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

[peacefullywreathed]

"Erskine." A raspy breath. "That hurts."

'We got him.' Solomon certainly wasn't going to argue with Ghastly's assertion. Let Tanith believe the cavalry had saved the day. Solomon certainly didn't need anyone else regarding him with that mix of wary horror, even hiding it as Ghastly and Erskine were. He was more concerned over this ... anomaly.

"No. Yes. Maybe; give me a moment." Now that Skulduggery was closer, Solomon could see the cobwebs across the panes which stretched out, filament-thin, past the Sanctuary wards. They were vibrating. Solomon pushed himself upright, moving gingerly past Ghastly and Tanith, using the wall to brace himself as he made for the door--following those lines. There was something--

Someone in the corridor screamed, a high-pitched scream of pure terror. As if that was a trigger more people started screaming, souls filled with fear washing through the hallway to escape a boiling red cloud approaching from the Gaol downstairs. Solomon's chest clenched and he shot forward, staggering out from the interrogation room.

It was like stepping out into a maelstrom. The Scream hit him in the face like a gale, and only didn't put him out because of his wards. He knew that cloud. He'd seen it before, like this, and the sight of it sent his heart ricocheting across his ribs. Before he was even aware of it he'd opened himself up again, shunted everything he had against the swamping creep of that metaphysical darkness, and lit the hallway with a brilliant gold light.

[skeletonenigma]

"And whose fault is that?" Erskine retorted, but his grip lightened. "There are easier ways to attract the attention of an Elder, you know."

Ghastly didn't hear any of the exchange between Solomon and Skulduggery, and didn't particularly want to. He knew what it was about, and as he'd told Solomon, he needed more time - much more time - to accept things for himself before he could talk about Vile's abilities as straightforwardly as the pair of them could. For now, Ghastly helped Tanith slowly back to her feet, avoiding putting any pressure on her broken arm and watching for any signs of a permanent head injury.

She seemed alright. She insisted she was alright. With her arm cradled against her, though, she looked almost meek, and it made Ghastly smile.

The smile vanished when he heard a scream from out in the hallway.

An expression of helpless frustration crossed Tanith's face - she couldn't leap immediately to the rescue. But she could stand on her own two feet, so Ghastly did, following Skulduggery and Solomon out of the door with a cry of encouragement from the similarly-occupied Erskine.

For a moment, he couldn't see what people were running from. Gold lit up the hallway, the same colour gold that Ghastly had seen in Solomon's eyes just a few moments ago, blinding Ghastly to whatever was at the end of the corridor, and for a wild second he thought maybe Solomon had gone insane and was trying to kill everyone in the Sanctuary.

Then he saw it.

Lord Vile's black armour, beyond the brilliant golden light, in a tight circle of shadows.

It advanced. Or it tried to; whatever Solomon was doing, it kept Vile back. But that wasn't for a lack of trying. The shadows swelled around it, flowed and congealed and pushed back hard. Wherever those shadows met the light, they swelled and broke, like a wave on a beach, relentless. A crashing tide. Impossible to understand, and even more impossible to watch.

Numb with shock, Ghastly glanced toward Skulduggery. The detective had, for the first time in Ghastly's recent memory, taken a step back.

"Erskine." Ghastly was mildly impressed that his voice wasn't even shaking. "Get out here."

It wasn't a tone to question, and Erskine didn't. Seconds later he was at the door, and cursed with a sharp intake of breath. "That's... no. Wait. How is this possible?"

Ghastly didn't even have the presence of mind to shrug. He couldn't. What were they going to do if Vile broke through the golden barrier Solomon put up? No one had ever defeated him before. The only ray of hope during the war had been that Vile disappeared because someone finally did. Now Ghastly knew that wasn't true. Terror gripped his gut, a terror not even Skulduggery at his side could vanquish, because Skulduggery's step back meant that he was feeling that exact same terror himself.

Hang on. Ghastly had seen Vile defeated. And it wasn't all that long ago, either. Like a drowning man Ghastly clung onto that memory, one he'd tried so hard to forget, and forced his eyes shut.

Gabe, he prayed. It's Vile.

[peacefullywreathed]

Vile fighting back felt like being slammed in the face by a freight-train. Solomon didn't even have the capacity to cry out as he felt the wounds on his hands and feet, his back and side, split open like newly-made injuries.

He was aware, vaguely, of the others in the corridor around him, but sparing them even a split-second of his attention would be a mistake. And soon enough even that faint awareness fled. The weight against him was too much. He had just enough magic and control to keep Vile at bay, not enough to be able to detach himself from the grind of magic even for long enough to ask for help.

The light of the lifestream lashed between them, the Scream fading in and out, resonating through his wards and then being pushed back. Skulduggery's soul was like an anchor. The thin filaments connecting him to Vile seesawed back and forth, their individual gravities trying to bring them together; if Solomon could have he would have cut them, but he didn't know how, couldn't spare the thought to reach for them. He'd be lucky if he lasted another ten seconds. His strength was gurgling away down an open sink. He was drowning, couldn't breathe, clutching to the edge of a precipice.

Abruptly there was someone else there, someone with wings and light. The link between Skulduggery and Vile snapped like an electrical plug had been yanked out, and Solomon's magic surged. It washed across the armour and he let it, fed it, because that thing should never have existed in the first place--

'Solomon, no!' Gabe's voice rang full, words only he could hear; the Archangel gripped him, wrapped his wings around him, cut off his view of the armour. 'You don't have the strength right now. Let it go.'

Something in him rang empty. Gabriel's presence there, between them, interrupted Solomon's thoughts enough that he could register the words. It wasn't an order, but he didn't have the wits to object. He let the force of his magic fade until the armour was an eyesore of power, cut off from its source but still with capability. It fuzzed in his vision, a grating background noise.

'Drop your wards, Sol. You can't spare the energy.'

Wards. Yes. Solomon let them fall. At once the lifestream around him grew sharper, brighter, more painful. At the same time he could now actually feel the heavy throb in his head; feel the presence of his body and the pain of those injuries not his; the arms holding him up; the hard floor under his knees; the raw, rattling gasp of air in his lungs. The voices came distant, as though through water.

"I've got him." Corrival. "Go see about Skulduggery."

"Thank you." Gabe's hand cradled the back of his neck and some of the pain eased, and then the Archangel had left his side for the crack-paned soul a few feet away.

"Solomon. Still with me?"

No, Solomon wanted to say, but he couldn't speak. His head was swimming and he couldn't quite tell the confines of his body. The only things keeping him from being swept off into the middle of that ocean was Corrival's grip around his back, the man's solid presence holding him upright.

After what felt like eternity, Solomon managed, "Yes."

"Take a moment. Focus on your breathing. Hold it for two counts in-between each inhale and exhale."

What a wonderful idea. Solomon did just that and it took nearly all his concentration, but, slowly, it worked. His breathing evened out. The paralysing pain on his back and side eased until it was just an ache echoing the Scream of the armour. Other things started to seep into his awareness then, too. Corrival ordering angels to guard the armour. Other people in the hallways.

"--Lord Vile--"

"Did you see that?"

"What happened? What did he--holy cow, is that--"

"... oh God oh God oh God ..."

"It was Elder Wreath--"

"--Lord Vile--"

Solomon closed his eyes against the buffet of the lifestream around him and simply breathed, fighting the rising darkness that beckoned him to sleep.

[skeletonenigma]

The armour lay where it fell, crawling with black shadows that were no longer active. No longer trying to skewer people. And yet, Ghastly couldn't manage to take his eyes off of it. A nightmare, that's what this was. He'd consciously decided that Vile wouldn't ever be a threat again without Skulduggery losing control, and Skulduggery didn't lose control. He hadn't, ever since that first time. For over a century - over a century -

Ghastly found himself next to the wall without a clear idea of how he'd gotten there, and he felt Erskine's steadying hand on his shoulder behind him. "Breathe," Erskine told him, despite looking white as a sheet himself when Ghastly turned to face him. "Just breathe. It was only..." The Elder faltered, his eyes on the collapsed armour, and he shook his head. "Only the armour. No one was hurt. Even Skulduggery is as fine as living skeletons can possibly be."

Ghastly seriously doubted that. He took a few more deep breaths, waving Erskine away to the unforgiving task of crowd control, and then joined Gabe over at where Skulduggery still hadn't taken his sightless gaze off the armour.

Was that out of the same terror Ghastly saw just a short while ago? Or was some part of Skulduggery still trying to fight an urge to use it?

With the strain in Skulduggery's voice when he next spoke, Ghastly had a sinking feeling that it was the latter. "I need help."

"What happened?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't need the help."

"You said that being over in that other dimension - "

"Landel didn't do this," Skulduggery cut him off, far too abruptly and far too quickly. "I'm the one he experimented on. He never had access to the armour. What Solomon did to kill Tesseract is a form of magic very similar to the Necromantic technique of pulling souls from peoples' bodies, and I shouldn't have been anywhere near that. But I didn't - I resisted. This shouldn't have happened. Something's wrong. I need help."

Skulduggery's voice grew quieter and quieter as he spoke, until finally his tone was almost pleading. It was for that reason and that reason alone that Ghastly grew softer as well. He even, after a moment, managed a weak smile. "And all it took was the reanimation of your old armour for you to admit it."

"If Batu never opened that portal..." Skulduggery shook his head. "What happened to Solomon? Is he okay?"

[impudentsongbird]

"Not right now, but he'll be okay after a while," Gabe assured Skulduggery. He'd been standing by quietly, one hand on Skulduggery's shoulder, to let his presence be the solid rock Skulduggery needed. It wasn't a quick fix--he couldn't simply change things in Skulduggery to take the struggle away. They both knew it. But it helped.

He wished he hadn't left to see to Des and Myron when it became clear someone had attacked Corrival. If Gabe had been there ... the Archangel shook the thought off.

"He's magically exhausted," he said. "Either one of those fights were tiring for someone as new to his magic as he is, and he had both in quick succession. He'd going to need a lot of sleep very soon, but other than that he should be fine." As far as Gabe's limited understanding of healing went. The sorcerer's shattered wrist wasn't nearly so well-off, and the stigmata might give him a bit of trouble until he could renew his wards.

Gabe glanced to where Corrival was still cradling Solomon, keeping him upright and holding the man's bad arm so it couldn't be jarred. Solomon trembled with sheer exhaustion, his eyes closed; Gabe was fairly sure he wasn't really aware of the details around him. He was more cognizant than he had been, though. Panic was not a good combination with the magic he wielded now, not with his blindness as well.

The healers had arrived. Corrival flagged one down and they spoke rapidly, and then Corrival looked at Gabe. Gabe read his question and shook his head; Corrival nodded and glanced toward Erskine. "Ravel, call in Fletcher and tell him we need him on emergency services. Have him bring Professor Grouse here. I don't want Wreath leaving the Sanctuary, but he and Tanith will need his expertise. After that, have Renn go get China and however many of her students she thinks is capable of handling the Sanctuary wards."

Gabe looked at Skulduggery, looking him evenly but firmly in the eyes. "I can have everything ready inside of three days. If you want it."

[skeletonenigma]

"And Dex," Erskine added as he herded the last unwelcome bystander out of the hallway and pulled out his phone. "The idiot went and broke his ribs. He can barely breathe. Wreath, Tanith, and Dex, then China. Fletcher Renn," he said into his phone as he stepped out of earshot.

Dex would be wondering what all the commotion was about. Actually, Dex would be wondering why no one had come to tell him what all the commotion was about, and maybe complaining about being forgotten. Ghastly briefly toyed with the idea of going and doing it himself, but then settled for directing two of the healers into the interrogation room and turning his attention back on Skulduggery.

The detective didn't answer Gabe at first, which worried him. Skulduggery had already said no to a blanket soul-anchor swap, which would have rid him of all the anger and solved all their problems. And while Ghastly, with a lot of thought after the fact, could understand why Skulduggery was so reluctant about that, surely he saw why at the very least this idea of a soul-leash was so vital.

Skulduggery's shoulders sagged. "I don't, but do it anyway. I need the help."

It was a mark of how rattled Skulduggery was that he admitted he needed help at all, much less repeated the sentiment. Much less repeated it with a tremor. A tremor of very definite and very palpable fear running through his voice.

It was the first indication of any guilt. Oh, Ghastly had known the guilt was there, seen it effects, watched it both knowingly and unknowingly while it changed his friend. But this was the first real and solid and tangible proof. Despite everything, despite the armour lying a short distance away and the chaos throughout the Sanctuary and people Ghastly cared about getting hurt, he felt a small burden lift from his shoulders. "I'd drop everything," he assured Skulduggery. "So will the others."

"I know. I never doubted that."

[impudentsongbird]

Corrival closed his eyes and sighed, and turned his head once to the side in an aborted shake. Too much moving right now was not going to be good for Wreath's wellbeing. "Damned fool. How are you doing, Wreath?"

There was a pause before the ex-Necromancer answered. His voice was a little more even, but just as bone-deeply exhausted as before. "Demand the rest of the day off." Another slow, one-two beat breath. "And a bed in my office."

"There's one in mine," Corrival told him. "You can have it where I can keep an eye on you."

"... I'm still too young for you, old man."

Corrival almost laughed out loud in surprise, and that would not have done Solomon any favours. "This coming from the man who's going prematurely grey. Hang on, Wreath. Here's your glass of warm milk before you go beddy-bye." It was actually a metabolising liquid developed by some healer in the past, only used in cases of extreme magic-exhaustion. Wreath would want to sleep for the next day, but this would keep him from falling into a coma or losing use of his magic while he recovered.

The ex-Necromancer lifted his hand to try and take the glass from the healer, but it shook so much that Corrival took it for him and lifted it up. From inside the interrogation room there came a gasping cry of pain and then the kind of explosive, gurgling cough no commander ever liked to hear. Corrival's head snapped up. Solomon groaned. "Dex. Idiot."

"What happened?" Corrival snapped at the healer who came rushing out for the chief, the man who'd been helping him with Wreath.

"He insisted on being told about Vile, and then he tried to get up," said the healer, his face ashen. "His lung's been punctured. We need a hand."

"I'll be right there," the chief healer said, and glanced down at Solomon. "Finish that, and then you can sleep, Elder Wreath." Then he was gone, bustling off into the interrogation room to take care of the blond idiot. Biting back a curse, Corrival looked down and tipped up the glass.

"Go on, then. Take your medicine."

"I'm glad you weren't my commanding officer," Solomon grumbled, but rather slurred. He didn't have the energy to resist, and the moment the glass was empty his head sank down against Corrival's shoulder. "G'night."

All at once the man's weight on him doubled as he gave in to unconsciousness, and Corrival caught the glass with a groan, putting it down on the floor. He looked up at Skulduggery. "Still with us, Pleasant?" he asked gruffly. He hadn't heard everything, low as their voices had been when the healer was present, but he'd heard enough. "Ghastly, Gabe, get him somewhere the armour isn't. Being held captive by a sadist like Vile would turn anyone's head." That was for the benefit of anyone listening. "We'll take care of everything else. Just let us know what you need, when you need it."

Whenever that might be.

[skeletonenigma]

If there was one thing the Dead Men were good at, it was keeping secrets. Each of them could lie on cue, easily and without thinking, as second nature to them as breathing. So despite Ghastly's sudden guilt for not handling Vex himself and perhaps avoiding a punctured lung, his continuing concern over Skulduggery's state of mind, and his nervous anticipation of what creating a soul-leash entailed, Ghastly didn't even blink when Corrival addressed them. It was true, in a way. Vile had taken Skulduggery from them. He never would again.

"I thought you'd gotten over freezing at the sight of him," Ghastly continued the lie, chiding Skulduggery as he put both his hands on the skeleton's shoulders and steered him down the hall. "'Well-adjusted skeleton' and all that."

Skulduggery managed to shrug against Ghastly's hands. "It was five years longer than it should have been."

"On that, we can agree." Ghastly waited for Gabe to fall in step beside them before speaking again. "What do you need for this? Is there anything we can do?"

[impudentsongbird]

"Mostly I just need you on the day," Gabe told Ghastly, taking Skulduggery's hand in lieu of being able to put an arm around his shoulders himself. He wasn't tall enough, for one, and Ghastly had that spot, for another. "Although if one of you could call Saracen to tell him we need him, that would be wonderful. And talk to Anton. He's not so aversive to helping as it seems--he just needs reason to realise it."

Anton was going to be the hard sell. If he refused, with Saracen that still made eight in the spell itself and seven holding the leashes. Seven was a divine number, eight the number of stability. He could work with that, and it would still be enough for their needs.

But it would be lessened. Lessened for the knowledge that one of them was missing, that one of them had chosen not to stand for Skulduggery's being. There weren't eight Dead Men, if Corrival could be included--and as far as their regard for him went, he was included. There were nine. Nine, the most perfect number. Nine in the spell, completing each other in ways Gabe had seen only very rarely, and eight holding the leashes for stability.

If they could get Anton Shudder to accept his place, it would be a bond Lucifer could never break.

"I don't think he'd accept the request from me," Gabe said softly. "But from one of you--you, Ghastly, or Erskine, or Dexter--he would." And if not one of them, then ... Rover Larrikin himself would almost certainly do the trick. That was where the bulk of the time was going to be needed; not setting up the spell, not drawing the sigils, but finding just in which part of the lifestream and thus Heaven Rover Larrikin and Descry Hopeless were residing. It could be done. Gabe had done it before. Just not from a completely different dimension.

He squeezed Skulduggery's hand, looking up to smile at them both reassuringly ... and mischievously. "Don't worry. All you'll really have to do is stand there and love each other. I'm sure you can do that."

[skeletonenigma]

"Rover would have managed it," said Ghastly with a slow nod. Always assuming, of course, that the Elemental had forgiven Skulduggery himself, but... somehow, Ghastly knew he would have. Rover Larrikin was many things, and he'd held many grudges in the past, but he wasn't unreasonably vindictive. Or hadn't been unreasonably vindictive. He'd been the one most suspicious of Saracen before they found out he was Descry's son, and even then... Rover had never had a family before. He'd fight until the bitter end to make sure it didn't fall apart.

The way it had, in the end.

Ghastly shook himself. "Barring that, Dexter would know what Rover would say. I'll ask him once Kenspeckle heals his lung. Including Saracen and Corrival, that makes seven of us. Six of us, not counting Skul." He frowned. "Would that be enough?"

To Ghastly's surprise, Skulduggery chuckled. "If it isn't, I'm sure Gabe will think of something."

They were holding hands, Ghastly realised. There was probably a soul-connecting reason for it, particularly with what just happened, and how frazzled Skulduggery had been before the Archangel's arrival. But that didn't really matter. Their holding hands, combined with Skulduggery's confident words just then, made up one of the more adorable images Ghastly had ever seen.

"I don't know," he said. "I'm not sure I can manage quite as much love as the pair of you."

"I'm sure that won't stop you from trying."

Ghastly stepped away and left them to it with a hidden smile, putting his hand into his pocket for his phone. The tailor's fingers had scarcely brushed it when it rang, and he didn't even need to check the caller ID to know who it was.

"You rang?" came Saracen's smug voice on the other end of the line.

"I've been trying to call you for the past month, and you're only answering now?"

"What can I say? I'm unpredictable. What's up?"

"What has your power ever told you about Vile?"

Static was all that answered him for a moment as Saracen deliberated. "Well, for starters, it's a word in the Oxford English Dictionary."

"I'm being serious, Saracen."

"So am I. Why do you suddenly need to know about Vile?"

Ghastly hesitated, but it wasn't as if Saracen wouldn't hear about it very shortly from any number of other sources, up to and including his own power. "Because he attacked the Sanctuary."

Silence. Then a short stream of curses, followed by much more heavy static as the phone was probably fumbled somewhere. Then, "Where's everybody else? Where's Skulduggery?"

Ghastly smiled grimly. Descry had known. Of course that meant Saracen did as well. For how long, Ghastly didn't know, and for once, didn't care. "Skulduggery's right here with me," he answered simply. "Dex broke some ribs and punctured a lung, but he'll be okay. Erskine's on damage control. Anton... Anton's where he always is, doing about as well as he always has."

"I'm flying over. I'll be there tomorrow."

"That's why I called."

"I know." And with that, Saracen hung up.

It took Ghastly the amount of time of slipping his phone back into his pocket to catch up with the other two and lower his voice. "What happened back there?"

[impudentsongbird]

This soul-connection really was just a bit of a nuisance to surprising Skul. Or maybe that was just Gabe's inability to really hide much. He grinned sheepishly back and nudged Skulduggery's shoulder with his. "Don't go releasing all my secrets now, pardner. I need to keep some cards up my sleeve. Do you want to go see Val?"

Skulduggery did, so they ambled on in the direction of the cafeteria where Gabe had left Des and Myron, completely ignoring any lingering bystanders--each of whom stared at Skulduggery's wig and the fact that he was accepting having his hand held--until Ghastly came back not long after.

Then Gabe hesitated needing to read precisely what had happened to be able to answer, before quietening his voice. "It was the armour. It's imbued with Vile's Necromancy. Solomon can't see it most of the time, because most of the time it's entirely dormant--too weak to be seen, to even be relevant--but there is a connection there, still. Landel made Skulduggery's cravings worse, enough so that Solomon's method of killing Tesseract beckoned to his power. But he resisted."

This last was added firmly, very firmly, catching and holding Ghastly's gaze. "He resisted, but that power still had to go somewhere. It went the only place it could, a place which still drew it--down the link into Vile's armour. Enough to put a memory into it, so it came to find the only one who can wear it to its full potential."

If Solomon hadn't been there to throw up that anti-Necromantic wall, even panicked and unrefined as it was, this would have gone so much worse. The armour could have taken Skulduggery, and with Landel's changes, he might have gotten lost. Not too far for Gabe to save him--but enough to make things hard for everyone. Enough that people would likely have figured out that they were one and the same. As it was now, from the perspective of the Sanctuary Solomon had managed to defeat Vile's armour. With luck all that meant was that their mysterious adversaries would stop trying to have him assassinated so regularly.

Things could have been worse. Much worse. Gabe was thankful for that.

[skeletonenigma]

It all made a very cold and numbing kind of sense. Ghastly wanted to ask what would have happened if Gabe weren't there, if Skulduggery didn't have the presence of mind to keep resisting and the armour managed to get to him. But Ghastly put rest to that question at once with a very stern look at the part of him that wanted to believe it didn't already know the answer.

"Wasn't it Vanguard who said all magic had a life of its own?" Ghastly wondered aloud. "I don't think anybody ever took him that seriously." Most people had wanted peace for its own sake, and they listened to that; people who were actually fighting in the war paid much more attention to Vanguard's arguments for the nonexistence of the Faceless Ones than his speeches preaching acceptance of others' beliefs. Ghastly remembered thinking how odd it was for peace to be so philosophical. Now, as much as he was glad that Mevolent was gone, Ghastly wished Vanguard's speeches had gotten through to more people.

"Enough people did," Skulduggery reminded him. "There's a reason he was assassinated."

And that was something else Ghastly didn't need to think about. "You reanimated the armour, Skulduggery. Without meaning to. If any magic ever had a life of its own, it's yours."

"And that brings me no end of comfort." Skulduggery sighed. "We need to bury the armour before we do anything else."

"Bury it?" Ghastly asked, brow raised. "Bury it? Corrival's going to want to destroy it. Erskine's going to agree with him. After today, Solomon will as well."

"It's not that simple."

"You mean it can't be done?"

"I'm sure it can be done," Skulduggery clarified. "But I have no idea how, and I don't know what the risks are. If it blows up in our faces, it could kill a whole bunch of people. And then, of course, there's me." He tilted his head at Ghastly's obvious confusion. "Once the object of a Necromancer is destroyed, all the power it contained flows back into the Necromancer. I wouldn't have been able to handle that during the best of times, but ever since my little vacation..."

For a normal Necromancer, that wouldn't have been an issue. For Skulduggery, someone who had summoned enough shadows to properly shadow-walk even with the armour being dozens of miles away, it was an entirely different story. Ghastly nodded his understanding so that Skulduggery wouldn't continue, and then a different thought occurred to him.

"Once the soul-leash is in place, would that matter?" he asked Gabe.

"Ghastly - "

"There would be six of us, Skulduggery. And you lost the right to argue a long, long time ago."

[impudentsongbird]

It could be done. It could be done and Ghastly was right; Corrival, and Solomon, and Erskine would all make sure a way was found. Kenspeckle was a genius, after all, and Solomon could see the armour on a level no one else could, angels aside. Gabe said nothing. He wanted to, but it wasn't his place. He could justify protecting Skulduggery from Vile, but Vile was a problem created long before he had arrived. The problem of his armour was something the sorcerers had to handle alone.

The thought made him feel awful, but Merlin had been right. Gabe could interfere only so much. Even the soul-leash was viable only because it would protect Skulduggery from Lucifer.

"The leashes would influence the manner in which the armour is connected to him," Gabe answered carefully. "If the armour isn't destroyed. It won't be able to diffuse power outright, but ..." He hesitated. Where was the line, between interference and non-interference here? He couldn't see it. He wasn't sure. He glanced away for a moment, at a loss.

"The use of power is a choice," he said at last. "Sometimes, in certain states of mind, the choice seems obvious--or non-existent. Those times are when power is most dangerous." Gabe looked back at them. "It's those times that the soul-leash will help prevent. Or become surmountable." His gaze shifted, just slightly, to Skulduggery himself. "But, Skulduggery, what makes you think that the armour is that object for you? It's imbued, true. It focusses your power. It's an incredibly powerful magical object. That doesn't mean your power resides in it--or that you need it to use that magic at all. Didn't Vengeous use it, without permission? How could he, unless it wasn't a focussing object?"

Gabe hadn't seen the armour up close. He hadn't really been trying. It meant he couldn't be completely sure, without taking a closer look. But Skulduggery hadn't needed the armour at Landel's, or in the Church of the Faceless Ones. Skulduggery, himself, was an object of Necromantic energy. Did his power reside in the armour, like he thought--or in himself?

[skeletonenigma]

"You did say that being dead is what made you so powerful," Ghastly pointed out. Necromancy fed off death. And, apparently, off anger. It was a lethal combination. What if Skulduggery's focussing object was actually his skeleton? Getting rid of the armour would still pose its own problems, but if Gabe was right, then it wouldn't affect Skulduggery. Not in any major capacity. Especially if they were all sharing the burden of resisting.

Skulduggery was quiet for a moment. "Maybe," he admitted. "I did wonder about Vengeous."

And he wouldn't have told anyone, because as far as anyone else knew, Lord Vile was dead. Of course Vengeous could use the focussing object of a dead Necromancer. Why would anyone apart from Skulduggery have questioned that?

"If I'd gone after you," Ghastly said, "the day you disappeared, would that have stopped you?"

Again, Skulduggery didn't answer right away. But this time, the silence spoke volumes. Ghastly nodded to himself, keeping as firm a grip on his sanity as he could, and reminded himself of the one very important thing - he may have failed Skulduggery, but all the deaths at the hands of Lord Vile were not Ghastly's fault. He didn't order them. He didn't cause them. He could have prevented them, but in the same way that someone could probably have prevented Hitler's rise to power. He didn't, and that was a mistake, but that was all the mistake was.

Skulduggery was the one living with the guilt. If Ghastly could help with that now, maybe it would make up for failing him before.

The Sanctuary cafeteria was a small one. Ghastly had only been in it a couple of times before, and he'd never tried the food. There were mixed opinions about the food. Myron Stray was standing awkwardly off to the side with someone Ghastly hadn't met before, but knew from secondhand stories would be Valkyrie's father.

The moment Valkyrie's father saw them, he hurried over. "What was that all about?"

"Problems we thought we dealt with a long time ago came back to haunt us," Ghastly answered, holding out his hand. "Ghastly Bespoke. You must be Desmond."

It wasn't a huge surprise when Desmond stared. Ghastly waited patiently for him to realise what he was doing, snap himself out of it, smile sheepishly, and shake his hand. "Yep. That's me." He hesitated. "No one got hurt, then?"

[impudentsongbird]

Ghastly was a wise man. Gabe hide a smile at the turn over in his soul, the firmness with himself not to feel guilty for guilts that weren't his. Not everyone could do that. The Archangel let go of Skulduggery's hand only so he could sign for Myron, but he still stood close enough for his shoulder to brush the skeleton's.

"Some people," he said regretfully. "Marr is dead--assassinated." In the place for the last word he signed out Tesseract's name for Myron instead. The information-broker would know who that was, and he won't have learned a sign so complicated as 'assassin' yet. "Her assassin's dead too. Three Sanctuary officials have been hurt, but they'll be okay."

He didn't mention Vile or the armour. Myron would want to know details, and Desmond had been burdened with enough already. The smile he gave Desmond was sympathetic, resigned, and reassuring. "I'm sorry. You've joined the magical community at a bad time; a lot of things keep happening and we don't have a proper handle on them yet. How about we take you home and pick up Stephanie from school?"

[skeletonenigma]

"That," said Desmond gratefully, "sounds like a wonderful idea."

"I'll stay behind," Ghastly added. "Give Dexter and Tanith a second opinion on the competency of the doctors Erskine hired. Give Valky - Stephanie - give Stephanie a wave from me."

"Will do," Skulduggery answered. "Desmond, if you don't mind, I'd like to start the lesson plan today. I need a welcome distraction."

"I'm... well, that's fine with me, but my wife is the one you're going to have to convince. She runs the household. She's in charge of the punishments. We decided that, long ago, back before Stephanie was even a plan." He hesitated. "Of course, that wasn't taking into account all this... magic, but. Being able to pull rabbits out of a hat isn't going to change her view."

"Well, I can't pull rabbits out of hats, so that should be easy."

Ghastly smiled and turned to go, putting a hand briefly on his friend's shoulder. "You'll be alright?"

"I'll be fine. You go be there for Tanith."

Ghastly shook his head. "I suppose you have got your guardian angel on your shoulder," he murmured before moving away and cutting off any chance of a reply.

[impudentsongbird]

Quite frequently Corrival wondered just why he'd agreed to be Grand Mage. He could never think of an actual reason, right up until he looked at Wreath and remembered that Tenebrae was the only other person who'd been nominated. Not that anyone else would have accepted him; they would have found someone else in the end. But Corrival had agreed because he'd been needed, and he never could say no when he was genuinely needed.

He frequently hated that part of him. This was one of those times.

The Sanctuary wasn't exactly in shambles, but it wasn't quite running as smoothly as three hours ago. The armour had, very carefully, been carted off again. They still had twelve angels, even though one was missing its arm; Corrival had set four to guarding that armour until they could figure out what to do with it. Solomon Wreath hadn't stirred an eyelash while Kenspeckle had treated him, but he was now back in his own clothes and lying on the very soft cot Corrival had insisted be in his office, his bad hand upraised on a pillow. Corrival had had someone bring a fainting couch, in spite of Dexter's objection purely on the basis of its name, so the man could sit without putting undue pressure on his ribs. Likewise Tanith hadn't been given a choice about sitting, unless it came to which chair she wanted to sit in.

Skulduggery and Gabe were missing; Ghastly had said they went to give Valkyrie a lesson. Good. It was probably easier if he wasn't here. Everyone else was, however, Bliss and China included. Corrival looked around. In the back of the office, Kenspeckle was giving Solomon another unregistered exam--or rather, his scars. Corrival hadn't known the ex-Necromancer had had anti-Necromancy scars. On one hand, he was glad that all the blood on the robe came from injuries that stopped bleeding quickly. On the other, he fully intended on giving the man a tongue-lashing for not mentioning the fact that he had wounds which broke open given a strong enough Necromantic presence.

Dexter was on the couch, head resting back and eyes closed, breathing shallowly. He'd already received a tongue-lashing for being an idiot. The others were arrayed various around the room, standing or sitting as was their call. There weren't quite enough chairs for all of them.

"Professor," Corrival said once he was satisfied they were all there and wouldn't be interrupted. Grouse looked up, looking irritable and confused at once. "You know what's happened here, right?"

"Vile's armour reanimated," Grouse said shortly, pulling away from the cot and closing Wreath's shirt. The ex-Necromancer never even stirred. "How did that happen, exactly?"

"You're examining the only person who might be able to tell us that," Corrival pointed out, "and the other isn't here. Either way, the armour's obviously still a threat, whether it's due to accident or someone controlling it remotely. I don't really care which. What I want to know is whether you can look at it and figure out how it can be destroyed without killing anyone who tries."

Grouse raised an eyebrow. "Dismantling it would be the first step, I'd say, and the glimpse I got suggests it still contains too much power to simply try without precautions. There's almost always a way to transfer power from one thing to another. I can certainly have a look, and once I've done that I can experiment more safely on a small piece."

"That's all I want to know," Corrival said. "Consider the resources of the Sanctuary at your disposal. I want that thing gone as completely as possible."

If nothing else so it couldn't taunt Skulduggery any more. Corrival didn't know exactly how close they'd come today, but he knew they'd come close; the fact that Skulduggery wasn't here right now said that. It was enough.

[neutralcollector]

Skulduggery's conspicuous absence didn't go unnoticed by China. She could guess at the implications. But she also wasn't worried; wherever Skulduggery had gone, she would have been willing to bet money on the fact that Gabriel was with him. As long as Gabriel was here, they didn't have anything to be worried about.

She still wouldn't have told Bliss, even without her promise to an Archangel blocking her from doing so.

Less obvious was how no one had died at the hands of the armour - although some were claiming Tesseract had. China doubted that. And her suspicions were confirmed when first Dexter, and then Corrival, explained the extent of Solomon's new soul magic. China kept her thoughts to herself, but unlike anyone else in the room, she'd fought alongside Lord Vile. She knew intimately the sorts of abilities he had. If anyone would be affected by any sort of magic that stole souls from their host bodies...

But Solomon was asleep. Ghastly was standing behind Tanith's chair, which in turn was at the head of the couch Dexter had been forced onto, and Ravel hovered close by. The camaraderie and friendship in the room was reaching almost sickening levels.

"We're not going to be able to get a Necromancer to help us, are we?" Ravel asked. "The only other one to leave the Temple isn't actually a Necromancer."

"It doesn't matter," said Ghastly. "We'd need someone like Tenebrae for them to be of any help."

"Then why not ask?" China spoke up from her relatively hidden position in the corner of the room. "Surely he'd be just as eager to stop any return of Lord Vile."

Ravel laughed bitterly. "Because he'll agree to help us, of course, no strings attached. And it certainly wouldn't be a bad idea to bring him anywhere near Solomon."

"Tenebrae might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but even he wouldn't try anything against the Sanctuary. Particularly while inside the Sanctuary."

Ravel shook his head. "I was there when Gabe made him release Solomon. Believe me, he has both the capability and the reason to be reckless. For one thing..." He paused, as if debating the best way to phrase it, and then shrugged. "For one thing, he still believes Vile could be the Death Bringer. There's a good chance he'd fight our excellently detailed plan to destroy the armour. And while we're on the subject, it would probably be a good idea not to mention our excellently detailed plan to anyone else."

He was looking directly at China when he said it, and she shrugged her delicate shoulders. "Who would I tell?"

Tanith looked up sharply. "You mean besides anyone who asks and has something valuable enough to trade?"

China let her demeanour cool somewhat. "I'm not a fool. I don't simply trade state secrets willy-nilly. Lord Vile has always been a sensitive subject, even among worshippers of the Faceless Ones. Especially among worshippers of the Faceless Ones."

"Then we have your word?" asked Ravel.

"I never give my word. You'll just have to trust that the prospect of Vile returning is as bad for me as it is for any of you."

Which, of course, it was. Skulduggery knew what China had done now. If anything were to break his control, China would be the first person he'd come after. China had a vested interest in the destruction of the armour, and she certainly wasn't going to start endangering that plan simply because she might be able to add something to her collection.

[vexingshieldbearer]

When Dexter had agreed to bodyguard Solomon, he'd suspected that it might actually involve physical danger and injury. He'd just dismissed it in favour of the novelty of acting like a blind man's guide-dog. Then again, he always had a tendency to dismiss life-and-limb-defying danger. Life was boring otherwise, and he had a lot of things do to regardless of the 'danger' aspect.

He still thought the chewing-out was unnecessary. Okay, so he knew there'd been a reason why the healers weren't telling him what had happened, but he defied anyone to not try to leap to their feet upon hearing Lord Vile had attacked the premises in which they were residing. Surely the punctured lung was more than enough punishment?

Which was why he was saying nothing for the moment. He'd managed to wheeze out some quips and a bare-bones explanation for China and Bliss earlier, but Corrival had told him to shut up, so he shut up, and listened.

"Wreath was a Necromancer," Bliss pointed out from his place beside the door. "Whether he can still use the power or not, all we need to do is wait for him to wake up. Twenty-four hours at most."

"No good," Corrival disagreed. "If something goes wrong he won't be up to defend anyone for the next few days. Besides that, I need him to partner China and make sure the wards and angels get upgraded as soon as humanly possible." He looked at China. "The Host didn't register Tesseract as a threat until he actually attacked. And he managed to open a breach in the wards, which you'll have to look at after this meeting is over. Right now, I only want this place to do two things: only let people in through the front door, and leave a magical mark of some kind on everyone who enters. No one who isn't a vetted employee gets in without security screenings. Anyone who does get in without being screened will find themselves on the wrong side of an angel-statue's sword. This place is on lockdown until we can get more dynamic wards in place and more angels made."

As complex as the wards were, Dexter could only imagine how long it would take China and Solomon to properly update them as they apparently hadn't been updated in centuries. They'd had three hostile incursions in two weeks, five in the last three years. People were going to complain about the new and rigid security measures, and Dexter had to admit that he'd be one of them. It was still better than the alternative.

Corrival continued, "Bliss, I want you on security. Collaborate with China on training the Host as quickly as possible. Run any plans past us first so we know what to expect when the whining starts, but I want to be sure no one can get inside the Sanctuary without our knowing about it before someone gets hurt."

Dexter grinned at the sarcasm in his former general's tone, exhaled, and decided he was okay to talk now. He chose not to clear his throat. "Quiver."

"What did I say about you talking, Dex?" Corrival demanded gruffly.

A breath. "Don't 'til there's something important."

"Good. What about Quiver, then?"

"Quiver. Higher-up Necromancer. Got Saffron out of the Temple." There. That, Dex felt, was more than good enough for ten seconds' worth of talking with a broken rib and newly unpunctured lung.

"Quiver has no reason to help," Bliss said.

"He's sympathetic, if Ravel's report is accurate," Corrival said, nodding toward Erskine. "But he might not be in a position to help without outing his sympathies. That means he's more useful where he is, gutting the Temple from the inside. Still ..." His brow furrowed. "If Wreath thinks we need an active Necromancer to help us, it might be worth trying to contact Quiver about it. Maybe by then there'll be others with enough sympathy for him to send on to us."

[neutralcollector]

Ravel shook his head. "Quiver's not just sympathetic. Gabe told him who he was before we left. Or implied it, at least, and Quiver's a smart man. If he doesn't already know, he will soon, and he's not going to be stupid enough to tell us 'no.'"

Quiver knew Gabe was an Archangel. Assuming the Necromancer knew anything of the Bible, Ravel was right. Even China hadn't quite managed to avoid becoming some sort of official consultant for the Sanctuary, too frightened of Gabe's reaction to put her foot down and deny her help. Lord help her, it was actually starting to become a habit. A habit she wasn't ashamed of, to boot.

And that, she added silently to any all-powerful beings who might be listening, was only a figure of speech.

"Quiver might not say no, but that doesn't mean we should ask," Ghastly pointed out. "He got Saffron out. Who knows how many others he could manage?"

"True," Ravel agreed. He now had a hand on his chin, and was staring intently at Solomon. "Besides, if and when a Death Bringer ever arrives, it would be really useful to have someone on the inside of the Temple. I'm sorry, does anyone have a pen?"

Ghastly and Tanith both raised their eyebrows, but Ghastly was the one who spoke. "A pen?"

"A pen. A black pen. Make-up would work as well. China?"

"I don't carry my make-up around with me, Ravel."

"Pity. Corrival? Do you have a pen?"

[vexingshieldbearer]

"Yes," Corrival said, "and you can't have one. I'm not going to be party to this stupid prank war the two of you've started." He shook his head. "You're a bad influence, Ravel. I was hoping Solomon's drive would force you onto an even keel. Instead I find you're pulling him off-centre."

"I wasn't aware you were the type to kick a man while he was down, Elder Ravel," Bliss observed quietly.

"And on that note," Kenspeckle added, glaring at Erskine, "if you're the cause of Wreath injuring himself again, I'll put you in a body-cast whether you've broken anything or not."

Dexter very carefully scrounged in his pocket and then triumphantly held up a pen, waving it in the air. "Don't deliver, sorry," he said breathlessly. "Owe him for dragging me into a fight with a Russian assassin, though."

"I should have nominated Tipstaff," Corrival muttered. "We're off-topic, and we need to keep an eye on the Temple anyway. Fletcher Renn's been inside--where is he?" The Grand Mage scanned the room with a frown. The teen had been here, Teleporting in and out, just earlier, but Corrival didn't remember his actually entering the room. Maybe he assumed he was no longer needed. Maybe he assumed he wouldn't be wanted. "Someone call him up and get him back in here," Corrival said irritably. "I put him on the Sanctuary payroll, so he can damn well earn it."

Even though the teen probably hadn't gotten his first wage yet. Come to think of it, Corrival couldn't remember telling him he was on the payroll. Oh well. He'd find out in a minute.

[neutralcollector]

"Oh, please." Ravel walked over and accepted the pen from Vex with a short bow of gratitude. China couldn't tell if the bow was teasing, sarcastic, or both. "If there's one thing I know, it's how to have a prank war that doesn't actually hurt anyone. No full-body casts needed, and believe me, Solomon would do the same if our positions were switched."

"I think Fletcher might still be working," Ghastly answered Corrival, pulling out his phone. "That, or he's trying to go see Valkyrie. Excuse me for a moment."

"China." Ravel took advantage of the distraction to hand China the pen and a small sheet of paper. "Need your help. If I wanted to, say, change someone's perception for the next few days, what symbols would I use?"

China couldn't help it - she chuckled. "It would depend on whose perception you're changing, which perception you're changing, and what you're changing it to."

"Solomon's, hearing, and.... basically, whenever anyone says his name, I want him to hear 'Mr. Prophet sir.'"

"What makes you think I'd be willing to help you with that?"

"I'm an Elder. I'm ordering you to."

"Even if that were to work, Elder Ravel, I can't make it permanent. It would last maybe a month, at the most."

"Who said anything about permanent? Just make sure no one else would be able to break it. That way, when he gets irritated enough, he has to come crawling back to you."

"Tempting," China admitted, her face still completely even. "That is tempting. But I think you might be forgetting a certain expert in magical language currently joined to Skulduggery at the hip."

"A certain expert who's already promised not to interfere in trivial matters. Or are you saying my little path of revenge against Solomon is important enough to be worthy of his attention?"

"I can't claim to know what's worthy of his attention." China sighed and held out her hand for the paper and pen. "It goes right behind his ears, one on each side of his head, and they have to be exact. I'm not helping you with that part. You realise, of course, that this plan relies on Solomon being groggy enough not to detect the magic immediately upon waking up."

Ravel shrugged. "I'll take my chances."

[vexingshieldbearer]

"Why did I accept being Grand Mage in a Sanctuary full of children?" Corrival asked Bliss. Bliss lifted an eyebrow, but he was looking at China with an oddly inscrutable expression even though it was Corrival he answered.

"Quite possibly because you're insane. There is a reason why I refused the posting the first time."

"And if you had another choice?"

"I'd refuse it again, and this time not be convinced otherwise as I almost was previously. The last thing Ireland needs is a Grand Mage who cannot die."

That was true. Sorcerers lived for long enough without having a leader who could never be deposed for any reason, which Bliss now was. Change was kind of necessary to life being worth living. Even still, Dexter grinned, his eyes closed as he listened to Erskine and China plotting. He had to wonder just what China would ask for if Solomon actually did go to her to ask for help. He'd spent nearly all his time with the man since he'd arrived in Ireland, and he could easily say that they were underestimating his control.

"If he asks, I had nothing to do with it," he said. Kenspeckle sighed.

"Children have to blow off steam somehow, I suppose. So long as no bodily harm occurs, I had nothing to do with this either."

"I wonder if I can get in his good books if I tell him how many of us threw him under a bus," Dexter mused to himself. "Leaving myself out of it, of course."

"Of course," Corrival echoed. Dexter could hear the eye-roll from here.

[neutralcollector]

"I wonder how Solomon would react if I told him practically every person in this room just called him a child," was Ravel's retort to Vex. "Leaving you out of it, of course."

China shook her head as she drew. She'd said it before, and she'd no doubt say it again - this Council of Elders would be the best Council of Elders Ireland ever had. Efficient, determined, persistent, hard-working. And to top it all off, war didn't so much as scratch any of the strong heart they seemed to have, both in regard for each other and for their country.

"Fletcher's on his way," Ghastly reported, clicking his phone closed. A moment later, Fletcher appeared, looking faintly bewildered as he gazed around at the large group of people in the relatively tiny office.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think something really important was going on," he said with a weak smile. "Like, oh, I dunno, an attack on the Sanctuary. What do you need me for?"

China quietly finished the drawing and handed the paper to Ravel. "Precise, remember," she murmured to him. "Precise and accurate."

"Gotcha. Do I need a scalpel?"

"Just a pen will do. Temporary and unbreakable. As subtle as I could manage, but I can't guarantee he won't notice them."

[vexingshieldbearer]

"I notice that you don't seem to care being called a child all that much," Kenspeckle snapped, giving Erskine a pointed look. "Is there a reason for that, I wonder?"

Corrival shook his head in a longsuffering manner, but anyone who knew him well, as Dexter did, would be able to tell that the way he had his mouth straight was because of amusement. "Thank you, professor. Let us know when and where you want the armour transported for dismantling. In the meantime we'll see if we can't get you some help with it."

The professor heard the unsubtle dismissal and harrumphed, but packed up and left--though not without some last-minute warnings at his patients not to overdo things. Only then did Corrival look to Fletcher. This conversation was bad enough without having to tip-toe around who Vile really was. Now they could be properly open. "We need to contact Quiver in the Necromancers' Temple without anyone, especially anyone else in the Temple, knowing about it," he said bluntly. "Can you get in and out without detection?"