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]

Ghastly started to laugh, then stopped when it made his head hurt more than it already was. "Dexter and Erskine know for a fact that I don't."

Dexter certainly teased him about Paris enough times. If everything Ghastly had ever tried to make the man stop didn't work, Corrival's testimony certainly wasn't going to do the trick. And if it did, Ghastly would be eternally grateful for it.

The only reason it took him more than a few minutes to find Skulduggery's name in the phone was that he couldn't figure out what the order of the alphabet was. S, he was pretty sure, came before U, but he kept reaching the U's without seeing anything. And then he remembered that Skulduggery was actually the skeleton's first name, which meant he should be looking for P, which meant...

There. Pleasant, Skulduggery. Stupid hangover.

Ghastly pressed the call button before he could change his mind.

He wasn't surprised when the phone almost made it to the answering machine before he heard Skulduggery pick up. He was surprised to hear a certain note in Skulduggery's voice, implying that he truly had been busy, answered hurriedly, and probably didn't even glance at the caller ID beforehand. "Detective Pleasant."

"Skulduggery." Ghastly didn't even give the detective a chance to be surprised, let alone to answer. "Does Scarab still have the Desolation Engine?"

To Skulduggery's credit, there was barely a hint of hesitation. "He has one of them, yes."

"I know where he's - wait. One of them?"

"Long story. The one he stole is back in the Sanctuary, safe and sound. Turns out, he has another one. You know where he's what?"

Ghastly shook his head. Figured that he'd get to miss everything important. "I know where he's planning to set off that Engine."

"How?"

A precipice. Ghastly knew, somehow, in this instance, that the way he answered the question would influence how their relationship was repaired. If Skulduggery knew that Ghastly trusted him with the truth, that would go a long way. But if Skulduggery didn't believe Ghastly, that could do just as much damage on both their parts. Which was the least dangerous option? That was the sort of roundabout and constant thinking Skulduggery did, and Ghastly didn't enjoy it under normal circumstances.

In the end, he decided to go with the truth. His head hurt too much for anything else. "God told me."

Silence on the other end of the line. Ghastly nodded slowly. "I know how crazy it sounds, but I ran into Him yesterday, and before I knew that - "

"I believe you."

Ghastly stopped. "You do? Why?"

"Let's just say we've been seeing the effects of your meeting. Where is Scarab detonating the Engine?"

"At the Stadium. There's a game there today. He's going to kill 80,000 people live on air."

"Of course." Skulduggery's voice faded as he spoke to someone else, possibly with a hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, and then he was back. "Thank you, Ghastly. I don't think we'd have gotten there in time without your help."

"Don't mention it. I'll meet you there. Corrival's probably coming with me."

"Ghastly - "

"Neither of us are going to mention it, Skulduggery, if you don't. 80,000 people are about to die. I'm not about to sit by and let that happen just because I can't work with you. If and when that conversation ever happens, you'll know, and it'll just be the three of us. Clear?"

This time, there was a silence, with one burst of static that cut painfully through Ghastly's headache. That silence ended abruptly. "Are you sure?"

"No. I'm not. So don't let me change my mind."

"... Alright."

"This isn't me forgiving you," Ghastly added. Mostly, he knew, to convince himself, as evidenced by Skulduggery's response.

"I know." Another pause, one that seemed to last a lifetime. "Okay. Drive safely. I'll see you both there."

This time, Ghastly did laugh as he flipped the phone closed again. Drive safely. It was such a bizarre and out-of-place comment to make in a situation like that. So... normal. Normal in a conversation that should have been anything but.

The laughter kept Ghastly distracted until he joined Corrival in the kitchen, until the pain began swimming back in. "Thanks for the phone. Want to help find a bomb and possibly arrest Scarab?"

[impudentsongbird]

"You have a lousy way of sweet-talking a man, Bespoke," Corrival said from where he stood at the sink, leaning over it and swallowing hard until the urge to throw up what he'd just drank had passed. Fortunately, his hangover was easing at the same time, as he knew it would. The cure was hard to get down, but it worked. "Either that, or it's a wonderful way. I haven't decided yet."

Ordinarily, he would have said no. Ordinarily, Ghastly wouldn't have been there to ask. This wasn't ordinary. Not ordinary because Ghastly was there, and there were things that needed to be discussed, and Corrival had to see Skulduggery. Not just to talk to him, but to see him in action. To see the evidence for or against for himself. He'd had his night of running. Now it was time to face up.

Corrival, when he looked inward, found he had the will to do that. The desire, even.

"Over there." Corrival pointed toward the tall glass on the counter, filled with something which looked vile, smelled vile, and had a raw egg floating on top. "Just like Larrikin and Vex with that wager in Marseilles."

The one where they had had to set up a meeting-point all but in a chicken coop and Corrival had walked in on a bet about who could down the most raw eggs without throwing up. Corrival's boots had lost.

He straightened up a bit, took a breath, and found he had the wits to think and a relieving lack of pain. Right then. While Ghastly drank and waited for the hangover to recede, Corrival got ready--freshening himself up a bit, gathering his coat, pulling on his boots (those boots, with only a moment of looking at them). By the time Ghastly was ready, Corrival was waiting by the door to the garage.

"Hurry up, Bespoke," he said briskly, taking back his mobile. "We've got the world to save. Again."

[skeletonenigma]

Watching Skulduggery arguing with the doctor about Solomon's release from the hospital was like an exercise in trying not to burst out laughing and blow the whole thing.

Mostly because Solomon actually joined in. And, as far as Valkyrie could tell, neither of them ever actually lied.

The doctor said Solomon was still on drugs, and could barely walk. His medical advice was to remain in the hospital for another week, at least - and to finally tell the hospital who Solomon was. Skulduggery rolled smoothly over that last part, and claimed that his little brother had always suffered from strong delusions, and that the drugs were actually not having as much of an effect on Solomon as the doctor was thinking. Solomon denied it, which wasn't particularly surprising, but also a little worrying; that was, worrying until Solomon then went on to say in a completely deadpan voice that big brothers were far too much of an influence. Why, he remembered the time when he followed Skulduggery onto a sailboat in 1625, and they both ended up falling into the water because Skulduggery was a terrible sailor.

But if Tanith could manage to keep a straight face, then damn it, so could Valkyrie. She only had to turn away once.

The doctor didn't take a single word Solomon said seriously after that. He suggested a move to the psychiatric ward, whereupon Skulduggery gasped with shock and horror, and pointed out that his precious younger brother already had a panic attack once because he was in hospital; why did they want to do that to him again? Solomon agreed that he was finding the hospital very uncomfortable, and he obviously had plenty of people to help him out back at home. Skulduggery labeled that desire to go home Exhibit A as to Solomon's well-being, because who in their right mind wanted to stay in the hospital a minute longer than they absolutely had to? The doctor said he thought Solomon was delusional. Skulduggery said yes, he was, but only when it furthered their cause, and really everything was perfectly fine.

Valkyrie strongly suspected, when the doctor finally let them sign the non-liability waiver, that it was mostly because the young man was getting sick of the conversation. That, and Paddy - or Father O'Reilly, since Valkyrie really didn't like thinking of someone she liked as even remotely similar to Batu - putting in a good word.

It did feel weird to be walking out the front doors of the hospital completely legally, though, Solomon in a wheelchair and all. Valkyrie and Tanith exchanged one look as they emerged into the sunshine, and that was it. Every moment Valkyrie had wanted to burst out laughing back in the hospital room returned in full force, and Paddy - who was pushing the wheelchair - came to a stop in confusion.

"I really wish," said Skulduggery, "that they would stop doing that." His head tilted towards Gabe. "What is it this time?"

"Are you really that bad at sailing?" Valkyrie asked, doing her best the make the words understandable through her laughter.

"Well, I've gotten better since." There was something in Skulduggery's voice Valkyrie couldn't identify. It was something good, but it wasn't quite amusement. Relief? "That first one was Ghastly's boat. Or, more precisely, Ghastly's mother's boat. She handled it well. Paddy, thank you for all your help. Don't hesitate to call if you ever need anything."

[peacefullywreathed]

Skulduggery would have done better directing his question elsewhere, Solomon thought. The Archangel's shoulders were quivering in a very suspicious fashion, and when he looked at the skeleton there was a light in his eyes that made the sorcerer wonder if angels could laugh on another plane while they were attending a physical one.

"I imagine," said Saint Gabriel, suppressed mirth making his voice waver, "that they found your little skit amusing. As did I."

"Only because he went Elemental and refused to set foot on a sailboat until he could manipulate the waves himself," Solomon pointed out, expanding upon Skulduggery's answer as he rearranged his coat to hide the hospital gown. And their tremble. It hadn't left yet, and with the jelly-feeling in his limbs, he could tell he wouldn't be able to push his body much further. Particularly after that display, amusing as it had been.

"I was lying when I said we both fell in the water. He crashed it into the dock, and then we fell into the water. It is," he added, looking up at Skulduggery and lifting an eyebrow, "exceedingly difficult to follow orders which include acting on objects like 'that giant door-knocker thing' and 'those ropes on the far end' when the ship is full of ropes."

In spite of his paleness, his sunken eyes, and the sweat which indicated Solomon was burning out, there was a tiny smirk on the corners of his lips and a gleam in his eyes. "I have to admit, though--we haven't lost our touch."

This time it was Saint Gabriel who laughed, loud and with that kind of melodious laugh that made even passersby have to stop and look and smile. "I think we've earned this story," he said with a dimpled grin at Skulduggery, "but later." The Archangel turned to Paddy and held out his hands, but instead of taking the priest's own Saint Gabriel stepped forward to wrap him in a brief but heartfelt hug instead. "Thank you again, Paddy. Call if you need me--you know how. I'll answer as soon as I can."

It was difficult to see Paddy from where Solomon sat, given the man was behind him. Even Saint Gabriel's action only moved him slightly, not enough for Solomon to properly look. But the sorcerer's hand rest on the soft lump in his pocket, and for a few moments he said nothing. Then, finally, he tilted his head to indicate he was talking behind him and said, "Yes. Thank you."

[skeletonenigma]

Valkyrie's eyes sparkled. "No wonder you can walk on water! Wasn't being able to steer a ship kind of a big deal back then?"

Skulduggery was saved from having to answer by his phone ringing, but he answered Valkyrie's question anyway. "It was an admired skill, and a common one. Certainly not required, though. I never learned it. I was too busy learning skills that were actually useful. And Solomon, I never said door knocker. I couldn't have. There's nothing on a sailboat that looks even a bit like a door knocker."

Paddy was fascinated, despite himself. He'd been just as awestruck over the two sorcerers' performances as everyone else. The way Skulduggery and Solomon talked the doctor into circles was almost embarrassing, and it spoke of a certain familiarity between the two that Solomon certainly hadn't mentioned to Paddy. That idea was confirmed a moment later by Solomon's own words.

"No," Skulduggery agreed. "We certainly haven't."

Was Skulduggery already a skeleton by then? How long had he been getting away with talking to people, when he couldn't make eye contact? Smile? Frown? Show even an inch of his face? Paddy had half a mind to ask if Skulduggery would take off his sunglasses quickly, but the other half his mind instantly and vehemently disagreed with the thought.

"Are you going to answer your phone?" Tanith asked, jabbing the skeleton in the arm.

"In a moment," Skulduggery replied, and Paddy became aware that the object he'd been fiddling with for the last ten seconds was, in fact, his mobile. "Smartphone. With a touchscreen. Infernal things, really." The ringing immediately stopped, and Skulduggery stepped away with a sigh. "There we go. Detective Pleasant."

"It..." Paddy verbally stumbled as Gabriel hugged him. It was a very strange sensation; being hugged by a young, vaguely middle eastern barefoot university student, and knowing - knowing - that it was the most natural thing in the world. Warm, comforting, and genuinely grateful. "It was my pleasure, really. Thank you." He laughed. "And if ever you need more holy water, please don't hesitate to call me. That goes for you too, Solomon."

[peacefullywreathed]

"I will," Saint Gabriel promised, taking over the handles of the wheelchair--as much, Solomon suspected, to lean on himself as to push Solomon.

"As you say," Solomon murmured, watching in the windows' reflection as the priest farewelled the others and turned to head back inside. The sorcerer tore his gaze away, unsure why he felt so bereft except that he had revealed things to Paddy of which he hadn't spoken in years. And Paddy had never questioned or judged. Not even Skulduggery had managed that.

Watching Skulduggery talk on the phone, Saint Gabriel grimaced, embarrassed and chagrined in equal turns. "I really should've known better than to make him a smartphone. Oops."

Looking up at him, Solomon cocked an eyebrow. "You made him a smartphone. Why?"

"His magnetism was distracting me," Saint Gabriel said with dignified deadpan. Solomon tilted his head, glancing toward Skulduggery and pursing his lips as if in consideration.

"Ah. Yes, that's always a risk. Some of the things he distracted me into doing are things I intend to never hit the sound of day. Or night."

He was fortunate Skulduggery turned sharply toward them, then, with the kind of focus that only came with a break in the case. The news he had certainly classified.

"The stadium," Saint Gabriel echoed quietly. "That makes perfect sense. He's going to use those deaths to destroy Guild and the Sanctuary at once--destroy them with the appearance of their own ineptitude. Are you going to ring him?" The last was directed at Skulduggery as the skeleton hung up and turned back to them properly. "Guild, I mean."

[skeletonenigma]

Solomon was very fortunate Skulduggery caught Valkyrie's attention with his news of the Dublin-Kerry game, or Valkyrie would have seized Solomon's observation with both hands and never stopped pestering until he told them at least one story about the things Skulduggery had made him do.

As it was, her heart stopped. 80,000 people. She'd only been to the Stadium once before, with her dad when she was nine, but she'd loved it. Talked nonstop in the car all the way home, which was a rare feat even back then. The idea that Scarab might blow the whole stadium up, and kill all those people, just because he wanted revenge on the Sanctuary...

It was unthinkable. But it was happening.

"Hm?" Skulduggery glanced over at them with a suspicious head tilt Valkyrie thought she recognised. "Oh. Yes, I probably should. Fletcher, the moment we're out of sight, take us to the Hibernian. We need to be quick."

Confusion. That was it. That was the head tilt Skulduggery used whenever something didn't make sense to him. And since Valkyrie knew the Desolation Engine's location made 'perfect sense,' as Gabe pointed out, she also knew that the skeleton's current confusion stemmed from Ghastly willingly calling him. Just to help him out. Skulduggery told Valkyrie, during their talk back at the safehouse, that Ghastly apologised indirectly last night for breaking his jaw; and Skulduggery's head had been tilted the same way back then, because Skulduggery Pleasant couldn't fathom why anyone would continue to help him, continue to be friendly, after learning that he'd been Lord Vile.

If he ever actually asked, Valkyrie could have spared him the confusion. Gabe and Solomon may have been joking about Skulduggery's magnetism, but there was definitely an element of truth to it.

"Have you ever been to the Stadium?" Tanith asked Fletcher, jolting Valkyrie out of her thoughts.

"Of course. VIP area, mostly."

"Don't take us to the VIP area," Skulduggery said. "Not at first. Ghastly and an old friend of mine are going to meet us there. As is Guild, presumably, if I ever get this bloody thing to work."

Valkyrie raised an eyebrow at him. "Need some help?"

"Confounded, blasted thing," Skulduggery muttered, poking at the phone's screen with about as much of his usual grace as an angry pigeon.

Valkyrie grinned, rolled her eyes, and took the phone from him. "Here. Let me do it. What's the number?"

[impudentsongbird]

By the time they finally got Skulduggery's phone worked out (during which time Gabe pointed out that unless Skulduggery wanted him to have to expend energy to recreate the phone again in the event Skulduggery broke it, the skeleton really ought to be gentler), they had reached a safe place to Teleport. Within a few seconds they were at the Hibernian and Kenspeckle was having the time of his life tearing strips off them for their stupidity.

How did he put it? Ah, yes. 'When you meet people who are otherwise intelligent enough to remain uninjured and they begin to take on characteristics of reckless idiots who rush in without thinking, it's obvious where the problem lies.'

Gabe hadn't begrudged the professor his sharp words. Solomon had looked awful, and although he hid his pain and exhaustion well, from the relief in him Gabe could tell that he was glad to be somewhere he could get 'proper' medical attention. Even if Kenspeckle was probably going to keep him there for several days. At least the Hibernian, obvious target though it was, would be relatively safe. Relatively. Maybe.

Nevertheless, it had taken a little while to get Solomon situated as per Kenspeckle's demand, long enough that in spite of his control even Skulduggery's impatience was bleeding through, but finally they left the Hibernian to pick up Anton Shudder and then make for the Stadium. Shudder, Gabriel noticed, very staunchly did not look either he or Skulduggery in the eye, but he responded and acted just as anyone would expect of him. He agreed the Stadium was a very likely location, that they would need as many people as possible, and why were they waiting, please?

All of which meant that when they appeared in one of the Stadium corridors, just down from a staff-only entrance, and Gabe peered through the door into the crowd to search for Ghastly and that 'friend', Ghastly and said 'friend' were already there.

Corrival's hangover had all but vanished by the time they reached the Stadium, but he was staunchly ignoring the fact that the sound of the crowd was threatening to make it strike up again. Instead he strode through them with a heavy step and the kind of radiating presence to make people flow around him instead of get in his way. Maybe they thought he was security. They wouldn't have been wrong, exactly.

A piercing whistle cut through the general hubbub and Corrival's eyes snapped toward the origin. What he saw was an astounding beautiful curly-haired young man in the door to one of the staff entrances, in shorts and barefoot. In the middle of Dublin. And he was beckoning them. Corrival raised an eyebrow.

"Skulduggery's Archangel, I presume?" he asked with a glance toward Ghastly, but he was already moving toward the door. The man stepped aside as they made it, favouring them both with a kind of radiantly grateful smile that put Corrival instinctively on guard. Except this one was different. This time, Corrival also wanted to smile back, because there was something so genuinely honest about that expression, in its extremity--as if the man didn't even bother with a filter between his feelings and his appearance.

"Ghastly. I'm glad to see you again."

Curbing the urge to smile back, Corrival instead nodded shortly to the man as he stepped inside, even as his gaze studied him without seeming as if it was. Not exactly to Corrival's surprise, but with an internal quiver in his gut which did surprise him, he saw the curly-haired man looking back at him with a frank awareness of that examination.

"You're Gabriel, I assume?" he said gruffly to cover it and to avoid being paralysed by the combination of Skulduggery's nearness and the knowledge of what he'd once done. "Corrival Deuce."

He didn't offer the 'Archangel' his hand, but Gabriel only smiled again, a gentle, knowing smile accompanied by that same awareness in his brown eyes that made a chill run down Corrival's spine. "Skul's told me a bit about you." He grinned suddenly. "Or mentioned your name, anyway. It's my pleasure."

This wasn't an Archangel. Couldn't be an Archangel. Or maybe it was the only thing he could be; Corrival wasn't sure. Something about this man gave Corrival chills down his back and made his chest glow with warmth at the same time. He was beautiful--not handsome; handsome was the wrong word--but too beautiful, in a way so natural it was alien. He was honest, but to an extent that Corrival couldn't help but be suspicious purely due to that urge to trust. He shouldn't have had that urge at all. And Gabriel knew things. That look in his eyes, so similar to Descry Hopeless's, but so different as well just because the way he looked wasn't as if he was still working things out--but as if he knew.

This man, Gabriel, was a bundle of contradictions and circumstances that felt too good to be true. That, Corrival couldn't trust. If he hadn't felt China Sorrows' magic and knew how it felt, he might have thought it was similar.

"I'd say the same, except for the part about Scarab planning to blow up eighty-thousand people," he replied shortly, and turned finally toward Skulduggery Pleasant, letting his sharp gaze wander across the rest of their little band as he did so. Anton was there, Corrival saw with a mixture of relief and apprehension. "I'm demanding compensation," the old soldier told Skulduggery without a flicker of his internal regard showing on his face, "for getting dragged out of a happy retirement to deal with bombs and assassination threats. They're contrary to the definition of the word retirement. Hello, Anton."

The last wasn't added in afterthought so much as a casual subject-shift, an acknowledgement. It was easier this way. Easier, even though he looked squarely into Skulduggery's face--or sunglasses and scarf, as the case may be--to keep moving and not linger on whos and whats and hows.

"Corrival." Anton inclined his head. "Glad to see you again. How's your head?"

Anton, Corrival decided, always had been the most deadpan vindictive of the Dead Men. "Throbbing along nicely, thank you," he said dryly. "Let's get on with this. I've got a crossword puzzle to get back to."

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery's Archangel.

"Yep. That's him." Ghastly looked away as the crowd on one side of them began cheering, which nicely covered up the sudden choking that came from nowhere right before he calmed down enough to answer. Right. Skulduggery's Archangel. In the post-drunken haze that came with consuming most of Corrival's liquor cabinet in one night, Ghastly had completely forgotten about that part of his conversation with God.

He still didn't really want to think about it. Much as it helped with the sudden fear that Vile could potentially pop back up at any time, Ghastly would really rather have kept his sanity.

He toyed vaguely with the idea of introducing everyone once they were alone in the Staff Only corridor, seeing as he doubted Skulduggery would do it, but Corrival took care of the worst of it himself. And since Corrival already knew at least the names of everyone there, Ghastly stayed quiet.

"Get on with it how, exactly?" Fletcher demanded. "There's eighty-thousand people here. Scarab could be anywhere. We'd need a mind-reader to find just one person in all this."

"Lucky we have a mind-reader, then, isn't it?" Tanith gestured towards Gabe. "Or at least a soul-reader. Could you find him?"

"No." Skulduggery shook his head without giving the Archangel a chance to answer. "For all intents and purposes, Gabriel's an ordinary mortal right now. We'll have to work as quickly as we can, starting with the VIP section and working our way down. Guild and Sanctuary backup shouldn't be too long now."

Ghastly frowned. It was like nothing had changed, but at the same time... the tension was so poignant to anyone who had even the slightest idea of where it might be coming from. Skulduggery was being straight and professional, which would have been normal enough in these circumstances, if not for the caution in the way he was standing. The wariness in the way he still hadn't acknowledged either Ghastly or Corrival - or at least, hadn't acknowledged them with anything beyond eye contact neither of them would be able to see.

Ghastly wanted to break that invisible layer of ice, but he had no idea how to.

[impudentsongbird]

As glad as Gabe was to see Ghastly, the Archangel was acutely aware of everything in the corridor which wasn't being said. Tanith's wariness was bad. Skulduggery's wariness of Ghastly and Corrival was worse, if only because Gabe could see in them everything that Skulduggery never expected. Corrival Deuce was still wary and ready for defence--but firmly on Skulduggery's side. And Ghastly?

In Ghastly, in the way the tailor looked at his oldest and best friend, there was nothing but a wistful wish to set things straight, and a complete lack of idea how to go about it.

Later. For now, there were things to do. Things Skulduggery wasn't going to be pleased about, and from the way Corrival was frowning in thought, glancing sidelong at him, the sorcerer knew it too. "Could you do it?" he asked Gabe directly. "Find Scarab?"

Gabriel exhaled, pressing his palms against the wall behind him, the wall against which he was leaning, and felt the tingle of memories in it. "I can," he acknowledged evenly. "It'd be quicker than searching the terraces one by one, and we don't know how much time we have."

In spite of himself, the Archangel was looking at Skul as he said it. He didn't particularly want to aggravate his headache again, but he felt better than before. He was moving more easily--not completely easily, especially the more time passed and the effects of Kenspeckle's massage wore off, and particularly as it had focussed on his back and not on his limbs. It was enough that Gabe thought he could handle searching for a very specific soul he'd memorised while in Scarab's dungeon.

The thing was that he'd promised. And Skul had already objected.

And yet ... Gabe glanced toward the door, sitting ajar, at the seething crowd just visible through it. Eighty-thousand people. It wasn't really a choice at all. If he could quicken their search to save eighty-thousand lives, how could he say no?

"Do it," Corrival ordered. "There's no telling when Scarab will decide to go ahead, and there's no point in wasting the time."

Gabriel didn't want to break his promise--again. He'd already broken it so much today. Yet, in the face of eighty-thousand souls and still more after that once the non-magical world knew of magic's existence, how could he refuse? Slowly Gabe nodded. "Alright."

[skeletonenigma]

Corrival's override was all the more annoying for the simple fact that Skulduggery knew it was the right choice to make. The only choice, really, at this juncture. Using every resource at their disposal, with a minimum of risk, to save 80,000 lives. It made perfect sense. It was, no pun intended, a no-brainer.

But Corrival also hadn't seen the way Gabe collapsed after speaking to Raphael through Finbar. Corrival hadn't seen the way every small movement was causing the Archangel grief, and Corrival wasn't the one who had to keep him stable right after said Archangel rescued him from the dimension of the Faceless Ones. Corrival wasn't worried about what might happen to Gabe if he pushed himself too far, what the potential repercussions might be, or - and most importantly - who Gabe's disappearance would upset the most. (To be perfectly honest with himself, Skulduggery wasn't sure about that last part either. But he did know who he didn't want upset with them, and he knew throwing Gabe to the wolves was the perfect way to bring down that wrath.)

And yet, Skulduggery was wary of arguing too much, too soon. He hadn't had a chance to gauge Corrival's state of mind about Vile yet. Until he did, he had to assume that layer of ice was much too thin and much too dangerous to tackle. Because it probably was.

So he turned to Gabe instead. "You don't know what your limits are. You have no idea what could push you over the edge. For all we know, this could be it. And I don't particularly want to be the first person in history testing those limits to their full extent."

[impudentsongbird]

The objection wasn't in the least bit unexpected. The uncertainty and wariness rolling in Skulduggery's soul wasn't either. The way Corrival narrowed his eyes at the skeleton wouldn't have been, from Skul's perspective, except that Gabe could see why the older sorcerer was doing it.

Gabe also saw the flicker toward him, the quiet internalisation of Skul's words and what they implied.

Gabriel nodded again. "I know. And I don't particularly want another migraine. But eighty-thousand lives, Skul. If it comes down to my suffering a bit in exchange for saving over eighty-thousand lives, it isn't really a contest."

[skeletonenigma]

"Funny," Skulduggery said. "I seem to recall someone making the exact same argument about you rescuing me. And I also remember someone else telling them that reducing the choice to raw and basic statistics is not how things work, nor how they should work."

It wasn't as if Skulduggery had accepted that being rescued by Gabe was a good thing. Not with Lucifer on the way and the whole planet being put at risk, for the benefit of just one person who, when all was said and done, deserved every minute of that suffering anyway. But Skulduggery also wasn't above using previous arguments he didn't agree with to make a point now.

"It's not just a bit," he added quietly. "It's constant, and cumulative, and dangerous. You have a whole world of people back home counting on you returning in one piece. We can handle this without divine intervention."

"Actually," Ghastly returned, just as quietly, "unless you can find Scarab in less than a minute, I'm not sure we can."

[impudentsongbird]

Gabe frowned. "That's different. Just because we can see the cause an effect in hindsight doesn't meant it was possible to know it at the time. It wasn't a factor in the decision. It wasn't a risk we could have known. This is."

That made all the difference. Even more because there was no telling what would happen; here and now, they knew eighty-thousand people and more would die if they didn't stop Scarab. They couldn't predict what Lucifer might do, or what they themselves would be able to achieve to stop him. It was too far into the future, too vague, and therefore unreliable.

Gabriel nodded slightly in Ghastly's direction, acknowledging the support, but without removing his gaze from Skulduggery's hidden eye-sockets. "How can I refuse?" he asked softly. "If I can do something to remove that risk, how can I not? Particularly as it's something you would do in my place?"

"Oh, for God's sake," Corrival said sharply, sharply enough to startle Gabriel into blinking at him. The sorcerer turned into the corridor, glancing over his shoulder. Anton Shudder, Gabriel noticed in passing, was already turned in the same direction, studying the wall, but he looked over at Corrival when the man spoke. "While you two lovebirds figure out your marital spat, we're going to use the time we have to look for the man we want to find. Come join us when you're actually ready to save eighty-thousand lives."

[skeletonenigma]

Quite easily, Skulduggery would have said. Just don't do it. Choosing not to do what felt like the right thing to do was actually remarkably easy. Doing nothing was always easy, regardless of the reason. The part that gave most people pause was knowing how terrible they would feel afterwards - and with a bit of practice, it was also possible to put those feelings aside.

But he didn't say it. Because for one thing, with Gabe, it would be more than just personal guilt. Gabriel was an Archangel. It probably went against the very nature of his existence, which could be just as dangerous for his well-being.

And for another thing, Corrival's pointed jab startled Skulduggery into the same blinking silence as Gabriel. The only difference was that Skulduggery didn't have eyes to blink. Lovebirds. Lovebirds indeed. After a moment of thought, Skulduggery removed any personal feelings he had on the subject, distanced himself, and reconsidered the logic. It was surprisingly difficult to do, which was unnerving, given that it was something he was renowned and respected for doing.

But it had been this difficult before. With Serpine, most prominently. And each of those times had been because of the anger blocking the objectivity. There was no anger blocking it now, and Skulduggery had no excuse.

He tilted his head. "Alright. Find Scarab for us, and then get yourself out of here. Fletcher can Teleport you back to the safehouse. Deal?"

[impudentsongbird]

The fact that Skulduggery stopped short made Corrival's eyes narrow and the old sorcerer start to turn back toward them, but Skulduggery had already begun to talk by then. Moreover, Anton Shudder had, for the first time since last night, looked at either of them even remotely in the eye before looking away again uncomfortably.

So for the sake of Skulduggery's comfort of mind, Gabriel jumped in before--he hoped--Corrival's thoughts could progress too far. "Deal," he said, and mustered an almost teasing smile. "Just don't go leaping in front of explosions. I've already had to rescue you once."

With that he leaned back against the wall, exhaling slowly and not inhaling again afterward. The Archangel detached himself, let his consciousness seep into the Stadium, felt and experienced all the joy and frustration and sheer energy of the crowd within it. He let all those souls pass by; he was searching only for one. It was a high-speed search, one that imbued himself almost fully into the building, and if he'd been a physical being the speed of it would have made him dizzy in the face of his injuries. As it was, it made his mind whiplash, and although he couldn't feel the throb of the rising headache, he did feel the metaphysical tremble which indicated its presence once he returned.

Then, all at once, there it was. A deep stain amongst the crowd, familiar and old and bitter. Magical, where most of the others weren't. Gabriel opened his eyes, and in them was an inconceivable distance and depth and breadth. "He's up two storeys, in the Staff-Only hall just before the Section-B terrace. He's waiting."

With a blink the Archangel withdrew back into himself, a snapback effect which shouldn't have hurt at all. For a moment the pain was suspended; then it came crashing in and all the blood drained from the Archangel's face. He closed his eyes, bit his lip, and let the wall take his weight as he tried to wrestle that headache into some semblance of mercy.

[skeletonenigma]

Fletcher, once he was sure Gabe would be able to handle a Teleport, let the Archangel lean on his shoulder and disappeared with him back to the safehouse. Skulduggery tried not to think about how pale the angel had gotten - much too pale for a being that shouldn't really exist on the physical plane - or how tight his face had drawn, and he certainly didn't think about how much worse all of those effects would be the moment Gabriel reappeared wherever Fletcher decided to take him. Luckily, as Fletcher confirmed when he reappeared in the Staff Only corridor moments later, the teenager had the sense to take Gabe straight back to that healing bedroom.

Gabe would be alright for the time being. It was one problem out of the way, one that could be dealt with after this current crisis was averted. And as much as Skulduggery still mentally rebelled at the thought of Gabe straining himself, what was done was done, and Skulduggery had always been good at moving on. Putting things aside. Stepping over the mistakes.

Scarab was out there, and he had a bomb. Everything else could wait.

It was that thought which allowed Skulduggery to talk to Corrival, and act like nothing had changed. "Game's already started. You've been here more often than I have. Would the stairs or the elevator be faster?"

[impudentsongbird]

True Archangel or not, by the way Gabriel went pale it was clear that he wasn't in good condition. Skulduggery's objection said that that wasn't a usual reaction to Gabe's mind-reading, or soul-reading, or whatever it was he was doing. Corrival watched through narrowed eyes, but it was Skulduggery he watched almost as much as the 'Archangel', and Anton as well when he noticed how staunchly the man seemed to be giving them their privacy.

Anton was good at customer service, but this wasn't his Hotel. He should have been teasing or curious as much as Corrival. The way he acted, it was as if he knew something he shouldn't, and he was trying to avoid drawing attention to either it or himself. It couldn't be what Corrival knew, either, or else Anton wouldn't even be there. If anything, the man seemed ... uncomfortable.

A suspicion didn't exactly bloom. It was there, a niggling little 'what if' of the sort that was too fantastical to be even remotely true, but it didn't bloom. The thing was, Corrival had a regular habit of entertaining the fantastical just because, in his experience, they were truer than people realised.

As it was, Skulduggery's question only reinforced that fantasy, even while Corrival gave the skeleton a level, exceedingly unimpressed look. "I thought it was your brain you lost," he said flatly, "not your logic. We don't know how long Scarab and his lot have been here, and I, for one, have no intention of being inside an elevator with a cut wire. That," and this last was added snidely as the sorcerer turned down the corridor again, "means the stairs would be faster, in case whatever passes for your mind is falling down on the job."

Usually Corrival wasn't this snide. He didn't usually have to be. But he had to be now, because Skulduggery Pleasant wasn't thinking, was distracted, and more to the point was acting like an abused dog tiptoeing around its rescuers. It was wrong. Skulduggery should have known them, should have trusted them, better than that. Corrival wanted a reaction. He wanted evidence of the man he knew, not this ... wary, distracted businessman.

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery didn't answer for a moment, if only because he was startled by Corrival being even more disparaging and downright malicious than he normally was. Startled, but not exactly surprised.

It was a reaction Skulduggery deserved in the middle of all this, anyway. He was distracted. He was distracted and asking questions that he already knew the answer to, and then almost trying to defend himself out loud before realising how pointless that would be. And not just pointless, either; it would become an unnecessary argument with his former general, right after his former general had just found out about Vile. Skulduggery didn't have a leg to stand on.

Valkyrie placed an encouraging hand on his shoulder as she passed him. She might have had something to say, as well, but contrary to how Skulduggery felt, she was actually being professional. Focused on the task at hand. Just like he'd taught her; just like he should be now. 80,000 people. Right now, they were all that mattered.

Skulduggery silently took up the rear of the group following Corrival towards the staircase. It wasn't a position he was used to, but it did offer him the chance to collect himself.

"How are we going to do this?" he heard Valkyrie ask from the front. "Can we really arrest Scarab in broad daylight with so many people around?"

[impudentsongbird]

"With luck, there won't be many people around to have to worry about," Corrival said without breaking stride or even looking behind. As if it was rehearsed, Anton had taken the position just behind him, where Erskine usually walked--covering their general from behind while he led. Ghastly had fallen in the middle, where he could cover the less experienced members of the group.

Someone had to take last. It just wasn't usually Skulduggery.

"But in the event there are, yes we can." Corrival fished in his pocket for a wallet. His outside wallet, not the wallet on the inside pocket, which was where he put it. The one he left on the outside, for anyone who might be curious about obtaining it, was entirely fake. That didn't mean some of those things weren't useful. He flipped it open over his shoulder to reveal the ID inside. The ID which said, incidentally, that Corrival was an Inspector.

"The only problem will be if he uses magic. I don't think he will. He's willing to out us to the general public, but only if it helps his cause. If it doesn't, he won't bother. I'm surprised someone hasn't already explained this to you."

At the last, Corrival didn't raise his voice; he was already projecting his voice so they could all hear him, in that way of someone trained and conditioned to do so. But the words were pointed. He pulled the wallet back. "Sometimes investigations cross over. It's only logical to have a means to step on the mortal world's toes. God knows some people don't even need an excuse."

Once more, Corrival's last words were pointed.

[skeletonenigma]

If Skulduggery had been about to respond - Valkyrie was pretty sure he wouldn't, but if he'd been about to - she cut him off before he could. "He doesn't explain things to me if I don't ask. Isn't that something we should be worried about anyway? Scarab's not going to come quietly, and..." Magic would be most convenient, if he was going to resist. Magic always was. But Valkyrie suddenly realised she had absolutely no idea whether Scarab was an Adept or an Elemental.

She glanced back at Skulduggery. His disguise was still firmly in place, which made it impossible to tell how he was feeling - until he reached up and slowly adjusted his hat.

Slowly. Cautiously. Going through the motions of acting like nothing was wrong, and probably consciously or he wouldn't be doing it so slowly. He didn't try to defend himself, even after Valkyrie's voice trailed off. Not even with the dry humour she'd come to love him for.

Valkyrie had only just met Corrival, but the fact that he intimidated Skulduggery into a cautious silence, she didn't like. It made her think, again, about what was going to happen to Skulduggery now. There was no way his friends could know about what he'd done during the war and just let it slide. Valkyrie was still trying to work her way back to trusting Skulduggery again, and she hadn't even been there. She'd never seen Lord Vile.

Mentally, she shook herself. Skulduggery did too much good in the world for him to just be locked up, and it wasn't fair. It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair. But she couldn't worry about any of that right now with so many lives at stake. "If he uses magic," she finished her earlier question, "and we can't, does that mean he'll just get away?"

"Not if we have anything to say about it," Ghastly answered.

[impudentsongbird]

Valkyrie Cain was a known name to Corrival. She seemed like a competent enough kid, even though he personally didn't see Skulduggery's reasoning in dragging her into all this. At the same time, he did. She was descended from the Ancients. She needed watching and protecting, and training as well.

But the fact that she answered, and Skulduggery didn't, only made Corrival's irritation rise.

The fact that Skulduggery said nothing had his irritation rise.

This was not Skulduggery Pleasant. This was some shade of him, some vestige of the charming, incorrigibly arrogant detective Corrival had known. As if Vile had won after all. As if his mere memory, now known truthfully, had stolen everything in Skulduggery worth keeping.

The thought made Corrival snap. Abruptly he turned on his heel, pushing past Anton and the others to stalk up to Skulduggery. "People around here have a lot of things to say," he growled, "except the person who usually says the most."

He came to Skulduggery and stopped short toe-to-toe, so close that he was very obviously in Skulduggery's personal space. Even though the skeleton was taller, even though he had no eyes to look into, no face to see even without the disguise--even though he was apparently the intimidating one in every respect--it was Corrival Deuce who drew the eye, who demanded the attention. "Let me," he said in a deadly-quiet tone which nonetheless carried, "make one thing perfectly clear, Skulduggery Pleasant. I am not here because of whatever shit got dragged from the past into the present. I am here to save lives, because I was asked, by a friend whom I trust. I am not--"

Corrival's hand lifted, jabbing sharply at Skulduggery's chest. "I am not here to watch you make an idiot of yourself because you feel like you should be wallowing in a cesspool. I don't currently have a body hidden in my freezer for a fool who can't even muster the gumption to defend himself against the things that aren't true. If you can't find that man again, then I am going to command you to go back to your precious angel and let him comfort you, because by God I will not accept a man who can't pull his own weight in a task of this magnitude. Am I making myself clear?"

[skeletonenigma]

Was he making himself clear?

Of course he was. That was one thing Corrival was very, very good at. The direct and blunt responses, the hands-on approach, the way he verbally and physically snapped people out of their ridiculous mindsets. Skulduggery dragged himself out of the black pit of hatred once, but Corrival was the reason that Skulduggery didn't fall back into it and become Lord Vile again.

"You are not going back in that room."

It was an order. A direct, angry, pointed order. And it was that last order that made Skulduggery turn back in disbelief. "Why not?"

"Because," Corrival answered, just as evenly, just as pointedly, with just as much thinly veiled threat behind the words, "you almost killed him."

"Didn't seem to stop him from going into those houses and murdering all those families. He deserves a lot worse than anything we could ever do to him."

Skulduggery's anger was unmistakable, even - especially - to him. He'd been very aware of it for a while now. He was also very aware of the consequences of letting that anger get the best of him, but it was a time when all he had was that knowledge. No control, and only the weakest desire to even learn that control. And in the face of having one of Mevolent's known aides as their prisoner, knowing what he'd done, knowing that he'd told them all he knew and outlived his usefulness... there was very, very little for Skulduggery to grasp onto. Sometimes, knowledge and memories just weren't enough.

"He does," Corrival agreed. "Hell, he deserves every single one of those deaths he doled out turned back on him all at once, and then some. And worse. As far as I'm concerned, he deserves the absolute worst possible pain you can come up with."

Skulduggery nodded. "Then let me - "

"And you're not going to give it to him, Skulduggery."

"Now you've lost me."

Corrival stalked up to him, something very close to fury burning in his eyes. It wasn't fury, exactly, but it wasn't quite harmless exasperation either. It wouldn't be, with the way Skulduggery had tortured the sorcerer before Corrival found him and stopped him. "The way we treat our prisoners of war is what makes us different from them, Pleasant. Torturing him and killing him now would accomplish absolutely nothing except satisfying your own misplaced desire for revenge, and that is a poison you do not want."

"Mevolent - "

" - is a sick, twisted, evil bastard who attracts sick, twisted, evil people like Serpine and Vengeous and Vile. He's also firmly convinced he's doing the world a favour. Tell me, if you start killing people you think deserve to be killed, what makes you any different? How different would you be, five or ten years from now? You think about that. You think about how you want us to win this war. Because if you want us to win it through revenge and hatred and needless, violent bloodshed, without a shred of honour or decency or anything else to really be proud of, I want you to get out." He jabbed a finger against Skulduggery's chest. "I have standards. If you can't meet them yourself, then by God, I will drag you up here with the rest of us, if I have to. You are not allowed back in that room. Am I making myself clear?"

It was the first time Skulduggery had been struck speechless because someone was completely right. The first time he admitted that, even silently. And, more importantly, it marked the first time Skulduggery started teaching himself to meditate.

Because back then, keeping himself stable was the most important thing. Keeping himself out of the pit. After over a century of experience, he was beyond that now. Past all of it. Back to, for lack of a better word, normal. Charming and eloquent, with a sense of humour and an impeccable fashion sense.

And with the truth out at last, he was losing everything he'd worked so hard for. Ironic, how it took Corrival to make the detective see that.

"Perfectly." Another brief pause, and Skulduggery nodded. "I have not lost my mind. I dislike dealing with the Garda if I don't absolutely have to, and I don't usually carry around a fake ID. I'm charismatic enough, you see, that I don't need one."

He tilted his head. "You have a body in your freezer?"

[impudentsongbird]

Wasting time wasn't something Corrival did. He didn't consider this a waste of time, not if it got Skulduggery properly on track at a time when they needed him most. They needed to be able to trust that every member of their little band here had their minds where they should be: on Scarab.

He wasn't nervous. Not nervous, but apprehensive that maybe Vile's memory was too much a burden for Skulduggery to bear in light of Ghastly and Corrival's new awareness. Corrival didn't care about Vile, but Skulduggery was his friend, a member of his war-time family, and even though the two might have been intertwined, the older sorcerer found he didn't want to lose any more members of that family.

Then Skulduggery spoke as if he'd been saving up retorts for another time. Although Corrival didn't relax, most of the tension in his shoulders escaped them.

"As a matter of fact, I do," he answered with a trace of humour, and lifted an eyebrow. "You forgot to clean up after yourself at the church. And we'll talk about it--we'll talk about all of this--later. If you're quite ready to continue, Detective Pleasant?"

He waited hardly a beat for the acknowledgement before turning around and striding back up to the head of the line, ignoring the burning curiosity in Anton's eyes as he passed. He didn't let on, but something in him felt like jelly with sheer relief. Skulduggery wasn't lost yet. Or, not all lost.

Now they just had Scarab to stop, and maybe they could make sure he wouldn't be at all.

[skeletonenigma]

Corrival wasn't the only one trying to hide his relief at a glimpse of Skulduggery's old self. Ghastly carefully avoided meeting anyone's eyes as they continued on, and while he wasn't exactly looking forward to the inevitable discussion, he no longer dreaded it. Doubly so because Skulduggery acknowledged that he was ready to keep going, but he didn't mention the church or try to step lightly around the idea of talking.

It meant that the detective was just as apprehensive about any discussion as they were. That was the clinching proof Ghastly needed. Proof that Skulduggery now and Lord Vile then were different enough as to be completely different people, possible Faceless-One-induced insanity aside.

The elevator's wire, it turned out, wasn't cut. That was something they all discovered when they reached the second storey, only to meet Dusk and Springheeled Jack stepping between the opening elevator doors. A manic grin on the face of the latter and composed, yet simmering hatred on that of the former.

Dusk, Ghastly knew, would be after Valkyrie. And judging by the way she involuntarily stiffened next to him, she knew that too.

"Valkyrie, Fletcher," Skulduggery said quietly. "You two come with me."

Dusk raised his head and stepped forward, but Ghastly and Tanith both moved to barr his way. He stopped short, and a low growl rumbled deep in his throat. Getting in between a vampire and his obsession was not something Ghastly usually tried to do, but the alternative here was something he didn't even consider.

Skulduggery moved off towards the terrace Gabriel told them about. Fletcher followed after him, as well as Valkyrie a few uncertain seconds later. Good. The decision made sense on multiple levels, up to and including that Valkyrie and Fletcher were still only kids. Experienced fighters though they may be, the odds were already stacked in favour of the good guys for this fight. And Fletcher was their last hope at getting rid of the Engine, if all else failed.



The cement floor of the hallway leading out onto the field was not nearly as clean as it looked when you had a close-up view of it. Namely, when you slowly regained painful awareness while collapsed face-down on top of it.

It was not a floor that was cleaned very often.

Bit by bit, how Skulduggery had come to lose consciousness on that cement floor slowly came back to him. Guild. Thurid Guild must have somehow overheard them when Gabe announced where Scarab was, gone ahead, and fallen neatly into the trap Scarab set. He'd been about to walk out, too, and set off the Engine in order to save his family, before Skulduggery intercepted him.

The problem was, Guild had one of Scarab's old weapons. It was small, easily concealed in the palm of the hand, and released enough energy to cause several heart attacks when it was pressed onto someone's skin. Instant death. Skulduggery hadn't expected it, but predictably, it didn't kill him. Knocked him out for far too long, somehow, but if a dynamite explosion didn't kill Skulduggery back during the war, he knew something like this wouldn't either.

Fletcher was gone. And since the Stadium was still standing, the crowd still cheering, and Guild was also gone, it was fair to conclude Fletcher managed to Teleport them both away just in time. The boy was a surprisingly strong Teleporter, so Skulduggery had plenty of faith that neither Fletcher nor Guild would get caught in the blast.

Less easy to understand was where Valkyrie had gone. Skulduggery pulled himself carefully to his feet, and by the time he could stand under his own power again, he remembered that Guild's wife and daughter were being held somewhere outside the Stadium by Sanguine. Valkyrie would probably have gone back to Scarab to find out where.

... Which, all things considered, was a horrifically bad idea.

Skulduggery made sure his disguise was properly back in place, then hurried up the stairs to the second storey. With any luck, he might run into the others on the way. With any proper luck, they'd have run into Valkyrie first and stopped her from doing anything she wasn't fully capable of yet.