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]

When Corrival hung up and the resulting silence extended into the metaphysical, Ghastly found himself hoping that maybe they'd manage to get through this mess without alerting anyone to the truth. Because, after all, Corrival wasn't Grand Mage, and Delafonte Mien might forget his considerable fear of the man if he knew who he had in his Gaol.

That illusion was shattered a second later. Tanith folded first, although she did manage to keep her noise level down well enough that she could pass it off as laughing at Mien's embarrassment. It made her, and a second later Valkyrie, seem unforgivably cruel, but at least that was the extent of Ghastly's worries.

Fletcher didn't join in, which may have strengthened the idea of him being insane - or ruined it, depending on your perception. That scowl meant the Teleporter was probably remembering every other time Tanith and Valkyrie both couldn't stop laughing. Far too often, actually, these last few days. Ghastly briefly wondered if telling them the truth about Skulduggery and Gabriel would end that urge, or only exacerbate it.

Either way, it wasn't any help here. Ghastly flipped his phone closed and put it away without trying to explain what the others found so amusing. "So where are they?"

[comedianhealer]

For a moment Delafonte was torn between rebellious indignation, in the face that laughter, and obeying that order. Then his shoulders slumped and without a word he turned toward the door to lead them through.

'Was it something I said?'

'Rafe, I'm speaking to you as a friend and a member of your extended family. Shut up before they start using you for lab experiments.'

'Why'd they wanna do that? I'm too good-looking. It'd be a shame.'

The corridors were long, laid with corrugated iron that made their footsteps echo. When they reached the control room some of Delafonte's guards looked around in surprise.

"Go get our newest guests," he told them. Maybe they could claim the men had made an escape attempt while they were being led to control ...

[skeletonenigma]

"No." Ghastly, who was now leading the group in fear that Valkyrie was no longer capable of doing so, shook his head. "I asked you where they are, not to bring them to us." He turned to the same guards Delafonte Mien had addressed and gave them a smile. "Take us to them, please. I'm sure your boss has no objection."

Intimidating though Corrival was, Ghastly's stature was also something people factored into their immediate decisions and responses. It was an unintended side effect of being a boxer, and one of the reasons Ghastly had decided to go into tailoring. It was certainly useful now, though, as all Delafonte Mien did was glare, then crumble and nod.

The prison went several levels underground, and the glass observation deck ran around half of the structure overlooking the deepest one, where several prisoners in orange jumpsuits sat at metal tables and talked. Or sat and glared. Or stood and glared. Or stood and brooded, arms crossed, doing their best impressions of someone who didn't care they'd be stuck in this prison for another three hundred years.

Raphael and Merlin wouldn't be with them. For one thing, if Gabe was any indication, Raphael would have appeared out of nowhere exhausted to the point of not being able to walk. Mien wouldn't put them with the other prisoners. He was curious, not sadistic. And sure enough, the group was led away from the social area, deeper into the outer complex of the prison, where the walk became a darker one through narrow metal hallways and down slightly wider stairwells.

Ghastly had to try very hard not to pray that the walk would be silent.

[comedianhealer]

'Did it occur to you that perhaps that may be the reason why they'd want you as an experiment?'

'That's true. I mean, bottled handsomity and all ...'

'That isn't a word. I refuse to accept that as a word.'

'Is now. I said so.'

'You're not Gabe. You don't get to create new words and make them canon. Especially ones like that.'

'Can too. Free will!'

'... Children.'

The last was mumbled mentally just as the group approached the cells. A regular patterned thudding sound came from inside. Delafonte pounded one hand on the steel door. "Guards. To the back wall while we open the door." The thudding didn't abate and Delafonte pounded again. "Up against the wall, I said!"

"Hey, man, I am!" came the muffled answer in a vaguely American accent.

Delafonte growled and threw open the door, standing quickly back to let his guests have to take care of anything the stranger might throw at them.

Raphael was sitting on his cot, indeed with his back against the wall, baseball just slapping into his palm so he could toss it again. He was tall, athletic, with doe-like eyes which seemed at odds with his build. His whole bearing spoke of an intense sort of concentration, a lack of the humour that had been in his mental voice. He raised one hand to wave. "Hey, dude. C'mon in and join the par-tay."

"You're leaving," Delafonte said shortly, moving a tad closer again once it became clear the man wasn't moving. "You can go ... party somewhere else."

"If you're sayin' so." Rafe shrugged, caught and pocketed his ball in one smooth motion, and then rose with enviable grace, stretching as he strolled toward the door. The very observant would notice a hitch in his stride, but he could control his pain better than Gabe. When he reached the door he leaned into it, arms resting on the lintel and not-quite close enough for the guards to latch the magic-suppressing restraints around his wrists. "Heya, Ghast. 'Sup bro?" The seriousness in his eyes, the piercingness, said he knew precisely what. Then he loaned a reckless grin to Delafonte. "So I don't s'pose we can leave my grandaddy here? He's a li'l--" He rolled a finger around his ear and whistled.

"I heard that," Merlin snapped from next door, and he, also, was wearing an American accent. In fact, his tone was precisely the same level of crotchety and old farmhand sitting on his back-porch and waving a pitchfork might have. "Just you wait until the aliens arrive, and then you'll see how round the twist I am!"

Delafonte put his face in his hands, found himself thinking that, yes, the old man definitely couldn't be playacting, and halfway convinced this was the best thing to happen after all. "Just get those manacles on, will you?"

God only knew what men who'd seen the Faceless Ones would do with magic. What other explanation was there?

[skeletonenigma]

He was... a little more serious than Tanith had been expecting. At least at first. The baseball was also a surprise, if not quite the accent. An accent that was a little stronger than the one Gabe used, but also at once more playful and more ridiculous. It matched what Raphael looked like, at any rate.

And what he looked like was very eerily similar to Frightening Jones.

In that, Raphael's accent was jarring. Tanith hung back and did her best not to stare, failing miserably by the time he came to the doorway. It wasn't fair. Why did Archangels have to be so... perfect? And so completely unpredictable? Of all the things Tanith had been steeling herself for, she had to admit that coming across a black angel was... not one of them. Should have been, though. This was just a human skin, wasn't it? And evolutionarily speaking, wasn't the first Homo sapien from Africa anyway?

Whatever the reason for her discomfort, Tanith was undeniably attracted, and she had to take a moment to get herself under control. He wasn't Frightening, she told herself sternly. Definitely not Frightening. Frightening was never without laughter in his eyes and on his face.

It helped when Raphael called Ghastly 'Ghast.' It was the same thing God had called the tailor. Put things into a little more perspective, for which Tanith was grateful.

Ghastly's head, meanwhile, snapped to the other door, and Tanith knew why. The opportunity to meet a real flesh-and-blood version of Merlin was one that had excited both Ghastly and Skulduggery since they first heard it. Tanith could understand that, and she supposed she was excited as well. Just not quite on that same level.

Ghastly, however, managed to recover quickly where Tanith couldn't, and nodded towards Raphael instead. "Not hurt too badly, I hope?"

[comedianhealer]

"Naw." Rafe shrugged dismissively. "Just my legs. An' arms. An' whole body, really. Got good taste there, Tan'." He flashed a wink at Tanith and finally stepped out through the door, quite willingly letting the guards snap the manacles around his wrists. Sort of. "Hey, man, make sure I can still reach my pocket," he protested without actually resisting at all. "Gotta keep my ball in reach, yeah?"

"Of course," Merlin grumbled as the guards moved over to his door to push it open. "Don't want to make sure he can't reach his marbles. Lost enough of 'em as it is."

"You keep stealin' 'em!" Rafe countered as Merlin ambled out the door, brows drawn down over his eyes and glaring at all and sundry. He, unlike Rafe's threadbare grey trenchcoat, was dressed in boots, trousers, shirt and with a jacket over his shoulder, his sleeves rolled up. He looked somewhat more presentable, but still casual enough.

"Well, I need to find supplements somewhere!" he retorted, scowling at the man holding the restraints with such fierceness that said man faltered. "Aliens keep stealin' 'em! If you'd just drive 'em all outta the galaxy already I wouldn't be having a problem!"

"Where'd be the fun in that?" Rafe wondered out loud.

"Knew it," Merlin snorted, and then growled, "they're grey." This last was directed at the man proffering the manacles as if they were a chair and Merlin were a lion. "I ain't wearing chains that aren't anything other than orange."

"Just get them out of here," Delafonte said to Ghastly through gritted teeth, his face burning. Right. They knew Bespoke, so obviously this was all a setup to make him look like a fool. They hadn't even been able to keep straight faces!

Rafe turned to the cell to wave behind him. "Toodles, Dumbo." He leaned in toward Delafonte. "He's a pink elephant, didja know?"

Delafonte pointed down the hall. "Out!"

The Archangel drew back and shrugged with a hurt expression. "Well, if you didn't wanna be intro-ed, y'didn't have t'be mean about it."

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery, Ghastly thought, without particularly caring who heard it, is not going to be happy about this.

It was a nicely sobering thought, given what he'd just learned about the skeleton. It helped to distract nicely from the implication of what Tanith had been thinking, as well as the strange disconnect between the sane voice belonging to Merlin in their minds, and... well, this.

Pretending. He had to be. It didn't make the scene any less worrying to watch.

It did make Delafonte suddenly eager to rush them all out, which Ghastly saw absolutely no problem with. Any minute now, Valkyrie's stifled laughter would raise suspicions. Ghastly fell automatically into step beside the Archangel, remembering all too well how Gabe had needed the extra support, but Raphael was much more steady. He walked easily under his own power, stumbling only once, and only then did Ghastly remember Gabe had been attacked by a Faceless One on the way here.

Exhausted, attacked, strained, and then caught in an explosion. No wonder he'd disappeared. No wonder half of him had been wavering in and out of existence. Part of Ghastly had been inexplicably looking forward to a fight; now he was just grateful they'd managed to get in and back out so very quickly.

He waited until Delafonte had made absolutely sure they were all on the room's platform, and that the platform had risen from view, before speaking again. "Fletcher's going to Teleport us out as soon as we're clear. It... probably won't be comfortable."

Fletcher nodded. "It wasn't for Gabe. Are you guys all like this?"

[comedianhealer]

"Good," Merlin replied briskly, no longer with the American accent but something that was from, vaguely, everywhere. Most people would point to somewhere in the UK. He ignored the blonde girl's persistent blush, the brunette's persistent stifled giggling and the sidelong glances they were still receiving; instead the sorcerer thumbed two invisible sigils on each of the manacles with a twist and shucked them off as easily as if they were bracelets, holding them up distastefully. "Now that we've made that idiot's life surreal enough to make him think twice about asking questions."

He handed the manacles off to Rafe, who slung them over his shoulder with his own, already unlocked. The Archangel leaned back against the wall with a wince, closing his eyes for just a moment to make sure his internal energies were still cycling right after that walking. He hadn't appreciated that walk at all. "Gonna have t'specify," he drawled, but then sobered up. "Gabe's hurt bad, kiddo. He's used to flying under his own power. It's a bit like asking a pilot to give up control of the plane for the first time in his life." He cracked a smile, but his eyes were serious. "Good thing for me I don't have control issues."

"That's what he thinks," Merlin muttered without any heat at all, holding out his hand to the Archangel. Rafe pushed himself upright, careful but without the awkwardness Gabe had exhibited with every movement, took Merlin's hand and laid a gentle hand on Fletcher's shoulder.

A moment later they were gone. In spite of his words, it took more effort than Raphael cared to admit to keep his wings to himself. Fletcher was talented but unlearned, and after the Cacophony the Archangel found it difficult to submit to someone else's control of his destination. The swirl of his own healing energies within him kept the headache at bay. Given Gabe's injuries ... yes, Rafe could imagine the other Archangel would find the journey dizzying.

At the same time, Fletcher obviously knew this destination well, and that was enough. They had barely landed before Rafe had dropped the manacles and was already moving, Gabriel's soul like a bonfire of agony against his awareness even before he'd set foot down at all. It wasn't a flash, but it was definitely faster than was wise to move that he was at Gabriel's side. Behind him, Merlin cursed in Gaelic, and hard.

The younger Archangel's eyes opened; they were glazed with pain, hardly aware. His lips moved, but it was his soul that reached out with pleading gladness to speak Rafe's name.

"I'm here, little brother," Raphael whispered, pressing a kiss into Gabe's hair, wrapping his arms around Gabe and Skulduggery both without even questioning the man's presence there. Coaxingly he pulled some of that pain into himself, without trying to yank it away and dizzy Skulduggery as he had before. With a sob Gabriel shuddered and relaxed into Skulduggery's grasp, one trembling hand gripping Raphael's coat. His wings sagged without the tension of pain, but abruptly Raphael was glorified, his own--much larger--wings sliding under his brother's to hold them upright.

Some of the unformed feathers sparked, quivered, became solid or collapsed with a whisper. Gabriel's oily light didn't wash clean, but it became steadier, less swirling and translucent. Rafe's face tightened with pain, and when his own light cast across the room it dissolved any of Gabe's agony which had been left in the air. If anything, the opposite--the light he cast made the others feel better, stand taller, feel not as if they had more energy but as if the energy they had was more efficient. It wasn't as complete as it should have been; Raphael's focus was on Gabe. But it was there.

'Someone's already tried to heal him,' he broadcast to Merlin without trying to hide the words from the man holding Gabe. Merlin was already pacing the room, sharp eyes looking at the walls, but at that he turned on the group who'd brought them there.

"Who has been tending Gabe before now?" he asked. It wasn't a demand, or an order, but there was a definite urgency to the question. "We need them here. And who was it who built this place? We'll need them too."

[skeletonenigma]

Valkyrie was not looking forward to being back in this room, this room of so much pain hanging heavy in the air. And it was just as bad as she remembered; the only reason neither she nor Fletcher stumbled this time was because they were bracing themselves for it.

Still, Valkyrie could feel her knees about to buckle. She gritted her teeth and gripped Fletcher's hand, blinking furiously down at the ground where Raphael had abandoned the magic-binding shackles. Watching them come off so easily unnerved her at first; now she was glad. The sooner Gabe was healed by someone powerful enough to help, the better.

Almost instantly, the pain died down. Valkyrie glanced up to see, as she was sure she never would again, two Archangels in the middle of the crater - one damaged, one supporting, and Skulduggery sandwiched between the two.

She might see that again. She hoped she didn't, but she might. How many people could say that?

The very first thing Valkyrie noticed was just how big Raphael's wings were. Because she'd thought Gabe's wings were enormous, stretching out across the whole living room when he had them unfurled. They were nothing compared to Raphael's. Wings built much more for stamina than for speed, they barely fit in the room - which was probably a very good thing in this case, because that made their job of supporting Gabe's molting wings that much easier.

The next thing Valkyrie noticed was how much better she felt. Actually, she felt better right now than she thought she'd ever felt in her entire life. Kind of like her body was a tool that had been reset to its factory settings, refreshed and charged and raring to go. She straightened up slowly, worried that a sudden movement might break the spell, and admired the way Raphael's light played off of... well, everything. Skulduggery. Gabe's wings. Gabe's light. Illuminating even that light, somehow, brightening its oily glow. Similar to the way Gabe's presence drew out beauty, but... different. Almost peaceful.

The room subtly transformed from a room of pain to a room of healing, and Valkyrie wished she had the time to bask in it.

She didn't, of course. "Kenspeckle Grouse," she responded promptly. "He'll drop everything. But... China Sorrows built this place. She... she probably won't." She wouldn't normally, anyway, but especially after doing the stupidest thing imaginable and nearly getting herself killed? Valkyrie could only imagine what China had been up to since the whole fiasco in the church, and... she stopped. Raphael could read minds. Could Merlin?

"At least," she added after a moment's thought, "not without some convincing. I can do that."

"Why do we need her?" Tanith asked. "For all we know, she's been driven insane. Wouldn't surprise me."

[comedianhealer]

Merlin was the son of an angel, but he wasn't an angel himself. He couldn't see souls. He could, however, read passive surface thoughts, if they were loud enough. Young Valkyrie's thoughts on this China Sorrows were more than loud enough, and the old sorcerer's eyebrows drew sharply down.

"The fool," he muttered. A fool he needed. Merlin shook his head and sighed. "There's magic in this structure," he explained to Tanith. "It's made of magic." He smiled, and it was at once patient, almost teacherly, and grim. "Places like this can be extremely useful as storehouses of magic, and Raphael will need as much as we can offer him to heal Gabe. I'll be offering him as much of mine as I can afford. If any of you are willing to do the same, we won't say no. But we won't need nearly as much from ourselves if we can get it from the building itself, and we can't spare the time it would take for me to decipher the sigils alone."

He could do it, of course, but these sigils--they were far beyond the hidden wards in the gaol. Those were used as if the people creating the manacles hardly even knew they were there, or the intrinsic principles of their creation. The woman who had made this safehouse understood the language and construction of magic far beyond that. It would take him time Gabe could not afford.

[skeletonenigma]

Valkyrie nodded. China it was, then. She glanced back towards Skulduggery, whose skeletal frame was barely visible around Raphael's wings, and tried to imagine how he might convince China to do exactly what China had already said she never would.

For Skulduggery, it would be easy. He was the exact right mix of charming and intimidating. He knew when to back off, and when to put the pressure on. Valkyrie was neither of those things, not yet, and she didn't have nearly as much experience.

But she did know China. And she had an idea.

"Kenspeckle first," she told Fletcher. Heading off lectures would be the best way to start, and Kenspeckle really would drop everything. He just wouldn't do it quietly. "Are you guys coming?"

There wasn't anything Tanith or Ghastly could do to contribute here, but Ghastly decided to stay behind anyway. It drew a surprised look from Tanith, and Valkyrie raised an eyebrow at him, but he merely smiled back at them both. And a moment later, Valkyrie understood. Merlin. Well, she should have expected that. The way Ghastly and Skulduggery both talked about the possibility of meeting him over the last couple of days...

So when she appeared in the Medical Bay of the Hibernian, with its bright overhead lights and its sterile smell hitting her like a fist, it was just Valkyrie and Fletcher and Tanith. Valkyrie could feel her whole body sagging slightly as the healing properties of that other light, that softer light, disappeared, and suddenly she wished she'd stayed behind, too.

It wasn't that she grew more tired, exactly. It was just that a small measure of extra energy seemed to dissipate. But it left something behind, and Valkyrie still felt far above her peak of 'normal' when she stepped forward. "Kenspeckle? Where are you?"

[peacefullywreathed]

The last two days had been a mixture of relieving, stifling, boring, and utterly awful. On one hand, Solomon's knee was now mostly fine. The fact that it had been impaled with Necromancy made the treatment take longer than usual, but the thing that had really worked against him was being taken into a mortal hospital.

"What, did you think I could just dissolve all the stitches with a wave of my hand?" Professor Grouse had snapped. "You're going under the knife again, boy."

Not fun. At all. Solomon had resorted to cursing Skulduggery every which way. Fortunately, Kenspeckle's painkillers were far more effective. It had also all meant that by the time Solomon's knee was healed, Kenspeckle had refused to let him leave for other reasons. That had been an even more un-fun conversation.

Apparently there was something else ... wrong. Grouse hadn't been exactly sure what it was, except that his healing magic had read something odd in Solomon's body. Given what he'd just done with himself, Solomon had reluctantly agreed to stay in the Hibernian for a while longer. That, and because it was just as safe here, possibly safer, than anywhere else.

Grouse had told him to take regular walks. The Hibernian was big enough. Somehow, those walks tended to take him past the entrance, where Solomon often spent some minutes, or an hour, off a corridor where he could just see the door, wishing he didn't feel so much like a fox trapped by hounds. Wishing, also, that he didn't feel oddly ... cold. On occasion, but more frequently than before.

Which was when Erskine Ravel and Anton Shudder had walked in. At least, Erskine Ravel had walked in. Anton Shudder had been leaning on his shoulder, half carried by the other man. After a moment's hesitation, because both of these men were Skulduggery's friends and neither of them were particularly enamoured of Necromancers.

But he was no longer a Necromancer. After that initial uncertainty, Solomon had stepped forward to lend his own arm to the coughing Gist-user. The man's lips were flecked red. That wasn't a good sign. "What happened?"

[skeletonenigma]

Erskine froze at the sound of a voice that definitely wasn't Kenspeckle Grouse's, or any of the man's assistants - at least not that Erskine remembered. But he had a new one now, didn't he? Ever since the Grotesquery business?

... It would not have been Solomon Wreath.

Erskine instinctively stiffened, his hand on Anton's side clenching into a fist, but Wreath didn't attack. He didn't even have his cane with him. Quite the contrary, the Necromancer actually stepped forward and helped.

Did that mean Kenspeckle knew he was here? Had to, unless Wreath was harboring a death wish. Did Skulduggery know he was here? Because if not, there was definitely going to be hell to pay.

Of course, Erskine couldn't quite bring himself to care at the moment. His voice, when he spoke, was flecked with ice. Not because he didn't like Wreath - even though he didn't - but because Erskine quite suddenly had a huge problem with Necromancers, stemming beyond just that they gave him the creeps. "His Gist nearly got out. Where's Professor Grouse?"

[peacefullywreathed]

"Ah." That iciness from Ravel was far beyond what Solomon had been expecting. Ravel had by far been among the more genial of people who'd received him. Except now. Shudder had also reacted, stiffening with the sound of Solomon's voice, lifting his head just enough to watch the ex-Necromancer out of the corner of his narrowed eyes.

There were a few reasons why that might be. Two, actually. One, Ravel and Shudder knew what the Necromancers had been planning all this time. Two, Ravel and Shudder knew that Skulduggery had been Lord Vile and no longer wished any association with Necromancers at all.

Given what Skulduggery had been involved in lately, somehow Solomon thought he had more things on his mind that spreading it around what the Temple meant to do. At least in comparison to the other. He smiled grimly, looking ahead to the corridor. "He's down here somewhere, I'm sure, but I'm quite acquainted with these halls by now, having been confined by a rather sadistic doctor for the last two days. There's an exam room this way. He'll be nearby. And I'm no longer a Necromancer, by the way."

The last was added in mild afterthought.

Shudder wheezed something that might have been a laugh, but then he coughed, his shoulders wracking, and it took a moment to catch his breath. Solomon didn't wait for that long; he laughed himself, rather sardonically. "Yes, I know; sounds absurd. Unfortunately my former brothers-in-arms don't find it nearly so amusing and I found myself in need of the professor's services."

"Why?" Shudder rasped, his frame tense under Solomon's shoulder even though the Adept submitted to the aid.

"Have you met ... Gabe ... yet?" Solomon returned, faltering just slightly on the Archangel's name. He'd never get used to that. It seemed ... disrespectful.

The way Shudder stiffened once more was answer enough.

[skeletonenigma]

Anton wasn't the only one who found Wreath's afterthought amusing. Erskine barked out a short laugh, too, but he didn't say anything. Wreath was right; the Temple would never just let a High Cleric go. Wreath was going to be in a whole lot of trouble for the rest of his life. At the moment, Erskine didn't care. And the idea that he might, or that he should... he just found laughable.

The fact that someone was calling Gabriel 'Gabe' did a surprising amount to make Erskine feel better. It dispelled some of the serious atmosphere. Sure, everything was going to hell in a handbasket, but at least they could be informal with the Archangel.

The Archangel.

Erskine started them on their slow trek deeper into the laboratories as he shook his head. "I haven't, no. But I've heard enough."

The fact that Solomon Wreath had apparently known about the Archangel even before Erskine did was no help whatsoever. The implication that the Archangel was the reason Solomon had given up Necromancy... actually, Erskine had no idea how he felt about that. Neutral, most likely. It made sense. And then another thought occurred to him, and Erskine's head turned towards Wreath a little more sharply than he intended. "You haven't converted, have you?"

[peacefullywreathed]

The question was so sudden, so forthright, that it made Solomon laugh again, genuinely and rather incredulously. The thing was ... the thing was that, as the laughter trailed off into speculative silence, Solomon found he wasn't sure that Ravel was wrong. Not entirely wrong, at least, but wrong for ... not quite the reasons he would probably assume.

"No," Solomon said after a moment, turning them down a specific corridor. "I've less-than-no-reason to expect anything either from Sai--Gabe--or God. I'm hardly going to insult them with faint praise in the hope my crimes might be assuaged."

Ridiculous. And a lie, besides. What would be the point in pretending? He'd seen what Saint Gabriel was. A lie would only make things worse, and even though Solomon couldn't see how things could be made better, there was no point in knowingly doing the opposite.

Except something about that made Shudder tremble with brief silent mirth. "You may find you've a better chance than you believe," he said, his hoarse voice bitter and resigned at once. "Perhaps. Or not. The Archangel wasn't too enamoured of me either."

Of course. The Gist. The Gist, a manifestation of pure anger and hatred. Naturally Saint Gabriel wouldn't like that. And yet ...

"Strange," Solomon murmured. "If he can stand Skulduggery, I would have imagined your restraint would be just glorious to him."

It was a careful, pointed suggestion. This time Shudder didn't just freeze; he stopped short and turned slowly to look Solomon in the eyes. With a cold trickle down his back Solomon was abruptly aware of the man's bloodshot eyes, of Ravel's previous words about the man's Gist, and the fact that he himself had no magic to speak of. "How long," Shudder asked in a low voice, "have you known?"

Solomon swallowed and kept very, very still. "Two days. Valkyrie told me, just after she found out. I swear it."

If Shudder believed Solomon had known all this time, for centuries, his life was worth less than a penny. Luckily, after a long, searching look which Solomon didn't dare turn from, the Gist-user finally nodded slowly and relaxed, somewhat, back into their grasp--more on Ravel than on Solomon, it had to be said.

[skeletonenigma]

Not just the Archangel, then. Apparently, Erskine was the last to know about everything.

His last scrap of good humour faded for a brief moment, but he quickly snatched it back. This was not the time for petty jealousy, righteous though it might have been. That could come later. Right now, the most important thing was to make sure Anton didn't lose control of his Gist again. Erskine tensed, putting a slight bit more pressure onto the hand across Anton's shoulder, but he needn't have worried. Anton himself eventually relaxed.

How much more was going to happen? How much more would Erskine have to absorb and accept on the fly? Friends as serial killers, selfsame friends dating Archangels, Necromancers becoming ex-Necromancers and possibly converting to Christianity, losing friends to the darkness inside them because of a long and bitter war that shouldn't have happened in the first place? What was next? The Devil breaking free from hell?

All in all, Erskine was beginning to feel quietly wistful for when things were simpler. The Dead Men, all together on a mission. Half the time, it barely mattered what their goal was; it was just that they all had the same goal, the same priorities, the exact same amount to lose if they failed. It forged bonds between them. Simple, strong, and everlasting bonds.

Bonds they knew would withstand the test of time, and so - true to form - the ever-cruel universe decided to throw different tests at them. And Erskine had no idea if these tests would break those bonds.

He wanted to ask, since Valkyrie knew, just how many people did. But his fear overruled it, and instead Erskine sighed. "How much further?"

[peacefullywreathed]

"Not far." Solomon surrendered to that tacit rejection to slide out from under Shudder's arm and make his way down the hall to open one of the doors, stepping through and leaving it open. Kenspeckle muttered as he worked, on occasion, of which this time was not one. Fortunately, after two days Solomon knew the professor's routine well enough to make an educated guess.

"Professor?" he said as he entered, not even trying to hide his presence. Often he could wander in and out and Kenspeckle didn't necessarily mind having someone to ramble at, as long as Solomon stayed quiet. The ex-Necromancer hadn't done it often. It had reminded him too much of when he'd been a boy.

"What?" Kenspeckle snapped, leaned over his desk and its equipment. All Solomon knew was that it had something to do with holy water.

"You have another patient," Solomon said with a slight bow. Kenspeckle sighed and all but slammed his spoon down as he straightened.

"No, no, don't tell me. It's Pleasant, Gabe, or one of your idiot friends."

"One of theirs, perhaps," Solomon murmured, turning to help Ravel manoeuvre Shudder through the door. He met Ravel's gaze over the Adept's shoulder, flickered his eyes sideways toward Kenspeckle, and shook his head slowly just once. Kenspeckle may know about Gabe, but he didn't know about anything else.

"Of course it is," Kenspeckle growled, moving to wash his hands and then turning, his expression flat and unfriendly as he pointed. "Put him over there."

[skeletonenigma]

Professor Grouse didn't know about Vile. Probably didn't even know Vile was significant. Erskine nodded curtly back at Wreath, then gently guided Anton over to where the Professor was pointing.

Something else he couldn't decide on his feelings about. The Professor not knowing meant that Skulduggery - and, in particular, Corrival - didn't intend to make it widely known, and therefore didn't intend to do anything about it. On the other hand, the Professor not knowing meant that anyone knowing at all was not what they'd intended. Wreath certainly shouldn't have found out. Corrival would probably want to keep this close to home. Erskine could respect that, at least, even if he couldn't understand anything else about the whole thing.

Least of all, how and why Professor Grouse wasn't more moved in some way about having an angel for a patient.

"He nearly lost control of his Gist," Erskine explained quietly. He tried not to wonder how much internal damage there was. He wasn't a doctor. Even so, Erskine didn't mind hazarding a guess, given that he was still a little shaken over what might have happened if he hadn't shown up. "There's probably... he was coughing up blood earlier. It made a mess of him."

[peacefullywreathed]

"He what?" Kenspeckle stared, and something about the way Ravel said it made a chill run down Solomon's spine as the ex-Necromancer turned to look as well. Before, he'd only said 'his Gist nearly got out'. He hadn't said the man had nearly lost complete control of it, which was a whole other thing.

A moment later the professor recovered, moving toward Shudder to lay some pillows on the table even as he demanded, "How?"

"Apparently not everyone reacts well to angels," Solomon said quietly and grimly, moving around the table without taking his gaze off Shudder as the Adept helped himself awkwardly onto the table. It was more likely the thing with Skulduggery, but obviously, that wasn't something that could be said to the professor. Somehow, Solomon didn't think Saint Gabriel would mind taking the blame.

Despite everything, Solomon couldn't bring himself to get any closer to the Adept. His skin was crawling. It was an odd reaction, because even though he knew that Skulduggery really had lost the control Shudder had only just encroached, he hadn't reacted to him like that. Then again, he'd been drugged at their first meeting after that revelation, and there was something viscerally repulsive about a Gist.

Just like there is about Necromancy, now you know better, Solomon reminded himself.

"Wreath, bring me the bowl on the far counter and the jars labelled in purple, blue and red."

Biting back on the urge to point out that he wasn't a healer's assistant, Solomon went to fetch said jars while Kenspeckle laid his hands on Shudder's chest. The Adept lay back against the pillows, his breathing hitched, slow and wet. Kenspeckle's eyebrows shot up and then drew down again just as quickly. "You're an idiot," he said to Shudder directly but without looking at him, "letting an angel get to you enough for this. Your insides are raw hamburger, man."

"Really?" Shudder said quietly, because he couldn't draw the breath for much else. "I hadn't noticed."

"Save your sarcasm and your breath, you fool," Kenspeckle muttered as Solomon drew near enough to set the jars quietly down. "You probably would've lived if you hadn't come to me, but you'd have hated yourself and I can't have said much for the state of your lungs after. He should stay in a sterile environment for a while."

This last was said to Ravel, simply because Ravel was, currently, the most intelligent man in the room as far as Kenspeckle was concerned--aside from himself, of course.

[skeletonenigma]

Erskine hesitated. The Professor's words made him eternally grateful he'd convinced Anton to seek medical attention, but Anton wasn't going to be happy with that last order. Which was why, of course, Professor Grouse had directed the words at Erskine, and not at him.

Without another thought, Erskine nodded firmly. "He will. You might have to chain him down to the table, though. Bit stubborn."

That only left the question of what was going to happen to the Midnight Hotel for however long Anton would be away. Erskine bit his lip, pondering for a second, and then lightly touched Anton on the shoulder. "I'll tell your guests you're a bit busy at the moment. I'm assuming they can all make other arrangements. You just focus on not hating the rest of us too much."

Because Erskine wasn't going to babysit them, and he couldn't think of many others who would. Or who would even be capable of it. What Erskine wanted to do, as soon as Anton was settled and the Hotel taken care of, was go find Corrival. Go find Corrival and give the old bat a piece of his mind.

[peacefullywreathed]

Erskine was right. Anton didn't like it. He frowned at the order and the touch both, with frustration at the way they were going over his head. When he drew in a breath to speak sharply on the matter it made something in his chest catch and he coughed hard instead. Pain stabbed into him, blood flecked his lips, and the Gist-user needed Kenspeckle's hands on his shoulders not to curl into himself and make things worse.

"Very well," he agreed quietly, and with a rebellious glint in his eye added, "but I make no promises on remaining there." The very moment he could get out, he would.

"As for myself, I believe I will go elsewhere," Solomon said with a slight bow. For one, he didn't want to be roped into being an assistant. For another, he rather felt Ravel and Shudder would prefer he not be present. And for a third, he was feeling cold, a cold from deep inside him, and wanted to leave before his hands started trembling just like Shudder's were.

So he didn't wait for a response; he turned and quietly left, closing the door behind him, and went to find a room in which he would wait out the cold that gripped him from within. It made him sweat and shiver in turns, made his breath catch. Kenspeckle may not have known what was wrong with him, but Solomon could guess.

This was his magic objecting to a lack of outlet. This was his magic demanding use, and there being none. His Necromancy, bound up within him, with nowhere to go but his own soul.

There was nothing that could save him from that.

The sensation was just receding when Solomon heard Valkyrie's voice call out. Hiding his hands inside his pockets, one hand fisted so as to avoid brushing the teddy-bear which hadn't left his pocket, he left the room and glanced down the corridor with a frown. "Valkyrie? What's wrong?"

[skeletonenigma]

The brief flicker of surprise that Valkyrie felt at hearing Solomon's voice in Kenspeckle's lab faded with a sheepish look at her. Of course she'd run into Solomon. He was a patient here now. Kenspeckle wouldn't let him go until he was absolutely sure there were no lingering effects from getting stabbed in the knee with shadows. But... the last time Valkyrie was here, Solomon had been almost fully healed. From the look of him now, he was fully healed. Why was he still here? Did he just have nowhere else to go?

Valkyrie sort of liked the idea of Solomon becoming a medical assistant alongside Clarabelle, but somehow, she doubted Solomon would be too happy with that.

"Where's Kenspeckle?" she asked him, Tanith and Fletcher right behind her. "Gabe disappeared with an armed Desolation Engine this morning, and he's hurt bad. Raphael and Merlin just got here, but they need Kenspeckle's help."

It was, as most everything in Valkyrie's life right now, one of the weirdest things she'd ever said. She was completely aware of that, even as the words left her mouth, but Tanith jumped in before she could explain. "It's a long story. Unfortunately, we're a little short on time."

[peacefullywreathed]

It was a testament to the surreality of Solomon's current life that the ex-Necromancer simply accepted her words at face value. In fact, Solomon would later think that the most chilling thing was that the news about Saint Gabriel made his chest clench. He wasn't sure why. It wasn't as if there was anything Solomon could do, even if he was inclined toward that sort of thing.

But it did. It did, because Saint Gabriel had been kind to him after discovering he planned to murder three billion people. Because Saint Gabriel had offered him a choice, at a time when Solomon hadn't even known he needed one. Because Saint Gabriel had let him see what he needed to make that choice, and let him make it. Because he had looked upon Solomon with pride once he did.

"He's this way," Solomon said with hardly a pause, turning to lead the girl and her friends back toward the examination room. He pushed open the door again, his step this time more urgent than before. "Professor."

"Do not say what I think you're about to say, Wreath!" Kenspeckle barked, his attention still on Anton Shudder and the soaked bandages he was just finishing wrapped around his chest. He picked up a glass and thrust it at the Adept. "Drink that."

"Saint Gabriel has been injured by a Desolation Engine," Wreath said, watching the professor carefully and therefore not missing the way the professor's expression froze and went blank. "Saint Raphael has arrived, apparently, but he requires your assistance."

"Drink, I said," Kenspeckle snapped to Shudder when the Adept gave indication that he was paying too much attention to the conversation to do so, glancing up at Ravel with a pale face and something significant in his eyes. Solomon knew they were thinking the same thing he was. If Saint Gabriel was so injured, how was Skulduggery reacting? The man was protective of the Archangel, more so than he had been of nearly anyone Solomon had met.

Shudder drank without taking his eyes off Ravel, and set the cup down without looking. He said nothing.

"Professor."

"I'm coming," Kenspeckle snapped, and he turned away with a jerk, reaching out to snatch up equipment at a pace Solomon almost couldn't follow. He knew why. Kenspeckle, two days ago, had confessed to being the man who'd built the Desolation Engine to begin with. It was for that reason that Solomon inclined his head, and stepped back to the wall, and waited for him to be done.

[skeletonenigma]

The guy in bandages on the table, Valkyrie didn't know. He'd been with them at the Stadium, and he was an old friend of Skulduggery's, that much she remembered. But she'd never heard a name, and then Fletcher Teleported the man away after he found out about Vile. She'd never expected to see him again, especially since Skulduggery didn't expect to and was reluctant to talk about it.

She did know Erskine Ravel; Skulduggery introduced them once before what happened at Aranmore Farm. She remembered him as a charming man - charming in a way even Skulduggery couldn't be, just because he didn't have a face - and genuinely nice. Unlike a lot of sorcerers, he didn't dismiss her immediately. He'd never lost his smile throughout that meeting, handsome with a hint of... mischief, or slyness. Valkyrie never did decide on one or the other.

That smile was gone now. His face was grim, as he exchanged a look with the bandaged man on the table. Neither of them looked particularly surprised or curious, so Valkyrie had to assume they already knew who Gabe was. What the grim look was about... she could guess, but she didn't know for sure.

Kenspeckle was even more crotchety than usual, and Valkyrie knew why that was, too. He was blaming himself. No one else did, but it wouldn't matter, not to him. She frowned, thought about saying something, but then figured it would only delay them further.

"So am I." Ravel stepped closer. "If you can handle Teleporting one more person, that is."

Fletcher nodded, startled. "Sure. Yeah. I mean, as long as we're all connected, I can Teleport however many people we need." He didn't add that Gabriel was the one who told him that, or that technically he was still learning. He didn't have to, though. Valkyrie knew Fletcher was capable of Teleporting ten or twelve people at once without batting an eyelid, even before he'd met the Archangel.

Solomon wanted to come with them too, but Kenspeckle flat-out refused. It took a little arguing, but eventually Solomon relented, and Valkyrie felt a little sorry for him. He'd been prepared to do unspeakably evil things, but no one was ever fond of being cooped up somewhere for days on end with no one but a grumpy Professor for company.

All in all, it was a lot longer than Valkyrie would have liked before Fletcher finally Teleported them to China's library.

"We need China, too," she explained to both Kenspeckle and Ravel before they could ask. "Something about the sigils in the safehouse being her work."

"Safehouse?" Ravel asked.

"Yep. Giant underground palace in the middle of nowhere where Skulduggery arrested Baron Vengeous. China's repurposed it."

Amazingly, Ravel laughed. "And that's where they all are?"

"Well, everyone except Baron Vengeous."