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]

Solomon blinked once, twice, again, and watched with numb fascination as red droplets splattered the pavement. His eyes hurt. Blinking made it worse, and there was an odd kind of blurriness in the ground, a blurriness and a light at the same time. A depth that he usually shouldn't be able to see.

He blinked another time and then looked at his cane. It was bleached white, and the odd thing about it was that it was sharp and defined in a way the rest of the world wasn't. As he watched, power began to seep slowly back into it, blurring the edges, except this was different to the ice-cold safety of magic. This was discordant, a scream of pain and desperation made visible; if it had colour it would have been red and purple, like a bruise, an open wound.

It sat there, stark against the quiet wash of the lifestream.

Hands touched his shoulders and Solomon flinched without meaning to, submitting to Valkyrie's insistent pull to his feet just because he couldn't do anything else. Her hands, he noted dazedly, felt cold. A bad cold. A prickling cold which made his stomach turn over and bile rise in his throat. When he looked down at them, the first thing he saw was the ring, with its own visible scream of anguish. Before he could stop to think--thinking was something beyond him now--he slapped Valkyrie's hands away and took an unsteady step back.

"Nothing more than what he could see naturally," he heard Gabe say quietly through the ring in his ears. But he was too busy staring at Valkyrie. Had his mouth been dry? All of a sudden it was a veritable ocean, and he swallowed hard to avoid the rising nausea. Valkyrie's edges were blurry too. Blurry and with a corona around her, seeped with that shadowy scream like an infection from her ring up her arm and draped over her.

"Necromancers, when they use their power, can see into the after. Even more than the usual soul to be guided, it means they can see what we are, what we do, the souls and where they can go. But doing so puts them at risk; full Necromancers can't look upon us without consequence. I did nothing. He opened himself to me."

Solomon was definitely going to be sick if he looked at his student for much longer. Particularly as the thought abruptly occurred that, if this was what a girl before the Surge looked like, what must he? He tore his gaze away and found himself looking at Skulduggery and the angel instead. The latter was still looking at him, but he was dimmer now, his wings nothing but a shadow thrown on the wall behind him. He smiled sadly at Solomon, and Solomon stared with fascination at the way parts of him seemed to be snatched off, or reverberated, to direct the wash of movement in the lifestream.

It was like an after-image of everything he'd seen while his magic opened him up. Already, it was fading.

Solomon followed one of those resonances and watched it dash upon another corona, and he knew even before he looked properly that it belonged to Skulduggery.

A soul, he thought numbly. Skulduggery Pleasant's soul.

Pleasant's soul was different to Valkyrie's. The same Necromantic power was there; there was no way Solomon could mistake it for anything else. But in Skulduggery, it was condensed, hardened at the core of him, its tendrils reached out among the fractures of the soul around it. As if the Necromancy was holding him together, and of course it was. He was a living skeleton.

But the odder thing about it was that the magic was compacted, and while it comprised his core the rest of him, fractures aside, was clear and crystalline right to the edge. It was as if the Necromancy was a backlight for the clarity of the rest, and whenever the angel's light washed against him, the outer edge glowed and hardened and grew even clearer.

It took a moment, but Solomon realised he was trembling. He no longer cried, but the blood felt thick on his cheeks. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and said hoarsely, "I believe I need to sit down, if you please."

[skeletonenigma]

That couldn't have been a coincidence. According to Gabe, Wreath was able to see souls in this state, for better or for worse; and his gaze had stopped on Skulduggery, lingered, before the Necromancer spoke again. Skulduggery was mildly curious about what he'd seen, of course, but there was an even more pressing issue. Just how much had Wreath seen? How much of Skulduggery's past was written in his soul? Would Gabe have warned him if anything in his soul was indicative of more than common knowledge?

Valkyrie, despite her earlier offer of help getting shut down, was still hovering around Wreath, seemingly oblivious. Didn't she see how he'd looked at his cane? Her ring? Her? That annoyed Skulduggery more than it really should have, but he didn't try to stop her. And when she pointed out a bus stop bench just up the sidewalk, he didn't object. He wasn't heartless, after all. Well, he was, but that was purely a physical issue. He was capable of taking pity on people he didn't particularly like.

"He saw you, then?" Skulduggery asked Gabe quietly. "Does he know? Because if he does, we might have a problem." Quite apart from the whole revealing-Gabriel-to-the-world thing, Solomon Wreath was a Necromancer; a devout religious man who'd spent a very long time believing in one societal imperative and nothing else. There was no telling how he would react to seeing an Archangel. Skulduggery had had enough trouble accepting it back at the Institute, and he hadn't really believed in anything.

"Are you okay?" Valkyrie asked Wreath up ahead. "He didn't try to hurt you or anything, did he?" She hesitated. "I did try to warn you."

[impudentsongbird]

"He saw me," Gabriel agreed softly, watching as Solomon made his unsteady way to the bench. The necromancer refused Valkyrie's help and sank down into the the seat in that boneless manner of a man wrung-out. "He saw you, too, but he won't have been able to read you beyond generalities. Even one such as him can't sense souls that deeply."

But Gabriel could. Solomon Wreath's soul was choked with the vines of necromancy just as Valkyrie's was, and yet ... and yet. There was something there, a core of--of not honour, precisely, but a desire for truth and a deeply held faith. The necromancy fed off it, but now its roots had been displaced.

Gabe had been right. Solomon Wreath could still be saved. The Archangel moved, slowly, toward him.

Solomon bent his head into his hands, taking deep, slow breaths. It had been a very long time since he'd felt this ill. His skin felt clammy and crawled at the same time, and although the after-image was fading the blurry movement of the pavement still made his heart pound with fear and chest rush with warmth at once. He'd never felt such conflicting emotions over one thing before.

Valkyrie's voice rang too loudly in his ears, but Solomon took one last deep breath and looked up. He shouldn't have. The bench was at the end of the street, and the whole of the cemetery was in view. Even with the after-image subsiding, the scream was so strong that it looked as if the whole block was lit up--or would have been, if there had actually been light--somewhat akin to a never-sleeping city whose presence blocked the stars. It made his eyes ache just to look at it, and his skin goosebumped, and he felt sick with that slow, heart-stopping fear again.

Solomon tore his eyes away from it and landed on Valkyrie, and even though her soul still wore a tendril-made cloak of Necromantic magic, it looked more like shadow on her than an infection. "No," he said after a moment of trying to find the saliva to do so. His voice came out hoarse, but otherwise even. Good. Stability. He needed that. "No, I don't believe he tried to hurt me."

He hadn't needed to try. Just looking at the angel had done it. Just looking at him had overwhelmed Solomon in a way he hadn't known was possible. The thought of it made Solomon's heart quicken again. He took a deep breath, forced it away, and called to mind the little things, the degrees by which he could work up to true thought. Remaining upright, for one. Breathing. Not being sick. Not looking toward the Temple. Not flinching at the quiet pad of bare feet on bitumen. Bracing himself, Solomon looked toward the angel and found himself looking over the being's shoulder instead, just as the angel had done to him.

What would have happened if the angel had looked him in the eye, when they first met? Had he been trying to protect Solomon himself?

An angel. Protecting Solomon. Why would he do that?

"Well?" he asked, and even though his hands still shook with adrenaline and fear, his tone was resigned more than afraid. "Aren't you going to ... to smite me? Isn't that what they call it?"

Surely he knew. The angel's reaction alone said there was no way he could back the onset of the Passage. Surely he would want to stop it from happening at all costs. Angels already had a messiah, and it certainly wasn't a young girl without faith.

There was a pause. Then, "No. I'm not going to smite you, Solomon."

And Solomon blinked, and looked at Skulduggery, and couldn't help the bewilderment that must have shown on his face.

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery would have been very surprised if Gabe's response was anything different. Smiting, as the Archangel had said before, was a last resort, and even Skulduggery didn't want to see Wreath getting killed over this. He'd simply been trying to follow his beliefs. Twisted though these beliefs might be, Wreath had a right to practice them, so long as nobody was getting hurt. Technically, Valkyrie wasn't getting hurt. But Skulduggery would have been lying if he'd said he didn't enjoy watching Wreath's body reacting so violently to the truth.

He would also have been lying if he said he was happy with Wreath, of all people, being let in on the secret. But it wasn't like they could hide it now.

"He's not big on smiting," the detective explained when Wreath looked at him. "I've only ever seen him do it once. It was very impressive, though. A mountain was in our way, and Gabe decided he didn't want to take the time to look for alternate routes."

Maybe he didn't want Solomon to get hurt, exactly, but Skulduggery had no qualms with unsettling him as much as possible. Valkyrie saw right through the words and turned to glare at him, but he paid her no mind. She always seemed to get irrationally upset whenever he insulted people, no matter who that person was or how much they deserved it.

"He's joking," Valkyrie tried to reassure Wreath with a small smile. "He's just messing with you."

"No, I'm not," Skulduggery objected. He paused. "Well, yes, but I'm not joking." He took a deep breath. "Gabe, this is Solomon Wreath." He should really add more, but what was there to add? That he was a Necromancer? That he was teaching Valkyrie Necromancy? That he was a high-level cleric? "Wreath, this is Gabriel."

A very simple introduction, as introductions went. Yet Skulduggery was bracing himself for the fallout.

[peacefullywreathed]

Solomon paled and it took effort not to look away. He knew this angel. Unlike many of his fellow clerics, he still remembered good parts of his medieval Christian upbringing. It was, in fact, an indirect catalyst for his choice to become a Necromancer. There were similarities between the two faiths, and where Christianity had rung so obviously hollow for him, Necromancy had not. Christianity had no proof of what happened after death; Necromancy did. Christianity had no guarantee that there would be peace after death; Necromancy ensured power over it.

And now he was faced with an Archangel, one of only two mentioned in the Bible, and the very one to whom he had recently been comparing himself. The Messenger, the harbinger for the messiah. The one who revealed the messiah to the world.

"Saint Gabriel," he greeted the angel with as much calm as he could possibly summon to hide the panic. What sort of trouble did someone get into for comparing themselves to an angel?

Saint Gabriel was giving Pleasant a wearily exasperated look, but there didn't seem to be much heat in it. At Solomon's greeting the Archangel turned to Solomon, smiling gently. "Hello, Solomon. For the record, we were inside the mountain and the Faceless Ones had just collapsed it on us. There wasn't really much time to do anything else."

Solomon's relief that, apparently, Saint Gabriel was more concerned with reassuring him than reprimanding him eclipsed a moment later by realisation. His eyes widened and he instinctively turned toward Valkyrie with a jerk. "You didn't--?" he started to ask, and then stopped. He didn't need to finish the question to know. The Faceless Ones.

An Archangel had rescued Skulduggery Pleasant from Hell. And Pleasant spoke to him as if he was a familiar brother-in-arms!

Solomon's stomach was churning, and he didn't know if it was the fear or the disbelief or the simple knowledge that here, in front of him, was proof of the higher power Necromancers had always rejected. Even now, Saint Gabriel's wings were still wisps of shadow--a reversed shadow, where it was brighter than the wall behind it rather than darker--but as Solomon watched they faded altogether until the Archangel looked like nothing more than a barefoot man in a cowboy hat.

It wasn't a lie. In his true form Saint Gabriel had still borne the same facial characteristics as he did now. But he had been so much more, a more that had made Solomon's eyes hurt even now, that there was no way the Necromancer would be able to forget he had seen it at all.

He couldn't do this. He didn't know how to handle this at all. He had an Archangel standing in front of him and while he felt gripped with terror there was a warmth in his chest that was some kind of insane curiosity.

Focus, he told himself, on the little things. Clearing his throat, Solomon reached into his pocket for a handkerchief to clean his face.

"I see," he said unsteadily, and then was able to add to Skulduggery Pleasant with something approaching his usual dryness, "You're enjoying this, I suppose."

[skeletonenigma]

Ah, yes. ‘Saint’ Gabriel. That was the proper title, wasn’t it? Somehow, that had just never really occurred to Skulduggery. By the time it would have, they were already good friends, and there was absolutely no way Skulduggery could use such a pretentious title on a friend without being sarcastic or ironic. Luckily, Gabe didn’t seem to mind.

"Immensely," Skulduggery assured Wreath, with what would have been an equally dry smile on a man who had a face. "Particularly when the word 'smite' gets used over and over again. You just have to stop taking it so seriously."

"It's..." Valkyrie swallowed and tried to smile. "You get used to it. Sort of. He's not really what you'd expect."

"It does call into question everything about what sorcerers are, doesn’t it? However.” The detective turned back to Gabe. He’d already had the existential crisis, dealt with it, and moved on. He didn’t see any reason for Wreath not to do the same, especially given what had caused the Necromancer to try to silence the Archangel in the first place. “What, exactly, does the Passage entail?”

It would save the world, that much Skulduggery knew. It would be brought about by the Death Bringer, whom the Necromancers hadn’t seemed to mind seeing in Lord Vile. What Skulduggery didn’t know was what the Passage ultimately resulted in, because ‘saving the world’ meant something different to everyone who heard it. He hadn’t really had the time or the inclination to listen when it was explained to him, and Skulduggery had had a lot less interest in saving the world at the time. It was only later that he began to question what the Necromancers considered ‘saving the world.’ And after Gabriel’s reaction, the desperate way he’d tried to explain what he saw, Skulduggery needed to know. Wreath likely wouldn’t try to put up a fight this time.

[peacefullywreathed]

"The bare-footed angel in a cowboy hat isn't what I would expect?" Solomon asked deadpan. "I would never have guessed." The sarcasm made things easier. Easier to slide over everything he'd just seen, at any rate, easier not to dwell on it; so long as he didn't have to do that, he should be able to cope until Pleasant, Valkyrie and Saint Gabriel--Saint Gabriel!--were gone and he could have a proper meltdown.

Solomon and Skulduggery didn't agree on many things, but on this occasion the skeleton was right. It did call into question a great many things, a great many things Solomon didn't have the space to consider right at this moment. That alone put him at a disadvantage.

Pleasant's question, while not unexpected, made Solomon raise his face and glance at Saint Gabriel. The Necromancer suppressed the urge to start when he found the angel already looking at him with a soft consideration. Again, Solomon felt the urge to break the gaze; instead he lifted an eyebrow, calmly turning the handkerchief over in his hand to make use of the cleaner spot on the other side.

"Promise me," the Archangel said finally, not to Solomon but to Skulduggery, "that you won't try to hurt him when I tell you, Skul."

The Necromancer blinked and didn't quite manage not to stare. If he'd doubted that Saint Gabriel was protecting him ... "Why?" he blurted, and then checked himself to speak more calmly. "However you ... saw what you saw, your reaction indicates my beliefs and yours are in fact exclusive." Yes. Present it as if the angel was a cleric, a worshipper of Christianity, instead of a being which embodied what Christianity was. That was easier. (Easier, until Solomon remembered how many people had been slaughtered in God's name, and the fact that now an angel was so averse to a similar sacrifice. How many people had claimed God's will in conflict, and how many had actually been performing it? The thought was unsettling, and Solomon cast it as far from him as he possibly could.) "Why are you protecting me?"

It made no sense. Solomon knew very well what others would think of the Necromancers' beliefs, that the sacrifice of the three billion was needless and wasteful--murder. Thou shalt not murder, was it not said in the Commandments? Why would an angel want to defend someone clearly his enemy?

Saint Gabriel looked at him then, and even though it felt as if the angel was looking into his deepest soul--and he probably was--Solomon managed not to look away.

"Because," said the angel simply, "I still have hope for you."

And Solomon didn't quite know what to say to that. So he said nothing.

[skeletonenigma]

"Archangel," Valkyrie corrected Wreath, a moment before a sheepish shrug. "Technically. A bare-footed Archangel in a cowboy hat."

Not for the first time, Skulduggery was grateful he didn't have to hide his grin. They would probably pay for this later, somehow. Wreath might find a way to take revenge, or - even worse - want to help. But for now, at least, Skulduggery was enjoying his obvious bewilderment and fear, even if it meant the Passage was exactly as terrible as it was being implied to be.

I can't promise you that, Skulduggery wanted to answer Gabe, but he thought better of it. Because for one thing, he could; he just didn't want to. The very fact that Gabriel needed him to promise at all didn't foretell good things, but for the Archangel, there wasn't much Skulduggery couldn't promise. When a divine being trusted you with absolute certainty, it made you want to live up to that trust.

That depends, was his next instinctive response. Was Wreath planning on hurting anyone?

In the end, it wasn't faith or trust that made Skulduggery nod assent. It was a simple matter of logic. No matter what the Passage was or what Wreath would have been willing to do, hurting him now wouldn't gain them anything, and it might even lose them a valuable asset in stopping the Passage, if it came to that. "I won't," Skulduggery told Gabe after a long, level look, and he meant it. He turned back to Solomon. "But you will answer all of our questions, and you will tell Valkyrie everything she wants to know. No exceptions."

Valkyrie didn't say anything for the moment. She, like Skulduggery, was waiting for Gabe to explain the Necromancers' prophetic Passage.

[impudentsongbird]

"Of course," Solomon murmured dryly as he folded the handkerchief neatly in half again to make use of any clean sections left. "A bare-footed Archangel in a cowboy hat. Please excuse me." Despite himself, Gabe almost smiled. Skul and Solomon were more similar than he'd been expecting. Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised by it, given they both had Valkyrie's loyalty.

"Thank you," the Archangel said softly, meeting and holding the detective's gaze. Solomon sighed in response to Skul, wiping the last of the blood from his throat and then running a hand across his face to feel for any bits he'd missed, in lieu of having a mirror.

"I'm hardly in a position to argue, now, am I?" He was still half-expecting to be smote if he objected, Gabe could see.

Gabe wouldn't, of course, but that wasn't something by which Solomon would be convinced until it happened--or didn't, as the case may be. Still, Gabriel chose to take a seat on the bench beside the necromancer, a good foot away so that Solomon wouldn't feel too much more uneasy, and looked up at Skulduggery.

"The Passage," Gabe said, and his voice failed on him for a moment as he remembered just what he had seen, the casual certainty in Solomon that came from a strong faith. It was such a waste, for faith like that to be directed in such a place.

Please, Master, help me turn him to the better path, he whispered to the air, and tried again.

"The Passage refers to the intent, or the act, of uniting life and death," he said. "The Death Bringer is a necromancer so powerful that he or she can break down the barriers between life and death, make it so there is no difference. No one is born, but no one dies either." He closed his eyes and tried not to imagine just how this would happen in too much detail. It was difficult; the necromancers clearly had a measure of how the plane beyond the physical worked. They couldn't see it on their own, but they knew enough to know the generalities, and that meant they knew enough to have a specific plan.

Gabriel could see, in his mind's eye, all too well what would happen if they succeeded. The death of three billion people all at once. Three billion people, cast like debris into the resonance that bound every reality, blocking off this one until there was no exchange. No way to Heaven. Nowhere to go but to rot in a Hell on Earth.

This wasn't working. He opened his eyes. "It's not really a breaking of barriers," he said. "It's more like putting a blockade or a dam into the resonance between this world and the rest, to prevent souls from moving on. But such a blockade ..." His voice cracked and he blinked rapidly against the dampness in his eyes. "Such a blockade would have to be created of souls to begin with. Three billion souls, to block this world from Heaven."

Because that, truly, was what frightened him the most about the idea. Heaven was beyond, part of that stream the necromancers visualised. Hell was right here on Earth, and always had been, ever since Lucifer's Fall. No one would die, but no one would need to. If there were a Lucifer here, he would have leave to come right onto the right and do what he willed with the Hell the necromancers themselves had created.

Beside him, Solomon stirred.

[skeletonenigma]

"Three billion...?" Valkyrie backed away without even realizing what she was doing, staring at Solomon, at her... her Necromancy teacher, her mentor while Skulduggery was gone. "You were going to kill three billion people so that the rest would never die?"

Some crazy part of her had hoped that maybe saying it out loud would help dispel the shock, or help her understand a different meaning behind the Archangel's words. Any other meaning. It didn't.

But Solomon couldn't have been in on this, Solomon couldn't have willingly tried to do something so wrong and twisted, he... Gabriel had read it from his mind. Gabriel had read it from his mind.

For a long minute, Valkyrie couldn't say anything more, could barely think anything more, and then she realized that the person who was supposed to do this, to kill three billion people and pretend it was all for the best, was... her.

"You actually thought," and here her voice took on the betrayal and disbelief she was feeling, "that you could get me to kill anyone? And your messiah, they save the world by killing half of it?"

Leaving aside the Necromancy, the religion, the Passage, and all the rest, Solomon had decided that this was important enough to keep from her. That it was important enough to trick her into this. And he was sitting here now, with his Necromancy cane and he had the gall, the nerve to grow sarcastic with her? Gabriel might have had hope for the Necromancer, but Valkyrie suddenly found herself wishing he really had done something to hurt Solomon. He deserved it.

She looked around to find Skulduggery's skull tilted in her direction, his hollow eyes sockets on her. She wanted to believe he was just the detective looking to his partner for their opinion, but she knew what the look was really about. The ring on her finger, what it suddenly meant and could mean in the future. Valkyrie stared angrily down at it, wishing fiercely that she'd never put it on. That she'd never had a reason to put it on.

"I was supposed to be the Death Bringer?" she asked quietly. Bitterly.

"And Lord Vile before you." Skulduggery moved his attention back to Solomon. "And who knows how many others before that. I really wish I could say I was surprised, Solomon. I hope you know that this is never going to happen."

His voice wasn't even raised in anger. Valkyrie envied that right now. She would not be placed in the same category as a mass murdering Necromancer. She would not.

[peacefullywreathed]

"It would have meant an end to the suffering of death," Solomon said, "a sacrifice for which they would have been honoured for the rest of eternity." He believed that. He believed that. For centuries, that was the goal to which he'd been working; for a year, that was the honour for which he had been preparing Valkyrie.

So why did he sound so uncertain?

"Three billion souls, to block this world from Heaven."

Solomon shook his head. Heaven wasn't real. It was just a ... a construct. Even the angel before him didn't prove Heaven was real. Did it?

"We knew you wouldn't understand," he tried again, trying to summon up his certainty from deep inside, "not yet. These beliefs are something we teach over time, to give our students time to accept them. Cutting this world from the lifestream ..."

His voice died. His words rang hollow, even to him, and without thinking he glanced toward the cemetery. It looked as it should, now, but in his mind's eye he still saw the glare of that endless scream of souls distilled into their magic. If the Passage occurred, was that what the whole of the world would look like? A never-ending sore on the face of the Earth, blocking out the light? Even though he couldn't see it, he would still know it was there. He would always know it was there, now. And that thought, the thought of walking a planet with the anguish under his feet, made his mouth dry up all over again, though he wasn't sure why. Hadn't he always lived in the shadow of Necromancy?

... Hadn't he never known what shrieked beneath it?

What was happening? He had been so faithful, for so long; how was it that all of his certainty could be crumbling in the space of a few minutes? All his certainty in what they could do with death, in the fact that there was nothing worth waiting for beyond it, no higher being at all. With a prickle on his neck Solomon came aware that Saint Gabriel was watching him with such an expression of compassion that it made the Necromancer's chest clench.

"He exists," Saint Gabriel said, answering the question Solomon hadn't even managed to ask even in his own mind. Then he added, "I had cocktails with Him just before I left to help Skul with the Faceless Ones." Solomon stared, uncertain for a moment if he was being teased, but the patience and utter lack of amusement in the angel's expression said otherwise.

The Necromancer opened his mouth to ask how Saint Gabriel knew the world would be cut off from Heaven and shut it again. The angel was practically made from the lifestream. Of course he knew. If he wasn't lying. Could angels even lie? A question for the ages.

Saint Gabriel was still staring at him, and Solomon wished he'd stop.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, frustrated and bewildered, because he had no idea why the angel was looking at him like that, as if waiting, as if expecting. Solomon was a Necromancer. He would always be a Necromancer. He had already been through his Surge.

The angel looked surprised. "What do you want, Solomon?"

Once again, Solomon had no answer. This time he did look away.

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery was, despite himself, fascinated. And perhaps slightly intrigued. The threat of the Passage, and the thought of entire groups of people all over the world hiding that minor mass murder detail from their ruling Sanctuaries, made him angry. There was no doubt about that. But that anger was tempered this time by his promise to Gabriel, and the reminder that there was no Death Bringer to make this happen. Because if this didn't scare Valkyrie off Necromancy for good - or at least away from the Temple, even if she wouldn't give up the ring - then nothing would.

Of course, there was the underlying realization that Skulduggery had been very close to doing this himself, but he was able to ignore that in the face of Wreath stumbling over his own words, then quieting down altogether.

Skulduggery was watching a conversion at work. Or at least the early stages of it. Wreath was beginning to question his own beliefs, growing angry because he didn't know what else to be, looking away because he didn't know the answer to Gabe's question and he didn't really want to. Gabriel, perfectly calm and supportive throughout, maybe gently nudging Wreath in the right direction occasionally, but ultimately leaving the process up to him. It was fascinating. It didn't change Skulduggery's opinion of Wreath in the slightest, especially now that he knew what the Necromancer had been hoping to accomplish, but it did cast Wreath in a different light. Not new, or better. Just different.

But, Skulduggery had achieved what he was hoping, and then some. He wouldn't be happy if Valkyrie continued pursuing Necromancy, and he would seriously question her intelligence, but at least now she would know the consequences ahead of time. That was all he'd ever wanted. Satisfied, Skulduggery motioned Valkyrie over.

"You wanted to go home," he told her gently as she approached. "Something tells me I've been delaying that for far longer than just today."

"That's it?" If Skulduggery didn't know any better, he would say Valkyrie had tears in her eyes. "You're going to drop a bombshell like that on me and then just send me home?"

"I'm not sending you anywhere," Skulduggery contradicted her. "But if you wanted to call Fletcher and have him take you home, I wouldn't stop you. In fact, I'd encourage you."

"What about the Passage? Shouldn't we be doing something about that?"

"What is there to do? You're not going to kill anyone, and they have no other Death Bringer. We're fine for now."

Valkyrie shook her head. "Shouldn't we at least tell someone?" she persisted.

Skulduggery nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. Because our esteemed Grand Mage Guild has been in such a mood for listening lately. I'm sure he'd welcome another doomsday scenario from us. He might even send thank-you notes to our prison cells."

Valkyrie laughed. That was good. She didn't laugh nearly often enough. Today had been very good for her in most respects. "Okay, fine. Just... try not to end the world or anything until I get back."

Skulduggery put a hand solemnly over his ribcage. "I promise, I will try my utmost best to keep our resident Archangel friend in check, and to make sure he doesn't do anything reckless, such as accidentally bring Lucifer into our reality, or suffocate our children's charities with teddy bears."

"If either of those things happens, you'd better call."

"Of course." Skulduggery put his hand on her shoulder. "Now go and be with your parents. I'm sure subconsciously they've been worried sick."

[peacefullywreathed]

Valkyrie and Pleasant's conversation wasn't quiet enough to keep Solomon from hearing bits and pieces--or wouldn't have been, had Solomon been able to concentrate on eavesdropping at all. He wasn't. Not in the least. Instead the Necromancer stared down the street, his jaw tight and his hands on his knees because his cane was still lying on the road.

Saint Gabriel sat quietly beside him. Patient. Waiting.

Solomon was a patient man, the same way Skulduggery was a patient man. This was different. The Archangel had the air of someone who could, and would, and even wanted to, wait in perpetuity for a single person to make a choice.

The Necromancer suspected he knew what kind of choice Saint Gabriel wanted him to make.

"If you're waiting for me to cast off all my years of faith to the Temple," he said, and was unable to keep the tightness from his voice, "and declare my belief in God, you may as well find something better to do with your time."

Because he wasn't. Because even if he wanted to--and where had the thought come from that he might?--he was a Necromancer. There was no other path for him, save perhaps to give up magic entirely, and he may as well shoot himself in the head if he did that.

"I wouldn't recommend doing that," Saint Gabriel said quietly, and it was such a non sequitur that Solomon started, then frowned.

"Do what?"

"Shoot yourself in the head." The Archangel looked at him earnestly, but a chill ran down Solomon's back and he looked back, tight-lipped. "You wouldn't like what would happen to you if you died any time soon."

Well. Solomon didn't mean to pale, but he did; nor could he help it. "What does that mean?"

Saint Gabriel looked at him sadly. Once, Solomon had thought that was merely a term--he looked sad, she looked sad. This was different yet again. There were tears in the angel's eyes, as if for him it was never a matter of simply looking, but being, no matter who the emotion was for. "You saw," he said gently, "and I think you know."

"I don't--" Solomon cut the words off and took a breath, bringing his hands up to grind the heels of his palms into his eyes. That was a mistake, because although the ache had subsided, the slightest hint of pressure brought it back to life again, and he hissed.

What, he wondered, could the Archangel have possibly meant by that? A good deal of what Solomon saw, he couldn't even begin to understand. About all he had managed to comprehend was the lifestream and the way in which it gripped ... well, everything. Even Saint Gabriel.

No, he thought with a jolt. Not everything. Everything except the magic of Necromancy.

Solomon's skin prickled wildly with realisation and a sudden rush of nausea, and he bent inward with a gasp, hands gripping his knees, trying to keep down the bile that came with terror. His head rang with it. Everything had been touched by the lifestream except Necromancy. Necromancy was fuelled by death. Death was fuelled by souls.

The souls of Necromancers. Where else would the magic get its power, but from those who bathed it and breathed it and lived it, and then died in it?

Solomon had been afraid before. He had spent his whole life being afraid, because that was one requirement of being a Necromancer; the fear of death. But he had never been so afraid as he had this day, nor as intensely frightened as he was now. Necromancers thought being added to the lifestream, future unknown, was the worst thing that could happen.

But now all Solomon could think of was the Scream.

He was doomed. He was a Necromancer who had endured his Surge, who could no longer choose his magic. A Necromancer who would either find himself dead and tormented for his brothers' own power or trapped in that never-ending fear the Passage was supposed to end--because even if the Necromancers managed to succeed in completing the Passage, Solomon would be waiting for the day a higher power would come along to break the dam blocking the lifestream and send them all back to the mercilessness of death. Only as early as this morning, his fear had been kept in check by the complete faith that that fear could be ended, and would be ended, as soon as the Passage took place.

Now there would be no such hope, in a world after the Passage. He would only be waiting for another end, a worse one.

A weight landed on the back of Solomon's neck and he felt the warmth of a hand, then a rush of reassurance he knew did not come from him. Even so, it loosened his gut and his throat, allowed him to breathe, and although it didn't completely take away the wild tingle in his limbs, after a few slow inhale-exhales he had some measure of stability.

"That," he managed, and his voice was even, "is quite a trick." A trick that would surely wear off. A trick he couldn't rely on.

"It comes in handy sometimes," said Saint Gabriel with wry gentleness.

Trick or not, right now it was what Solomon needed. It let his mind work again, slowly grinding away the rust of terror and uncertainty and shock. There had to be a way. There were always ways. Solomon Wreath was particularly skilled at finding them, and he would do so this time as well. He would have to. Necromancers had always been concerned about their souls. Now Solomon had more than ever to be concerned about.

A fragile calm settled over him, something more akin to numbness. Gently Saint Gabriel squeezed the back of his neck once and then drew away, but the terror remained at bay. With one last deep breath Solomon straightened up again, his expression tight but composed, and his gaze landed on the cane still lying on the bitumen. "If you don't mind," he said with exceptional composure given he had just been having a panic attack, "I'd rather be alone for a time."

"Of course." Saint Gabriel rose and started to move away, but then he paused and turned. "If you'd like to talk," he said, "or need something, feel free to give me a prayer."

A prayer. He could summon an Archangel with a prayer. Of course; he shouldn't even be surprised. Solomon inclined his head in acknowledgement but found himself unable to answer or tear his gaze from the cane. The island of calm in which he was moored needed to be secured before he was capable of deeper thought.

[skeletonenigma]

While Valkyrie called Fletcher and apologized for dragging him back to the graveyard so soon, Skulduggery joined Gabriel a short distance away from Solomon. The Necromancer was staring at his cane on the ground, as if willing it to do something with the power of his mind; his knuckles were white from gripping the edge of the bus bench. All things considered, no matter what potential threat the Necromancer turned out to be, it was probably best to leave him alone with his thoughts for now. Skulduggery would have welcomed that chance back when he first found out, but nothing about that hospital let him sit and gather his thoughts for longer than a few minutes at a time.

"That went well," Skulduggery told Gabe cheerfully. "We came to make sure Valkyrie had the opportunity for an informed decision, and we got another evil world-ending plot, as well as a traumatised Necromancer. I'd say our work here is done."

Dusk was just starting to creep through the sky, and Skulduggery looked up towards the small orange sun, head tilted. He hadn't had an opportunity to see the sunset properly for a very long time. At Landel's, he'd been locked in a windowless room for dinner most days; with the Faceless Ones, the large red sun never moved in the sky. He'd forgotten how the light almost seemed to turn golden at this time of the evening.

After a few moments, the detective returned his gaze to Gabriel. "Did you really have cocktails with Him right before dimension-jumping?" he asked. "Did He explain anything?"

[impudentsongbird]

"You'll find," Gabe said with tired humour as he pushed back the brim of his hat, "that many religions have a world-ending plot. Even Christians focus too much on the end, and not enough on the now."

Not that Heaven wasn't a wonderful place to be, because it was; but something Gabe had always found very sad was the way many people seemed to view their time on Earth as some kind of waiting-room or Purgatory until they could get there. Where was the fun in that? Where was the attention to beauty right there on Earth?

The Archangel followed Skul's gaze, smiling at the sunset, the tension visibly easing from his face. It was beautiful. He couldn't imagine why people were so focussed on leaving this planet instead of enjoying it for all the time they had.

He was so busy enjoying the sight that Skul's question came as almost a surprise, and it was with a faint sense of reluctance that Gabe pulled his attention away from the view. "Yes," he said, and managed a small grin. "He said I looked like I needed a relaxer, so we had drinks and watched the baseball for a little while before we started talking about dimensions." The Archangel looked back to the sunset. "It took me a bit to get up the courage to ask for details, and in the end, I decided I didn't really need them. But He said enough so that I'd be able to get through the curtains of reality, and to confirm that I needed to follow the rosary."

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery found it difficult to believe that Gabe hadn't even asked for details about Landel or his Institute, but then, Skulduggery hadn't spent thousands of years with unwavering faith in a single being. Besides, for all Skulduggery knew, His way of handling it was to send Gabriel, just as the Archangel kept insisting. It had worked in the end, so there was no real point to complaining. Skulduggery just wished he could share Gabe's unwavering sense of optimism.

He was still wearing the rosary, wrapped around his bony wrist and partly hidden under his illusionary suit jacket sleeve. Part of Skulduggery was surprised he'd forgotten about it, and part of him was surprised he was remembering it now. "So if I hadn't kept this at the end..."

He didn't need to finish the thought. Skulduggery was still deciding if he'd deserved the rescue or not, but he couldn't deny that nothing seemed to have gone wrong yet. In fact, Gabriel taking it upon himself to save him had stopped Valkyrie from putting the whole word in danger by foolishly opening a portal right into the dimension. Gabe's presence might also be convincing her to give up the power of Necromancy, which Skulduggery knew would be in everyone's best interests. At the risk of jinxing the lack of consequences, Skulduggery was slowly beginning to relax.

[impudentsongbird]

Part of Gabe hadn't wanted to know. The rest of him had simply trusted, it was true. With the Institute gone and its prisoners released, was there any reason to worry about details?

Especially when details like that were so chilling. Gabriel nodded sombrely. "I might have been able to track you by our ties and your soul," he said, "but the likelihood of it working would have been remote. I knew you when you were human, and I hadn't seen your soul before then. It's much more likely I'd have gotten lost."

That was why he hadn't tried to find Castiel. He hoped, prayed, that his alternate brother would be okay, but it was so very unlikely Gabriel would be able to reach him at all that he couldn't take the risk of abandoning his own world and family in such a way. The Archangel glanced side-long at Skulduggery, summoning up a rueful grin. "So it's a good thing you hadn't dropped it."

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery returned Gabe's look with one of his own, minus the grin. And the look, come to think of it. But the intent for both things was quite definitely there, and audible in his voice. "But I did drop it. Quite early on, in fact."

Fletcher appeared next to Valkyrie just as she was putting her phone away, startling her. She snapped something at him, something Skulduggery couldn't quite catch, but he could guess. The end of their conversation only became audible as they stepped closer, but it didn't take someone of Skulduggery's genius to predict that Valkyrie had been getting unreasonably upset over the imagined slight and Fletcher had been trying to defend himself.

"I'm a Teleporter, Val," he tried again, looking nonplussed. "It's what I do."

"Yeah, well..." Valkyrie blew out a frustrated breath. "Warn me next time."

"How? I told you on the phone I was coming right over. What do you want me to do, send up a flare?"

"Yes. A flare would have been nice. Or just kind of Teleport out of sight and then announce that you're here. Something like that."

Fletcher opened his mouth to retort, but stopped when he saw Wreath sitting at the bus stop behind Skulduggery, paler than usual and slick with sweat. He frowned. "Oh, no. What did Skul - what did you guys do to him?"

"Us? Nothing." Skulduggery's tone was perhaps a little too innocent, but for once, he was telling the truth. "He brought it all on himself. Let's go."

"We're just going to leave him there?" Fletcher asked uncertainly.

"He'll be fine."

Fletcher looked to Valkyrie for backup, assuming she would also be leaping to her teacher's defense. But Valkyrie didn't say or do anything, and so Fletcher shrugged and held out his hands. "Okay. Valkyrie's house, right?"

"Go to the pier," said Valkyrie. "The last thing I need is for my parents to see you all appearing in the living room."

[impudentsongbird]

"Luckily, not too early on," Gabe pointed out, and the grin came more genuinely. He, too, turned when Fletcher appeared, giving the Teleporter a welcoming smile which faded somewhat into sadness when he followed the young man's gaze.

"He'll live," Gabriel murmured. "It won't be easy and he has some choices to make, but he has a chance, now." He hadn't had one before he'd seen all that Gabe was. Sometimes, it really did take a shock. For Solomon's sake Gabe hoped it would be worth it.

The Archangel turned toward Fletcher and took his hand, then looked innocently at Valkyrie. "Does that mean we can't meet your parents? Well, damn. I was looking forward to that."

And then he grinned as they vanished.

Behind them, Solomon Wreath closed his eyes and let out a long exhale. Slowly the Necromancer rose and approached his cane, pausing a moment to stare down at it with an indefinable expression; then he bent and picked it up, gingerly as if expecting something to happen. All that did was that he felt the ice-cold of his magic.

Somehow it wasn't as soothing as it had been. Right now, he couldn't even conceive of entering the Temple, theft or no theft, or using his shadow-walking. Gripping it tightly, his mouth drawn tight, Solomon turned away from the cemetery and strode down the street in search of a taxi.

[skeletonenigma]

Valkyrie waited until she heard the familiar waves lapping against the wooden pier before she let go of Fletcher's hand and rounded on Gabriel. "You want to meet my parents? Really?"

Really?

There was a huge part of Valkyrie that really, really wanted to see this happen, even if she knew she wouldn't be able to keep a straight face. So much of her life had to be kept secret from her own family that the idea of letting them in on a small part of it, however hidden that part had to be, was too good to pass up. She was grinning already just thinking about it.

But she couldn't. Not really. Too much could go wrong, like...

...like...

Well, for one thing, how was she going to explain who Gabriel was? And Fletcher? And Skulduggery, for that matter? She couldn't just bring a living skeleton into her house. You couldn't do that. But even if they found a way to disguise him, or just leave him outside, Valkyrie's parents would definitely question so many mysterious men in her life, and Valkyrie didn't think she would be able to come up with enough believable lies.

"As awesome as that would be," she finally forced herself to say, "it's really not a good idea. They get suspicious enough without me bringing home three guys they've never met before. And they might have trouble with the whole skeleton thing."

"I could wear my disguise," Skulduggery suggested.

"They might also have trouble with a man who won't take off layers of clothes indoors." Valkyrie turned to look at Skulduggery, an uncertain frown on her face. "You're actually okay with this happening?"

Skulduggery shrugged. "I've never had the chance to introduce myself to your parents. This could be an educational experience."

Valkyrie stared. This couldn't be her usual cautious and cynical friend. What happened over there with the Faceless Ones? "And the lies we'd have to come up with?" she tried. "Is there anything they would believe?"

Skulduggery folded his arms. "If you aren't able to fool your parents for ten minutes, Valkyrie, then I have failed in every single capacity as a detective mentor."

"But..." Valkyrie's voice trailed off, and she looked around to Gabriel. "This still isn't a good idea. This can't be a good idea. For God's sake, how am I supposed to explain Skulduggery, let alone the two of you?"

[impudentsongbird]

"'Course, li'l lady," Gabe drawled, drawing down the brim of his hat and grinning at her from under it. "Why wouldn't I?" He had been teasing, but the comment wasn't a lie. He did want to meet Valkyrie's parents. He did want to know about her home life. He did want to see her with them, because she was there so little.

"I could help Skul with his disguise," Gabriel added, and turned to him. "It won't be real, of course, but I could make you look like your human self." Not that restoring Skul's body would be impossible either, but that would require a manipulation of his soul on a level Gabe wasn't going to suggest for a relatively minor thing.

"As for what you'll tell them." He tilted his head, regarding Valkyrie for a moment before smiling. "You won't even have to lie. Just tell them that I'm Fletcher's Gaelic tutor, and that he's part-timing driving students to school. Skul is one of your teachers."

[skeletonenigma]

There were so many things wrong with that plan, Valkyrie didn't know where to start. How gullible did Gabe think her parents were? The only reason they hadn't immediately pegged her reflection for being a reflection was because the only possible nonmagical conclusion was Valkyrie acting differently. They were both going to see right through this, and there were so many possible conclusions that didn't have anything to do with magic -

A stray thought suddenly made Valkyrie freeze. She looked suspiciously over at Gabriel. "Wait a minute. Skulduggery would have a face?"

"That doesn't really work, though," Fletcher pointed out. "Unless I drive teachers around too. Like a carpooling thing."

"Skulduggery would have a face?"

"Also, not driving." Fletcher shifted uncomfortably. "I don't drive. Just say 'taking.' It's basically the same thing, but a lot less annoying."

Valkyrie whirled to face him. "How is anyone else not excited about this? Skulduggery's going to get a face. A real human face." She twisted back to Skulduggery and jabbed a finger at his inscrutable skull. "How are you not excited about this?"

"I spent a while being human," Skulduggery reminded her. "Twice now. It isn't any different than Gabe giving me this suit."

"It's completely different! You're actually going to have expressions!"

Skulduggery's head tilted to the side. "May I assume that you've agreed to this meeting solely for the chance to see me smile?"

"Yes. Yes, you may." Valkyrie knew she would need to control this grin at some point, especially before they knocked on her front door, so she was trying to get it all out of her system now. "Okay. Just, hang on for a minute, I need to talk to my reflection. Or, no, don't hang on. Be human when I get back."

Valkyrie stepped away to pull out her phone and dial the reflection. A quick conversation confirmed what she suspected to be the case; her parents hadn't seen the reflection come home from school. It was perfectly reasonable that she'd been out all day getting tutored, or driven places in a big carpool, as long as the reflection stayed out of sight in her room.

She didn't turn around even after hanging up, and tried to imagine what Skulduggery looked like before he died. High cheekbones; that was all Valkyrie knew. She couldn't even imagine what color his hair might have been.

[impudentsongbird]

"You're right," Gabe said to Fletcher, nodding in agreement. "'Driving' is inaccurate, too. 'Taking' is vaguer, and that's generally better in this kind of circumstance." Less of a deception, even though it wasn't, technically, him who'd be deceiving anyone. There was no point in adding on to the deceptions.

Still. He was glad he'd spoken to Michael before leaving, even though he ... hadn't exactly mentioned that he was planning to go.

The Archangel laughed at Valkyrie's delight and then stepped toward Skulduggery.

"At least someone will be enjoying this," he told the detective with a smile, raising his hands. "With your permission?" He waited a beat for consent, but didn't actually touch Skul's head. Instead he passed his hands over the bone, humming under his breath, his fingers teasing the air like he was unknotting--or perhaps weaving--something.

Where his hands passed, the illusion of skin wavered to life, settling into place with an audible resonance in counterpoint to Gabe's hum. The Archangel brought his hands down to indicate the rest of Skul's body and limbs, and with one last rising note the illusion settled. Gabe managed not to wince at the sudden pound in his head, though his eyes tightened a little as he pulled his hands back and stepped away. He hoped it'd be overlooked in the company of his smile. "There. It's not much, but it'll seem solid enough; mostly I just pulled out your appearance the same way I did with the suit."

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery didn't feel any difference, but with the way Fletcher's eyes widened, he knew it had worked. Combine that with the lines that momentarily appeared around Gabe's eyes, and Skulduggery didn't need to look down at his hand to know that it would be covered with skin. Perhaps it was a side effect of not having his own face, but Skulduggery had always been good at reading other people's faces - especially when they registered pain. He usually ignored what people were feeling, but that didn't mean he couldn't see it.

Unlike the face that came with his real and solid human body back at Landel's, this one was, at its heart, an illusion. Far from being blank and expressionless as Skulduggery worked to control muscles he wasn't used to, this face responded to his emotions immediately, blank only for a second as the skin and features settled into place. By the time Gabriel stepped away, a flicker of concern had crossed over it, even though Skulduggery didn't mention what he'd seen in the Archangel's eyes. The expression then seemed to rotate through several different things before finally settling on bemused pride. "Thank you."

There was a high-pitched squeal, and it took Skulduggery a moment to realize it was coming from Valkyrie. She ran back over with a grin so wide that it practically split her face wide open. "Oh my God!"

"Here it comes," he murmured.

"Oh my God!"

"I'd actually prefer it if He wasn't watching this," Skulduggery told her, wishing that he was only joking.

"You're so... so..."

"Handsome?" And this time, he said it with a smile. A smug smile, but a smile nonetheless. He could feel it on his face. It was a nice feeling.

Valkyrie's mouth dropped open. "Your eyes twinkle when you do that. Did you know that? Your eyes are twinkling."

"Are they?"

"It's gorgeous. Your eyes are gorgeous. Did you know that?"

"Of course I did."

"Did you know they twinkle?"

"Not until a couple of minutes ago."

Valkyrie was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, slowly growing more excited with each passing second. "Can I hug you? Please?"

"I'm still going to feel like a skeleton," Skulduggery tried to warn her, but it did very little good, as Valkyrie had already bounced up and thrown her arms around him. His smile turned genuine and he hugged her back.

"But I can't see any of you from here," she complained after a moment, her voice muffled by the illusion-suit.

"On the bright side, you're getting remarkably well acquainted with my shoulder."

Valkyrie let go of him and danced back, her grin - if possible - even wider. "I bet you had all the girls chasing after you."

Skulduggery laughed, which caused an interesting chain reaction of Valkyrie gasping and Fletcher looking like he'd just seen a ghost. "Those were very different times, Valkyrie. But yes, I did."

Valkyrie looked for a moment like she'd grown speechless, but she managed to get over it fairly quickly. "Can you put on different expressions quickly before we go? Like, could you look angry for a second?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I've never seen you angry! I've heard you angry, and you get really still, and you always manage to be really intimidating anyway, but I've never actually seen you angry. Does it look scary?"

Skulduggery observed her for a moment, and then shrugged. "I don't know. I've never really been looking in a mirror at the time."

"So do it now!"

"No."

"But I can tell you what - "

"No. We had a plan, didn't we? I so rarely have a plan I'm actually looking forward to. Let's go."

"He has a face," came Fletcher's delayed and quiet reaction from the back of the group.

[impudentsongbird]

"You're quite welcome," said the Archangel, giving Skul a grateful look for his discretion. He shouldn't be surprised it hadn't gotten past the detective, but for once, Skulduggery didn't seem interested in calling him on it.

A moment later he was forced to step back again as the whirlwind that was Valkyrie Cain swept past. He had to laugh at her delight. It was impossible not to. For once, he felt as if he was truly seeing Valkyrie as she was--as a child, and a friend, and someone who deserved some joy.

"If He were watching, He'd be enjoying this," Gabe said with a grin. Of course He would be. All of Gabriel's siblings would, because this was the kind of thing they lived for.

And Valkyrie was quite correct: Skul's eyes did twinkle when he smiled. It looked nice. It looked even better when he laughed. If Gabe were anyone else, the size of his own grin would have been labelled 'silly'.

He dropped back beside Fletcher, taking the young Teleporter's hand and squeezing it reassuringly. "He's always had a face; people just can't see it normally. It looks good on him though, don't you think?"