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

[impudentsongbird]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Comments

[skeletonenigma]

Ghastly didn't ask how God knew, why He thought so, or how on earth a girl with a terminal disease was going to be okay. He didn't even react to the subtle bid of approval, which honestly probably meant that Ghastly was adjusting better than even he thought he was.

What he'd wanted to ask, actually, was how God could justify not doing anything Himself to help out back there, but - for better or for worse - Ghastly had that answer. Whether that was because he'd truly worked it out for himself, or was prodded in the right direction by divine means, didn't matter. The fact was, he had it, and God knew, and God wasn't trying to correct him.

Still, you couldn't come face to face with God and not ask something. That was just bound to bring trouble somewhere down the line.

Ghastly followed Him into the elevator - empty, of course, because why wouldn't it be empty right as Ghastly was going to ask very specifically pointed questions? - and Ghastly ended up pressing the button for the ground floor. Again, he didn't react. Still adjusting, even now. Especially now, when Ghastly could finally think properly again.

He had half a mind to ask about the Desolation Engine, what Scarab was planning, or maybe even what Skulduggery and Gabe were doing now. But Ghastly found, suddenly, that a much more pressing question tripped its way out of his mouth before he could find the words. "Is that story about the rainbows true?"

[joyrodecomets]

"Depends on which part you're talkin' about, lad," Dad said gruffly and yet with a broad grin. He wasn't even looking at Ghastly; He was looking at the closed doors as the elevator rumbled downward. But the smile was visible. As if He didn't get asked these questions very often, on a direct basis.

As if He liked getting asked questions.

"A story can be true and non-factual at once. Sometimes they just make a good meaningful story, but all the facts are wrong." Now He glanced sideways, and His eyes twinkled. "The question is, which parts d'you believe are true, and which parts d'you believe are factual?"

[skeletonenigma]

Ghastly might have returned Dad's sideways look, except that Ghastly had never looked away from Him. He wasn't really expecting to see any more of the answer on Dad's face than there would be in His words, but Ghastly just couldn't stop staring at Him anymore. A huge change from earlier, he knew, when he started shaking just by catching a glimpse of the guy out of the corner of his eye.

"Do You answer everything like that?" he asked.

A moment passed, and Ghastly thought about rephrasing the first question. But to what? Something more direct? Did You really flood the Earth and kill everyone?

He... probably wasn't the first person to ask. He couldn't be the first person to directly ask, and fully expect a response.

[joyrodecomets]

"With the truth?" Dad returned with amusement. "People have a habit of complicatin' the simple things and simplifyin' the complicated ones. If you're gonna ask question like that about stories like that, gotta be prepared for the nuances."

But then He sobered, and His smile softened, and He said gently, "I didn't kill all those people, Ghast. There was flooding and there was rain and there was a big boat, but it wasn't all 'cos of what the story says it was." His mouth quirked wryly. "I had kids already on Earth other than humanity, y'know. Pretty sure Gabe told you 'bout them. The ones who chose to become mortal. I promised them they'd have a place on Earth. Promised 'em it wouldn't get taken away from them just 'cos of what they wanted to do."

[skeletonenigma]

That, Ghastly wanted to say, was not the truth. That was a dodge. You dodged the question.

He didn't have to, though, because God went on to actually explain Himself - somewhat - and Ghastly was reeling from the straight answer a few moments longer than it took to actually register what that answer was.

The Ancients, like Gabe had said. In Gabe's world, Fallen angels. And that was another question Ghastly had - the parallels between alternate realities and dimensions. But he would wait with that one. He would wait until he understood his own question a little better. As it was, all the different parallels and existences and divine truths were still flying uselessly around his own mind.

"The rainbows were a promise, then?" Ghastly asked. Rainbows were, as far as he knew, a purely scientific occurrence. But that didn't mean God hadn't created the scientific occurrence. And that, Ghastly suspected, was what he was really having trouble with - even if angels only existed where Gabe came from, God was everywhere.

His stomach was starting to flip again. Ghastly finally did look away, and stared at the elevator doors. Why was getting to the ground floor taking so long?

[joyrodecomets]

"Ever seen a rainbow in space, Ghastly?" God asked, and now He wasn't looking at the sorcerer, as if to give the man the chance to remaster himself. "They're called nebula. Beautiful. Always loved 'em. My kids know that. What better way to sign and seal a promise than to put 'em in the atmosphere?"

He smiled at Ghastly as the doors dinged open, ambling out onto the ground floor and toward the waiting room without bothering, or probably even needing, to ask for directions in spite of the maze most hospitals were.

There were, as there always were, several people in the emergency waiting-room and the atmosphere was quietly grim. Valkyrie was sitting in a chair nearest the doors, the teddy-bear in her hands as if she was hardly even aware she held it at all. Beside her, hand on the chair-back, was a young blonde woman in tight leather who was receiving a number of stares (amazed, appreciative and disapproving in equal turns) without seeming to notice or care.

"Hoy!" Dad lifted a hand, and though His voice wasn't loud or intrusive to the silent contemplation of the other people waiting, it carried enough to draw attention from Tanith and Valkyrie.

[skeletonenigma]

Tanith glanced up, along with plenty of other people in the waiting room, at the sound. She wasn't expecting it to be for them; she didn't recognise the voice, and it sounded much too cheerful for a hospital emergency waiting room. It was idle curiosity that made her look; it was a slightly morbid and highly amused curiosity that kept her eyes on the strange and grizzled old man in the cowboy hat with the pink pony backpack; and finally, it was outright shock that had her frozen in place while he approached, with Ghastly right behind him.

"You didn't say that Ghastly was here," she hissed quietly.

"Oh," said Valkyrie. "Right. Ghastly's here."

Tanith rolled her eyes. "With a friend?"

"With a friend."

She frowned at the cowboy hat, but didn't make a comment on it. Ghastly would introduce them if there really was a connection with Gabe. Tanith was just surprised that Ghastly seemed perfectly alright with company now, and possible divine company at that, when he'd blown her off so completely outside the church.

He nodded when he saw her. "Tanith. Sorry about before."

That... wasn't something Tanith had been expecting. It wasn't like she'd held a grudge, anyway. Not after what happened in the church. But for Ghastly to apologise so readily? "It's fine," she assured him. "I was more worried about you. Are you alright?"

She watched Ghastly hesitate, and Tanith couldn't quite stop herself from quirking an eyebrow at him. "More or less," he managed after a moment.

Something was wrong here. It had been half a day. Half a day, and Ghastly seemed mostly back to his old self. Tanith looked to the newcomer, suspicion settling into her gut. "Who's this?"

[joyrodecomets]

"Call me Dad," Dad said easily, and touched the brim of His hat with one hand. "Pleased to meetacha, li'l lady. Met my friend Ghast here in an old pub and figured he could use a bit of company. Just came over from the carnival to make some deliveries. Been takin' good care of him, Missy?"

The last was said to Valkyrie, kindly but with an amused twinkle in His eyes--as if the twinkle was pointedly remembering how badly Valkyrie Did Not Need a teddy-bear. Without waiting for a response He kept talking with that easy rambling drawl, not of someone who just liked to hear themselves talk, but could somehow make the air sound and feel better just by adding their voice to it. "Better keep a hold of 'im or he might up and right out of your lap. Hang a tick."

So saying, He shrugged His backpack around and reached inside the front pocket, pulling out a name-tag, a short length of cord and a pen with a bouncy purple feather on a spring attached to the end. Squinting just a little, He scribbled something on the tag and then handed it down to Valkyrie. "Mind putting that collar on 'im? Eyes and hands ain't what they used to be."

The tag read: 'My name is Kian'.

[skeletonenigma]

Ghastly wasn't particularly surprised when the confusion on Tanith's face grew, while Valkyrie remained stubbornly glum, staring unseeing down at the teddy bear in her lap until Dad addressed her directly. She blinked up at him while he wrote out the tag, and then wordlessly wrapped the cord around the bear's neck without, it seemed, even a hint of curiosity.

'Eyes and hands ain't what they used to be.' The only good thing to be said about this was that Ghastly had gotten very, very good at keeping his face blank by now.

Even so, he also wasn't particularly surprised when the confusion on Tanith's face disappeared, and she almost instantly grew slack. Disbelief flickered through her eyes, and she stepped over to Ghastly while Valkyrie was busy with the teddy bear tag.

"Dad," she said quietly. "As in...?"

Ghastly nodded without looking at her. "As in Gabe's Dad."

He didn't see her expression, but he could imagine her stiffening. Imagine all the other possibilities running through her head before she'd allow herself to accept it, because what else was she supposed to do? It wasn't a hard conclusion to come to, especially given what had just happened a few hours ago. Accepting that conclusion was a different matter entirely. Ghastly could easily attest to that.

"A carnival," she said. Ghastly forced himself to look at her, but Tanith was staring down at the teddy bear in Valkyrie's lap. "You went and won a bunch of teddy bears at a carnival?"

"It was His idea."

Tanith had her hand clenched by her side, and it was turning white. "No offense, Ghastly, but how on Earth are you feeling any better?"

Ghastly gave a small shrug. "He has a sense of humour. Takes the edge off."

[joyrodecomets]

"Ta, Missy," Dad said cheerfully, storing the pen back in His bag. "Now, d'you mind keepin' him for a li'l while longer, and makin' sure Sol gets him? It's just ..." He shrugged ruefully, as if He'd lost all track of time and was only now realising He didn't have enough to do all the things He would have liked to. "Appointments and all that."

He waited enough beats for Valkyrie's lacklustre agreement and then smiled, clapping a hand to her shoulder. "Nice of yah, li'l lady. He's lucky to have a friend in you."

Then Dad turned toward Tanith and Ghastly, and there was amusement gleaming in His grey eyes, the eyes that shifted between slate-grey and the grey of rain-clouds. They met Tanith's gaze without flinching, and that amusement only strengthened in that way of recognition. "You'll be okay," He said comfortably. "You've got each other. All you need, really. Not everyone's so lucky."

Dad doffed His hat at Ghastly, and there was something soft and proud about His grin. "Thanks for going 'round with me, Ghast. Breath of fresh air, an afternoon off can be. Maybe we'll get to make rounds again sometime."

[skeletonenigma]

Tanith had to try incredibly hard not to stare.

She vaguely wondered if Ghastly was being this calm about it because the calmness was helping him relax, or if he'd really just grown that used to it over the space of a few hours. Maybe he'd stopped thinking about it. Maybe it was a combination of all three. Tanith would dearly have loved to ask him what his secret was, but her throat had gone suddenly dry.

And then Dad turned his eyes on her, and suddenly Tanith had to try incredibly hard not to look away. She managed it, to her credit, partly because of a suddenly solid self-control she wasn't aware she possessed, and partly because of his eyes.

They were gorgeous eyes. They were eyes that reminded her of the ocean. They were eyes that didn't feel quite possible, even though Tanith was sure that particular shade of grey had to exist somewhere in nature. It took her a moment to realise whose eyes she was admiring, and then she really did have to look away. If admiring an angel's physique was bad form, she couldn't even begin to imagine -

Tanith tripped over her own thoughts and blurted out the first question that came to mind to try and cover. "You have afternoons off?"

[joyrodecomets]

Dad was laughing, that deep rolling laugh of good-natured mirth which had nothing censuring about it. "Well now," He said with a grin, "Cheers, li'l lady, and as a matter of fact, I do. 'Course, bein' My own Boss means I can schedule My own vacation times. The trouble is keepin' 'em uninterrupted."

The last was added on obliquely, though what, precisely, He was referring to wasn't immediately apparent. His tone was contented, though. "This one was a good 'un, though. No interruptions at all. Ain't nothin' better than bein' with people."

He smiled fondly at Ghastly, and at Tanith, and at Valkyrie, and ruffled the girl's hair. It was an eminently casual thing, something for which there couldn't possibly be any hidden motives, and yet there was something infinitely gentle and reassuring about it too. "Take care. I'll be seein' y'all around sometime."

Then Dad clapped Tanith's shoulder, shook Ghastly's hand, and turned to amble out through the hospital doors with that easy, unhurried and unworried pace of someone enjoying their life to the fullest.

~~~

Every muscle in Anton's body ached and his every breath was laboured. He felt his heartbeat pound throughout his body; more than felt it, lived it. It was all that existed. His body, and the feeling of his magic in his chest, boiling like a pot of water--slowing, but still hot and painful to touch.

When Anton had first chosen his Gist as magical specialisation, it had been shortly after a man with a Gist of his own had ... expired. To put it lightly. The art of having a Gist was long known--one of the oldest arts. Gist. Geis. Today they were known as different things. Back then, there had been less of a difference, two related actions. The Gist involved a Geis, different to how Necromancy or being a Sensitive did. Having a Gist meant being under a Geis, meant not violating the taboo under which that Gist was summoned. Violating it meant, of course, being consumed by one's own Gist.

Anton had come terrifyingly close to doing so during the war, and more than once. Treading that line was difficult.

But there was more than one way to lose to one's Gist. The sorcerer in question had simply not been strong enough. Having a Gist meant control, not just of circumstance, but of mind and soul. Even that wasn't enough. Most Gist-users died young. Even ones who lived as long as Anton already had didn't tend to see out the end of their years naturally.

Anton had known all that. He had chosen the path regardless; like so many, confident in his own strength. Like very few, accurate in that assessment.

The use of it was pain, because it was violence and fury made incarnate. A part of him he released and then had to leash. Every time, it took him longer. Eventually, he knew, would come a time he would fail.

Which was why he remained kneeling on the floor of his Hotel, drawing in sucking breaths, his eyes closed and hair damp with sweat. Slowly he came aware of that peculiar kind of silence of an aftermath; the stillness of abject violence. He was very familiar with this sort. The sort of his own making. His Gist beat in his chest, but it was subsiding. Controlled. Anton shook with the exertion of it, struggling to gather himself. The Hotel was safe. No more sounds of battle could be heard from any room.

Safe.

For now.

Anton laid his trembling hands on his thighs and leaned his weight on them, and simply breathed.

[skeletonenigma]

Ghastly watched Dad leave the hospital, and there was no grand revelation that came with the sight. Shouldn't there have been something like that? But at the same time, Ghastly didn't have any regrets either, or questions that he felt like he should have asked right there and then while he still had the chance.

Yep. Ghastly was going to chalk this up as a success for the time being. He turned to see Tanith trying to form words, her eyes on Ghastly, wide and almost panicking.

Ghastly nodded slowly. "Yep. He's always like that. Or at least, he's been like that all afternoon."

"Who was he?" Valkyrie asked.

Ghastly hesitated. Did he really want to explain to someone else? Especially since he barely understood it himself? Tanith's mouth was still open, and Ghastly had a sudden idea. "Ask Tanith. She'll explain."

"She'll what?" Tanith rounded on Ghastly with an angry hiss. "You're the one who's been with him all afternoon! You explain!"

Unlike Dad's, her voice did carry, and it did bother a few people near them, who looked up with a wide range of disapproval on their faces. Tanith grew red and stopped talking, but she didn't lose the flare of anger in her eyes.

Ghastly shrugged apologetically. "It'll help you work through it, trust me. I've got to go. I have someone I need to talk to."

The anger in Tanith's eyes disappeared, replaced by a worrying eagerness. "Want me to come with?"

"No." The apology moved to Ghastly's face, and grew genuine. "It's an old friend, and I need to do this alone. Besides, Valkyrie needs your help more than I do."

For a moment, irritation flashed, but then Tanith nodded and glanced sideways at Valkyrie. "Just don't ask. I don't even know how to begin to explain."

She'd figure it out, Ghastly knew as he left them to it. Once Valkyrie wasn't so disproportionately worried over Wreath. She'd figure it out, and then she and Tanith could work through it together. Ghastly almost wished he could be there to see it, but he did need to go see Corrival sooner rather than later. The man was properly retired now. He might go to bed as early as 4 pm, for all Ghastly knew.

He might have to explain Gabriel, but Ghastly was going to leave out the part about God. Corrival would have a hard enough time accepting Lord Vile, without trying to figure out why God Himself had forgiven him.

~~

Sanguine was seething.

Stuck inside the Hotel, fighting off bloodthirsty zombies next to people he considered enemies, and especially with only a portion of his magic left to him? Reduced to sticking zombies' heads through walls? Sinking halfway into the floor, tripping them, trapping them halfway through the floor? It was the magical equivalent of opening a door, but not being able to pass through it, and the frustration was causing Sanguine no end of grief.

It was enough to make anyone hopping mad, and so Sanguine's thoughts grew cold with carefully controlled anger. The situation had spun out of control, but that didn't mean he couldn't salvage it.

The instant Pleasant and Renn and the two idiots who came down to help weren't paying him any more attention, Sanguine slunk away. Through the kitchen, into the common room on the other side, towards the back of the Hotel where he knew, by now, Anton Shudder's Gist would already have made short work of the zombies foolhardy enough to keep trying to break in.

Shudder was on the ground, bent over double, exhausted and trying to bring himself back from the brink of collapse. Sanguine had been expecting that. He'd also been expecting to have all of his energy for this moment, and to be striding over with all his usual confidence, victorious. As it was, Sanguine could barely stay on his own two feet. And when he managed it, he was shaking.

The Texan ended up sinking to his knees and crawling over to Shudder, only standing up again once he was close enough to kick.

[impudentsongbird]

Anton didn't even sense Sanguine until the Texan was right next to him. Sharply the sorcerer looked up, but too late--all he glimpsed was a boot and then pain erupted in his side. Too exhausted to even try to resist, to react at all, Anton went flying back, struck the wall, and rolled to the floor, gasping for the air he still so badly needed.

The blow made his head ring and his fatigue made the world burn white for several critical moments. By the time it eased, he was mildly surprised to find himself still alive. At least, he was up until he rolled over with a groan, again only in time to see the boot--this time the sole.

With that weird sort of calm for something he knew he couldn't change, because he could barely move, Anton watched the boot descend, felt the sharp pain in his face and head and let it drag him down into unconsciousness.

[skeletonenigma]

Once Shudder was no longer moving, Billy-Ray knelt down and searched him for the key. Not in any pocket, which didn't make any sense because Shudder would always have a key like that on his person, so where...?

Billy-Ray tugged down the shirt collar, but it wasn't around his neck. Growing slowly more desperate, he began patting the man down, and then finally - finally - there, on his arm. The outline of what felt like a armband through the sleeve. Billy-Ray tugged the sleeve up and found the key hanging from that armband on a slender chain.

There wasn't anything to identify it as the key to Room 24, but where else would it be for? The cellar? Billy-Ray flipped open his straight razor and cut the armband off, then struggled slowly back to his feet and hobbled over to the stairs.

Still zombies, still attacking. Pleasant, especially, was still busy. It looked like Miss Nuncio was out of the running, but that didn't matter anyway. She was a moron.

With a grin spreading over his face, Billy-Ray dragged himself up the stairs, stopping briefly by his room to pick up the Soul Catcher before he continued on to Room 24.

~~

The cab ride took ten minutes - and it only took that long because of Dublin traffic. Ghastly paid and thanked the driver, who, for some reason, reminded him a lot of Barney Lachlan. It was the sweater, Ghastly decided as he stepped out. They were wearing the same sweater. Did they hand those sweaters out to cab company employees?

The cab had stopped in front of a well-kept two-storey house, which stuck out like a sore thumb in the middle of the city. Sorcerers in general tended to stay subtle, to try and make mortals hurry on by without a second glance while the insides of their houses and apartments were veritable palaces. Corrival had never gone in for that 'rubbish,' as he so eloquently put it. He liked the small luxuries, especially ever since he'd retired, and so his house was lacking for nothing. It drew looks and murmurs of appreciation from passersby. Ghastly shook his head as he walked up and rang the doorbell.

He hadn't been here in a while. Ghastly made most of Corrival's clothes these days, but Corrival usually dropped by the store - not the other way around. Corrival didn't particularly like unexpected or unwelcome visitors. Ghastly hoped he was an exception.

[impudentsongbird]

As it happened, Corrival was not in bed at four p.m. He was, however, in his dressing gown, with his feet up and a stiff whiskey in his hand, enjoying the evening crossword puzzle. There was a fire dancing happily in the grate, even though it wasn't strictly cold enough for one. One had to enjoy the simple pleasures when one could. War had taught Corrival you didn't know when they'd disappear.

"Blast it," he grumbled when the doorbell chimed pleasantly through the house. Corrival didn't intend for his doorbell to be used, but at least when it was, unexpectedly so, it had a nice sound to it.

"Five down, trout basket," he muttered to himself as he hauled himself up, padding to the door in his slippers and still carrying his glass. "Five down, trout basket. Five down, trout basket." He paused a moment to glance through the spy-glass and then flung open the door with a flourish. "Five down, trout basket. I'm not a damned fisherman," he said to Ghastly. "What the hell's a trout basket?"

Then he stopped short, frowning and looking Ghastly up and down. "What the hell happened to your face, Bespoke?"

[skeletonenigma]

It took Ghastly a moment to answer - a moment longer than it should have, given that Ghastly was fairly sure he'd already used up his quota of surprise for the day. "Five down? You're doing a crossword puzzle?"

The image of Corrival in his slippers and dressing gown (a dressing gown that Ghastly had made for him, to boot) and holding a glass of whiskey didn't make what Ghastly had come here to say any easier. Well, the whiskey might, but Corrival had clearly been enjoying his afternoon and the last thing Ghastly wanted to do was ruin that.

But he had to.

In answer to the second question, Ghastly tapped the symbols etched into his collarbone, and the false skin retracted smoothly off his head to reveal the scars once again. In answer to the first question, he smiled. "If you asked half an hour earlier, I could have introduced you to someone who would probably know." The image of tangled fishing line still hadn't left Ghastly's head. Of course, Skulduggery would probably know too, but... "I hope you've got a lot more of that whiskey, Corrival."

[impudentsongbird]

"Of course I do," Corrival said promptly, and then squinted suspiciously at the tailor. "Tell me you're just making a professional visit to check up on some of my older suits, Bespoke."

He wasn't. Of course he wasn't. Ghastly knew that Corrival didn't like to be interrupted in his retirement; of all people, Ghastly knew that. Ghastly, after all, didn't like to be interrupted in his tailoring, and yet had still wound up being trapped as a statue for over a year because Skulduggery had needed to save the world again.

With a sigh Corrival turned and walked back down the doorway into the sitting-room, but he left the door open for Ghastly to follow. "What do you need, Ghastly?" he asked, resigned, as he set his glass down on the timbre bar and reached for another to pour his friend and former subordinate that requested drink. "If you want me to run interference with the Sanctuary while you and Valkyrie Cain re-open the portal to the dimension of the Faceless Ones, I'm going to need a lot more than just a few new suits."

Because if that's why Ghastly was here, Corrival wasn't going to say no. He'd been grateful the man hadn't come to him beforehand, even though he knew Ghastly wouldn't for precisely the reasons why he didn't, but he wasn't going to say no. Part of Corrival hoped there was another reason why Ghastly was there, but given his introduction, Corrival wasn't holding out much in the way of hope.

[skeletonenigma]

Ghastly mutely shook his head, but Corrival already knew that. The very fact that he was asking meant Corrival knew Ghastly was here for something much more serious than a tailoring issue. Besides which, none of the suits Ghastly made ever needed 'checking up,' a fact which he'd never needed to advertise because his clients knew how good he was.

He debated how to approach the subject, as he followed Corrival into the house. The problem was that he couldn't really be polite, even if he wanted to. Ghastly could have said 'Sorry to bother you,' but he wasn't sorry. Not really. Corrival would be, and Ghastly was sorry for that; but apologising in advance would do nothing except annoy Corrival further.

There was no good way to handle this, because it shouldn't need to be handled. It shouldn't have happened.

With a deep inhale, Ghastly accepted the proffered whiskey and took a seat. Three seconds later, he changed his mind and stood up. Took a sip. Without God undeniably standing next to him, every single feeling Ghastly had back in the church was flooding through him again in various degrees of intensity.

"Did you believe in the Faceless Ones?" he asked. "Before they physically came through the portal at Aranmore Farm? Most people didn't. I didn't. They posed a threat because of Mevolent, and what he was willing to do to invite them back. Mevolent and every other sorcerer like him. We fought him and Serpine and the Diablerie because they were evil people. We never expected any of their gods to be real." The 'gods' had been massively different than even Jaron Gallow was expecting, but the fact was, they existed.

All of which Corrival knew, of course, and now Ghastly was just trying to avoid the point. He shook himself. "Skulduggery's back. He brought an Archangel with him."

[impudentsongbird]

Ghastly Bespoke was rambling. Corrival watched the other man with a mixture of amusement, bemusement and dread as Ghastly sat, didn't sit, drank, said nothing, said a lot (but which basically amounted to nothing anyway). Ghastly. Rambling. Uncertain. As if he was gearing up to something. It was such a novel experience that Corrival didn't even manage to tell him to get on with it; he just stared in disbelief.

Did he believe in the Faceless Ones? Well, no, he bloody well hadn't. Who had, other than their worshippers? And a lot of the time not even them!

All of which meant that it took a few moments for the tailor's last words to sink in. Corrival's first reaction was a deep, abiding relief. Skulduggery was back, and since the world wasn't currently being ruled by Faceless Ones, he could assume the detective's little band of detectives had managed it without letting any of them through.

It was the second part at which Corrival's brain stalled, rebooted, reran and then stalled again. Archangel. Even taking into account the idea that Ghastly was just talking about a being roughly analogous to a Faceless One, except opposite in terms of mortality, that was ... well. 'Extraordinary' was too tame a word.

Assuming, of course, that Ghastly was still sane after the rescue attempt. Corrival squinted at the tailor, sipping his whiskey and trying to figure out if you could tell insanity-by-Faceless-One just by looking.

Finally he gave up and asked bluntly, "Why are you here, Ghastly?"

[skeletonenigma]

It was funny how you could expect someone not to believe you, and yet still feel disappointed when they ultimately didn't. Or at least seemed like they didn't. But there was no way to backpedal, no way to take it back, and nowhere to go but forward. So Ghastly took another sip, another deep breath, and plunged on.

"We didn't rescue him. The Archangel - Gabriel - did. The two of them met in an alternate dimension that they both got dragged into, and apparently, after they escaped, Gabriel went..." and here Ghastly hesitated before using the phrase, "... dimension-hopping... rescued Skulduggery from the Faceless Ones, and brought him back here. Brought him back here just before we would have opened the portal."

Ghastly could suddenly understand, now, why people occasionally paced. It was the need for movement, even without any end goal. Ghastly didn't usually pace, because he had his tailoring if he needed to move aimlessly around his shop. Skulduggery didn't usually pace, either, but he had a remarkable ability to remain perfectly still no matter what else was happening around him.

"Gabriel's still here," Ghastly added. "Injured. Far too injured to leave again. We've been helping him the best we can."

The moment for explaining about Skulduggery and Gabe's unique relationship came - and went. It might have made a perfect preamble for talking about Vile, but Ghastly couldn't quite bring himself to say the words out loud yet.

The moment for explaining about God came and went.

[impudentsongbird]

The more Ghastly talked, the more impatient Corrival got. It wasn't that Corrival didn't believe him, even though he didn't. Quite. He didn't disbelieve him either. Mostly, it all sounded so ridiculous that Corrival couldn't take it perfectly seriously. What Ghastly was saying, injured Archangels or not, wasn't important.

What he wasn't saying, on the other hand, was.

"Bespoke!" he barked on the heels of Ghastly's final words, his tone commanding and sharp, the voice of the man's former leader. Corrival was old--ish--not senile. "Get to the point and fast or I'll toss you to Ravel's tender mercies!"

God only knew what the man would come up with for punishment. He was even near enough to the area for Corrival to do exactly that. And he would. Ghastly knew he would. Corrival didn't like have his time wasted, particularly when it was time he set aside to enjoy instead of dread.

[skeletonenigma]

Now that was a tone Ghastly hadn't heard in a while. Instinctively, he straightened up, reminded very forcefully that he was talking to his former general, and... honestly, he was really beating around the bush a lot more than he needed to. That wasn't how Ghastly normally did things, and it wasn't how Corrival was used to receiving bad news.

Straight to the point, then.

"Remember when Skulduggery disappeared for five years during the war?" he asked, and his own voice had grown dull. "When we thought he had been killed by Lord Vile?"

This wasn't exactly beating around the bush, but it was stretching out the point, and so Ghastly didn't wait for an answer. "We were half-right. Skulduggery was gone because of Lord Vile, but not because he was dead. Or, not killed permanently." Don't stop, don't pause, don't even look at Corrival's face. "Skulduggery's an ambidextrous sorcerer. An Elemental, and..."

He had to stop to take a breath, and it was a pause, and Ghastly's voice faltered. Luckily, he didn't think he would need to finish.

[impudentsongbird]

Many, many people had wondered why it was that Corrival Deuce was the leader of the Dead Men and not Skulduggery Pleasant. After all, Skulduggery Pleasant had been one of the leaders of the rebellion. After his return, in spite of the changes he'd gone through--both obvious and not--he had still proven himself a capable leader. Even after his second return, after the five-year absence, that held true, though certainly the time in-between his death and that second return were his weakest moments.

Yet he had never once asked for, or been asked, to command the Dead Men.

Corrival had wondered once or twice, early on. Skulduggery was qualified. So was Corrival, and so he hadn't felt threatened. Skulduggery was qualified, but his stability had been somewhat in question, then. Once Corrival had actually become friends with the men under his command, he had stopped asking. Skulduggery, magnificent leader though he was, was better in the field. Corrival had more squads to organise than just theirs, though certainly theirs was the best.

Because Corrival, also, was an exceptional leader. He didn't particularly want to be, but he recognised that it was that trait which made him one, just as it had made Skulduggery one. Corrival was a solider. A retired war-horse, as it were.

As such, Ghastly's news, or implied news, had two effects.

The first was that it felt like Corrival had just been electrocuted. He twitched, violently, and whiskey spilled over the brim of his glass onto his hand. He stared at it for some moments while his brain unscrambled.

Yes, Skulduggery Pleasant had vanished right around the time Lord Vile appeared. Yes, Skulduggery Pleasant had returned, precisely at the time Lord Vile had vanished. Yes, he had been tight-lipped about where he'd been. Fronted up with a jovial demeanour. Been ashamed of some unspoken crime.

No. No, no no no no no. Not Skulduggery. Not Lord Vile. Not all this time.

Corrival was a magnificent leader.

Which was why, while he was being torn apart inside, he very calmly reached out to pick up his hankie and wipe the whiskey off his hand, looking evenly back at Ghastly with an expression as impassive and expectant as any he'd worn during official debriefings during the war.

"Full report, Bespoke."

[skeletonenigma]

Ironic, that Ghastly had spent so long trying to forget about his role in the war and find some kind of more permanent peace in his tailoring; and yet the moment the opportunity arose to treat information like a battle report to a superior officer ...

He took it.

"We were following a lead on a separate investigation," Ghastly stated, staring fixedly at a point just past Corrival's ear. "We wound up in the Church of the Faceless late this morning, waiting for China Sorrows to arrive. Remus Crux came in soon after and Skulduggery found out from him that, back during the war, China was the one who led his family into the trap that killed them."

He paused to drink some more whiskey, to try and block out the image of the look on Skulduggery's face. The look on Skulduggery's face. An expression of fury that Ghastly hadn't seen in over a century.

The moment he swallowed, he continued. Calm, even, and professional. "Skulduggery attacked her with Necromantic shadows. The only reason she's still alive right now is because Gabriel stopped Skulduggery. Flung him against the back of the church and... calmed him down, I think. I don't know. I don't know much about angels. I punched him, broke his jaw, and he didn't try to retaliate and he didn't say anything. I left after that."

Another quiet moment passed, and then Ghastly's face fell as he sank back onto the couch with his whiskey. "Wherever he and Gabriel were trapped, they... it sounded like whoever trapped them there did things to both of them. Maybe he, or she, or they, broke Skulduggery's control over it." Because, Ghastly allowed himself to remember, Skulduggery's been that angry plenty of times in the last century, and he's never reached immediately for Necromancy. Skulduggery had, in fact, been improving at controlling his own rage - to a small degree, noticeable only by close friends, but enough.

"He and Gabriel have some sort of bond," Ghastly added quietly. "I don't think we have anything to worry about, for now. But Gabriel has to go back to his home dimension eventually, and..."

Finally, Ghastly looked up again. "I don't know what to do."