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]

It was difficult to remember that Gabriel's wing hadn't shifted in the face of the answer - an answer Gabriel wouldn't even have given, if he had the choice. But somehow, Skulduggery managed it. He felt a shudder run through his consciousness, probably made stark against his soul because of how his body remained perfectly still.

He couldn't understand it. He'd barely been able to fathom it before, and it was almost impossible now. He'd believed part of the reason Gabriel was so willing to look past those five years was because it didn't ring personally for him. The Archangel hadn't been there.

But it was just as personal for Gabe now as it was for anyone else in the room. Personal in a way the angel hadn't known before, couldn't have known before, because he reacted to Skulduggery's explanation. Reacted. He must have always known what the Faceless Ones were, but he hadn't known that - and yet his treatment of Skulduggery didn't change in the slightest.

Why didn't it?

Why didn't Gabriel tell him about this sooner?

At least one of those, Skulduggery knew the answer to. Gabe didn't tell him because in some subconscious way - or whatever the equivalent of subconscious was for an Archangel - he had known. And he didn't tell Skulduggery what the Faceless Ones really were because some part of him didn't want Skulduggery to carry the burden of knowing exactly what he'd done.

Protection. That was what it had always been about.

Skulduggery knew the answer to the first question, too. It was what the protection stemmed from. It was why Gabe's reactions to this were so very illogical. It was why Skulduggery found himself caring more about Gabe's feelings than he did about the idea that Lord Vile had killed an angel.

And to that end, he wasn't going to let Gabe leave any part of the truth out anymore.

"Fallen angels," he said quietly, "that come from your dimension?" Your brothers and sisters? It wasn't a far-fetched idea - not with the way Landel juggled painful coincidences at the Institute as easily as he breathed air. A different thought occurred to Skulduggery, and he felt his entire being tighten. "Were they already Fallen, or were they driven insane by the dimensional crossings?"

[impudentsongbird]

"Yes." Gabe's voice was a whisper and he didn't stop staring down at his hands as he spoke. It took everything in him not to twist his fingers together. He'd known that Skulduggery had killed a Faceless One. He'd known it not because Skul had told him, but because it was there, in his concerns, in his soul. Implicit, with how he'd returned.

The thing was, Skulduggery's soul saw it as a Faceless One. Until brought to light, recognised, the image was too hazy to recognise. But now it had been brought to light.

And Gabriel had recognised his brother.

Guziel. An angel of protection--a former angel of protection. It was ironic, beyond ironic, appropriate, that it was him that would make break Lord Vile's control over Skulduggery. Skul's worst enemy was himself.

"Back before, just after the Fall, after they were banished from Heaven, Lucifer and the others were at war. He's the most powerful of them alone, but he had to earn his place as their leader in Hell. And there were a lot of my siblings, very powerful siblings, who could have overthrown him. You'd have heard of them. The likes of Baal. Astarte. Belial. The princes of nations."

He closed his eyes, and couldn't help his voice from becoming raw. "They blamed Lucifer for their failure, so they fought for dominance. One day most of the princes were simply ... gone. We didn't feel them die, and Lucifer never bragged about how he'd gotten rid of them. They were just gone, and we never knew how."

Until now, when Gabriel could only wonder whether they had left of their own accord, accidentally broken through, or been thrown out. He suspected--hoped!--the former. Lucifer would surely have boasted and demanded explanations from their Lord if he had known about the other universes.

"I knew it the moment I landed in the city, in the other dimension. They were--twisted--insane beyond anything they'd been before. But it was them. I can't imagine how long they must have been in the Cacophony between worlds before they found one they could enter, to make them feel like--like that."

Gabriel's voice broke and he looked up at Skulduggery, his cheeks wet and raw grief in every line of his body. There was an awareness there too, a light of awareness in his eyes which said he knew exactly why Skulduggery was asking.

[skeletonenigma]

It was like a story from the Bible. A story relayed by someone who claimed to speak for God. Ghastly had heard plenty of those. Skulduggery himself had told some of them, some of the more humourous tales he occasionally remembered from his childhood.

But this wasn't just a story from the Bible. This was fact. And it was fact relayed by someone who had never had to claim intimate knowledge with God, because you didn't have to claim the truth. It left Ghastly's head spinning as he sank back down onto the couch.

Lucifer was real. Fallen angels were real. Ghastly had encountered three of them. He'd also encountered God, and that was difficult enough to accept without -

- God.

Suddenly, the reason for Dad's displayed grief in reaction to Allie's rainbow story at the hospital made perfect sense. Fallen angels who chose to redeem themselves by becoming mortal would be painful enough. Those who refused and were driven insane by that refusal...

They would never return to Heaven. They would never reunite with their Father.

Ghastly was brought up in a family of sorcerers. All of his religious knowledge came from secondhand sources (not including God), and so he didn't recognise the names of the angels Gabe gave them. He vaguely remembered the term 'princes of nations,' but he didn't need to ask - not if they were apparently powerful enough to challenge the Devil. It wasn't easy to tell if Skulduggery recognised the names, but if he did, he gave no indication. Gabriel's face was wet with tears, and in an effort to understand them, Ghastly tried to imagine if he'd known who Lord Vile was back during the war. If he would feel this same level of grief for what Skulduggery had become, and would probably never come back from. The tailor didn't know, and hopefully now he would never have to.

"Time in the Cacophony is warped," Skulduggery pointed out. His voice had lost all the calm it possessed before, but it was still quiet. Restrained, and under control. "We don't know how long we were in there. We don't know how long it's going to take Raphael and Merlin to get here. Under the circumstances, no one is leaving this dimension until everyone's fully healed, and that will be the last time you or any of your siblings leap in without a second thought. I will brook no arguments."

He was specifically avoiding any mention of Vile not only killing a powerful angel, but one of Gabriel's direct siblings. Ghastly couldn't quite blame him, and he wasn't going to bring it up either. But the instant Gabe had answered, he was planning on bringing up their time in the Cacophony. If it could drive angels insane, Ghastly had no doubt it would make short work of skeleton detectives.

[impudentsongbird]

It was strange. Strange how Corrival felt like he was on steadier ground now, when Ghastly was weakly taking a seat, when Skulduggery's voice had lost its composure (if not restraint). He knew he was right. He knew it. It made far too much logical sense, and he had already been thinking of Gabriel as an opposite to the Faceless Ones to begin with.

They'd already established that evil demi-gods existed. How were them being evil angels that much of a stretch?

The Archangel laughed a bit, quietly and not really mirthful. "I don't think there's any need to worry about that." The laughter died, and now the pain-lines were stark on Gabriel's face, so stark that Corrival almost looked away to give him privacy. "It's surpassable. But I don't want to have to dive into that ocean again without proper preparation. And I imagine Rafe won't either."

Ah. Yes. Raphael. And Merlin. The Merlin part was a surprise, but it didn't compare to the surprises Corrival had already endured in the last five minutes. The sorcerer turned these new revelations over in his head, decided it was logical for reinforcements to have come after Gabriel depending on how long 'time in the Cacophony had been warped', and dismissed it.

"Agreed," he said instead, hands sliding into his pockets, and then added dryly as he turned to find an armchair of his own: "We've got too much of a lack of faithful angels around here to start letting them turn kamikaze."

Gabriel laughed again, and though it was equally soft and short, this time it sounded something approaching genuine.

[skeletonenigma]

It never ceased to amaze the people under Corrival's command how quickly and easily he could take things in stride. If Skulduggery had harboured even a faint idea that the existence of angels and God could shake that flexibility, it was now quickly dismissed.

In the meantime, Skulduggery's head was starting to swim. It had been hard enough keeping the origin of the Faceless One's remains used in the Grotesquery a secret; harder still to pretend no knowledge of what the Faceless Ones were like when everyone was panicking about their potential appearance at Aranmore Farm. Neither of those even compared to hiding how he felt now. But hide it he did, despite the swimming sensation it induced. This discussion wasn't for the Faceless Ones, or what they used to be. It was for Corrival and Ghastly, and their questions about Vile.

Besides, Gabe would feel everything truly important, if he hadn't already. Those feelings were what he'd been trying to protect Skulduggery from.

"I don't mean to darken the mood again," said Ghastly, "but we do have to know. Skulduggery, how badly broken is your control right now? Before you went through the portal..." He had to stop for a moment and wonder how on earth it was possible to phrase something so complicated, when he wasn't even sure of the developing thought in his own mind. "Before you went through the portal, you wouldn't have used Necromancy at all. Like that. For any reason. What changed?"

Skulduggery answered slowly, and without looking away from Gabe. Cautiously, like he thought the slightest wrong move would dislodge the wing - or make Gabe take it back. "There was a man. Dr. Martin Landel. He ran an inter-dimensional prison, of sorts, and he had an annoying ability of dragging anyone he wanted, from any point on their timelines, to that prison. And that was far from his only ability. My fourth night there, one of his doctors had me at his mercy, and he knew the exact points to put pressure on. The exact triggers. I very nearly became Vile that night, and it's been a tightrope walk ever since. A rope I fell off of more than once."

He hesitated, and then finally he looked away to make eye contact with Ghastly and Corrival in turn. "He made the natural instinct to use Necromancy my strongest one. We had an idea that sending everyone back to their respective homes would reverse everything he'd ever done to us. In my case, that was wrong. And, I'll admit, being tortured for months didn't help."

[impudentsongbird]

Skulduggery was right. It wasn't time for the Faceless Ones, which was why Gabriel hadn't wanted to talk about it. Well, one of the reasons. One of the two big reasons, besides the fact that he hadn't felt ready. But what could he do, when Corrival so obviously knew?

Gabriel felt the turn of shaken guilt in Skulduggery, felt the detective's gaze on him, and looked up to meet it. Far from his taking back the wing, he closed it more securely around Skulduggery's shoulders.

"I remember that night," he said quietly, and this time it was he who didn't look away. His lips quirked. "I remember the next day when you posted to the board to ask that no one attack the friendly skeleton in the halls."

He remembered Skulduggery disbelieving. Remembered him not understanding why Gabe was still there. Why he wanted to help at all. Almost not trusting that he did, except that Gabe had still approached him of his own accord to do so.

"Is there anything you can do to fix it?" Corrival asked. "You can do things with souls, can't you?"

Gabriel hesitated for a moment. It wasn't that the assumption was wrong, or the request was unwanted. In fact, it was related to something Gabriel himself had meant to bring up. It was just how to go about explaining it. "I can," he said, "if Skulduggery were willing to let me view those memories. It's just that that would just put him back to where he was before Landel's."

"But?" Corrival prompted, and Gabriel turned back to Skulduggery.

"There's something else I can do." Other than sending him on entirely. "I knew I could do it before, in the church, but you weren't in any condition for me to ask permission, and it isn't something I'd want to do without it. I can change what's holding your soul to your skeleton, Skul. Instead of being tied here by rage, you'd be tied here by something else. Memories. Good ones--ones you'd want to keep, the ones for which you'd want to stay."

The thing was that it would change the nature of Skulduggery's whole existence. He needed to redeem himself in his own eyes, and the struggle against his fury was what made that possible. To remove that, at any point ... it was something Gabriel would not do. Not until Skulduggery was ready to forgive himself.

"I could do it," he repeated, "but I will do it only when you tell me you're ready to let it go."

[skeletonenigma]

It wasn't as if Skulduggery had never wished before that he could have a moment's peace from the anger. Sometimes he wished idly, knowing there was never going to be a way to realise that wish, or to change who he was. Sometimes he sat alone and did much more than just wish. And even more occasionally - in fact, only once - he'd tried to change that himself, with disastrous results. Skulduggery was, after all, only human. Natural, to wish for things he could never have. To hope for eventual possibilities far out of his reach.

But Skulduggery had taught himself to take that for what it was. And what it was... it was a burden he couldn't rid himself of, because in lieu of any real form of punishment, it was all Skulduggery had. A constant reminder of where he'd gone wrong. Take that away - replace it with something good - and what was left?

It was bad enough that he already knew the answer to that. For a few glorious minutes in the church, when Skulduggery was drained of everything and Gabriel was the only thing left keeping him anchored, Skulduggery had a taste of what life used to be like. Peacefully empty. Like sitting at the edge of a lake in the early hours of the morning, a fishing pole in his hands and the tackle beside him, nothing to occupy him but his own placid thoughts. And as glorious as that had been, the relief it would bring Skulduggery now could only ever be short-lived.

If and when Gabriel's offer ever happened, Skulduggery wanted there to be something left over. Something he could be proud of, in those early morning moments full of placid thoughts. This, what Landel had done and what they were discussing right at this very moment... this wasn't it.

He shook his head. "Reward me, you mean? No."

"No?" Ghastly laid his hands flat on his knees and leaned forward, as if he'd been planning on getting up, and then thought better of it without quite taking the time to relax again. "This isn't about some punishment, Skulduggery. This isn't about how you feel. It's about Vile. If it's really that easy for you to shift again-"

"It always has been." Skulduggery cut across Ghastly's words quietly, but effectively. "Landel didn't create anything new. He never did. He enhanced what was already there. I could become Vile again right now, just like that, and that's always been the case. What stops me is that I don't want to."

"All the more reason-"

"The darkness is there, Ghastly. What I did before won't change. The people I killed won't come back. The fact that I get angry when I watch people I love getting hurt isn't ever going to change. My control over myself, that's forever changing. That's what matters now. What control am I going to have if there's nothing reminding me of the consequences? Nothing to struggle against? I've been handling this rather spectacularly for the last century. Please, give me a little more credit than that."

Ghastly didn't answer. He sank slowly back into the cushions, unable to hide a scowl, but without any further objections.

[impudentsongbird]

The detective was saying nothing Gabriel hadn't already seen in his soul. He was saying nothing Gabriel didn't already know. But still, to hear it out loud, to hear it explained, to feel that simple resolution, was something else. Speaking intent aloud always gave it solidity.

Gabriel watched Skulduggery with a soft smile, watched the way his soul lit golden and shone with an array of colours. "That you would make that choice and not another," he said quietly, "is only proof of that which is worthy in you."

He was proud. He wasn't going to hide it. But in those moments he also felt, more keenly than ever, a fierce kind of love which was similar to what he'd felt for other wards and yet different at once. This was more personal. Not a kind of hope and happiness in something observed which lightened the heart, but the close kind of watching someone overcome a difficult hurdle, all on their own, and know what they were worth.

The Archangel let Skulduggery feel some of that, in the presence of his wing over the detective's shoulders. Not too much. Not to overwhelm him, or make him feel obliged, but just so that he would know that that wing wasn't going away.

Corrival, silent and contemplative while Skulduggery and Ghastly argued, finally spoke again. Dryly. "To sum up: nothing's really changed from before Skulduggery's kidnapping and there's a way to avoid it ever happening again at the expense of his redemption. Is that about it?"

Gabriel laughed, looking toward him. "That seems about the speed of it, yes."

The sorcerer nodded, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. His eyes weren't narrowed, but they were sharp with the thought of a quick mind. "And you can't leave until you're healed. How long will that be?"

"I don't know," Gabe admitted. "We don't heal without outside influence. Raphael would be able to do it, but he's going to need rest and healing himself by the time he arrives. It could be some time."

For a moment Corrival stared up at the ceiling, but finally he grunted, his voice wry. "Don't suppose you could put some kind of soul-leash on him which one of us can hold?"

Gabe paused, his eyes slid sideways toward Skulduggery, and for a moment there was an impish gleam in his eyes. "You know, there's an idea ..."

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery had often wondered, back at Landel's, why Gabe was so interested in helping him right from the beginning. Not just interested, either, but happy to. Willing to the point of discomfort. Skulduggery had assumed, like he always did, that knowing the answer to that question would be an end in itself, a solution to the mystery, making things less complicated. Finding out that Gabriel was an Archangel did anything except make things less complicated, but...

Knowing the answer now was only confusing the issue anyway. Particularly when Gabe didn't try to hide how proud he was of Skulduggery's answer, when his smile radiated with something so pure that it made Skulduggery look away; and when even that didn't seem to help the broadcast of those same sentiments, there wasn't much more Skulduggery could do but sit there and accept them. Gabe's wing curled closer; and even though Skulduggery knew a great deal more about why it was there than he used to, he felt just as lost within the warmth as he'd ever been.

The distraction was a huge help, even though Skulduggery's response was simple. "No."

He wouldn't joke about that. Gabe was more than powerful enough to handle it - hell, Skulduggery was already trusting the Archangel with his true name. None of the others were close to powerful enough. None of the others ever had to learn control on the scale Skulduggery did, and he wasn't trusting any of them with such proximity to the darkness of Vile.

[impudentsongbird]

"No?" Corrival lifted an amused eyebrow. "Well, that means you're either possessive over your Archangel or you don't give a toss about him and want to protect the rest of us."

But then the former general leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped and gaze pointed. "While I'm flattered, Skulduggery, I'd like to inform you of the point of this little chat, letting Anton know the truth aside: you are no longer to handle this alone. When Gabriel leaves, we will take up his slack. However many of us are needed. All of us at once, if we have to. That is the point of being on a team, in case you've forgotten."

He raised a hand and flipped it at Skulduggery with a jab of air, like a finger-poke to the skeleton's chest. In spite of the potentially playful gesture, there was nothing humorous in Corrival's face. "But make no mistake, Pleasant. When I was first made your CO it was one of my orders to figure out how to keep you from coming back if I needed to. Maybe that meant killing you. Maybe it just meant making sure you had no body to hold onto."

Because, back then, that occurrence had been unprecedented. There had been concerns about whether Skulduggery was really himself. Whether he was in control, or whether a Necromancer was. Or Serpine. They couldn't take the risk.

"I still remember the options we came up with. If I start to think Vile might be too close to the surface, I'll use them one by one until I find the one that works." He lifted an eyebrow, and this time it had an ironic tilt. "So don't be an idiot and pretend you need to go it all alone when having backup could prevent me from having to do that. Got it?"

[skeletonenigma]

It was a little of both, actually. Both the possessiveness, for lack of a better word, and the desire to protect everyone else. But Skulduggery didn't try to clarify out loud, which was just as well, since Corrival quickly grew serious and continued into less lighthearted topics.

Logically, he had a point. Logically, the former general had several points. It only made sense to have a backup plan for when Gabriel left - if Gabriel left - no, Skulduggery told himself firmly, when. And, like it or not, it was only a matter of time before the rest of the Dead Men knew. Erskine and Dexter. If either of them stuck around by the end, they'd be just as stubbornly by his side as Ghastly and Corrival. Because that's what the Dead Men were; they were a family. They were a family, and they stuck together.

How far they'd come from the awkward group so long ago, a bunch of acquaintances who didn't trust each other, barely relied on each other, and were barely working together because of a common goal. The number of times someone insinuated that Skulduggery couldn't be trusted because a Necromancer might be controlling him...

Gabriel would definitely be going home. And hopefully soon. Skulduggery's own admittedly conflicted feelings about that notwithstanding, he couldn't deny feeling touched that Corrival still considered them a team.

Still considered Skulduggery worth risking all their own souls for.

Skulduggery nodded slowly, carefully, half afraid that moving too quickly would dislodge that startling show of a trust he didn't deserve. He'd known about that order. He'd also known that Corrival hardly ever considered carrying it out. He should have, back then; now, Skulduggery could only be vaguely surprised at a sudden desire not to be killed.

"Alright," he agreed out loud. "But if having backup means that one of you gets a... soul-leash... we wait until all Archangels are fit for travel."

"By whose authority?" Ghastly asked with a small smile. "Kenspeckle's?"

"Ideally. I wouldn't put it past Gabe to insist he's fit for travel now." Skulduggery said the last with a pointed glance towards Gabriel, the Archangel's stiff and pained posture still forefront in his mind.

[impudentsongbird]

"Me?" Gabriel widened his eyes with sort-of feigned innocence. "I've no idea what you mean. It's not like there's any emergencies happening at home to demand my immediate presence." There was mischief in his eyes, but something about the lines in them spoke of a pained awareness. In spite of Skulduggery's pointedness, the Archangel knew he wasn't fit to travel. Not through the Cacophony.

"It's possible that all of you could get equal shares in the leash, by the way," he added. "Splitting by numbers will lend you more metaphysical weight. I'll ask Rafe and Merlin to give me a hand coming up with something, in the event that it's necessary. Though I don't think it will be."

The last was added obliquely, because Gabriel knew something Skulduggery didn't. He knew something that Skulduggery wasn't yet ready to accept. He knew he wasn't going anywhere, or at least not for long, for as long as Skulduggery needed him. Whether he could leave or not.

Corrival nodded briskly and heaved himself onto his feet. "Very well then. I'll be off to find Renn and bribe him into taking me home, and make sure Anton got off safely. You know where to find me, I'm sure." He rolled his eyes. "The next few days are going to be fun, with Guild out of office. Maybe we'll actually develop a council for the first time in two years."

Gabriel could see in him the suspicion, the resignation, of where that discussion might go. He approved. Ireland had had worse leaders. Rather than bringing it up, however, the Archangel only smiled up at the sorcerer, a gentle, grateful smile. "Yes. Thank you, Corrival."

Corrival's expression flickered. "Stop that," he grumbled, "or you'll make Pleasant jealous. Ghastly. Skulduggery."

With a nod at each of them the former general, strong and sturdy in Gabriel's light, strode easily past the wing still half extended along the wall and left the room.

[skeletonenigma]

Ghastly watched Corrival go with a mix of feelings he didn't want to try and pick apart. None of them were as intensely negative as they had been just last night, and for now, that was enough. Ghastly didn't see the need to dig.

In fact, his earlier smile hadn't quite vanished yet. "Are you?"

Skulduggery's head tilted. "Am I what?"

"Jealous."

There was a long moment of silence, and then Skulduggery's head tilted further. "That is not a question I would ever have expected from a conversation like that."

On the surface, it was a dodge. But Ghastly had known Skulduggery for far too long. He remembered when Skulduggery first met his future wife, remembered seeing the signs long before Skulduggery even recognised them himself - let alone admitted to them. And now... now, Ghastly knew what the decision during that personal conversation had been. Which was to say, there hadn't been one. Nothing definite.

Which meant that there would eventually be one in the positive, because Skulduggery only left important decisions like that open-ended when he was afraid of the result he already knew. It was interesting. Was Skulduggery's hesitancy for the same reasons as before, with his wife? Because Gabe was an Archangel? Or because he didn't feel like he deserved it?

Either way, the pair would have months to figure it out. Months, at the very least. Vile was dead. Raphael was on his way for angelic healing. Very soon now, Ghastly was going to meet Merlin. Merlin. 80,000 people did not die at the Stadium. Scarab, Dusk, and Springheeled Jack were all in prison. All in all, the last few days had been pretty good.

"Maybe you should give us more credit, then." Ghastly rose to his feet. "I should go make sure the others haven't found a minefield. You two behave yourselves."

He heard Skulduggery sigh as he turned to leave the room. "I'm going to have to get used to this, aren't I?" the detective lamented in a voice full of carefully engineered regret.

Ghastly laughed. "Skulduggery, imagine when Erskine and Dexter find out. You'll never have a moment's peace. Might as well get as much as you can now."

The tailor was mildly pleased to hear Skulduggery laughing as well, just before Ghastly shut the door.

[impudentsongbird]

Two days later, Gabe walked carefully through the halls of the Sanctuary, sandwiched in-between Skulduggery and Valkyrie. He was mildly amused by their protectiveness and the way they seemed to be bodyguarding him, and by the way Valkyrie sidelong eyed his hand on Skulduggery's arm. In spite of Kenspeckle making more oil, the Archangel's physical pains hadn't really eased. Mostly because he hadn't submitted to another massage yet.

Of course, the sidelongs were because of some deadpan comments Ghastly and Corrival had made in Valkyrie's hearing, ones which confirmed nothing but implied everything. Luckily, the teasing had remained just that in the girl's eyes. For now.

In the last two days, Corrival had called Erskine Ravel and asked him to chase up Anton Shudder. Gabriel was relieved; Anton shouldn't be alone right now. That, and it neatly avoided Skulduggery having to tell someone else in person. Solomon Wreath had remained at the Hibernian. The Necromancers were probably still on watch, but apparently they hadn't dared to attempt any forays inside--yet. (Solomon, his knee healed, was itching for an escape Kenspeckle was staunchly refusing.)

The other event of note was when Valkyrie had destroyed her Necromantic ring the day after they had stopped Scarab. Gabriel had quietly asked Paddy to attend them at the Hibernian, while Valkyrie was visiting Solomon. The former Necromancer may not have thought to ask, or even wanted to be near something full of Necromantic power, but Gabriel felt it was something he ought to see. And that Valkyrie would want to share with him. Kenspeckle, sceptical, derisive and fascinated by Paddy in equal amounts, had nevertheless been intrigued enough to stay. So had the others.

It hadn't taken long, not long at all, but the quiet peace after the fact had been a stark difference to the undercurrent tension from when Gabriel first laid eyes on Valkryie.

Guild's trial had been as quick and as short as Skulduggery had predicted. Now he had only to be moved to the Gaol. Which was why they were there.

"Do Sanctuary prisoners get a single phone call out?" the Archangel wondered out loud idly and a bit teasingly. "He must have softened up more than I thought, to call you."

[skeletonenigma]

"I was surprised too," Skulduggery agreed, smoothing right over the joke as if he hadn't even noticed it. "But it was actually Davina Marr who called. Convicted prisoners don't generally have the right to a phone call. The three of us were a special request."

"I thought he hated us," said Valkyrie. "Why would he want us to be the last people he ever sees?"

"I don't know. Why don't you ask him?"

"Maybe he wants to thank us again for saving his family."

Skulduggery inclined his head. "That could be it. Although one has to wonder, if Marr gave him the opportunity to choose his escorts, why he didn't choose his wife." She didn't work for the Sanctuary, per se, but being allowed to choose your own escort was already unheard of. It wouldn't be a huge leap to let the former Grand Mage see his family one last time.

That, or Guild had something to tell them. Technically, all three of them were currently Sanctuary detectives. Even Gabriel was being treated as a foreign detective on loan, working under Skulduggery's supervision. There had been a few questions after Scarab's arrest, because Gabe hardly looked like a Sanctuary operative even by the standards of sorcerers. That, and he still walked stiffly. Still moved gingerly. Still suffered from occasional headaches, even though he'd finally started listening to Skulduggery and not done anything too strenuous for the last couple of days.

Those questions stopped pretty quickly when Skulduggery stepped in. He'd been worried at first that Corrival mentioned something to someone at the Sanctuary, but as it turned out, it was just Skulduggery's reputation. Strong as ever, it was good to see.

[impudentsongbird]

Something rang untrue, and Gabriel frowned. "That seems a little odd, doesn't it? I mean, if they're not allowed to have a phone call, let alone to request their own escorts."

With good reason, really. Asking for personal escorts was asking for trouble. Maybe the difference here was that Guild had once been respected and turned himself in, and was't considered a flight-risk. And yet ... and yet. There was something off about it. Maybe it was just Davina Marr's name, but Gabriel couldn't help but wonder what the woman's place would be after all this, now that Skulduggery had been reinstated.

Or maybe Guild really did just want to tell them something. Gabriel decided he couldn't know, yet, and tried to let it go. For now.

They passed through the corridors into the prison, Gabe bestowing smiles on anyone they passed--half genuinely and half to distract them from the way their gazes stopped on his hand on Skul's arm. The detective had enough to think about without people starting to overtly wonder. Either way, it did work. Some people looked startled, some looked curious, but most smiled back.

It didn't take long to sign Guild out. Gabriel chose to remain by the entrance, leaning against the jamb and carefully parsing the resonance of magic-inhibiting wards and the many dark souls they contained so the ripples cascaded around him in ways that wouldn't exacerbate his head.

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery nodded. "It is odd. And curious. Which is precisely why we're here. Solving oddities is what I do. Excellent detective's instinct, by the way. You're both learning more and more each day."

On the surface, his tone was level - maybe even with a hint of pride - but this tilt of his head, Valkyrie did recognise. Smugness. He wore that often enough. "You really enjoy having subordinates, don't you?" she asked.

"It makes me feel good about myself."

Valkyrie hid her grin as Skulduggery handled all the paperwork - another 'perk' of being head Detective, she pointed out with an unhid smirk, to which Skulduggery merely grumbled - and then it wasn't long before the three were left alone in the Meeting Room. It was an even shorter time before Marr's subordinate, Pennant, led Thurid Guild in and walked away without undoing the shackles on the former Grand Mage's hands.

"You're early," were Guild's first words. "Does the idea of my impending incarceration make you so eager you couldn't wait for the appointed time?"

"It's good to see you too, Thurid," Skulduggery said. "Are you ready to go?"

Guild's gaze fell on each of them in turn, a kind of frustrated anger in them Valkyrie hadn't seen before. Mostly, she figured, because for once the anger wasn't directed at them. It was turned inward, with possibly a portion of it aimed at Scarab, and that was it. Stubborn and proud though he was, Thurid Guild knew that if it wasn't for the three people now escorting him to a Gaol outside the Sanctuary, he'd have been forced to kill everyone at Croke Park.

So while it looked like he might answer back with another sarcastic remark, in the end, he didn't. His face drew tight and he simply nodded, and Valkyrie felt another pang of the same guilt as before.

They started walking, and Guild - probably to talk about something other than his impending incarceration - turned to Gabriel. "Your father's in town. I believe I met him at the carnival the other day. Walking around with Bespoke and a large pile of teddy bears."

Valkyrie nearly choked. Again, she cursed Skulduggery for his ability to remain perfectly still and composed no matter what the situation, even though he must have been just as surprised as she was.

[impudentsongbird]

Gabriel radiated a quiet sort of sympathy, and slipped up beside the man to lay a gentle hand on his elbow. He couldn't use his powers actively, but that didn't mean he couldn't offer a bit of comfort. At the sorcerer's comment, however, the Archangel's face transformed with a beaming grin and sparkling eyes.

"Hah. Metcha too, did he? Ghast mentioned they met up. It's something we used to do all the time, if there was a carnival around. Go in, make bets on who could win the most teddy-bears, and then when we came out the winner chose where the bears went." He chuckled. "Sometimes it's a hospital, sometimes it's an orphanage, sometimes it's just to anyone who happens to pass by. My Daddy believes a lot in the help of teddy-bears."

And actually, he was glad Guild had brought it up. Because it was relevant. The Archangel stopped them before they could get too far into places where they'd be seen. "Actually," he said, gentleness in his tone, "I got one for you. Or, well, someone asked me to give it to you, when I said I'd be seein' you today. She said you were gonna need it more. And she wanted you to have a reminder of what was outside."

Gabe rarely wore backpacks or carried bags. On this occasion, he made an exception, a simple opaque shopping-bag though it was. The Archangel reached into it and pulled out the teddy-bear his Master had given Guild's daughter, holding it out to the sorcerer without breaking gaze.

He hadn't told anyone he'd gone. No one except Fletcher, because he'd asked if the young sorcerer would take him. But the Archangel had gone to the Guilds' house the night before, to offer what comfort he could.

[skeletonenigma]

Guild had been suspicious of that bear at first. That bear, and the man who gave it to his daughter. No one's like that, he'd thought to himself at the time, just before he was dragged off to buy a My Little Pony backpack. (In fact, he remembered idly, he didn't even have to buy it. The man gave it away because a strap was broken, which didn't seem to bother his daughter at all - especially when Guild inspected the backpack later and found no broken straps whatsoever.) No one's like that. Especially no kind of sorcerer.

But there was no other explanation. Dad and Bespoke hadn't asked for anything in return. The bear was free of any kind of magic. It was just a bear. Just a simple teddy bear that offered comfort, nothing more.

His daughter had refused to part with it, last Guild remembered. And yet, here it was, being offered to him by a man he barely knew, a man he'd been rude to or otherwise dismissed; and yet that same man had helped in rescuing his family.

Guild had been suspicious of the bear at first. Now, it seemed like the perfect thing to take into prison with him.

"Thank you," he managed, looking Gabe straight in the eye. For everything was a silent implication, as far as Guild was concerned. He took the bear as best he could, a little awkwardly with his hands shackled together in front of him the way they were, but adequately enough for a man who was about to spend the next three centuries in prison.

He'd never believed anyone could be so selfless. He hardly wanted to believe it now. "What are you doing," he wondered aloud, "being friends with Pleasant?"

"Don't get him started," Pleasant answered instead. "You'll regret it. How long before the Sanctuary is up and running again?"

He was doing the same thing, Guild realised with a jolt. Just like Gabe, trying to give Guild something to focus on other than his own immediate future. Mutual influence? It was so very strange that it took him a startled moment to answer. "A few more days. Most of the artefacts have been returned to the Repository and some departments have already resumed work. The inmates will be taken to the Gaol tonight, under heavy security of course. Not that they mind," he added a little bitterly. "I expect they're quite appreciative of any opportunity to be out of those cages. At least I won't be in a cage when I'm in prison."

Pleasant nodded. "Good man. Keep looking on the bright side."

And just like that, the illusion of mutual influence was shattered. Guild scowled. "Why are you transporting me, anyway? A feeble attempt to get in some last-minute taunts? It really is quite pathetic."

Cain's head turned sharply to him, and Pleasant's skull tilted slightly. "We're transporting you because you requested it."

The notion was so ridiculous that Guild actually did laugh this time, strained and bitter though it was. "What is this nonsense? No, I didn't."

"I spoke to Detective Marr. She said you asked for us."

Guild grew more serious. It wasn't a joke; Pleasant sounded just as... not confused, exactly, but curious. Dumbfounded. "Why would I ask for you three?" Guild reminded Pleasant, slowly, as if he was talking to a child. "I don't like you. I certainly have no wish to spend my last few moments outside of a prison cell with you."

[impudentsongbird]

"I've got a thing for collectin' strays," Gabriel said with a small smile, glancing at Skulduggery, and if his brown eyes shone with a little more pride than was usual, it was likely only Skulduggery would notice it. "You're welcome, Thurid."

The Archangel put his hand back on Guild's arm, guiding him down the corridor, walking with him at a pace both could manage given Guild's restraints. (Gabe's own wasn't as bad as it had been, luckily.) At the sorcerer's bitter demand, Gabriel frowned, and a fission of unease ran through him--the metaphysical sort, when things were coming together and he couldn't quite see what they were.

"Davina Marr asked for us," he said slowly, and dropped his hand suddenly, a chill deepening within him as they turned a corner into a main corridor. "Davina Marr. A beloved obstruction. A--"

Someone was moving down the corridor, shoving past people in his way, and like a magnet Gabe's eyes snapped to the figure, wrapped in a cloak, cradling something in his arms. "Get them out," he said, his eyes fixed on that ravaged soul, a soul he knew--the soul of someone who needed his help and whom he'd forgotten, whose condition was worse now than it had been. "Get them out, get them all out right now--Laudigan, don't let it go!"

The man had stopped short, his arm lowering enough to reveal the flash of red in his hand, and in the same moment Gabriel shouted, his voice resonant on levels that would make everyone in the vicinity shiver--even Skulduggery. Myron Stray, turned his wide-eyed, tear-stained face toward Gabriel, surprise and relief and despairing resignation all over his expression.

His grip on the Desolation Engine tightened in response to the command his soul had heard, but it was already slipping from his fingers. It was still enough to gain a split-second.

Enough for Gabriel to vanish from Guild's side and snatch the Engine from Myron's hand. The Archangel didn't even register on the physical plane, he was so fast; quicker than a blink, the Engine had simply vanished from Myron's grasp. So fast, in fact, that it wasn't until Gabe was out of the atmosphere that his wings shrieked pain at him and he flinched, flickering back into space. He dropped the Engine and darted away, forcing his injured wings to work, urgency pounding through him.

They screamed at him, and he faltered.

The Engine detonated.

The magical backlash struck Gabe's back with such force that it sent the Archangel's consciousness searing through Earth and space and everywhere at once, so overwhelming that he had no concept of his space, no concept of time, and none at all of Self.

[skeletonenigma]

Most of the sorcerers in the corridor, the ones Myron Stray had pushed past, didn't have a clue what happened. All they knew was that someone shouted at a level that should not have been possible for human beings, and then whoever that person was vanished. Only a select few standing behind Guild and his escorts saw the flash of red, and of those, only two understood the significance. They sent out the alarm, tried to call for an evacuation that would have been ultimately useless; some even started running. Guild had taken a shocked step back, but overall the atmosphere was one of complete and utter panicked confusion.

Skulduggery was likely the only one who understood instantly. Even Valkyrie hovered in place, frozen with fear, staring at Myron. The instant the Engine disappeared, Skulduggery leaped forward and took Myron Stray by the shoulders, giving him a quick once-over while his mind worked more quickly than it had to in a long time.

Davina Marr was in charge of the Engine they'd gotten back at Serpine's castle. Everyone assumed she'd taken care of it, made it safe again, handed it back to the Sanctuary to be dismantled. Like a professional. Like who she was. Instead, she'd kept it, and while Skulduggery secured the second Engine in Scarab's possession which was now made safe, Marr had planned this.

It didn't matter why. Not just yet. Why would come later, when the danger had passed. What was important right now was how. And Skulduggery's cursory examination of Myron provided the answer - his eardrums were burst. Blood was running down the sides of his head still, so the injury was fairly recent. Marr wouldn't be anywhere nearby, so the injury was self-inflicted.

She'd used Myron Stray's true name to command him. And she'd commanded him to enter the Sanctuary, without speaking to anyone, without saying a word, to destroy his own eardrums so he couldn't hear any orders conflicting with hers, and to set off the last existing Desolation Engine. To destroy the Sanctuary.

And judging by the terror outlined in Stray's features, the only thing she hadn't commanded him to do was be unafraid. Stray had been fully aware of what he was about to do, and he would have been powerless to stop it.

But of course, Gabe's voice transcended the physical. Everyone here would know that, by the time the confusion was cleared up. Except it was just a split second too late, and...

Gabriel was gone, with the Desolation Engine. Everyone here was safe, most would probably believe the Engine had never been there to begin with, and it was all thanks to Gabe. Skulduggery had to admit, at least silently to himself, that without the Archangel's help in this instance, he'd have found out very quickly if the bomb's magical explosion could kill a living skeleton.

And if it couldn't, Marr would have had to keep running for the rest of her life.

As it was, she might need to anyway. But Skulduggery closed off that train of thought before he could even get to it. Easy, after years of practice. His personal control was diminished now, and he knew how dangerous that was, to have certain thoughts before he was good and ready to have them. So Skulduggery focused on the important thoughts he could have. Myron Stray was unhurt, beyond the destruction of his eardrums, which would probably be hurting like hell if Marr was as cruel as Skulduggery thought and didn't command Stray not to feel pain. And Stray would remain tight lipped, regardless of what he wanted to say, until an Archangel could command him otherwise. In fact, this might be a good thing for Stray, if he chose to keep the disability. He'd be less easy to control, if a person couldn't just tell him to do something.

He'd be fine. Guild, of all people, wouldn't try to use this opportunity to escape. Which meant everything was under control here.

Skulduggery took Valkyrie's arm and quietly led her away, leaving the mess for someone else to sort out, all too aware of the load of questions he'd be getting the instant he came back. Right now, he wasn't in the mood. Back up through the corridors and out into the Waxworks Museum proper, passing by the wax figure of Phil Lynott, who didn't say anything to them while they walked past. And it wasn't until they'd emerged out into the brightness and rain that Skulduggery let her go. Here, where he could turn and see her and be grateful that she wasn't dead.

"Call Ghastly," he told her as he unlocked the Bentley. "And Fletcher. In fact, anywhere we've been in the last few days. Call Paddy, as well. Find out where he went."

Valkyrie didn't need to be told twice. Now that the shock had worn off, she didn't even need to ask who Skulduggery meant. She took out her phone and dialed while Skulduggery leaned against the car door and took a deep breath.

Gabriel.

Nothing echoed back. Skulduggery wondered briefly if he was doing something wrong, but it was exactly what he had done every other time - just broadcast a thought as loudly as possible within his own mind. He tried again, but still nothing. Nothing a few moments later, either, and nothing again just before he turned back to Valkyrie.

She was already hanging up. "Fletcher checked the safehouse," she told him quietly, "and he isn't anywhere else."

The thoughts Skulduggery wouldn't allow himself to have before came trickling through the barrier. Gabriel was injured, when he vanished with the Engine. Injured in ways Archangels had never been before. Assuming he flew somewhere Skulduggery could even reach him, and not out into the far reaches of the universe, would he have had enough time to get away before the Engine detonated?

Would the detonation cause damage? Permanent damage? Could it...

Gabriel. Where are you? What happened? What...?

There should be more to say. There should be more to ask. Skulduggery couldn't think of anything.

He turned, as calmly as he'd ever been, pulled open the car door, and got in. Several seconds later, Valkyrie joined him. Small raindrops splattered against the interior leather before she slammed her own door closed, which would normally have made Skulduggery flinch, but now barely caught his notice.

Because he knew. It wasn't a doomed resignation to the worst, or a result of his usual life's philosophy to remain optimistic while preparing for the worst. Skulduggery just knew. Because until now, Skulduggery had never quite noticed how much influence Gabe was having on him. Not just the intangible changes to his attitude, either, but the much more tangible and yet much less noticeable influences the Archangel was having on Skulduggery's moods. His emotions. His thoughts. Until now, there had always been something there, something approaching happiness, always lurking in the back of his mind. Never enough to have an effect, never enough to change the outcome of anything, but enough that Skulduggery almost always knew, without realising it, that Gabriel was there.

The closest he'd come to realising it before now was when Gabe revealed himself back at the safehouse and one of his wings was curled protectively around Skulduggery's shoulders. It felt like that; like a small dash of comfort wherever Skulduggery went, regardless of where Gabriel was, or how physically close they were.

Gabe had mentioned once about how the metaphysical plane resided just under the physical. How he could fly places instantaneously because of how he manipulated both planes together. To Gabe, unless he left the universe completely, it was very likely that Skulduggery was never further than an arm's length away. Or a wing's length, in this case. Was that where the wing always resided, in the metaphysical? Even while invisible, curled protectively around Skulduggery's shoulders? Constantly and cheerfully providing him with warmth, with that little splash of something comforting?

But Skulduggery knew because, for the first time, that sensation was gone. Vanished, at just about the same time Gabe did. Maybe a little later. He couldn't remember. But it was quite definitely gone, and it left Skulduggery feeling emptier than he had ever felt in his life.

"Skulduggery?"

He glanced around. Valkyrie was looking at him, a multitude of things in her eyes that said, quite plainly, that she understood completely. He didn't need to say a word. "I can ask Fletcher to meet us at Ghastly's shop," she suggested. "Take us to the safehouse so we can have a look around ourselves."

Slowly, Skulduggery nodded. "Yes. Do that."

"Are you going to be okay?"

For a long moment, Skulduggery said nothing; then he turned the key in the ignition and let the engine roar to life. "I'm not going to become Lord Vile."

"That's..." Valkyrie hesitated. "That's not what I was asking."

"Then no."

And without another word, Skulduggery backed out of the parking lot and drove off into the rain.

[impudentsongbird]

The Midnight Hotel had been in Syria when Erskine Ravel had finally walked in through the door, shaking off sand and complaining about the heat, the lack of booze, and the fact that chasing Anton hadn't left him enough time to pursue the lovely local ladies.

Anton had said nothing, hadn't even looked up, but his grip on the cabinet he was repairing had tightened. Saint Gabriel looked Middle-Eastern.

When the Hotel had moved less than five hours later Anton had sent it to Russia.

It meant that, in the process of repairing the downstairs rooms, they had been gifted with an eclectic range of furniture styles. Anton wasn't exactly nobility, but he did have a good enough eye to at least make them match somewhat. Even so, there was no doubting the fact that the furniture had come from all over the place.

Anton had taken his time in finding them, far more time than he usually spent on goods.

Erskine had chattered incessantly. It had been clear early on, because the Elemental had said so, that he knew nothing about whatever had put the bug in Anton's ear (as Erskine put it) and Erskine expected Anton to fill him in. Thus far, Anton hadn't.

Right now they were in Brazil. It was morning. And Anton was busy mopping up the rain that had come in through a window someone (Erskine) had left open, staunchly ignoring the other Dead Men sprawled in an armchair with his feet up on a table.

[skeletonenigma]

Erskine was rapidly coming to a point where he had admit - and almost did, out loud - that he was at a loss. A complete and total loss. Corrival made it clear over the phone that talking to Anton would probably be hard ('like pulling a stubborn hen's tooth with a pack of roosters pecking away at you,' were actually the exact words), but Erskine hadn't been expecting anything like this. Minor arguments among the Dead Men were so easily cleared up with a joke or two that even the less minor ones never lasted with one party angrier for longer than a couple of days.

So, Erskine had announced right away that he didn't know what caused the argument, nor did he care, and had launched right into talking about other things.

Anton didn't bite.

Erskine continued anyway, because having a friend acting like nothing was wrong seemed to help the silent Adept. It was what Larrikin had always done. But it didn't work this time, and after a while, Erskine was really only chattering incessantly because he wasn't quite sure what else to do. Get Anton some birthday cake? Somehow, he didn't think that would go over too well. Not this time around.

Now that a couple of days had passed, and Anton was still acting like Erskine had never walked through the doors back in Syria, Erskine grew quiet. He'd spent the whole morning in Brazil quiet, just watching Anton work, and - for the first time - wondering what the hell could have happened to ruffle Anton's feathers like this. He'd never really been the easiest of the Dead Men to ruffle, although when he was ruffled, he was the hardest to pacify. Then again, it... really shouldn't be taking this long.

"Brazil, eh?" Erskine tried. "Why? Can't be the weather. Or the local nightlife, seeing as you keep putting the Hotel in remote woodland and forests."

Anton didn't say anything.

"But you know, I have been noticing a pattern. Syria, Russia, Brazil... all about as far away from Ireland, or anything Irish, as you can get."

Still not a word from the other sorcerer, although Erskine thought he could maybe detect a small tightening of the shoulders. Could have just been his imagination, though. Erskine waited a beat longer, and then heaved a deep sigh. "It's only been a few days, and I'm already starting to miss Ireland. Honestly, I can't figure out how you stand this. It's kind of an adventure, I suppose, but not with the way you keep leaving only to buy things for the Hotel. Is that normal, or is that something you've only been doing for the last few days?"

When Anton still didn't react, that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Erskine tapped his chin thoughtfully, watching Anton mop, and making no move to help. With the lingering belief that maybe nothing could pacify Anton this time, Erskine took a deep breath, and his voice lost its cheerful edge.

"Okay. That's it. Anton, what's wrong with you? Nobody's dead, nobody's dying, Scarab's back in prison, you guys won. What the hell could have happened to ruin that?"

[impudentsongbird]

"What in Hell?" For the very first time since Erskine walked through the door, Anton paused and looked at him in the face, properly physically acknowledged him instead of tacitly. He hadn't meant to, but all of a sudden phrasings people took for granted seemed extremely funny. And not in an amusing way.

His smile was testament to that. Small, tight, twisted even. "Hell would do it, don't you think, Erskine?"

Anton turned back to his work, the mop splashing into the bucket and then drawn out again. He shouldn't have said anything. For the last two days he'd managed with a fragile sort of never-ending action. While working, he could not think. But now even that brief pause was enough to crack the glass, and something seethed hot in his chest, like a fire just a shade too close.

The words came without him really wanting them to, without him looking up from the sweep of the mop across the floor. "We've been betrayed. We've all been betrayed."

His grip tightened on the stick to hide the way his fingers trembled.

[skeletonenigma]

... Well, yes. Hell would, certainly. That was why Erskine might have expected a reaction like this to the news of what happened to Skulduggery. If a dimension ruled by Faceless Ones wasn't the closest thing to Hell there would ever be, Erskine didn't know what was.

Unfortunately, he had no idea what Anton's reaction to that was, because Erskine had spent the first couple of weeks upon hearing the news himself in isolation. Or, well. A form of isolation, anyway. A form of isolation in which he avoided anything meaningful, anyone he cared about, traveled to Italy, and spent his time enjoying the local flavours and the local women.

But something about the way Anton said those words stopped Erskine from answering, leaving nothing but a tentative frown on his face. Did something happen to Skulduggery, over there with the Faceless Ones? All Erskine knew was what Corrival had told him, which basically amounted to everything he'd just told Anton about.

It amused Erskine that the first thing Skulduggery did, upon coming home, was save the world all over again. But... he didn't actually know how Skulduggery got back. He'd assumed Valkyrie Cain had something to do with it, but Corrival was surprisingly vague about the details. At the time, Erskine hadn't cared. Skulduggery was back! What could be better?

Now, he was starting to wonder. Skulduggery didn't bring Hell back with him, did he?

Erskine swung his legs back onto the floor and stood up. "If something's happened," he demanded, "what are you doing moping around here? I can understand avoiding strife, but you were already in the thick of it. You don't leave strife when you're in the thick of it. What made you leave?"

Anton didn't exaggerate, and that was worrying. Erskine couldn't think of a 'betrayal' strong enough to make Anton act like this. Even if Skulduggery did something stupid to rescue himself, like invite the Faceless Ones back, Anton would still be helping. Angrily, probably, but he would be. It was what he did.

Something terrible, and something Anton couldn't do anything about. Something Anton Shudder couldn't do anything about. Couldn't, or wouldn't. Erskine felt something cold run down his spine.