular belief, people could change; just not in the immediate, easy, and somewhat unhealthy way most people seemed to expect. Skulduggery was living proof of that, in more ways than one. So his soul being different from Sanguine's wasn't what struck the detective completely speechless.

It was the assertion that his soul could be, and was, soothing.

The claim that his soul was even remotely similar to the kind of comfort only another Archangel could bring.

The pause, Gabriel's pause, right before he made that claim. Like he was trying to gauge if now was the right time to bring it up.

The very first time Gabe caught a glimpse of Skulduggery's soul was that third night in the Institute, right after that first experiment, when the Archangel was trying to calm down a living skeleton he'd only just met, and ended up reeling with all the rage and the Necromancy flying through Skulduggery's mind at the time.

It was disconcerting enough when Gabe didn't run. Baffling enough when he was barely frightened in the morning. Confounding enough when Gabe revealed who he really was, and Skulduggery slowly realised what all of that meant - all of the forgiveness that entailed. But had Gabe forgotten about that first night? Was Skulduggery's soul a soothing stained-glass window then, when the backlash of fury left Gabe feeling angry and irritable all day? When Vile had been lurking just below the fragile surface of calm, so close that even Gabe's then-limited powers could sense him?

Skulduggery had drawn away from Gabe on the bed, and he couldn't quite tell if that was a conscious choice or not. This sudden and new inability to understand his own motivations was growing worryingly frequent and frustrating.

He let the silence envelop them both for a few moments, but it didn't bring with it any kind of comfortable calm. It wasn't often Skulduggery felt like he was in over his head. It wasn't often he didn't know why he felt like he was in over his head.

"You'd have endured it," he murmured eventually, more for something to say than because he was sure of that. "You said you didn't mind being near me. You didn't say it was helping."

[impudentsongbird]

If Gabe hadn't been able to see souls, the way Skulduggery pulled sharply back and didn't speak would have been unnerving. An unintentional snub, almost. As it was, the detective was still close enough to be of comfort, though maybe, Gabriel had to admit, not as close as Gabe would have liked.

The Archangel said nothing. He folded his hands in his lap and waited, watching the slow turn of cloudiness under the stained-glass which represented Skulduggery's confusion.

"Well, yes, I would have," Gabriel admitted. "But I thought the correlation was obvious. I would have helped you, Skul, but I didn't need to get so close while I was doing it. I don't, usually. Not like this."

Definitely not like this. Most of the time, while he felt and ached with the people he was watching, there was still a distance there if only because he didn't know he was watching. It wasn't like that with Skulduggery; Skulduggery knew who and what he was, and by nature and circumstance, that made things different. It was new.

It was ... very new. Because even though the circumstances were different, changing, in the way Gabriel interacted with the world, he was aware that he wouldn't have--wouldn't be--handling Solomon the same way. He had no desire to be close, in this fashion, to the ex-Necromancer. Because there was something about this that was different again. To anything. To everything. Gabriel hadn't questioned it. He'd known it, but he hadn't questioned it, just in case ... he wasn't sure what. He just hadn't.

But right now, internally, he acknowledged it to himself. It was different. And he didn't want to question it.

Thinking of Solomon meant he also remembered, finally, that other thing he'd needed to say. But he waited a moment, patiently, because this was a crisis of self-identity Skulduggery was undergoing here and it oughtn't be interrupted. Solomon could well still be in surgery. He could wait a few moments more.

[skeletonenigma]

Obvious. Maybe the correlation should have been obvious, but it wasn't, not to Skulduggery. Believing someone was worth looking past their darkness, he could understand. He did that often himself. It was impossible to find any sorcerer who didn't have something to be ashamed of, after all. But claiming someone's darkness could not only be ignored, but soothing -

Ah.

It would have been counter-intuitive to say Skulduggery grew still. As a skeleton, he was perpetually still. But to someone who could read souls, everything about Skulduggery grew perfectly still - his thoughts, his confusion, even the turmoil.

"I would have helped you, Skul, but I didn't need to get so close while I was doing it. I don't, usually. Not like this."

Obvious. It should have been obvious. It would have been obvious from the beginning, if Skulduggery had been paying any sort of attention whatsoever, and it... it was shoddy, that was what it was. Poor detective work. Unforgivable. He'd let preconceptions get in the way of the obvious conclusion, and worse, this was concerning religion.

Worse even than that, this was concerning a friend.

When Skulduggery spoke again, scarcely a few seconds later, it was with a calm and even matter-of-fact tone, as if they were discussing a company Gabriel worked for. "Remind me again. What is the angels' policy on relationships outside the obvious?"

It happened. He knew that. Gabe had explained that more than once. But an angel who hadn't Fallen? God's Messenger? God's companion?

In love?

[impudentsongbird]

And there it was. A realisation of Gabe's feelings, just as Gabe had realised Skulduggery's--although in this case it wasn't without a bit of prodding, to be fair. Gabe didn't shift his gaze. Didn't even really blink.

"There isn't really a policy," he said quietly. "It's a matter of fairness and balance. No relationship can be healthy when the power scale is skewed so much toward one person. That's why all those of my faithful siblings who fell in love became mortal to be with those whom they did. And no, before you ask, they couldn't have just waited for those they loved to die and be with them that way. To do that would have been a misuse of power on its own."

It wasn't the same, couldn't possibly be the same, when methods of existence were so different. Mortals' lives were physical. Angels' were metaphysical. For an angel to assume that they could just wait for a mortal's soul to come to them, for the mortal to live out their life in joy and suffering and not be there with them as they did--no. Merlin had been old, when he took a wife, but at least he still had been mortal, still existed on their plane, still understood their state of existence even when he waded into that of his 'uncles'.

Gabe's eyes weren't intense, and yet ... there was something there. Something solid. A piercingness. An age, but not an ancientness. An understanding. A matter-of-factness, and yet a quietness which acknowledged the complexity and importance of these matters.

"The thing is, Skul ... you're not mortal. And you're powerful enough to make even an angel sit up and take notice." Not powerful enough to fully take on an Archangel, at least not without help, preparation or delving into magicks that would destroy him, but that didn't matter. He had enough. On that alone, they were already closer to being equal than most. Since Skul wasn't mortal, it meant he could understand what it meant to see how time passed, given the experience. And since he had been mortal, he understood things about self-will Gabe was only just beginning to realise even existed as a possibility for himself.

Gabriel's voice was soft. "When I look at you, I don't see someone whose method of existence is incompatible with mine. Who would have to submit to my power, or depend on my benevolence, or trust solely to my own experience, to maintain harmony. And that ... means a lot to me."

To him. There were reasons why Gabe hadn't dared to think about it. Because acknowledging it meant bringing it to the fore, meant the possibility of Skul finding out, and that meant ... well, Skul had been married, once, and loved his wife dearly. Gabriel had no intention of being a replacement. And while he knew Skul's feelings, Skul didn't. Not yet. Gabe didn't want to interfere with them in any direction until the detective was ready.

All of a sudden the Archangel's eyes took on an uncertain caste. "Do you mind?"

[skeletonenigma]

"No."

Yes.

None of the above. All of the above.

It wasn't even the first time Skulduggery had been asked. And, like the first time, it was an unsure question coming from an individual who was usually exceedingly self-confident, and that alone was jarring. Just as jarring as the first time. No, it was worse, because at least back then Skulduggery understood the circumstances surrounding the question, and what would happen if he answered, even if he didn't quite understand his own feelings. This time... this time was at once the same and different. Different because he could barely grasp the circumstances here. The same because -

Well. The same because he had absolutely no more idea of how he felt now than he did over two centuries ago.

Objectively, Skulduggery was aware that his attitude towards Gabe had been unique, ever since they crash-landed into Guild's office. Objectively, he'd known it couldn't just be because of his own guilt, or Gabe's extensive injuries. If anything, the guilt was another side-effect. Objectively, he'd known, and had for a while.

Personally, a part of him suspected he would never have figured it out if not for this conversation.

It wasn't exactly a pleasant suspicion to have.

It shouldn't work. But it did, somehow. It did. It worked, and Skulduggery was left feeling vaguely like he'd betrayed his wife, just by answering a simple question put to him by an angel.

The thing was, Gabe wasn't wrong. Skulduggery wasn't mortal. He was powerful. Barring a particularly nasty explosion, it was very likely that he'd live forever, well after any other sorcerer his own age had died. Maybe that power balance also had something to do with getting to know each other on equal footing, or maybe it was solely because Gabe was stuck in a dimension he didn't know. Maybe Gabe was subconsciously manipulating both their feelings. Maybe it was an effect of Gabe knowing Skulduggery's true name. Maybe it was just because Gabe rescued him.

It didn't matter, not just then. What mattered then was something Skulduggery really didn't want to try and wrap his head around.

"You do realise I'm a skeleton, right?"

[impudentsongbird]

Usually, the 'stained-glass window' comparison was entirely accurate. It still was. It was just that ... well, it wasn't like Shudder's Gist. It wasn't a storm. More like a fog. A windy fog, with some pattering rain. It was like a weather phenomenon passing quickly between various patterns, just because of the life-changing thoughts and feelings and realisations happening in Skulduggery's being.

It was the 'no' that did it. All that clarity and awareness, drawn to a point which made Skulduggery's soul clear as glass, even despite the movement within it.

And Gabe knew it was true. Skulduggery didn't mind. And yet did. Because he had a wife, and he loved her still, and the detective had never even considered he might be worthy of loving anymore to begin with. He needed some time to work things out. That was okay. Gabe could wait, regardless of what the answer was.

(It made his being tingle, the thought of that answer. The idea of the future, a situation he hadn't dared to consider for this reason. It was strange and wonderful and yet, if Gabe thought too hard or too deeply on it, utterly terrifying. So he didn't. What would come would come.)

At that inane question, however, Gabriel could only throw back his head and laugh. "I had noticed that, yes," he said with a broad smile that was amused and warm and glowing and accepting all at once. "Fortunately, the aspect with which Guild seems to be obsessed is an aspect in which I'm not particularly interested." He chewed his lip for a moment and then added, "I'm not expecting changes, Skul. Nothing you don't want."

If he wanted them. It was his choice.

[skeletonenigma]

This whole situation was a lot more like what Skulduggery imagined meeting an Archangel would be like. A higher knowledge, a higher being on a higher plane, looking down on him from an understanding Skulduggery didn't have. It was pretty much the level of confusion he'd expected; the exact knowing, calm, and gentle smile from Gabriel, the life-changing revelations that were leaving him dizzy. Dizzy. Dizzy without ears or the physical capacity to become lightheaded, let alone dizzy.

He just hadn't expected it to be because of a confession. A confession of love. On Gabriel's part.

On another note he barely allowed himself to contemplate, he also hadn't expected to find the smile so endearing.

Gabriel's answer to Skulduggery's question gave him endless amounts of relief, which would normally have felt heavenly after the last few minutes. (... heavenly.) But the instant the relief ran its course, it appeared to have washed away all the last scraps of his sanity and left him with nothing but more fear, more uncertainty, and more confusion.

"Changes." For the first time in his death, Skulduggery could no longer stay still. He stood up and walked over to the nearby armchair, stopped right in front of it, and leaned up against an arm without sitting down. His arms were folded, eyeless gaze still on Gabe. "What changes would there be? How does something like this - "

The air against his shoulder blade shifted, and Skulduggery was abruptly aware that there'd been a break in the air currents for a while, and he just... hadn't noticed. His head snapped to the corner, where he shouldn't have been particularly surprised to find Anton Shudder sitting behind the door.

He was actually grateful for it. The shock and the surprise crowded out everything else. He couldn't quite think, but at least he didn't feel so much like he was stuck in the middle of a maelstrom.

[impudentsongbird]

Anton Shudder was not a man predisposed to being unnerved by much of anything. It didn't happen very often at all, even when unexpected things happened. This was a new record. He had been unnerved hardly ten minutes ago, by the words of Skulduggery himself. Now, he was far, far beyond unnerved. This was not being unnerved. If there was a word beyond being merely unnerved, without being actively terrified, that's what Anton would be.

Never, in his entire life, had Anton wished so hard to be elsewhere. He had remained in the room as a precaution--a precaution Skulduggery had not bothered to take, against a foe which was Anton's responsibility.

He'd been startled when Skulduggery had entered the way he had--as if he had one thought and one thought only. Anton had been on the verge of saying something, but there had been something in Skulduggery's demeanour, something focussed and worried, which kept Anton's mouth shut. Something which told him that Skulduggery wouldn't have appreciated the interruption or the questions at that moment. Because Skulduggery Pleasant had not noticed he was there.

As the conversation went on, Anton wished he weren't there. He wished he'd made himself known and then left, so he didn't need to witness this exceedingly private, intimate and utterly impossible conversation. Arms folded on his chest, gaze directed up at the roof, Anton had tried his best not to hear a single word from that bed, and had only succeeded in having all of them burned into his mind.

He heard Skulduggery move. His tone of voice, the fact he felt the need to practically pace at all, spoke enough of the detective's emotional turmoil. Why wouldn't he be in turmoil? The way they were talking--if Anton had entertained the thought that Skulduggery might be having him on about Gabriel being an angel, it was rendered moot by that conversation. Maybe they were both insane. Maybe not. He wasn't even sure if Gabriel had remembered he was there.

In this moment, with the seriousness of the conversation, Anton found it surprisingly easy to accept that Gabriel might be an angel. Or at least some sort of benevolent corollary to the Faceless Ones.

It was more believable than the idea that Skulduggery Pleasant may well have fallen in love with someone other than his wife.

Skulduggery's words cut off abruptly, and after a moment Anton realised it was because the detective had, finally, noticed he was there. The surge of relief that came with that fact was so overwhelming Anton almost trembled with its adrenaline. Without looking at Skulduggery, Anton rose. "I'll be leaving now. Excuse me."

He didn't wait to see if Skulduggery wanted to call him back. He wanted out of that room. He had not needed to hear that conversation. He had had no right to hear that conversation.

For the first time in a very long time, Anton Shudder felt he needed a good strong belt. It was really too bad that he didn't trust himself to stop at just one.


As the door shut behind Shudder, Gabriel grimaced. "I forgot he was there. I think he thought I was possessed by the Remnant."

Carefully he rose from the bed, counting himself lucky that the armchair against which Skul was standing wasn't too far away. The Archangel lifted a hand, about to offer a hug, and then hesitated. Would it be appropriate? Would Skulduggery want it, right here and right now, with so much confusion in him?

Instead Gabe laid his hand on the skeleton's arm and squeezed lightly. "There don't need to be any changes at all if you don't want there to be," he assured Skulduggery gently. "In fact, I have a change of subject, if you'd rather. Or we can finish this conversation first. It's up to you."

[skeletonenigma]

A change of subject sounded like the most wonderful thing in the world just then - which was precisely why Skulduggery didn't take it. It was the easy way out, and Skulduggery didn't automatically take the easy way out of anything. He never left things half-finished, either, if he could help it. Well. Not important things, anyway. And not most of the time.

Besides, the damage had already been done. Anton knew. It wasn't like anything could get much worse from here.

"I think the point is rather moot," he said slowly. "There are already changes. Such as me, forgetting the fundamental basics of my own branch of magic. Your judgment being compromised. It's only a matter of time now before my judgment is compromised. There might even be decisions soon, which I can handle on a normal day when I know what those decisions are. Marriage was very clear-cut in the eighteenth century. Most of your decisions were made for you, and even that was confusing. How long have you - "

Skulduggery stopped. He'd learned long ago not to ask questions he didn't really want to know the answer to. Or to ask questions he already suspected the answer to. It didn't always stop him, but it did in this instance. Plus, he was starting to ramble, and that had never led anywhere good.

He'd managed not to flinch away from Gabe's touch, but now Skulduggery was wondering if he maybe should have anyway. For no specific reason he could pinpoint, either. This just felt... wrong. Like he was crossing a line, or multiple lines, or trying to reuse a dusty part of his mind he hadn't touched in years, and which lay rusty and undependable. Time, that was what he needed. Not to run away or escape the situation, but just to think, and put his thoughts in order. There wasn't much more he could accomplish before then.

"A change of subject, you said?" he asked abruptly.

[impudentsongbird]

Yes. Time to let this go; Skulduggery was in an internal uproar, and he needed time to get this settled in his head. It wasn't something Gabriel had meant to happen now. It wasn't something he'd meant to happen at all, because he hadn't been thinking about it, and rather actively trying to not think about it.

Gabe had let Skulduggery ramble, had felt the metaphysical flinch and shudder at his touch, the guilt and uncertainty and sense of betrayal. Definitely time to change the subject.

The Archangel nodded and let his hand drop, and took a shifting step back so he sat on the edge of the bed. Despite himself, despite everything, despite how complicated things had suddenly become, he smiled, genuinely and truly--if with an edge of worry. "It's Solomon. He's destroyed his cane, and Craven attacked him. He was stabbed in the leg. Valkyrie managed to get him to the Dublin Methodist Hospital--or at least, that's where they were going when she prayed to me a few hours ago. I imagine they got there, or else I'd have heard from her again."

He looked up at Skulduggery. The lights in the room were dim, but they still reflected off his eyes, leaving them soft and warm and understanding. "You should go to him."

[skeletonenigma]

He's destroyed his cane...

Solomon Wreath, who chose Necromancy right after his family was killed. Locked into it during his Surge despite Skulduggery's every effort to the contrary, and yet fascinated enough by the outside world of sorcerers to keep Skulduggery invested in him long after the Necromancy drove a wedge into their originally easy friendship. Solomon was one of the major reasons Skulduggery didn't try to force anyone into anything anymore. He'd tried, with Solomon's choice in magic discipline, and had failed so spectacularly that he was fairly sure he'd been the one who sealed the decision in place.

Destroyed his cane. Given up Necromancy. Probably because of Gabriel, but that didn't undermine what this meant. Didn't undermine it in the slightest.

Would he do it? Would he actually convert? Was that what this was about?

It didn't matter quite yet, since this presented a practical course of action Skulduggery desperately needed. There was no telling what would happen if Solomon stayed in that hospital for long, so Skulduggery had to get him out of there. Valkyrie was with him, which gave Skulduggery the opportunity to talk to her. If Solomon was truly giving up Necromancy for good, Craven would have attacked him on Tenebrae's orders, which meant - theoretically - that he wouldn't be the last one to try. But he would be the last one to succeed. Skulduggery wasn't going to let anyone else get close.

It was a refreshing change of pace not to be surprised by something, after the latest barrage of revelations, but Skulduggery was not surprised that Gabriel seemed to understand a lot more than either Skulduggery or Solomon had ever told him.

"I will," Skulduggery nodded. "Fletcher wanted a little time off, but once he's back, I will. Thank you."

[peacefullywreathed]

"You're welcome, Skul," Gabriel said softly, with an equally soft smile. "In the meantime ..." His mouth quirked. He drew his feet up onto the bed again, finding one of the pillows and pulling it closer to put his head down with a sigh. "In the meantime I'm going to get a bit of rest."

In this room, with Skul nearby--if not close--and without Shudder's nails-on-blackboard presence, it was enough. Besides, Skulduggery wasn't the only one who had some things to think over. No matter how Gabe had been avoiding them.

Gabriel closed his eyes, and found the memory of the Garden Coast, and this time didn't remove himself from it.

~~~

The darkness was all-encompassing. Solomon had been in such all-encompassing darkness before. Something about this one was different. The warmth, while nice, was somehow fuzzy. Like poppies, but not quite. A drugged sort of blackness.

He knew why that was. He knew it, but he let the knowledge flutter on by, just because being there felt safe enough.

Except it's not, whispered a little voice.

Why wouldn't it be?

Because you can't defend yourself.

So?

Because they're going to kill you. Wake up, Solomon. Wake up!

Just like that, Solomon Wreath was awake. Groggy, blurry, his knee shrieking like banshee, but he was awake. Awake and with a sort of tingling flush that came from too much adrenaline all at once. His thoughts caught up a few moments later.

Bed.

Hospital bed.

Mortal hospital bed.

The sorcerer blinked, slowly, and breathed, equally slowly. His gaze roamed the wall; his head rolled a bit on the pillow as he tried to look around. The room was in darkness. No light came through the windows. Night-time.

There was something over him. Not a blanket, or a sheet, although there was those too--this something felt just a bit uneven. It took a moment for him to realise the darker-than-dark patch on his bed was his coat. He could feel a weight on one side, a weight he knew--not a gun, but a blade. Automatically he reached for it, slowly and carefully and hidden by the folds of the coat.

Kitchen knife.

The room was quiet. Too quiet. Something was wrong. Something which made his skin crawl and left that terrified dryness in his mouth. Although that might have been from the drugs. He wasn't sure.

That was when he realised the shadows around his bed were moving of their own accord, and his heart, already doing that slow pound of low-grade fear, abruptly struck the inside of his ribs like a jackhammer. Something lunged at him, something he couldn't be certain was a person or just shadows, but either way he reacted--bringing the knife up to parry a blow he knew couldn't be parried with an arm shaking too much to be any use at all.

[skeletonenigma]

Getting into the hospital proper without having to speak to anyone for too long was easy. Fletcher, after about an hour of time to himself, was more than happy to humour Skulduggery and Teleport him back to the Bentley - even to accompany him on the drive over. The teenager had never been inside the Dublin Methodist Hospital before, but he was willing to Teleport carefully and painstakingly slowly down hallways and around people until Skulduggery was satisfied he wouldn't arouse any more suspicion - provided he kept his scarf, sunglasses, and hat on as securely as possible.

"Is this really because you're trying to stay subtle," Fletcher grumbled quietly just before he left Skulduggery to it, "or are you trying to avoid Valkyrie?"

"A little of both," Skulduggery admitted. "Thank you for your help. Would you mind asking Anton if he needs to get back to the hotel?"

"Anton's still at the safehouse?" Fletcher asked incredulously. "Why didn't you tell me to go find him while we were driving your car back into Dublin? That took forever."

"It honestly didn't occur to me. Don't worry if you can't find him. He'll show up again in the morning. If you do, be sure to apologise for me."

"For what?"

"For everything we've inadvertently dragged him into," Skulduggery answered without missing a beat. Anton would know what the apology was really about. It might not help him feel any better, but it was the thought that counted.

Fletcher was confused, clearly, and indignant with imagined slight, but it didn't take too much more prodding for him to disappear again. And after that, it barely took a small amount of cleverly-used magic to distract the person guarding the recovery ward, and to slip inside unnoticed.

Skulduggery paused in the middle of the tiled hallway, glancing around. He didn't know which room Solomon was in. And without talking to someone through a disguise they probably wouldn't be too happy with, or checking behind every single closed door in methodical order, he didn't have the first clue how to find out. All of which would have been a major problem, were it not for the mysterious and out-of-place figure dressed in black disappearing around the corner ahead.

Skulduggery followed it.

He was very glad he did, because it was Solomon's room the figure disappeared into, and while the figure was undoubtedly human and would need a few minutes to adjust their sight to the darkness of the room after the bright fluorescent lights of the hallway, Skulduggery didn't. Which meant when Solomon brought the knife up to parry the blow, there was no blow to parry. Skulduggery had caught the figure's elbow, pivoted them back against the wall, and wound back for a head-snapping punch.

[peacefullywreathed]

The shadows rolled, arching in a manner which indicated their controller had been taken by surprise. Solomon just barely saw the sharp movement of a man being slammed up against the wall by someone in a coat and hat, wearing a scarf--

No, I'm imagining things, I must be--

The knife felt heavier than his hand; he let them both drop to the bed, resting on his thigh. In spite of the adrenaline, his eyes didn't want to stay open; he forced them too nonetheless, but only managed halfway. It was enough to see movement, shapes, and through the slow thrum of his pulse in his ears he could hear the soft grunt and rustle of a quiet battle.

More than that. His skin tingled and his mouth felt like it had ash in it, and part of him realised dimly that the weight he felt in his chest and body was more than just the drugs. Shadows swirled around him, jabbing and binding--or trying.

It was a whirl of motion Solomon couldn't quite focus on. He felt too sick, too exhausted, too drugged. It felt like forever and only a few seconds at once before there was a clatter of an object on the floor, another slam and the sorcerer forced his eyes properly open again to see the hatted figure pinning the other against the wall. Breathing quick and a bit uneven, Solomon turned his eyes down to see a broken, snuffed candle still in its obsidian candlestick. A small one, a portable one, the sort peasants used to use when enclosed lanterns were too expensive to buy.

Him.

Of course they'd send him.

Abruptly Solomon shivered violently in his bed, his heart pounding all over again, his mouth dry. Something rang in his ears, something that wasn't his own blood--something that sounded like a discordant scream.

"Stop," he whispered, and his eyes fell shut. That only made it worse. He could feel his magic in him, weighing him down like a ball and chain, except that it moved. Seethed, even. Reached for the power coming to it, the power in which Solomon had always taken comfort and now only made him want to run. Only half cognizant, Solomon Wreath trembled in his bed, and breathed in the cold, dark impending death, and heard the echo of that Scream in his ears.

"Stop. Don't ..."

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery stopped.

He didn't like Necromancers, and he definitely didn't like Necromancers who knowingly tried to kill his friends. But he hadn't been planning on killing the man; just making perfectly sure he wouldn't try again in a hurry. Skulduggery made it a point these days not to kill anyone if he didn't have to. Objectivity in his work was something the detective had always prized himself on. Someone else's assumption that his plans had to involve killing was inevitable, understandable, and never any less frustrating.

In these circumstances, it was also startling. Startling because if anyone would want this man punished, it was Solomon. And if Skulduggery was hearing the drugged slur correctly, Solomon was asking him to stop.

Skulduggery didn't let go of the Necromancer, and he didn't take his eyes off him. "Solomon, he just tried to kill you."

It was a statement of the obvious, but maybe Solomon needed it. Maybe the drugged, anesthetic haze was messing up both his perception and his judgment. And Skulduggery had had just about enough of compromised judgments for the day.

[peacefullywreathed]

That was Skulduggery's voice. But it couldn't be. But it sounded like it. But that was impossible.

And there's only one way to know, so shut up and look.

With effort Solomon forced his eyes open halfway again, looking at the figures set against the wall. The room was too dim to see details, but it will looked like a hat, a scarf, a suit.

Death thrummed.

"Can't breathe," he whispered. The Necromancer, the assassin, his former brother in arms, couldn't breathe with the sort of weight Skulduggery was putting on his chest and ribs. Pneumonia, when he was a child. That was why he took the subtle tasks.

Was his own breathing getting faster? Solomon thought it probably was. The ring in his ears now was definitely a Scream, and he was fairly sure it was a sound coming from his own magic, or maybe it was just his pulse making him hear things.

Panic.

What would his magic do if someone died right here before him?

What would it sound like?

He didn't want to know. Not ever, but especially not like this, drugged and wounded and half out of his mind--not even certain Skulduggery was actually there. "Please."

Please don't make me have to see someone die like this.

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery finally turned his head to watch Solomon struggling in the bed. The Necromancer - ex-Necromancer - was panicking. Breathing more quickly. Pleading.

No. It wasn't a sudden charity, or a religious morality. Sometime less than two days ago, Solomon had destroyed his own Necromantic cane. Skulduggery knew the addictive power of the magic all too well, and he could imagine how centuries of taking it for granted suddenly shattered would hurt.

He didn't have to imagine what someone dying next to Solomon now would feel like directly afterward. Hopefully, Solomon would always have to.

But... it was more even than that, somehow. Even hitting the assassin was affecting Solomon. The assasin's pain, the assassin's closeness to passing out. Maybe it was still the belief that Skulduggery planned on killing him, but it didn't matter. Whatever it was, it was hurting Solomon.

Skulduggery slowly released the pressure on the man's chest, and then let him go entirely, silently watching him slump down against the wall to the floor, wheezing. He gave the Necromancer a full ten seconds to get his breath back before speaking again.

"I want you to go back to the Temple. I want you to tell Craven and Tenebrae and Quiver that if they send anyone else, they won't succeed, and I will hurt them. And I won't be nearly as generous as I'm being right now."

When the man didn't move for another ten seconds, Skulduggery almost reached for his revolver. He didn't, in the end, for Solomon's sake, but it didn't matter. Skulduggery was perfectly capable of being intimidating without using a gun. Being a living skeleton had its benefits. "I suggest you take advantage of that generosity."

Another ten seconds of nothing, but then the man stumbled to his feet and broke for the door. In his haste to get away, he didn't even stop to pick up the candlestick he'd dropped - a fact Skulduggery noted with some satisfaction, along with a curl of distaste. Powerful Necromantic objects never failed to make him just the slightest bit uncomfortable. And if they were making him uncomfortable...

Skulduggery picked up the candlestick himself, and left it outside the doorway. He shut the door gently, turned around, and eyed Solomon.

"A bread knife?"

[peacefullywreathed]

Slowly, far too slowly, the ring in Solomon's ears eased. The reach of his magic, frustrated and boiling with no outlet and no longer anything to reach for, subsided into that simmer he could barely detect at all. Still trying to take control of his breathing, Solomon blinked rapidly, vaguely aware that he was drenched in sweat again.

And trembling. He'd just woken up and he was trembling. He couldn't tell if it was adrenaline or exhaustion. Probably both.

Without his permission his eyes had closed, and although he could hear words, they didn't truly sink in. It was Skulduggery's voice. It couldn't be Skulduggery's voice. It couldn't actually be him. He was probably dreaming.

Which meant he'd wake up to find someone really trying to kill him, and no one around to help.

Except that those words, pointed and amused, were definitely directed at him. With effort, Solomon made his eyelids lift once more. His breathing had eased a little, but it was still impossible to even consider lifting his head too. Given the light in the room, or lack thereof, it was impossible to see more than a silhouette.

But that tone of voice ... it was unmistakable.

"Valk'rie's got my gun," he mumbled, blinking slowly. Skulduggery was here. He was here, and talking to him, and teasing him, and--

"You didn't see that Skulduggery's a Necromancer? You didn't see Vile?"

Solomon's chest tightened and his breathing quickened just the slightest. Vile. Lord Vile. Skulduggery.

It wasn't fear. Not exactly. Skulduggery, while he'd shown a desire to harm Solomon before, had never really shown a desire to kill him before. Except once, where his daughter was concerned. But it was fear, not of Skulduggery but for something ... something Solomon couldn't quite articulate.

Skulduggery was Vile.

How? Why? Why would he, of all people, choose a field of magic against which he'd been so vehement? Why, unless he had reason to believe it might be suitable after all? Unless he'd had someone so staunch in its defence, someone who had implanted the seed of the idea?

It was the drugs. Solomon hardly even knew the thought had slogged through his brain before it was coming out through his mouth. "Was it 'cos of me?" he asked, his words slurred and unsure. "Did you--Vile--'cos of me?"