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]

That was the most jarring thing so far. Corrival Deuce acting... well, very much not like the leader he was. He'd abandoned his coat on the chair and gone straight for the alcohol, any further decisions be damned.

It was exactly what Ghastly had done. In fact, it was better, because Corrival had the presence of mind to investigate and clean up first. But it wasn't a typical 'Corrival' reaction, this desire to escape. And it only further hit home what had already shaken Ghastly to the core.

Time passed the way it should have passed in the bar earlier that day - quickly, uneventfully, with barely a mark to indicate its passing, except for when the grandfather clock tolled out every quarter hour. And even that eventually faded to background noise Ghastly easily ignored. He wasn't sure exactly what time it was when his head started spinning, or how many glasses he'd had; and by the time he couldn't quite walk straight, it was getting difficult to tell how far along Corrival was, much less focus on him.

One thing that could be said about Ghastly's former general - he had excellent taste in whiskey.

They'd started to tell each other stories. Nothing about Skulduggery, or Vile, or even very war-intensive, since neither of them had drunk nearly enough for that yet. Ghastly was fairly sure they both knew all the stories, as well, but retelling them like it was the first time had a certain calming effect on both of them.

The one he was on, about Larriken, Corrival had to know about. All of the Dead Men had reminisced about it enough. But it was still one of Ghastly's favourite memories, and Corrival hadn't objected to the telling. "It was a cake," he explained with a smile. "Larriken had been carrying that cake around with him the entire week, just waiting for a chance." Ghastly downed the rest of the glass and sat back, chuckling to himself. "It was one of the only times I'd ever seen Anton laugh during a mission."

[impudentsongbird]

A general knew there were moments in which one had to set things aside, even consciously, to recuperate. It was a matter of timing. This was an urgent matter, and even though Corrival did prefer to take care of urgent matters quickly, in this case it would take a long time to do. A long time, a lot of effort and emotional imbalance, and he needed shoring up first.

The immediate problems were taken care of. He could afford a few hours, a night. So, in the face of such overwhelming news, Corrival was damn well going to take the opportunity for R and R, and hope it was enough to see him through.

Corrival had been humming something idle, head resting back against the armchair, when Ghastly abruptly started talking. The older sorcerer couldn't remember what it was even while he was humming it, or if it was the cause of Ghastly's sudden chattiness, but it didn't matter. Stories. Stories were good, and they had a lot of them.

He'd heard this one before. The one about Anton's birthday. Larrikin was probably the only one who actually knew when it was, although Skulduggery had likely also figured it out. Anton either didn't like people knowing or didn't care enough for it to be common knowledge.

Corrival was in the middle of a laughing fit when the best, most glorious idea came to him. "I think we should call Anton," he announced, struggling to his feet with his glass still in his hand. The world turned on its axis a little faster than it should have been able to. "I think we should call Anton and pester him. Or maybe wish him happy birthday. Or maybe sing it."

He didn't really wait for a response before putting the phone off the hook and punching in the numbers and turning on the speakerphone. Corrival motioned Ghastly enthusiastically as the phone rang, and the moment Anton picked up--before he even said his name--the pair burst into a rousing and off-tune serenade of 'Happy Birthday'.

The lyrics were a bit mangled with traditional and less traditional versions, with the result that it was a mishmash with too many verses, but Anton said nothing until it was over.

"Thank you," he said dryly. "The pair of you may not have noticed, but you're drunk. Why?" He went on almost before Corrival could take a breath to answer. "On second thought, don't answer. I imagine there is a story to tell, and I'm too busy at the moment to hear it."

[skeletonenigma]

"You're always busy." Ghastly leaned down on the endtable, both to speak a little closer to the microphone and to help keep his balance. "You've never taken time off. When is your birthday?"

He paused, frowning, as the noise of an engine rose over the brief silence on the line - a very, very familiar engine. A sudden panic wrapped itself around Ghastly, as inexplicable as it was surprising. He shook his head and impatiently tried to clear it. "Is Skulduggery with you?"

And if he was, why? What had Skulduggery and the others done after Ghastly and Tanith left? Killed Crux, left the body behind, gone on to keep investigating the Desolation Engine like nothing had changed? With Anton? Not that Anton was in any way not capable, but the man did have a hotel to run.

And he certainly didn't know about Lord Vile.

A thought struck Ghastly. Anton was in the Bentley. The tailor would recognise the sound of that engine anywhere - Skulduggery had shown it off more than enough times. But they left the Bentley back at the safe house, which meant Fletcher was still with them, which meant... Ghastly honestly hadn't expected anyone other than Gabe to stick around. Valkyrie would have left; he'd assumed Fletcher would stay with her. That Skulduggery and Gabriel would be on their own.

If they were driving the three hours back into Dublin, though, Anton wouldn't have claimed he was busy using the tone that he did - the tone that suggested urgency. So what was going on? Did... did Fletcher Teleport the whole Bentley? Was Skulduggery really so rattled that he'd began trusting the teenager's amateur ability with that Bentley?

Words climbed their way out of Ghastly's mouth before he could think about them, and yet he didn't particularly want to take them back. "Tell him I'm sorry about the jaw."

[impudentsongbird]

Corrival couldn't help it. He turned and stared. "You're sorry about his jaw?" he demanded incredulously.

"I would ask," Anton said over the sound of the engine, "since the two of you seem to know something I don't and Skulduggery just momentarily lost control of the car, but as I said, we have something to contend with. Billy-Ray Sanguine has stolen one of the Remnants from the Hotel and apparently plans to infest Professor Grouse with it. Ergo, we--Skulduggery, Fletcher Renn and I--are following a ... lead."

There was something about the way he said that word. 'Lead'. Something about it which sounded ... not doubtful. Not exactly questioning. Pointed, was the word Corrival wanted. As if the 'lead' was something Anton did not quite understand, or which Skulduggery hadn't explained (not really surprising, to be honest), and about which Anton was still curious.

Because Skulduggery was listening.

Because if Skulduggery had lost control of his Bentley, even for a microsecond, then he had heard Ghastly's apology.

Because Skulduggery could hear everything they said.

A trickle of iciness sloped down Corrival's back, enough to sober him just a little--to make him wish he was drunker than he was. Not that he still wasn't drunk, as evidenced by the way his mouth and brain were still disconnected.

"You need some R and R," Corrival grumbled. "Both of you. All of you. You and Skulduggery and the Bentley. And Renn, I suppose. Is he even of age? And I agree with Ghastly. You should tell us when your birthday is."

"Perhaps another time. Ring Erskine; I'm sure he would appreciate speaking with you. We've nearly arrived."

"Where?" Corrival asked despite himself.

"Serpine's castle," was Anton's simple reply, and then there was a click as he hung up. Corrival hung his head and groaned.

"And I am once again far too sober for this. Quick, Bespoke, pass me the bottle and then we can ring Erskine."

[skeletonenigma]

If Corrival had been expecting a response, he would have been disappointed even if Anton didn't start speaking again almost right away. Ghastly didn't know why he'd said that, any more than he understood why he still didn't want to take it back. Or why the admittance of Skulduggery temporarily losing control of the vehicle had no effect on Ghastly whatsoever - not even a trickle of concern.

He had to bite his tongue to keep from asking where Gabriel was, because in the haze of alcohol, it took Ghastly a few extra seconds to realise that Anton didn't know. Wouldn't know. And Skulduggery probably had a reason for not telling him. Gabriel was probably the 'lead' Anton mentioned, and that was enough for Ghastly. Although... Serpine's castle?

It made sense. Sealing the castle off wouldn't have kept it empty forever, and Scarab did know something about the magical symbols used to seal it.

Ghastly wordlessly handed Corrival the bottle, in complete agreement about being far too sober for this. He drained his own glass and collapsed back onto the couch, letting Corrival be the one to call Erskine. At least his brain didn't seem to be betraying him quite yet.

~~

Scarab lifted the Desolation Engine towards the dim light filtered through the single light bulb in the ceiling, and peered at it. It certainly looked like what a Desolation Engine should; it was a stone hourglass, full of a calm and pale green liquid that Scarab knew would start to glow when the bomb was live, then red when it was armed.

The problem was, he'd been planning for Kenspeckle Grouse to take at least a day in fulfilling the request, genius though he was. It was barely three hours since Scarab let the Remnant loose in the room, and already the work was finished. The Remnant would have every reason to get the work finished as quickly as possible, taking all the shortcuts, skirting every detail.

Kenspeckle Grouse was a proud genius. He wouldn't have done that. Regardless of what he was working on, it would be the absolute best it could possibly be. The problem was how much of that work ethic the Remnant would also have, given that nobody knew exactly where a Remnant ended and the person began.

"This is it, then?" he finally had to ask. "You put in all the adjustments I asked for?"

[impudentsongbird]

"All of them," said the Remnant, and then raised an eyebrow in an expression precisely the same as the original professor's. "You doubt my professionalism, Scarab?" If one didn't know better, one might have thought it was the professor.

Gabriel did know better. He couldn't hear the conversation through the door, but half-infused with the walls as he was, he felt the vibrations of their voices and translated them. Only half infused, though. He had to make sure he was still breathing. Bad enough, what Sanguine had already seen. Bad enough what he would see when they put the Remnant onto him. Maybe it would blow his cover. Maybe it wouldn't. He didn't know yet, and it didn't matter. His reaction would be the same. That ... thing should not exist.

"You promised me Gabriel," the Remnant was saying. "I fulfilled my end of the bargain, and I daresay you could use the insights of a mind-reader. Well? Shall we?"

And so it comes.

[skeletonenigma]

Scarab considered for a moment, and then nodded. "I don't think I have to warn you that I won't be happy, if this doesn't do what you're promising. And I'm not a man you want to make unhappy."

With that final warning and a polite smile that belied the threat, Scarab left the cell to find Sanguine waiting outside. He didn't try to hide a shudder and a look of disgust; it didn't matter how useful they could be, Remnants were among the purest evils in the world. Scarab doubted even Mevolent himself would have enjoyed needing their help.

"He's done?" Sanguine asked skeptically.

"So he claims." It still didn't feel right, not having a way to verify that claim. Scarab had never been big on trust, and it certainly didn't sit well now, but he wasn't going to let Sanguine catch wind of that fact. "We have no reason to doubt him. Get Dusk, and bring Gabriel over here."

"Dusk?" Sanguine's lip curled. "I can handle a mind-reader."

"We don't know that he's a mind-reader, Sanguine. As you yourself pointed out, he's not even from our world. I know nothing about his magic, and I'm not willing to take any chances. Dusk is the only one we know he has an adverse reaction to."

"He had an adverse reaction to me," Sanguine muttered, but he turned around and did what he was told, so Scarab didn't have to snap at him. That was good. Ever since Scarab's voice had grown weak and croaky with age he shouldn't have, he'd disliked having to raise that voice for any reason. It tended to have the opposite effect of what he intended.



Billy-Ray paused outside Gabriel's cell door and knocked, three times in quick succession. "Wakey wakey."

Dusk stood a few feet away, looking as bored as ever. Billy-Ray pointedly ignored him right back.

[impudentsongbird]

None of it was hidden from Gabriel. Dusk's presence was audible, less covered by the presence of the Remnant because of the way its soul was offset by Kenspeckle's. The Archangel still didn't open his eyes until after Sanguine spoke. And not even at once.

"Ain't asleep, Billy-Ray," he said calmly as he shuffled his consciousness around--just a little. Enough to establish mental wards between him and Dusk. Gabe really disliked vampires.

Leisurely, unconcerned, the Archangel stretched carefully, hiding his wince but unable to keep his movements from being stiff and short with the aches and pains he felt. Still, there was a degree of control in the action which indicated he was prepared. Then the Archangel opened his eyes and rose to his feet, using the wall as a support.

With a sort of enveloping calm, Gabe moved toward the door Sanguine opened and stepped out, acknowledging neither of his guards despite Dusks's piercing eyes on him, even as they directed him toward Kenspeckle's cell.

[skeletonenigma]

He... wasn't really acting like someone who was about to lose their mind and body to something evil. If not quite forever, then at least for a pretty long time. That had been what Billy-Ray was looking forward to - watching the stoic reserve, the head held high despite a body-wide tremble, the attempt to be brave despite overwhelming odds. That was the sort of man he'd pegged Gabriel for. The same kind of person with the same kind of attitude as Valkyrie Cain, which was probably instilled in them both by the skeleton detective.

But there was none of it. There was nonchalance. There was absolute calm. There wasn't any bravery, solely because there wasn't any fear.

With anyone else, Billy-Ray would have been annoyed. Assumed a strength of disguise, instead of a strength of character, and worked harder at trying to break through it. With Gabriel... there wasn't an immediate reaction, because it wasn't often Billy-Ray had a real and true mystery to deal with. Someone he just could not figure out. Any reaction he might have had was so rusty, it was nonexistent.

Scarab had that suspicious look in his eye again as they approached. He didn't trust anything about this situation. He probably secretly thought there was a possibility something might go catastrophically wrong. If it did, and if there was, Billy-Ray was all the more excited for this.

Gabriel's power, whatever it was, had something to do with minds. Billy-Ray knew that, probably better than anyone in the Revenger's Club. And they were about to let something try to take over Gabriel's mind. Out of the three of them - Scarab, Dusk, and Billy-Ray - Billy-Ray was probably the only one with any real reason to expect this not to work. He could practically taste the suspense crackling in the air as Scarab pulled the cell door open and pushed Gabriel inside.

[impudentsongbird]

They didn't need to push him into the cell. Without letting his gaze catch on any one of them, Gabriel waited patiently for them to open the door and then stepped inside himself. He paused there for a moment, just inside the entrance, as they slammed it shut behind him and had no reaction to the abrupt sound and billow of air.

The Remnant leaned on the table before him, not studying him so much as in anticipation. There was a gleam in his eyes, a broadening grin on his face.

"Saint Gabriel," he breathed, in almost the exact same tone Lucifer had when he'd requested the stakes for his last wager with God: as close to eroticism as a still-metaphysical angel could get. Gabriel looked at the Remnant flatly.

Through and beneath his human facade, he was prickling--not with fear, but with the wash of evil and twistedness of the Scream. Inside a stone room such as this, the Remnant's soul built upon itself, much like Sanguine's soul had while underground and cocooned within his own magic.

"Let's get this over with," Gabe said tersely.

The Remnant nodded. "Yes, I quite agree."

It wasn't with stoicism that Gabriel watched Kenspeckle's veins bulge, as the professor's lips turned black while the Remnant clawed its way out of him. Gabe had never been able to manage stoicism. But he didn't move, either; he just observed quietly, gnawing lightly on his lip and wincing at backlash of the Remnant's soul against the professor's before, finally, Kenspeckle was free. Unconscious, but free, and he collapsed to the stone ground in a way that made Gabe wince again. If only he could move any quicker than a slow walk ...

The part of the Remnant that was physical bounded around the room. Its soul filled it, like a mist or a smog, and Gabriel closed his human eyes to take a deep, slowly and controlling breath. Smog or not, it still left a trail in its wake, its soul turning with its intent. It had no body to give it limit, and with a lack of physical memory to call its own to imprint upon the soul, it was ... wilder. As if its edges were dissolved, like Myron Stray's. It meant that there was no buffer between it and Gabe save what the Archangel manufactured himself, and that meant, this close, there was very little in it that Gabriel couldn't divine.

It shot toward him and bounced past his shoulder. A tease. A play. Gabriel didn't flinch, but he released the breath slowly. Then he raised his hand, gathering to him the energy of the metaphysical and the matter of the mundane both. It wasn't anything so obvious as the ball he'd held under the mountain; this was but a spark. A spark, a bolt of flickering purple lightning which came out of nowhere--from within the walls, through the walls--and was guided to his hand as if it was a lightning-rod.

Straight through the Remnant zipping toward him. It tore through its physicality, broke it apart as if static had run through it, disrupting the cacophony that made it. With a vaguely startled aftershock in its soul, the Remnant imploded with a subsonic rumble. The room tremored. Blue and purple light framed the door. Tiny offshoots of the lightning pattered everywhere, darting across the table and walls and Kenspeckle himself. Wherever they touched that wasn't a piece of Remnant, it left a faintly purifying glow and the sensation of warmth and comfort.

The lightning washed the smog of the Remnant's soul away so it wasn't much more than a bad smell in the air. In a room like this, it would linger--but it would be useless. Unobservable, except to someone like Gabe. Gone.

Gabe dropped his hand and made, with all the speed he could muster, for Kenspeckle.

[skeletonenigma]

Fletcher had never been to this castle before.

He'd heard stories about it, from Valkyrie and Tanith and Ghastly. He'd heard stories about Nefarian Serpine and the Book of Names. And he'd counted himself very, very lucky that he wasn't a part of any of it. Imagining Valkyrie going through that 'agonising death,' as she called it, imagining the way she must have dropped and screamed and... and she'd only been twelve. Twelve. He'd never admitted it to her, but he was reluctantly impressed that she survived it.

So he knew basically where the castle was; he'd just never been there himself. If Skulduggery was disappointed by that, he didn't show it. The skeleton just nodded, asked Anton Shudder if he wanted to help in getting the Remnant back, and all three of them set out together - back to the safe house to pick up the Bentley. Fletcher was all set for another painstakingly long three-hour car trip back towards the coast, but Skulduggery put a hand on his shoulder before he could get in.

"You can Teleport objects, right?"

Fletcher, stunned into silence, could only nod.

"Good. Take us all just outside Dublin. Anywhere sequestered and out of the way."

Before he could stop himself, Fletcher blurted out, "Are you serious!?"

"Yes." Skulduggery was silent for a moment, and then gave one more brisk nod. "A single part out of place, Fletcher, and you're going to wish you'd never met us. Clear?"

At the time, Fletcher had been blown away by the clear vouch of trust. It was never something he would have expected. Now, looking back, he realised it wasn't so much trust - although he knew there was an element of that, there just had to be - but it was more worry for Gabe. Yes, Gabe was an Archangel who'd lived millions of years, perfectly capable of looking after himself. But he was also a visitor to this world, didn't know the sorcerers, didn't know the rules. He was already injured, had never been injured before, didn't know how to handle it, and if he did even a single thing the bad guys would be suspicious about, there would be hell to pay.

Skulduggery was worried. Fletcher couldn't tell, exactly, but he knew. He knew because no matter how much trust he built up with the detective, the Bentley was something precious, something not even Valkyrie was allowed to mess with.

So he'd been bloody careful. Which was a feat in and of itself, considering he wasn't exactly sure how to be careful when it came to Teleportation.

Skulduggery inspected the Bentley quickly and carefully when they arrived on the back road, satisfied himself that Fletcher hadn't ruined it, grumbled about some car part Fletcher had never heard of being on the wrong side of the engine, and then they were off.



"You know," Fletcher spoke up after Shudder hung up on Corrival and Ghastly, "I think he's right. And I am of age."

He watched Skulduggery drive in silence for a few more moments before the skeleton shrugged. "After we've saved the world, how about that?"

Good. That was good, and Fletcher said so. But it was also good because there was something he didn't quite catch about the phone call putting Skulduggery on edge, and Fletcher knew from experience that Skulduggery being on edge would never lead anywhere good. He was trying to take a page out of Valkyrie's book; trying to distract him. He hoped it worked.



And now they were inside a castle Fletcher had never seen before, let alone entered, and he was the one who was on edge. Being on edge sucked.

"Shouldn't we split up, or something?" he muttered after several minutes of what felt like just wandering around.

"We don't need to," Skulduggery assured him.

"Why not?"

"Because I know the way. Roughly. I am a detective, after all."

Fletcher could have hit himself. Gabe. Why wouldn't an Archangel be able to beam a map directly into a person's head? The more Fletcher learned, the greater his headache became - although he suspected that, in this instance, it was more because of how much he was mentally kicking himself in lieu of actually kicking himself.

"We're nearly there," Skulduggery told Fletcher and Shudder as they slowed to a stop at a junction. "Now, Fletcher, it's probably for the best if you - "

A noise echoed through the stone. A noise Fletcher had never heard before. It was deep and it was loud, rattling his teeth and his bones, but it was loud in a way that wasn't exactly normal. It was like a sudden overwhelming pressure, making his ears pop, which immediately put Fletcher in mind of the Faceless Ones, and pure terror charged randomly through him.

Skulduggery cursed and ran forward. Shudder was quick to follow. In the moment before an instinctive Teleportation, in which he could have gone almost anywhere in the world, Fletcher steeled himself and shut his eyes and reappeared around the corner after them.

An old man, Billy-Ray Sanguine, and another guy Fletcher hadn't seen before were all in front of a door, just looking up. Fire flared in Skulduggery's hand, and roared as a veritable flamethrower down the corridor in front of him. Fletcher didn't have time to think. He saw the cell door, saw a section of wall through thick bars at the top, and Teleported into the room - out of the way of the flames, of the fight, and hopefully...

Gabriel was there. Fletcher had never, in his life, been so happy to see someone after less than a day, and he almost bounded forward to hug him. But no, that would be pathetic, and they weren't out of danger yet.

Kenspeckle was on the ground, unconscious, and Fletcher looked around wildly. "Where's the Remnant?"

[impudentsongbird]

There was nothing of which Gabe was more aware than reinforcements. It was impossible not to be aware of it, given the strength of the souls of those in question. Even Fletcher's, young as he was, was honed to a point made even sharper by his resistance to his fear.

Kenspeckle was unhurt--at least in physical terms. When he woke up, he'd no doubt have a story to forget.

For now, Gabe looked up at Fletcher, relief written all over his face. "It's gone," he said. "I smote it." There wasn't even regret in his tone. The thing had been an abomination. With that every-day news, the Archangel rose unsteadily to his feet, taking the small number of steps needed to pull Fletcher into a rough embrace. "I'm glad you're here."

He was exhausted. And his head hurt. Which he couldn't pay attention to right now, because there was still so much to do. He had to take care of Kenspeckle, and warn Skulduggery about the Engine the Remnant had built. And they needed to arrest Scarab.

It was getting unpleasantly hot inside the cell, with the flames roaring past. Gabriel drew back from Fletcher, the hug short but not at all perfunctory (long enough for Fletcher to return it, if he so wished). The Archangel sank back down beside Kenspeckle and cradled the professor to him, lifting him up. He bit his lip as he rose again, to keep in the sounds of pain which wanted to escape. Kenspeckle's weight should have been nothing to him. Instead it sent complaints all through his body. Still, he managed--for the moment.

"Take us to the safehouse," he said. "We need to get Kenspeckle somewhere safe. Then we can come back."

There were other things approaching. Springheeled Jack had attacked from behind, or would have if Skulduggery's friend hadn't been there. And there were others--Hollow Men. They weren't far behind.

Fletcher and Gabe would have to be quick if they wanted to help at all.

[skeletonenigma]

It took Fletcher a second, but then incredulity spread over his face. "You smote it?"

... Well, that was one way to solve the problem. Sort of. By creating another, bigger problem, and one that Fletcher was probably going to have to get involved in too. But at least the Remnant was gone. At least the Professor was safe. At least the Professor hadn't had enough time to fix any kind of bomb.

"I'm glad I'm here too," Fletcher pointed out. "And next time, I can be here immediately." He returned the hug for the brief span of time it lasted - because it wasn't pathetic if Gabe started it, just much-needed comfort - and followed him over to Kenspeckle.

Come back. Yeah. There was a time Fletcher would have balked at the very suggestion, just because of the noises outside the stone and barred cell door. But then Aranmore Farm happened, and then they actually succeeded in the impossible, three times over, and then there was Gabe.

So instead, Fletcher just nodded and put one hand on Kenspeckle's arm, the other on Gabe's shoulder, and Teleported.

The living room they'd been in the night before materialised instantly around them, the large red couch near enough for them to collapse against. That was something recent Fletcher had begun to practice. Not just appearing in a place, but actually picking out an exact spot within that place from an imperfect map inside his head. He couldn't help feeling a small sliver of pride in the achievement, despite everything.

He took some of Kenspeckle's weight off Gabe and gently lowered the Professor onto the couch. "You don't have to come back," Fletcher told the Archangel. "Using any of your magic hurts right now, doesn't it?" And smiting... Fletcher hesitated, because Gabe really would be useful in a fight, but then he sheepishly added, "Skulduggery probably wouldn't want you to."

[impudentsongbird]

Oh. Right. Teleportation ... didn't go well with Gabe right now. He paled a little, swayed, and then his knees buckled as he fell back into the sofa. The little ray of pride in Fletcher's soul told him the location had been deliberate, but it was an aside, something on which Gabriel couldn't quite focus yet.

"Thank you," he whispered as Fletcher laid Kenspeckle down, not breathless because no need to breathe, but trembling slightly with the professor's weight and the cresting wave of exhaustion he could feel rising over him.

He didn't dare shake his head. "You'd be surprised at how easy smiting can be," he said quietly, "which is why I don't do it. But I have things I need to tell Skulduggery, and as quickly as possible. Please, Fletcher. Take me back. I don't have to fight."

He held out his hand, looking into Fletcher's face in silent request. At the same time, if Fletcher refused ... Gabe wouldn't hold it against him.

[skeletonenigma]

Fletcher looked at Gabe, sunk into the back of the couch as he was, pale and shaking and exhausted. The fact that he wasn't even breathing heavily just made the whole picture of an injured Archangel that much more surreal.

Teleporting took a lot out of him, like Fletcher knew it would. Teleporting back would take even more out of him.

Skulduggery really wouldn't be happy with this. Fletcher was reminded of when they first heard that subsonic noise, and the way Skulduggery had reacted. Like he knew. Because he'd seen the smiting before; he'd told them about it. So he instantly knew what Gabe had done, and he would want the Archangel out of harm's way as fast as possible. Not exerting himself any more than he absolutely had to, after something like that.

Fletcher wanted to ask why, whatever it was Gabe had to say, couldn't wait until after Scarab was defeated and arrested. But there was probably a good reason for that, and they really didn't have any time to lose. Gabe didn't have to fight. He wouldn't fight. Fletcher would make sure of that.

"Okay." He took Gabe's hand and pulled the Archangel to his feet. "But I am blaming you for this if he asks. Just so you know."

The living room disappeared, and then the cell was back. There was no comfy couch in here to help Gabe get his strength back, so Fletcher settled for as near to the far wall as possible, and he didn't let go of Gabe once they were settled.

[impudentsongbird]

Gabe didn't get a chance to say much of anything, though he submitted to Fletcher's draw on his hand. In truth, he needed the help. His body ached, and he wasn't sure if it was the evil or the smiting which had done it. Maybe it was a bit of both.

When the cell materialised around them Gabe found himself glad for the support--once again. His legs tremored and he leaned heavily on Fletcher, forcing his aching body to remain upright and to move toward the door. Even then, he didn't refuse Fletcher's help.

The flames outside the cell had died. The battle hadn't. Sanguine and Springheeled Jack were shouting taunts--or at least Sanguine was. Jack was cursing out Anton Shudder; the corridor was too narrow for him, and the sorcerer had a strong punch. Gabe tried not to overuse his senses, but he still extended them, just a little, to find where Scarab had gone.

He couldn't find him. And the Hollow Men, not ensouled but leaving a ripple in their wake, were almost close enough to box Skulduggery and Anton in. Gabriel's stomach lurched, and he gripped the young Teleporter's arm tightly. "Fletcher, Scarab has two working Desolation Engines," he said urgently. "He can't escape. We--"

Which was when Springheeled Jack collided with the door, shattering its lock, and came tumbling head-over-heels into the room.

[skeletonenigma]

Oh. Well, that answered why Gabe couldn't wait.

It was the hardest thing in the world for a natural-born Teleporter to fight their instincts. Even now, and probably for the rest of his life, Fletcher just wanted to disappear at the first sign of danger. Springheeled Jack came crashing through the cell door, and Fletcher had to physically jump backwards to stop himself from Teleporting away. Gabe's arm slipped off Fletcher's shoulder and he instantly regretted it, but it was too late.

Jack slumped back against the table, dazed. Once again reacting purely on the instinct of someone who'd never really fought or thrown a punch, Fletcher leaped forward as quickly as he'd jumped back just a second ago, and Teleported Jack away.

"Whu-?" was all Jack had time to say before the table supporting him disappeared, and he fell back onto the wet grass of a seaside cliff ten miles up the coast from Haggard.

Fletcher whirled to face the sea as the sound of it breaking on the rocks below filled the air. He'd meant to Teleport Jack over the ocean itself, but something went a little wrong. Maybe he was just panicking. He could do it now, ensure Jack wouldn't ever be a threat again, but Fletcher didn't for two reasons. First, he didn't have time. Second... he just didn't think he had the guts to kill anyone, even if they were evil criminals.

So Fletcher Teleported back, leaving Jack alone on the bluff. The guy was just getting back to his feet as Fletcher disappeared, and the Teleporter reappeared back in that tiny block of a cell room just in time to see Anton Shudder barreling through the open doorway. Probably to finish Jack off. He stopped pretty quickly when he didn't see Springheeled Jack against the table, though.

"Where's Skulduggery?" Fletcher asked Shudder quickly, before he could leave again to finish the fight. They had to warn him about Scarab and the two Engines.

[impudentsongbird]

When Fletcher jerked away, Gabe was unprepared for it; he stumbled, almost fell, and caught himself on the table just as Jack had. By the time he managed to gather his wits through his body's complaint, Fletcher had already returned and Anton Shudder had burst into the room.

Gabe took one look at him and paled slightly. It wasn't that his was a bad soul. Actually, in many respects it was very similar to Skulduggery's--more controlled than his, even, in a way. The problem was that the violence was, in spite of that control, closer to the surface. Seething, just under it, in no way out of control, but like a penned wolf on a leash. Ordinarily Gabe would be able to handle it fine. Right now, he wished he could be elsewhere.

Especially given the steady, curious look Shudder was giving him back.

"A moment," he said, and turned to slam the door shut. "Excuse me." Gabe pulled away from the table, leaning on Fletcher again, just before Shudder yanked it away and turned it up against the door. After a moment Gabriel realised that the shuffling, papery rustle had been Hollow Men footsteps.

"He went after Scarab," Shudder said, turning back to them and leaning with his back against the door. The table was the only piece of furniture in the room, so apparently the man was going to use his own body as another crutch.

Looking at him, Gabriel found himself glad Shudder wasn't going to wade into the Hollow Men using his Gist. On a purely physical level, he looked tired already. On a metaphysical one, Gabe just didn't want to see that Gist unleashed.

"We need to help him," Gabe said with a rapid blink, forcing himself to refocus on the matter at hand. "Scarab's got two working Desolation Engines."

Anton tilted his head at Gabe, and then shuddered with the door when something struck it from the other side. "I don't know where he went," he said calmly, "and the castle now resembles a poked beehive." For reasons Fletcher wouldn't be able to divine, the comment very nearly made his mouth quick with a semi-smile. Nearly. Gabe almost choked at the brief swirl of memory the words brought with them. "Renn could take us elsewhere in it, but it would be foolish to wander around trying to find Skulduggery in such a position. Particularly as you're injured."

Gabe grimaced. The man wasn't wrong, and Gabe had used his powers far too much today. He wasn't sure he had the self-possession to go looking for Skul.

"I assume you've already taken the professor somewhere safe," Shudder continued, voice raised against the pound on the door and the way it shook him. "So I'd suggest we retreat there."

"But Skulduggery--"

"Called Davina Marr. If there's a second Engine around, they'll find it."

Gabe's lip curled instinctively at the very thought of that woman having an Engine in her hands. "That's almost worse."

For a moment Anton looked at him with something close to bemused curiosity, but then something in the door split by his ear. He pushed himself closer up against it, grimacing. "Enough. Renn, let's go."

[skeletonenigma]

That's right. Skulduggery did call the Sanctuary on the way, didn't he? He'd have backup very soon, and while Fletcher didn't really enjoy the idea of Davina Marr helping out any more than Gabe did, she was still a Sanctuary official. And if Skulduggery wanted her help, it wasn't like Fletcher was going to argue. Besides, Cleavers were going to be there. Not even Scarab could get away from them.

"Yeah," Fletcher nodded without looking at Gabe. "Good plan." Skulduggery would be okay. Because he was always okay. He'd been dragged into the dimension of the Faceless Ones, for God's sake, and he was still okay. Back home, with a befriended Archangel. He'd be fine, he'd find both Engines, and he might even bring home God while he was at it.

Fletcher gently but firmly pulled Gabe over to where Shudder was still holding the door, and the moment all three were connected, he Teleported.

They were in front of a different couch in the living room this time, because Kenspeckle was still out cold on the first one, and because Fletcher was really starting to worry over Gabe. He didn't handle Teleportation well. He could barely stand up under his own power after the second one. This third one was... could it kill him? Could Archangels die? Could something as simple as a Teleportation be that lethal -

No. Fletcher was starting to panic. Not again. Not after Aranmore Farm. If he hadn't stopped panicking at Aranmore Farm, the world would be overrun with Faceless Ones by now.

"Can you call Skulduggery?" he asked Shudder, and his voice, he was proud to hear, barely shook. "Leave a message, tell him where we are? Wait, does Skulduggery even have his mobile phone?"

[impudentsongbird]

With a grimace Gabe submitted to being guided toward Anton, taking a deep, slow breath to brace himself against the Teleportation. Thanks to that, this one didn't affect him quite as badly ... quite. At least, the Teleportation didn't. The proximity to Anton Shudder's Gist, even penned, did.

Pale, exceedingly grateful for Fletcher's consideration, the Archangel sank slowly down onto the couch, using Fletcher as a crutch. "You're getting better at that," he said, surveying where they were in the room. "You might not even need a practical demonstration, depending on how you're visualising things."

And Gabe hadn't even started training him. Fletcher was a born Teleporter, that was for sure. The Archangel cast a smile up at him, a little weak but entirely sincere, and if he was leaning a bit closer to Fletcher to escape Anton's proximity, well--he wasn't going to mention it if no one else did. it was uncharitable, but Gabe wished the man would move away; instead Shudder was watching him, not reaching out but with that sort of balance and posture which indicated he was prepared to catch Gabe if necessary.

"He's got a phone," Gabriel admitted, and grimaced. "But he might not be able to use it. I wasn't thinking properly when I made it for him; it's a smartphone." Then again, he had also made it knowing Skulduggery was a skeleton, so chances were he'd be able to use it even as a skeleton. Just as an additional feature. Gabe hadn't been consciously thinking of it, but nuances tended to come together like that where subconscious intent was concerned.

Anton's eyebrows climbed as he took his phone out anyway. "You made it for him?"

"He lost his," Gabe said in a tone that would have been accompanied by a shrug if the Archangel had been inclined. As if it was everyday someone made a phone out of nothing. Eyebrows still high, still looking at Gabe consideringly, Anton dialled.

Gabriel chose to ignore him in favour of pulling a cushion nearer and lowering himself to lie down, face into the pillow. His head hurt. Not migraine-level, but it still hurt, and now that he wasn't trying to resist souls owned by Lucifer, he could really feel it.

"Skulduggery," Anton said, and Gabe breathed out a sigh of relief at the proof Skulduggery had answered. Good. That meant the phone worked. Still, Gabe was going to ask Merlin or Rafe to change it back as soon as possible.

In the meantime he was just ... going to lie still for a little while.

[skeletonenigma]

Fletcher snorted at the idea of Skulduggery with a smartphone. Of course he wouldn't be able to use it! Most smartphones relied on the ability to generate some sort of body heat, which... skeletons didn't. Not usually. Then again, skeletons couldn't usually feel pain, either. They couldn't usually feel.

"Anton. Where's Fletcher? What's happening over there?"

... Then again, it was a magical phone created by an Archangel, so it really wasn't a huge surprise that it worked anyway. And Skulduggery was definitely okay; his tone carried more worry for them than any real urgency. He probably already had both Engines. Fletcher hovered awkwardly near the arm of the couch as Shudder replied, and glanced down towards Gabe.

Good thing angels don't need to breathe, he thought wryly, staring at the pillow. But how soon before Shudder started getting suspicious - if he wasn't already? And let's face it, he was probably suspicious already. They weren't exactly trying to be subtle.

"Do you want some - water?" he asked with only a slight hesitation to mark out where he remembered just in time not to say 'holy.' "We still have barrels of it over in the corner."

[impudentsongbird]

"We're safe," Anton replied, and although he was turned partly away from Renn and--Gabe?--the sorcerer still kept his eye on them both. "Renn Teleported us somewhere which looks remarkably like China Sorrow's apartment. Professor Grouse is unconscious, but ..." With long strides he crossed to Kenspeckle, bending down to give him a cursory inspection. "He'll be fine."

He glanced over his shoulder again, hearing the hesitation in Renn's voice but not knowing what it was for. He still marked it as Gabe replied, turning his head enough so his voice wasn't muffled. "Yes. Please."

"Your always-altruistic-but-only-sometimes-benevolent friend looks as though he could use Kenspeckle's services, however." The description rolled ironically and pointedly off his tongue. "And we have a problem. If you're answering, I assume Scarab is dealt with. Please tell me you found both Engines. Apparently three hours was long enough for the Remnant."

Anton had always known Kenspeckle was a genius, but this ... was more than that. This took an intimacy of knowledge even a genius wouldn't have been able to attain in three hours.

[skeletonenigma]

"It's not China Sorrows's apartment," Skulduggery contradicted him. "But it is her handiwork. It's actually where I arrested Vengeous. Hold the fort until I can get there."

Fletcher wasted no time in hurrying over to the barrels that sat near the door of the living room. There was still a glass resting somewhat precariously on top of one of the lids, where Fletcher left it that morning after finding a kitchen down the labyrinth of hallways. (It turned out that China just had a weird idea of what kitchens should be like. Fletcher and Tanith were looking for stoves and fridges and microwaves. China's symbols to perform those exact tasks were imprinted on ordinary and unassuming tables and cabinets. It didn't take them long to find a kitchen after Skulduggery reminded them of that.)

He dunked the glass into the barrel and brought it back over to Gabe, his hand vaguely tingling the way it did whenever it came into contact with holy water. He had no idea if that was actually because the water was holy, or if it was just the power of suggestion, but it always happened and it always felt weird. "Need any help?"

Skulduggery didn't answer Anton's query right away, and when he did, there was an audible hint of resignation. "Of course there's a second Engine," he muttered. "No, we only have the one. Scarab abandoned it and ran. At least I understand why, now."

There was a pause, and a crackle of static, before he continued. "There should be water barrels in that room somewhere. If you could make sure my always-altruistic-but-only-sometimes-benevolent friend gets some, and then take him to one of the bedrooms down the hallway and insist he get some rest, I would appreciate it."

[impudentsongbird]

Anton knew where that was. It was nowhere near Serpine's castle, at least. Or anywhere else, for that matter. And it had been underground. 'Hold down the fort', indeed; people would have to find it, first.

The sorcerer turned, now, to watch Renn hurry across the room to the barrels and then back again.

"Please," Gabe said with a slow nod, and rolled over to push himself upright. His arms shook slightly, Anton noticed. It wasn't exhaustion; exhaustion wouldn't put those sort of lines around the man's eyes. It was pain, pure and simple. The man didn't look injured, but maybe he had some muscle problems or extensive bruising. That would explain why he was finding it so difficult to move. Perhaps a headache as well, given how he'd put his face in the pillow.

Renn assisted him and Anton turned away just slightly, still able to see them out of the corner of his eye. There was a crinkle in his brow. Granted, the only reason they had known where Scarab was hiding was thanks to Gabe, even though Anton didn't understand how. Obviously, the man had some kind of magic which was useful, and so it made logical sense to take care of him. One always made sure one's team-mates were in as best condition as they could be, when the future was uncertain.

And yet there was something in the pause, in Skulduggery's tone, which suggested something else. A ... concern. A concern which seemed somewhat unlike Skulduggery given Gabe had proven he could take care of himself perfectly well--this in spite of his injuries. In a way, it was also because of them. Gabe had come out alive and in relative capability after being held by some of the most evil men still known to the Irish Sanctuary. And especially since there had been no sign of the Remnant. Anton was still puzzling over that part.

"He's had some water," he said, "but very well. I'll have Professor Grouse look at him when he wakes up, if he's able. What will you do now?"

[skeletonenigma]

"Good idea," Skulduggery agreed. "I'll be right over. The Sanctuary's taking custody of the Engine we do have, for the time being. I just want to be sure they know how it works. It's live, and some idiot might activate it without knowing. Would you ask Fletcher to be at the main entrance in about fifteen minutes?"

Fletcher couldn't hear Skulduggery's half of the conversation, but he knew he would probably end up Teleporting the detective over when he was finished anyway. The teenager was resigned to that. At least he wouldn't have to try Teleporting the Bentley again; those had really been the scariest few minutes of his life.

"Thank you for your help, Anton," Skulduggery added. "I imagine you'll get good karma for this. Gabriel can always put in a good word with his Father. All you have to do is ask."

And he hung up.