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

[impudentsongbird]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Comments

[skeletonenigma]

"So either we stay here," said Skulduggery, "and follow the Isthmus Anchor using my true name, or we fight our way to the top of the city and spend a great deal of time singing."

And not regular singing, either. Singing details of a life spanning centuries, details that Skulduggery would no doubt have to provide. As unappealing as the idea sounded to begin with - even considering that Gabe knew most of what mattered - it would take up a lot of valuable time. Gabe would probably have to concentrate on the singing, leaving Skulduggery as the last line of defense if the wards failed. And after watching his Archangel form at work, warding off the Faceless Ones in countless different ways, Skulduggery's confidence in his own ability to hold them off was slightly diminished.

He also wasn't quite sure where the portal opened up. Most of the stone buildings looked exactly the same. Skulduggery had no idea if the area was securable, and that really was a large risk to take. The Faceless Ones might not be able to kill either of them, but death was by far one of the kinder punishments they had come up with.

"Choices," Skulduggery went on, something distant in his voice. Not just a chance at escape, but two possible ways of doing it. "It's been a while."

[impudentsongbird]

The chalk scraped the stone. The outermost sigils hummed. Gabriel nodded ruefully, his attention on finishing the sixth spiral. "They're difficult, aren't they? I never knew how difficult until not all that long ago. We never really had to make our own. Not 'til something that happened recently."

Sometimes he really wished he could have that security back, the sure knowledge that he wasn't doing wrong. Then he'd remember the delight and pride and gratitude in his Master's voice and face at the end of the wager, when all had been revealed and He had assured Gabriel that he had not and never would be abandoned unless he wanted it. And Gabriel did not want it.

The thought of making the wrong choice was terrifying, but not terrifying enough to stop Gabe from wanting to make them, just because his Lord wanted him to make them. And there was something exciting about it, about not knowing what was going to come next. Well, usually, anyway.

Gabriel finished the sixth spiral and turned to look at Skul apologetically. "But this one is yours, I'm afraid, Skul. I don't know the area well enough. Whichever you're most comfortable with, we can do."

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery glanced up in surprise. It hadn't occurred to him that if anyone would understand, it would be an angel. He couldn't remember Gabe ever struggling with any of his choices at the Institute, but then again, 'recently' might mean something very different to an Archangel who'd presumably lived since the beginning of time.

The choice Skulduggery wanted to make was the one that didn't involve his true name whatsoever. But the reasons were purely selfish and emotional in nature, something Skulduggery had grown far too used to in his isolation. Comfort, years of war had taught him, shouldn't have any place in a decision where so much was at stake. The Isthmus Anchor was a certainty. And with Gabe's voice drained after apparently singing his way into this reality, the thread that Anchor provided was probably also safer.

It shouldn't be a difficult decision. A no-brainer, as the expression went, which Skulduggery found particularly amusing because most of his decisions were made without one.

The detective took a deep breath he didn't need, and straightened up. "My reality is probably falling apart without me," he decided. "Time isn't a luxury we have. Just... try not to break anything."

[impudentsongbird]

While Skulduggery made that final choice, Gabriel turned and swiftly wrote the final spiral, glancing toward where the outermost ward was now glowing. In the darkness of the tunnel, it seemed even brighter than it was. The Archangel tied off the spiral; it locked into place with a hum, and for those sensitive enough to hear it, the seven-fold wards resonated. Finally Gabriel tucked away the chalk and turned to his friend to wait for a response.

The answer made Gabriel's responding smile radiant with gratitude. "I'll be sure not to. It means a lot that you'd trust me with this, Skul. But--" He glanced again toward the wards. The second spiral was beginning to resonate now. "--I think we should move further into the tunnels before we do anything. We probably don't want to be here when they arrive."

No one, not gods or servants, or Fallen Angels turned insane, would be able to get past those wards. That didn't mean it would be pleasant to see the results. Not to mention a waste of their precious time.

[skeletonenigma]

"No," Skulduggery agreed, "we don't. Something tells me they'll be a tad angry with you."

The chalk symbols closest to the cave entrance were glowing. Skulduggery had no idea if that was meant to happen or not, but as Gabe said, there was no reason to stick around and find out. He turned and led the way deeper down the tunnel, moving confidently forward as the air ahead remained clear of any movement.

"How does this work?" Skulduggery asked after a moment of silence slid by. "Will I be able to feel it?" He could always handle pain, but he'd never tried anything close to this before, and 'ocean of sound' was an incredibly vague way of describing what even the Faceless Ones had trouble crossing. Would Gabe launch into it as soon as he had the name, or -

"Wait." Skulduggery stopped and held out a hand, but there was no mistaking the way the air rolled against his fingers. "Damn. There's a group of their pets coming up fast." He glanced back at the cave entrance, but there was no way to tell from here if the sigils were still holding - and probably no way for Skulduggery to tell even if he had a clear view. "We may have less time than we thought."

[impudentsongbird]

"You may," Gabriel answered after a moment's thought, assuming Skul was talking about finding his name, rather than the crossing. "But I'll be as unintrusive as possible, to avoid you hearing the name. You might slide into a trance, or feel a bit tingly, but that's about it, I should think. After that it should only take a few seconds to establish a beachhead. I'll have to carry you."

There was no other way of making sure Skul would be protected, and that was the most important thing of all. Gabriel's wings would have to buffer them both, and that meant Skul had to be close by.

The Archangel stopped when Skulduggery did, and followed the skeleton's gaze back. A moment later he turned toward his friend again, shaking his head. "They won't be coming from that direction. The spirals cascade; even if the Faceless Ones manage to interrupt the first several, the ones at the back will condense and hold. And if they try to leave a fissure in the rock, the whole tunnel will come down."

Three-fold wards could, on occasion, be more powerful than the five- or seven-fold, but usually that was for spiritual matters. For sheer power, complexity and redundancy, there was nothing better than the seven.

"Is there a junction before them?" the Archangel asked instead. "A glamour or a sleeping spell should be enough to evade them for a little while, at least until we collapse the intersection or ward it properly."

Otherwise, they'd have to fight, and while Gabriel wasn't exactly afraid the Faceless Ones' servants could harm him--because it was unlikely they could--that didn't mean he wanted to get into a battle.

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery thought about pointing out that the whole tunnel coming down would probably help the Faceless Ones' efforts, but then decided against it. No point in making the situation any more tenuous than it already was.

"I don't know," he replied evenly, while still taking a step forward, as if the extra few inches would somehow afford him a better view through the dim light, or more air against his hand. "I just detect movement in the air. They're about a mile ahead and these tunnels usually branch off early, so if I had to take a guess, I'd say yes."

It would be better than standing here and waiting for them to get closer, obviously. And despite their timing saving Skulduggery from having to respond to Gabe's plan, the detective was just as reluctant to get into a fight against so many of them as Gabe was.

[impudentsongbird]

Well, that part of the tunnel, at least. Gabe had been expecting they'd be away from the area at the time. Now that eventuality seemed to be just a little more difficult.

"We'd better hurry, then," Gabriel said, and fell into step beside the detective as they moved down the tunnel. Skul was right--it wasn't all that long before they rounded a tiny bulge in the wall and there, around it, was an offshoot. Gabriel gripped Skulduggery's arm and then darted just inside the entrance, whirling around with his chalk in hand.

Swiftly he began writing on the walls. These wards weren't nearly so intricate as the last; a glamour to keep the tunnel-entrance from being seen, a time-delayed sleeping spell to prevent the Faceless Ones' servants from coming up behind them again. The latter he extended through the tunnel with carefully-placed sigils on the opposite side, ones hidden by shadow and crags.

Then he darted back into the tunnel-entrance and closed the glamour's spellwork. With a hum it snapped into place, invisible to the naked eye. (Or eye-sockets, as the case may be.)

None too soon. They weren't waiting for long before the sound of footsteps became audible, and one by one the Faceless Ones' servants passed their little hiding place. Gabriel watched as they passed through the gentle weave of magic that was the sleeping spell, every one. He put his hand on Skulduggery's arm again and waited, counting.

There came a series of thuds from just down the corridor, fifteen seconds after they had all passed through the spell, as each of the servants fell into a heavy asleep. Gabriel nodded and glanced at Skul. "Any movement?"

[skeletonenigma]

Symbols being drawn, and then disappearing as they snapped into place, was not unfamiliar to Skulduggery. China's apartment seemed to be made up of nothing but those symbols. What was unfamiliar was that he didn't recognize any of the ones visible from the tunnel entrance while Gabe was writing, although he could guess at the effects they would have.

It was good thing, he reflected, that neither of them had to so much as breathe, because the slightest sound would have given them away. Skulduggery wouldn't have moved even without Gabe's steadying hand on his arm saying wait - in his experience, groups of more than three or four were almost impossible to defeat. Then came the thuds, several at once and a few lingering at the end, as every single one dropped right to the ground without so much as a groan.

"No." Skeptical even now, Skulduggery took a careful step out into the tunnel proper, just enough to see them. "We could have used you a couple of times during the war, you know." There were definitely a few battles they wouldn't even have had to fight, let alone plan.

A deep, worrying rumble echoed down the tunnel from the interior of the mountain, snapping Skulduggery's head in that direction. He couldn't feel any movement, had never even heard the sound before, which almost reminded him of a volcano about to blow. He waited and listened, but there was only silence.

"Please," he said softly, "tell me that was something you did."

[impudentsongbird]

"Careful," Gabriel warned, holding out a hand and swiping through one of the sleeping-spell sigils with his chalk. The spell fizzled and died with Skul only a few inches from penetrating it. "It's not a complicated spell; I'm sure you had someone with the same skill."

Besides, he wouldn't have been able to fight in any war. Not in the capacity Skul was imagining.

The shift of the mountain made Gabriel tense and look just as Skulduggery did. He looked at the detective and bit his lip. "Actually, that was in the opposite direction to the wards I laid. That ... isn't a good sign. We probably shouldn't wait. Let's get away from here--just around the corner would be far enough. I'll look for your name there."

He nodded down the offshoot tunnel, fixed the sleeping spell to catch anyone else tried to go past, and left the glamour up. Just in case.

[skeletonenigma]

"We did," Skulduggery admitted with one last look at the fallen creatures. "She was just fighting on the wrong side at the time. Fortunately, she's since realized her mistake."

There were, of course, people other than China who were able to manipulate the symbols of magic. But China had always been the undisputed master. Trying to beat her at her own game was like trying to redirect a tornado. Which, Skulduggery realized with an invisible smile, Gabe could actually probably do - redirect a tornado, and beat China at her own game. Possibly even at the same time. Despite everything, Skulduggery found himself looking forward to China's reaction.

He waited for Gabe to finish adding to the symbols, then rounded the aforementioned corner. The tunnel here was narrower, and sloped slightly downhill, with a strange kind of mushroom growing along one section of the moist rock wall. It wasn't a place Skulduggery had ever imagined discovering his true name. Hopefully, it wouldn't be the place where he did.

"Right." Skulduggery turned and waited, standing perfectly still - what would be the only sign of his discomfort, if it wasn't his natural state of being. "How do you normally handle this?"

[impudentsongbird]

"Ah," Gabriel murmured. "That must have been frustrating. People tend to underestimate the value of words in magic." Even people of the blood had a habit of leaning toward the flashier forms if they could. Not that Gabriel could blame them; there was a certain fun about it. But people forgot there was power in words.

He followed quickly and glanced over his shoulder, even though he could no longer see the intersection. The rumble had made him uneasy.

The Archangel turned back toward Skulduggery and gave him a rueful smile. All of a sudden he wondered if this was one of those situations where it might be better to lie. It was just too bad he wasn't a very good liar. "I've actually never done this before, to be honest," he admitted. "Usually I already know where the true name lies. But souls--there's a tenor to souls. I know where to look, and you're not bound in the same way people usually are. Are you ready?"

[skeletonenigma]

As words of comfort went, those were somewhere at the bottom of Skulduggery's list, right above 'What could possibly go wrong?' He'd used such words himself, of course, but that was different. That was him. And he was fairly sure he'd never used any of those phrases with someone who was about to risk everything they were.

"Ah..." he breathed out after a moment. If this tunnel didn't slope downhill, he might have been tempted to at least look for a place where the tunnel system came out higher on the mountain, regardless of how much time they might waste. But that rumbling sound hadn't been natural, and that meddlesome group of servants back there wouldn't be the only ones to try. There was no other option right now.

"Yes," he answered, a hint of resignation to his tone. "Good." He hesitated. "If I become a vegetable, at least make sure I end up somewhere dignified. A museum, if all else fails."

[impudentsongbird]

"I wouldn't do this unless I knew I could," Gabe said, looking right into Skul's eye sockets, his face serious. "Not this. Not with what you're trusting me." Then he smiled. "I'm sure I could find somewhere else much better." Heaven sprang to mind.

The Archangel lifted his hand and touched Skulduggery on the chest. It wasn't the same way he touched people he was meant to guide. It wasn't exactly the same way, at least. But it was similar. It wasn't touching flesh, or in this case bone; it was a touch to the soul.

Usually it was just a brief touch, to release the person from their physical limitations. This time Gabe held it, felt the fluttering resonance of Skul's soul beneath his fingers, and let it pass by. It was somewhat like taking a walk on a path, viewing the things around him without actively interacting. He could see things, like this, but chose not to; he was aware of all that Skul was, and let the details stay Skul's own. There was just one thing the Archangel looked for, and he'd be able to find it whether he was active or not.

The tunnel shook. Pebbles fell from the ceiling. An echoing groan swept through the mountain, and though Gabriel was aware of it, he didn't react. This was more important. Like Skul, like an angel in deep and patient focus, he was utterly still, cognizant of the passing time and heedless of it at once.

His fingertips tingled. A vibration swept under them. He didn't react to it, did nothing to draw attention to it, but he knew what it was. That was the tune of Skul's true name.

"I have it," he said, and that was when the tunnel pitched abruptly to the side.

[skeletonenigma]

The shock of suddenly being able to fall asleep at the Institute had largely worn off in the time since their escape. With even his usual meditation too risky to attempt for longer than minutes at a time, Skulduggery had almost forgotten what it was like to just lose himself to the conscious world.

But from the moment Gabe's hand was on his chest, the world around him melted away. It was like the instant one fell asleep, except no longer drawn out and calm and faded from memory, but immediate, dizzying, and unbalancing.

Unlike the dreams of normal sleep, these were more like what Skulduggery experienced after long hours of meditating; the complete loss of conscious thought, and the vivid recollections of certain events or people, some of them fantasies, some memories, all with an emotional blow. A part of Skulduggery was vaguely aware of something else, knew that this was all for a reason, but no alarm came with the thought. After all, it was just a thought; it dipped and disappeared as often as it tugged at him.

Vibrations, echoing somewhere below him, and then the satisfactory feeling of having found something, though Skulduggery had no idea what it might be. He drifted in the ether of his subconscious mind until Gabe's voice jerked him back into awareness, and he just had time to process what the Archangel had said before the tunnel wall beside them exploded.

Skulduggery pitched himself forward into Gabe, sending them both crashing onto the ground as large slabs of rock shattered into where they had just been standing. It took a moment for his mind to catch up, dazed as it was from the experience, just in time to notice more and stronger cave-ins further ahead. The tunnel was collapsing. From the sounds of it, the whole mountain was collapsing. Skulduggery rolled off Gabe and leaped to his feet, his mind now sufficiently caught up and racing ahead of him once again.

"How much space do you need?" he called over the roar of the rumbling that now penetrated the tunnel non-stop. They could trap themselves in, buried by rock, and the Faceless Ones could attack the mountain however they wanted; by the time they razed it to the ground, Skulduggery and Gabriel would be gone. Otherwise, they would have to head back up the slope, dodging falling debris and a cracking tunnel floor as they went, and hope that more room somewhere in the main tunnel would make up for less cover from everything out to kill them.

[impudentsongbird]

If nothing else, Skul's reflexes were excellent. Gabriel climbed swiftly to his feet, keeping his balance with a little less ease than he should have. 'Space' was a relative term, really, and this ... wasn't enough. This wasn't like the black hole, when he'd created the opening from a distance. This time he was forcing his way through directly, and as few risks should be taken as possible.

"I need my wings," he said over the shriek of the mountain, and then added, "stand behind me."

Smiting usually wasn't his style, but in this case he'd have to make an exception--even if it was just a mountain he was smiting. He staggered as the floor heaved, scanning the area. With a pained groan a fissure opened up in the ceiling, plates of stone grinding along each other; for a moment he almost fancied he saw light radiating through the cracks. As good a place as any other. At least when it fell, the slabs would fall against each other; he just needed a bit more space.

"In fact, get on the floor." Gabriel narrowed his eyes and lifted his hands, snatching energy out of the planes around him. The light of it shone blue and purple between his fingers, illuminating the stone eerily; it crackled and writhed in his grip, somewhere between lightning and matter.

The Archangel threw the bolt up at the ceiling. It all happened in a matter of milliseconds. The rock didn't so much explode as disintegrate, bursting upward and outward with that sort of silence on the edge of an explosion. For a moment the sky was visible. The shockwave rippled down the walls, the stone crumbling. Gabriel dropped his cloak, snapped one wing out to catch the backlash before it hit Skulduggery, and hissed involuntarily at the sear of it across his feathers, the sudden piercing pain through his limb from his journey in. He didn't let himself dwell on it; couldn't afford to dwell on it.

Now the ceiling began to collapse. At least, parts of it did. Gabriel only had enough time to hear the whisper of a Faceless One before a good chunk of what used to be the ceiling was ripped away. He didn't stop to linger; he was already singing, his voice a commanding boom, the sort which rang in bones. It wasn't exactly elegant, but the Archangel wove Skul's name into it, among a half-dozen concealing melodies.

With his wing Gabriel swept his friend into his embrace, and the moment the Archangel felt the resonance of Skulduggery lock into place he added another command to the music, angling his wings more like blades. This one was unmistakable, even--especially--to those such as the Faceless Ones.

"Open."

He didn't carve into stone, but the very fabric of reality. Gabriel brushed the curtains of the universe aside and shot through the gap, enfolding them both within the cocoon of his wings. The music vibrated between their planes, gathered and rebounding and strong; the cacophony of the ocean between universes flowed around them, heaving and rushing like rapids.

It was just that he wasn't quite fast enough. As he crossed the threshold Gabriel felt something latch on, something heavy and weightless at once, something with a discordant whisper that crashed all around him. A whisper Gabriel knew, warped beyond all recognition. If his song hadn't started off on such a strong note it would have faltered.

If his song hadn't started on such a strong note, he might have had the chance to turn back and shake the presence off. As it was, he, and Skulduggery, and the Faceless One that had once been Imemiah, the angel of voyagers, were launched into the ocean between universes much too fast for thought, following the bright and unwavering resonance of Skulduggery's name.

~~~

It had been too long. Months, in fact. Raphael hadn't thought he had any expectations given what Gabe was trying to do, but now he found that he had, in fact, expected some kind of response far before now. Telling Michael hadn't been fun. Not that the older Archangel had yelled, but he had been calm in that deadly way, and quiet, and worried, and Raphael had been visiting him more frequently than ever. Whenever the healer saw his brother looking to the sky, Rafe knew what Michael was wondering.

Where was Gabriel? Was he okay? Had he succeeded in his quest? When would he come home?

For weeks Raphael had teetered between asking his Master for reassurance and not. When the Archangel finally had, the Lord's answer had been no help at all--at least in lending reassurance. All it had come down to was 'what do you think you should do, Rafe?'

At which point Rafe had realised there was something he wanted to do.

"Michael," Rafe said, appearing by his brother's side without much more warning than that. Michael, predictably, was unfazed; Rafe had chosen a moment when the Archangel was invisible and sitting apart, watching the ex-residents of Taubolt from afar.

In fact, he was up a tree. Raphael settled himself in the crook of two branches a foot over Michael's head, and his older brother smiled without looking up.

"Good morning," he said.

As calm as Michael looked, there was an edge of his demeanour and presence. A detachment, a distraction. A wondering.

Raphael chose not to 'pussy-foot'. He had missed Gabe's almost-Fall last time. He could not let his brother face such dangers alone again. "I'm going after Gabriel."

For a long moment Michael said nothing, did nothing. Then finally he turned, his gaze seeming to catch on everything around them before finally landing on Raphael. In his face Raphael read the light of relief, his desire to go with, the resignation that he couldn't. Someone had to stay behind.

"How?" he asked instead, and at that Raphael deflated.

"I don't know." The backlash of that opening had been pure sound. Gabriel was the most suited to handling that kind of thing.

Michael nodded as if in acceptance, but then he said, "Take Merlin. If Gabe expected to bring his friend through the dimensions, he was obviously expecting to be able to protect him from its forces. You can do the same for Merlin."

And Merlin, learned in the magic of stories and language, would have more chance of speaking his way through that tumultuous sound than Raphael would. Relief suffused the healer, and he knew it lit his face. "Thanks, Michael."

The older Archangel had turned to look back down at where his wards were busy returning from a playful 'recovery' mission from the edges of Taubolt's old borders. "Bring him back, Rafe. Make sure he's okay."

Raphael didn't speak. He dropped from his perch to Michael's branch, letting his hand fall to Michael's shoulder and squeeze in silent sympathy. Then he spread his wings and went to find Merlin, leaving the last faithful Archangel in worried contemplation.



"You want me to do what?" Merlin stared at Raphael, appalled and shocked and both emotions written large all over his face. Despite himself, the Archangel couldn't help but laugh, and instantly the old sorcerer's demeanour melted into irritated understanding. "Hilarious, Saint Raphael," he said dryly. "Really. Original, too. You're getting better. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some young idiots to find before they start the whole Garden after them."

And by that, Raphael, knew, Merlin didn't mean in a metaphorical sense. The guardians of this land were still taking in refugees of the blood--in some ways, even more now than they ever had. Lucifer was lashing out.

Some of those refugees weren't reacting well to the lack of technology or the fact the Garden had some awareness of its own. Since it had been decided that Michael's identity needed to be kept secret from anyone who hadn't fled straight from Taubolt, that meant Merlin's name was the one being shanghaied into making the newcomers see sense. Once they got over the 'mythological' part, at least.

The Ancient hadn't stopped grumbling over once again having students who didn't even have an upbringing to build upon. He was having the time of his life, Rafe knew.

But here and now, the Archangel forced himself to sober. "I'm not joking, Merlin. Gabriel has left this reality and gone to another to save a friend. You understand his type of magic better than I do. The both of us together will stand a better chance of finding him than I alone."

For several long moments Merlin stared, his face carefully blank. In his soul, Raphael saw a flurry of responses, objections, worries, frustrations and retorts before finally the sorcerer settled on resignation. "Well," he said at last, "I suppose if nothing else I'll get the first crack at cursing him for being a reckless idiot. Angels." The last was grumbled. "You're all children. You left a jamb in the door he used, I hope?"

"It's in a black hole," Raphael admitted, and Merlin threw him an irritable look.

"Demon my father might have been, Rafe, but I'm not an angel. If you want me to survive stepping over the threshold we'll have to build something closer to home."

For a moment Rafe hesitated. Was that a risk they could take? That they could afford to take? Building a doorway to another universe on Earth would mean it would be within Lucifer's reach. What if other universes didn't have versions of the Devil? They might doom countless others.

And if they didn't, they might be dooming Gabriel. Michael had almost done that once, while Raphael was unaware. Rafe would not make that same mistake.

"As long as we ward it well," Rafe said with a grim smile. "The last thing we need is for Lucifer to find out this is even possible."

Merlin raised his hands. "No arguments on my part. Now if you'll excuse me, I might actually need to go and dig out some of my old linguistics books."

He turned and tramped off through the trees toward his magically-built cottage, grumbling more than loud enough for Raphael to hear, but the Archangel knew better. He grinned. Merlin was already anticipating this challenge.

A moment later he made a face. Expert or not, as an angel Raphael would still be able to offer some insights. That meant books. That meant books in the company of a language-master. Heaving a sigh, Rafe cast his face skyward and told it, "You'd better be appreciatin' the sacrifice I'm about to make, little brother."

'Don't die or Fall before I get there.'

The Archangel turned and flitted off toward the cottage, his heart lighter than it had been in months. Finally, he could do something.

[skeletonenigma]

Sure, Skulduggery thought numbly as he instinctively dropped to the ground behind Gabe without arguing. Sure, they could try trapping themselves in or making it back to the larger tunnel. Or Skulduggery could remember that Gabe was an Archangel, and, being an Archangel, clearly wasn't limited by the same sorts of physical boundaries as most people. Gabriel needed more room, and so he collapsed the tunnel around them.

If paintings and descriptions in religious texts could be believed, the term for it was 'smiting.'

It wasn't quite lightning, but it was certainly destructive. It was destructive in a way the Faceless Ones weren't; whereas the dark gods were random and chaotic in their obliteration, Gabe was careful and meticulous, almost as if he planned exactly where each molecule would go. It was a sight to behold, so completely stunning that Skulduggery couldn't even be offended at Gabe's protection of him. His mind had long since numbed to the shock of things like seeing his friend with wings once again.

The first time Gabe said that he only had to know 'which tune to sing,' Skulduggery had been too preoccupied with the idea of Gabe singing through realities to give it much more thought. Now that he was forced to, he realized he perhaps hadn't been expecting something quite so literal, or at least nothing he'd be able to hear. But Gabe's voice resonated through the surrounding rock and Skulduggery's own bones, almost painfully, as if Skulduggery was hearing it with more than just his ears - or whatever the equivalent of his sense of hearing in a skeleton would be.

And then Gabriel, true to his word, swept Skulduggery up into his arms, and for a moment there was nothing but the soft feel of feathers and the sudden urge to struggle, and then...

If Gabe's voice had been loud, this was deafening.

Skulduggery couldn't see anything, wrapped as he was in Gabe's wings, and he wasn't sure whether to be grateful for that or not. It dulled the noise, brought it down to a level that didn't threaten to split Skulduggery's skull open, but it was painful nonetheless. Just as Gabe said, they had been set adrift in a tumultuous ocean; Skulduggery really couldn't think of another way to describe it. Even the seconds dragged on like hours as they were buffeted from all sides, thrown every which way, Gabe somehow miraculously keeping his balance through all of it.

The whisper of the stowaway Faceless One was so much stronger here. It pierced through the cacophony and drilled into Skulduggery's mind, making him cry out. If there was anything he could have done to help Gabe, to get rid of that whisper, he wouldn't have hesitated, but Skulduggery was so irritatingly useless right now that his carefully controlled anger boiled up without warning.

It sharpened his thoughts, and so for the moment, he held onto it.

[impudentsongbird]

'Michael.'

Raphael's voice made Michael pause in the middle of showing a subdued teenager how to hold an axe. As much as technology had begun to grow into Taubolt at the end of the millenium, here in the Garden Coast it was a stain. Several of the younger Taubolt refugees were already plotting how they might combine magic and science in a way to utilise the best in both. If nothing else the wager had proven that they couldn't afford to turn a blind eye to the development of technology, and in itself it hadn't been evil. Perhaps there was a way to marry magic and technology so they could use such things inside the Garden Coast without making pipes and wires and phone-lines necessary.

But right now that goal was a very long way from being realised. More traditional methods of construction and careful development were needed, and that meant axes, saws and good hard labour.

Michael straightened up, his ponytail swinging, and looked around for someone to take over the kid's instruction. (The kid, seeing his distraction, looked hopeful.)

"I've got it, Jake," Swami said, managing to summon a rather weak smile. His dark eyes were worried but lit with a kind of hope Michael hadn't seen ever since the young empath had, er, overheard one of his and Raphael's conversations.

Michael couldn't discredit him. The boy had been wondering why Gabriel hadn't come to visit in weeks, and in the end the Archangels had told him everything. Even though Michael regretted the need for Swami to be burdened, there was less secrecy even among the Taubolt refugees than there had been. Swami's brothers knew what worried him. Most of the core group did.

Now, Swami's hearing Rafe's call would only be a help. Michael smiled and thanked him, and then stepped around a tree to flit off toward where Raphael was without alarming the other, less knowledgeable refugees in the clearing. To his surprise, when Michael stepped back into the physical world he found himself nowhere near the Garden Coast. Still it only took a moment of looking around before he recognised the location.

"Stonehenge?" he asked as he moved close to the elaborate ritual circle Rafe and Merlin had inscribed on the ground--in another plane, so as to avoid suspicion from the locals.

"Why not?" Rafe said with a shrug. "Full of magic rocks, full of potential doorways, a circle of power itself--perfect place to go around jimmying open cracks."

"We thought anywhere in Israel might be too close to some of Lucifer's forces," Merlin said dryly without looking up from the book in which he was writing. "Uluru is still too much a subject of interest given its recent ban on visitation, and while China and Africa have numerous places to choose from ..."

"Many of them lie within reach of their respective Gardens, are populated, or have none of the natural advantages of Stonehenge," Michael finished. Merlin shrugged. There were, of course, numerous other places around the world which were powerfully magical in and of themselves, but those nations were the ones who topped the list in terms of being seats of magic. Stonehenge had been in the public eye for so long that if anything strange happened about the place, people were more likely to dismiss it than not. Not so for many of the other potential spots.

What's more, Lucifer hadn't been here for decades. England had already fallen and wouldn't provide much in the way of entertainment for a while yet, as far as he was concerned. He was much more interested in wreaking havoc elsewhere.

Michael surveyed the circle, extending himself to feel the vibration of magic working between the sigils and the pillars of the Henge, and felt something in him turn over. "You're prepared, then."

"Yes." Raphael was following his gaze. Merlin was double-checking their wards and the glamour which protected the circle from prying demonic eyes.

Michael wasn't sure how to feel. When Rafe had first come to him, Michael had very nearly been overwhelmed by anger and fear--enough to snap at his younger brother that he shouldn't have let Gabriel go alone. That rage had died quickly, but the fear hadn't. Nor had the hurt. Gabriel hadn't even seen fit to tell Michael himself.

When Rafe had come to him again, to say that now Raphael was going to leave, Michael had been expecting him. It had been too long. Gabriel had been gone for months. Lucifer was beginning to notice. And Michael's own worry had only grown. Even through all that, he'd known that he would have to be the one to stay behind. Raphael had been enjoying their newfound capacity to shirk responsibility, as many of their younger siblings were. Michael was finding more joy than ever in embracing it and knowing he had done so because he now chose to.

The Archangel wasn't so sure about Gabriel. His little brother had been so very nearly broken, had found it so much harder to comprehend just what their Master wanted for them. Perhaps that, more than anything, was why their Lord had chosen to 'hide' from Lucifer. It gave Gabriel autonomy while making him feel useful in their Master's service.

Part of Michael wondered if this whole enterprise weren't deliberate. If it weren't their Master's way of letting Gabriel jump in the deep end of his own accord. If that was so, then it would be so for Rafe as well, and Michael couldn't interfere. It was their choice.

But now that it had come to it, Michael wanted to go with Raphael and Merlin so badly that it was a physical ache in him.

Rafe's hand clapping down on his shoulder made Michael start and realise he had been staring down at the circle, and that there had been something of his conflict on his face. "You probably could still come with," Rafe said in undertone, and managed a reckless grin born of fear and excitement and the wild awe of not knowing what was going to happen next. "I mean, free will and all that."

Somehow it was the look in Rafe's eyes which helped Michael's resolve firm. The eldest Archangel smiled at his brother, lifting a hand to rest it on Raphael's wrist and squeeze gently. "Yes, I could. But I won't. I am needed here. I enjoy my work here. And you were right, Rafe. It's possible you could have helped Gabriel sooner during the wager, if one of us had only gone to you. You're better suited to this spontaneity than I am, and if he's injured he'll need you more." He glanced away, across the rolling pastures around the Henge, closing his eyes and taking a breath and for a moment feeling all around them. The never-ending hum of magic in the stones. The sky, distant and close at once in equal amounts according to an angel's differing choice of perception. The sunlight, warm and bearing with it all the promise of the space beyond. His brother and nephew, determined and excited in turns.

Michael opened his eyes and looked back at Raphael, and his heart swelled with affection and pride. "I choose to be here. And I trust you, Rafe. Find him, and help him. I'll make sure Lucifer never finds this door."

For a moment Raphael looked at him, a smile on his own lips and eyes warm. Then the younger Archangel stepped in and embraced the elder, a gesture Michael willingly returned; for a moment (for a lifetime) they remained like that, a farewell the angels had never before required.

Then Raphael pulled away and turned without speaking, and Michael stepped back to leave the circle uninterrupted. Merlin glanced his way; their eyes met, but they didn't speak either, because speech wasn't truly needed to convey their regard.

Raphael spread his wings and gathered Merlin in his arms. Merlin began to speak. Magic gathered and the air filled with the scent of ozone. The stones hummed and the tone climbed to a high chorus. The wind picked up, tugging Michael's hair and clothes. Something appeared in the centre; not a rip, not a crack, but some sort of door fashioned in the curve of Raphael's wings. The sound that poured from it made Michael cringe and step back, but Merlin and Raphael were already working in concert to shape a ward against it.

The healer-angel took a step. The sound of Merlin's voice was all but drowned, but the protective curve of Raphael's wings remained steady. The resonances, left without a catalyst in Merlin's spell, fizzled and slowly the opening collapsed.

And they were gone, and Michael was alone.

~~~

For a moment that wasn't a moment, Gabriel was caught between the whisper and the crash and the sudden rising boil that was Skulduggery in his arms. His wings trembled and his song wavered, and it was only the knowledge that he could not let this overcome him that let him press on.

If he faltered, they'd both be lost.

'Skulduggery, don't!' he cried telepathically even as he added an under-weaving hum to the music which resonating all along his feathers and soothed the deafening power of the noise inside it. He flipped his wings, just a little, though he wasn't sure if his intent was to throw the Faceless One--Imemiah!--off or just unbalance him without breaking their cocoon. Im--the Faceless One lurched but didn't release him. Another underweave broke up the whisper, or tried--there were too many melodies at once, and the threads of his started to destabilise.

Keep it simple. Skul's true name, and the cocoon which split the water, the weave which let him step into the lee of each crashing piece of music. The noise settled like a boom in his head, loud but tolerable. His pace steadied. The music was still loud, but easier to bear; everything else, he let drift past. The Faceless One's whisper to threaded in and out of his, never catching, never interrupting. The roll of the music around them snatched it away, tearing at the once-angel on Gabriel's back.

For a moment--or an hour, or a day, or a year; it was impossible to tell--it seemed as though he'd got it, that they'd be all right. Then pain shot through his wings and Gabriel's voice shook with effort not to cry out and let the song break. He stumbled on nothing, caught himself, staggered on. His wings half-bucked, trembled, but he kept them tight.

It was hard to tell if Imemiah still strictly had fingers, but either way the once-angel dug into Gabriel's back and wings, tearing pieces out of him. Gabriel couldn't really tell whether he--no, it. Now only an it--was deliberately trying to throw him off or just desperate to maintain its hold. Either way, the Archangel's focus narrowed in that way that only an angel's could, set on that bright resonance of Skulduggery's name, and the thrum around him of his own music, and he set everything else aside.

He didn't know just when Imemiah was ripped away.

He didn't know when he hit the curtain of Skul's reality.

He just knew it when his foot hit solid ground, and there was a wild reverberation from the skull on the shelf, and that his whole body was afire.

With a whimper the Archangel didn't really wrap up the song so much as let it fizzle, sinking to the floor of Guild's office.

[skeletonenigma]

'Skulduggery, don't!'

Too late, he realized that if the maelstrom was difficult for him to bear, then Gabe - with his abilities, and his existence in the metaphysical plane - must be going through hell. There wasn't anything Skulduggery could do to shake off that Faceless One, and clearly, getting frustrated wasn't helping. If they were going to have a chance at getting out of this alive, Skulduggery knew he needed to calm down.

Easier said than done, in such an atmosphere; the chaos seemed to latch onto every negative emotion he had and draw it out, and the sheer noise wasn't doing anything in helping to achieve a meditative trance. Head pounding, so-called temples throbbing, and every single bone aching with the strain, Skulduggery did his best to forget where he was. Forget the ocean, forget Gabe, forget the Faceless Ones; even forget, for the moment, that he was being rescued from his own living hell. Abstract concepts like that did nothing to help free the subconscious mind.

Valkyrie. That was the thought Skulduggery caught and filled his mind with. Valkyrie, and Ghastly, and Tanith. Even China and Guild. Everyone who would be waiting, with varying reactions to his presence. Erskine, Anton, Dexter, Corrival, and all the rest of the Dead Men - Larrikin and his pranks that never failed to amuse even Anton, though the Adept always failed to admit it.

It was enough. Even Gabriel's eventual missteps were lost on Skulduggery. He had no way of knowing how much time had passed when, with a silent explosion and a cold blast of fire, the noise was gone and a familiar carpeted floor rushed very suddenly up towards his face.

Skulduggery rolled out from Gabe's arms and came to rest next to the desk, laying still and winded for a moment with the curious sensation of needing to catch his breath, when he had no lungs to fill or blood to oxygenate. The world seemed to take a while to fall back into place this time, and when it did, Skulduggery was sure he was seeing things.

The Grand Mage's office?

He rose shakily to his feet, using the desk for support, glancing around warily. The office was apparently empty - a stroke of luck - and Skulduggery barely had time to wonder why this was where they came out when he noticed the skull in one of the bookshelves behind the desk.

Ah. Of course Guild had it. He would have had the resources to track it down, and the arrogance to make absolutely sure it could never be used as an Isthmus Anchor by storing it here, in his private sanctum. It even looked new, practically like it was glowing, although that might have been an effect of their crossing. Or, Skulduggery realized as the wood of the bookcase also appeared to be shining and smooth, an effect of Gabe's presence. Either way, it was a most welcome sight at the moment. Skulduggery didn't waste time with sentiment or ceremony; he walked over, picked it up, dusted it off, and that was that. He would have switched skulls right there, but he was sure their undocumented arrival in the Sanctuary would already have raised alarms, and if there was one thing Skulduggery couldn't trust Guild or the magical community with, it was an Archangel.

Well, among many other things, but that was far beside the point.

Gabriel was on the floor. Skulduggery was beside him in an instant, casting one last worried glance at the door. "Gabe?"

If the secret exit out of the Grand Mage's office hadn't been sealed off already after the last time Skulduggery and Valkyrie used it, the detective still wouldn't want to chance it right now. As angelic as Gabriel looked, running full-pelt for any length of time longer than a few seconds might be beyond him after a feat like that.

[impudentsongbird]

Skul left his arms, but Gabriel hardly noticed. The Archangel tried to fold his wings back and bit his lip hard to contain the cry of pain, bracing himself against the floor while his wings shook, half-curled around him. His body held a fine tremor and his cheeks were damp with tears he couldn't withhold; his head throbbed. He ached in ways he never imagined, but it was the searing agony in his wings that was the worst.

Angels didn’t really get injured. Not because they couldn’t be, but because one didn’t injure an angel and not take advantage of the weakness; those foolish enough to think that ‘wounded’ meant ‘disabled’ tended to find themselves smote. The best way to kill an angel was hard and fast, and that prevented the leaving of much injury on either side.

That was why the Faceless Ones existed at all.

Angels didn't bleed, either. That didn't mean Gabriel's injuries weren't obvious from the right angle. From underneath, they looked mostly fine. From behind ...

Imemiah had left deep gouges where they connected to his back, the down which covered the joints torn away. Clumps of Gabriel's feathers had been torn out, even a number of his flight-feathers. What was left were deep gashes revealing something that wasn't exactly flesh, but was close enough, gossamer and half-translucent. Usually his feathers were the absolutely soft white you'd see in sea-foam; now they were dirty and matted. They still held rainbows, but they were more akin to the kind in an oil slick.

"H- hurts," Gabriel managed to whisper, his voice raw beyond what it had been, on that edge of failing altogether.

[skeletonenigma]

Gabe's obvious pain and injuries, far from paralyzing Skulduggery with worry, actually seemed to clear his head and cement his resolve. Injuries in the course of battle, Skulduggery knew. He may have never come across ones quite like this, but the basic principle was the same - take charge, keep them conscious, get them to safety as soon as possible.

"We're here," he told Gabe as he went to check on the secret exit, trying to keep the Archangel focused, even if it was only on his voice. "That thing isn't. We're both alive, thanks to you. I'm - "

He froze with his hand on the blank stretch of wall. The emergency exit was sealed off, just as Skulduggery suspected, but that wasn't what shocked him into silence.

For the first time, it really hit him that he was home. Not just unhurt, hiding, hallucinating, or trying to meditate. Not just barely scraping by. Not beaten and broken and dragging himself to his other limbs, mind hazy with fantasies that everything after Landel was just one large dream.

He was home.

And there was an injured Archangel here to thank, once they were somewhere a little safer. Skulduggery knelt back down next to him, his mind racing through the limited escape options at their disposal. The only other way out was through that door and out into the hall, where even if the alarms hadn't been sounded, there would still be many Sanctuary sorcerers curious about the vanished detective emerging from the Grand Mage's office with a winged man draped over one arm.

And Skulduggery was fairly certain the alarms had gone off. The group of approaching footsteps outside the door was evidence enough of that.

"I'm back," he finished belatedly. "I'm grateful to you for that. Now, I hate to rush you, but if anyone finds us in here, I can't even begin to outline how catastrophic that could be." His cavalier words betrayed only a hint of the concern he was feeling. "Anywhere outside will do. I'll handle it from there."

[impudentsongbird]

'That thing.' It was only because Gabe was so exhausted that he managed not to flinch. 'That thing.' His brother. Angel of voyagers. Fallen. Cast away even by Lucifer.

It was good that Skul knew what to do. Gabriel had no idea. He'd never been in this position before; not as an angel. His almost-Fall was the nearest, and he hadn't handled that very well either. So Gabriel had no doubts about letting Skulduggery take command. Focussing on Skul's voice was enough for the moment, and when the detective faltered, Gabriel opened his eyes and looked, as carefully as possible. He couldn't stop the pain lining his face, but his eyes were clear with understanding.

"You're home," he whispered, and smiled a smile all the more radiant for shining through his discomfort, gripping Skul's arm with a trembling hand. Home. Skul was home. He had to focus on that. Gabe took a breath he didn't need, deep and slow and steadying, and nodded once, carefully. The first thing the Archangel needed to do was cloak himself in his human form, and it was only because this was such a well-worn shape that he was able to do it. Even then, it came slowly, like a quiet rush of surf.

Gabriel's grip on Skul's arm tightened. The Archangel shut his eyes, bracing himself, and didn't bothered trying to rise. Not far. He didn't need to go far.

Without letting himself think about the consequences, Gabriel beat his wings just once, gently. The office vanished from around them, replaced by the grounds of a particularly beautiful, and off-limits, Dublin cathedral of which Gabe was fond. Then the Archangel collapsed against Skulduggery, trying and failing to muffle the half-sobbed cry of pain.

Angels couldn't fall unconscious. Right now Gabriel truly wished they could.

[skeletonenigma]

"Alarms?" Guild had snapped at Davina Marr when he was interrupted from his meeting. "That's not possible!" There was no way into the Sanctuary without proper access, and absolutely no way into his own personal office short of teleportation. The only Teleporter left in the world had never been inside the Sanctuary, Guild was sure of that. Oh, he'd been expecting Valkyrie Cain to try and take the skull, but even that girl couldn't have pulled off a stunt like this. Besides, there was no way she could have known exactly where to look - or even that Guild had it.

Guild was the leader of the little procession to his office door. His face was serious, twisted into a mask of anger. Cleavers backed him up, their scythes drawn, but Guild wanted first crack at whoever had the audacity to break into his office, and so their orders were to remain in the hallway unless and until Guild's life was in danger.

And Guild had flung open the door to see, for a split second, none other than Skulduggery Pleasant himself. Pleasant, holding his true skull, kneeling by a man who looked ragged and torn. And then, just as quickly, they were gone.

Not even the Cleavers knew what to make of the brief glimpse they'd caught.

~~

When Valkyrie and Fletcher descended into yet another argument over the potential of her complicated plan, Ghastly followed Tanith back into the smaller room of his shop. She shot him a rueful smile as she sank onto the couch, and Ghastly returned it. Neither of them said anything. There wasn't anything particular to say.

It was possible, of course it was. That damn skull was the only reason Ghastly hadn't put a stop to Valkyrie's dangerously heroic antics already. The fact of the matter was that an Isthmus Anchor did still exist in the world, and as long as that was the case, he couldn't give up on Skul. He couldn't just leave his oldest friend to rot with the Faceless Ones when he could do something about it, no matter the dangers of the portal or what some politician decreed.

But something about the whole escapade just felt off to him. Ghastly couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was... something. Maybe it was due to having a powerful psychic for a mother, but Ghastly didn't like to ignore his gut feelings. It had never ended well before, and he didn't see any reason for that to change now.

His cell phone rang as Ghastly was walking over to the sewing machine, and although he didn't recognize the number, he answered it with an apologetic look at Tanith. "Ghastly Bespoke."

"Ghastly." The line wasn't very good, high and tinny and lightly undertoned with static, but there was no mistaking that voice. "I need your help. I'm in a cathedral with a friend who's hurt. How soon can you get to the center of Dublin?"

Ghastly couldn't move, could barely breathe. He felt like his entire being had just been flooded with ice. "Skulduggery?"

The hesitation on the other end was only fleeting. "Ah. Yes. I'm back." There was another pause, as if Skulduggery expected Ghastly to say something. But when the tailor remained quiet, he continued. "It's a long story, and I'm sure we'll all be laughing about it within a couple of years. But right now, I need your help. How soon can you get to the center of Dublin?"

Ghastly swallowed past the knot in his throat, trying to ignore the incredulous look on Tanith's face. "Just give me fifteen minutes."

"Excellent." Another pause. "Is Valkyrie with you?"

"Yes," Ghastly replied. He thought about adding more, but didn't.

"Good." More silence, and now Ghastly could hear a church bell tolling in the background. "If she'd like to come along, she's welcome."

~~

Skulduggery hadn't been thinking. A span of time as a human being, and then a longer span of time in isolation, had almost completely rid him of the instinct to hide from the public. When he told Gabe that anywhere outside was fine, he'd neglected to think of his own skeletal form out in broad daylight, perfectly visible, wearing nothing now but the tattered remains of an old suit.

They'd had to get inside, and quickly.

Skulduggery had half supported, half carried Gabriel into the church from the back, letting go only for a moment to blast the cheap lock off the door with a well-placed push of air. It had led them right into the back of the altar, where a quick scan with an outstretched hand told Skulduggery that for the moment, at least, they were alone. He'd let Gabe down gently onto one of the front pews, and then gone in search of holy water and better clothing. What with the cold weather in Ireland, it wasn't difficult to find clothes that covered him up completely in an alcove just off the main hall. The holy water, for some reason, was slightly more difficult to find.

And so Skulduggery, dressed in a priest's black robes with a scarf and hat covering enough of his face to prevent the alarm of passersby, had called Ghastly from a payphone outside. Fifteen minutes, Ghastly had said.

And now Skulduggery was back next to Gabe's pew, and it only just then occurred to him that wearing a priest's robes might be considered bad form. He plucked at the fabric with one hand. "I won't be punished for this, will I?"

[impudentsongbird]

Gabriel was, frankly, not a great deal of help anymore. His cloak meant that his injuries were hidden, so at least if he was seen all people would see was ... well, a very ill and exhausted man. The cloak was also solid enough that when Skul guided him into the cathedral, the skeleton didn't risk actually touching any of Gabriel's injuries. The Archangel wasn't entirely sure how that would have felt, and didn't want to know.

Either way, he allowed himself to be half-carried into the cathedral, limping heavily and moving like a very old man. He sank into the pew with a sigh, not even bothering to use one of the cushions to pad his head; his discomfort wasn't the physical sort.

The time Skul was away was something of a haze in which Gabriel almost fancied the pain was lessening. It wasn't true, of course; he was just getting used to it. Then his friend's voice made him open his eyes, and he looked at the detective, and despite everything he laughed. It was light, cracking, almost non-existent because his voice just couldn't carry that kind of sound anymore, but full of genuine amusement.

"I think," he said hoarsely but with an appreciative smile and a shine of mirth in his tired eyes, "that on this occasion we can let it go." Then his grin widened, true but faintly tight because of the pain-lines, and he added, "To be honest, it's not the first time I've seen someone borrowing a priest's clothes. We'll just return them later."

People who tended to define a person through their clothes alone tended to be people Lucifer liked ... as far as Lucifer could like any human.

[skeletonenigma]

It was good to hear Gabriel laughing again, no matter how hoarse and broken the laugh actually was. It was a pleasant laugh, too, empty of all the sarcasm and pointed teasing that were so characteristic of Valkyrie's laughs. Skulduggery pulled off the hat and scarf, folded the scarf neatly, and placed them both on the arm of the pew.

"I can't find any holy water," Skulduggery told Gabe as he gently sat down next to him. "And frankly, either one of us asking for it is a bad idea. I have friends coming soon. They'll be able to help." Skulduggery leaned against the back of the pew, arms folded, empty gaze directed at the ceiling. "We're also fugitives at this point," he added carelessly, as if that concept was much less important than any of the rest. Of course, to Skulduggery, it was. He'd spent most of his last year in this reality being something of a fugitive. He'd never really liked Guild to begin with, and outsmarting the man was so terribly easy.

For once, Skulduggery did not mind taking a moment to be grateful for that fact - once again having an enemy he knew something about. He wouldn't take that for granted again. "Thank you, by the way," the detective said softly, skull tilted ever so slightly in Gabe's direction. "For everything."