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

[peacefullywreathed]

"Oh, wonderful," Kenspeckle grumbled, still sorting through the equipment he'd shoved haphazardly into his bag. "Now we get to convince a scheming harpy into helping us too. So long as she stays out of my way."

His words dissolved into mutters, but they weren't like most of his grumbles. Heated, yes, but merely something to occupy his mouth. These were ... pointed. Barbed. The frown he wore spoke of a genuine worry. Kenspeckle didn't like China Sorrows. He had no reason to like China Sorrows.

China Sorrows reminded him rather of himself, only she was still trying to sit on the fence. That, and the last time they'd met ... well. He'd been violently ill. She'd been using her magic on his patient, and he had been trying to heal him. The resulting clash hadn't been fun.

"If we must, let's get on with it," he snapped, hitching up the bag and striding for the library door to yank it open and step out toward the door to her apartment.

~~~

This was ... frustrating. It wasn't really the professor's argument which had convinced Solomon to remain in the end. It had been the fact that Solomon wasn't sure he wanted to meet Saint Raphael, because if anything could be truly an anathema to the Archangel of healing it would be the twisted death Necromancers used. It had been because he couldn't exactly ask the Archangel's help given the urgency of the circumstances to begin with. It was because Solomon wasn't sure how to handle this feeling of apprehension within him, the one he felt for Saint Gabriel.

So he'd stayed behind. And now he was pacing, back and forth, keeping an eye on Anton Shudder because someone had to. To his credit, the man was remaining still and letting the professor's magical poultices do their work. He was also watching Solomon silently, making the ex-Necromancer's spine prickle.

It didn't keep the nervous energy from flowing.

Anton Shudder was the one who broke the silence. "You're going to die earlier than you intended."

Solomon stopped where he was, facing the wall. He had had a lot of time to think over the past two days. "Yes."

"You have no magic."

"No."

"If ageing does not kill you, it will be the Temple who does."

"I know."

There was a moment's pause, and in the glass of a cabinet Solomon saw Shudder nod slowly without moving his gaze. "Why?"

For a long moment Solomon didn't answer. He'd already answered this question what felt like dozens of times. More than he wished to. And yet ... and yet.

"You may find you've a better chance than you believe. Perhaps. Or not. The Archangel wasn't too enamoured of me either."

Solomon wasn't the type to feel compassion, but there was a sense of camaraderie in those words. A defeat, because Shudder was beginning to realise something in his lifestyle which a greater power didn't like. An understanding, because there wasn't much that could be done about it. Like with China, except ... not. China's choices had been in her actions, not her magic. Not like theirs.

"Why did your Gist almost get loose?" he asked instead without looking around, and this time it was Shudder who said nothing. For a long time, the silence was almost companionable. Almost. Solomon stared at his reflection in the glass, lost in thought. Shudder was right. He was going to age, he was going to die. Everyone died, sooner or later, and he'd finally found something he feared more than that. But it was going to happen much earlier than it should given his natural lifespan. All because of the choices he'd made.

All of a sudden Solomon couldn't stay there. Not one moment longer. What was the use of being locked up in a cage, even a cage of his own making? He wouldn't, he couldn't, do it even for the tenets of his own faith at the Temple. He couldn't do it now that he was finally free. A life of being imprisoned, even by self-will, was no life at all.

Abruptly he turned and strode for the door. Shudder didn't ask where he was going. Solomon didn't say.

But he didn't intend to come back.

[neutralcollector]

It wasn't easy.

It was, all things considered, easier than China had been anticipating. But it was not a walk in the park. She'd woken up the morning after speaking with Solomon, half expecting to find her mind in tatters, and surprised to find that she could still think. And think rather clearly.

She didn't even think about the possibility of divine intervention. Or how she would feel if that were the case. And since not thinking about it was proving to be just beyond her abilities for the time being, China almost immediately let the work of rebuilding her library consume her.

The damage was immense. Irreplaceable books were gone, valuable tomes destroyed beyond recognition, less-valuable tomes charred and splintered as if only certain pages had been caught in a blaze. The magic surrounding her books, her library, and all of her security systems was heavily damaged, and most likely the cause of the destruction of her books. The magic could be redone easily enough. Replacing irreplaceable books was, unsurprisingly, much more difficult.

In the last few days, China had managed almost half of them.

The library looked like it was back to normal. Everything important was back in place. Image meant the world to China; as long as she could wordlessly convince people that everything was fine, then everything was. Her mind felt just as back in place as any of her books. China could work to fix the rest in the shadows. It was soothing. It calmed her down, gave her something to focus her growing energy on, and China was mildly surprised to discover that she was almost considering it a vacation.

Well, why not? In a way, it was. For the first time in China's life, she could walk outside without having to deal with stares. Sudden proclamations of love. On a few memorable occasions, marriage proposals from strangers. For the last few days, there were none. Yes, she received strange looks from sorcerers who knew her reputation, expected to be lovestruck, and weren't. Yes, she'd had to explain more than once. But there was, again, something soothing about the repetition.

For once, she didn't actually lie, either. She omitted most of the truth, but no one was any the wiser.

So when there came a knock on her apartment door and China waved at the symbol to turn a section of it translucent from her side, she felt something very akin to her heart sinking when she saw who it was.

After what happened at the church, she had a hard time believing Valkyrie Cain and her friends were here for small talk. And it would have taken something of the utmost importance to convince her to come to China for information. Already, even without the presence of everyone else there, China knew that the girl could only be coming to ask for help.

The safehouse. Something to do with the safehouse. China allowed her expression to fall flat, stepped over, and opened the door.

"Let me guess," she said. "You want to alter some of the wards surrounding the safehouse. Perhaps you want a spa put in. Perhaps you want something fixed. But no, it can't be that simple, or you'd just have Gabe do it for you. So it's something he either doesn't have the strength or the inclination to try and understand, and I'm afraid I have absolutely no inclination to help."

Valkyrie looked surprised. Most of them did. China belatedly realised how irritable she'd sounded, and without closing the door, she turned to walk back into her living room. There, she struggled to regain her composure, and faced the group coming slowly into her apartment with a bright smile. "I do apologise. It's just that I remember saying, very clearly, that I don't want anything to do with any of you ever again. I'm surprised any of you seem to want something to do with me." Skulduggery wouldn't have allowed this, that much was obvious. And China was very eager to stay out of the skeleton detective's path in particular.

Ravel, standing just behind Valkyrie, frowned. "What happened to you, China? You're a little more... drained than I remember."

China flashed her smile towards him. "Erskine. How delightful to see you again. If you want details, I'm sure any one of these three would be more than happy to supply them. If none of you mind, I have a library to rebuild."

Nobody moved, and nobody said anything. China's smile slipped into a frown. "My answer is no."

"Your magic's gone?" Valkyrie asked. "Just like that? It didn't come back?"

"My dear Valkyrie, if you're trying to convince me to help, you're doing a remarkably poor job of it."

Another moment passed, and Valkyrie appeared to pull herself together. "Right. Yes. Gabe's injured, China. He flew away with an armed Desolation Engine that was meant to go off in the Sanctuary, and he got caught in the blast instead. He crashed into the safehouse hours after he disappeared and half his wings... just don't exist anymore."

China hesitated, but her usual response to queries for help was the first one on her lips. "I don't get involved in things, Valkyrie. And I learned my lesson after the first time."

"He asked for your help this time. Or, well. Merlin did. Raphael's going to try to use the magic of the safehouse to heal him, and Merlin wants the person who built it to be there."

A part of China was just as immediately fascinated as she was repulsed. The two emotions clashed painfully in her mind and ran quickly down her subsequent thoughts, coloring them to clash just as heavily against each other. Merlin, China eventually decided, was not important. Not for this decision. Nor was the apparent arrival of another Archangel. She filed both tidbits of information away, as was her habit, without any real idea of where or when she might use them. "I'm sorry Gabriel's hurt, Valkyrie. I truly am. But I have no intention of being dragged back into the middle of things, especially if that's where Skulduggery will be. You all seem to have it easily under control. The Archangel of healing, a sorcerer straight from the legends of King Arthur, the most skilled science-magic practitioner in existence." Here, she finally acknowledged Kenspeckle Grouse with a respectful nod. "What could I possibly hope to contribute?"

Valkyrie's eyes were wide with disbelief. "You mean besides everything you could learn?"

China shrugged her delicate shoulders. "Tempting, I'll admit. It's almost enough to make me leap up and join you. But my question still remains."

Valkyrie folded her arms. "Merlin said that figuring out the symbols himself is going to take time Gabriel doesn't have. Skulduggery's there. If it turns out that something bad happens to Gabe because you weren't there to help and we didn't start healing him in time, what do you think is going to happen?"

Skulduggery would come after her. Without hesitation, without restraint. And as terrifying as that prospect had been before, China was rendered speechless with the memory of those Necromantic shadows rising off of Skulduggery's illusory skin.

No. Skulduggery wouldn't come after her. Vile would. And they were no longer on the same side, if they ever had been to begin with. A trickle of fear dripped down China's spine. That was not a risk she was willing to take.

Another moment, and she gave Valkyrie another smile. "Then I suppose I don't have a choice, do I?"

[comedianhealer]

While Valkyrie--an unfortunate name to choose, that--Tanith and Fletcher went to retrieve the people Merlin needed, the old sorcerer turned toward Ghastly. "We're going to need a separate room," he said. "I'll need to draw a power circle and the wards here are too broken." To say nothing of the floor. "Show me."

Merlin wasn't exactly unaware why Ghastly had chosen to stay. He was flattered, really, and even more so when the man didn't let his fascination get in the way of the work. He must have endured a number of shocks in the past few days, but he seemed to be adjusting well. So Merlin was quite willing to answer questions the man might have had, of which there were few at this time except those directly pertaining to their preparations.

What they needed, Merlin explained, was a room big enough to hold two Archangels, a circle around them, and the people holding the circle together. There was only one room larger than the one in which Gabriel had crashed; it looked like a ballroom, with a long flat floor, uninterrupted by pillars, and mirrors on the walls.

Finding something with which to write was a little more difficult. In the end Merlin decided he'd have to expend the energy to summon some chalk. They'd need too much of it to make anything else practical, and paint adhered too easily and quickly for changes.

'Rafe,' he broadcast, and followed with a mental image of the room and its location in the safehouse.

"Stand back," he warned Ghastly, moving to the wall himself. It took a minute or so, but a moment later Merlin felt Rafe reach out and then not so much step through space as move space around him, just like Fletcher had done. An interesting perspective of travel-magic, really, and useful in this circumstance given that Gabe couldn't be physically or metaphysically moved.

It was an interesting effect. The angels' combined light pooled in the air first, like water close under pressed-down soil, and then a moment later Raphael welled up into existence, bearing Gabriel on his wings and in his arms, and the skeleton--Skulduggery Pleasant--with him. "Tell me about your skeleton friend," Merlin said abruptly as Raphael settled the three of them down again. "How did he come to be like that?"

He can't have been tainted, or else Gabe wouldn't cling to him so tightly and Rafe wouldn't have allowed the contact to continue. Even still, the sight of the man made Merlin's skin prickle with unease and memories he preferred to leave behind. "This circle is going to be complicated," he added calmly, explaining his intent to avoid dwelling on said memories. Now was not the time for bias. "Anything I can know about his magic and his state of being will only help me tailor it more completely to him. Somehow--" His tone turned dry. "--I doubt that Rafe will be able to get him to leave, even if he were so inclined."

They were in the middle of that explanation, Ghastly followed Merlin around the Archangels while the older sorcerer drew the preliminary circles and some basic containment wards, when the others returned. Merlin looked up, his sharp gaze alighting on those whom he hadn't met. "Professor Grouse, I presume," he said to the old man carrying the bag, bowing slightly even as he ended a sigil with the flourish of the chalk-spear he wielded. "Raphael needs to speak with you."

The Archangel had been physically silent, but the soft currents in his light had changed subtly every now and then as he worked on Gabriel on a level Merlin could sense but not remotely master, his hand a stroking rhythm in the younger Archangel's curls. Now, though, Raphael looked over Gabe's head at Kenspeckle, his golden eyes not burning but alight with purpose. And pain.

"Come to me, Kenspeckle Grouse," he said, and his voice, deeper than a bass, resonated in the bones.

Professor Grouse hardly flinched as he obeyed, though Merlin suspected a great deal of that was the sort of shock of a man who fell instinctively into work to deal with surprises. Merlin turned his attention to the exceedingly beautiful woman, China Sorrows, and couldn't quite ignore the way the sight of her made his gut tighten. Something in her bearing reminded him of Kallaystra. Kallaystra as Nimue.

But China Sorrows is only mortal. Thank the Lord for that. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles lightly. "Ms Sorrows. Thank you for your time. And you, I confess, have not been introduced to me."

The last was directed to the third, the tagalong with wide eyes still framed by lines of frazzled shock.

[skeletonenigma]

If Ghastly let himself think too hard about anything that was going on, he'd stop. Just... stop. Become less than useless. So he didn't, and he focused on the task at hand, and life became a little easier to handle. Frighteningly surreal and dreamlike, but easier to handle.

So Ghastly didn't bat an eyelid when the other three appeared in the middle of the circle the way they did. He watched, fascinated and curious in turn, but he wasn't planning on letting it strike him into frozen awe. It was because of that that Ghastly was able to answer Merlin's question so readily. Or about as readily as someone who barely knew what the answer was could, at any rate.

"Skulduggery won't leave," he agreed with a nod. "Certainly not because an Archangel tells him to. No one knows why he didn't die, least of all him. He was killed by a Necromancy technique, blocked from moving on, and tied back down to his body after they burned it. He isn't keeping himself alive, as far as we know."

At least, not with magic. But Ghastly realised with a jolt that Skulduggery was actually the cause of being reattached to his own skeleton. The detective had said as much, back during the talk with Corrival and then again later when the two of them were alone. He'd been forced to watch the war, he said, watch them losing until the anger and the frustration became too much and formed an anchor.

In a way, he was keeping himself alive. Ghastly was about to explain that, after a brief pause, when the others came back.

There were several things Ghastly noticed right away. The first, which struck him immediately, was the absence of love. China commanded it, always and without fail, and any good sorcerer braced themselves for it. That was what Ghastly had done. And nothing wormed its way past his defences.

He understood that. It took him a moment, but then he remembered China's foolishness before, and a part of Ghastly didn't see a problem with this new development. Nothing wrong with China having to rely on things other than inherent magic to get what she wanted.

The second thing he noticed, immediately afterwards, was Erskine. Erskine Ravel. Ghastly frowned, wondering what the fellow Dead Man was doing here, and not with Anton. "Erskine?"

Erskine jumped, looking from Merlin to Ghastly, back over at the two Archangels, and then back to Ghastly again. He tried to say something, failed completely, turned his full attention back on Merlin, and nodded firmly. "Erskine Ravel. Pleased to meet you."

Ghastly's heart went out to the man. This was a lot to take in all at once.

China, impossible to surprise or startle, barely even glanced at the circle. Instead, she smiled. "It's true, what they say about chivalry. You must be Merlin, then."

She did see God, Ghastly reminded himself. And he shivered slightly when he wondered at how that must have overwhelmed her so badly she didn't even blink at the sight of two fully revealed Archangels. Ghastly had been overwhelmed, and he'd really just met someone in a bar. Hadn't even known who they were until later.

[comedianhealer]

"And you, Erskine," Merlin returned, withholding his amusement at the man's reaction. It wasn't hard, with the light illuminating the room, its oiliness, and the knowledge that Gabe was so badly hurt that even his glory was tainted. So, respect aside, he turned almost immediately back to China, managing a slight smile.

"You flatter me, my dear. Raphael is exhausted; he needs the extra energy to heal Gabe properly. For that, I need to tap into the safehouse's sigils and tie them into the circle." He lifted the chalk-spear, using its point to indicate teh circle in a broad sweeping motion. "The circle will create a pool of magic from which Rafe can draw, fuelled by the safehouse, myself, and whomever else is willing to offer their magic."

It meant there was no direct transition of power, and gave each individual the control to offer--even subconsciously and instinctively--only as much magic as they could each afford. Whatever was left would return to them and prevent them from being exhausted. "Of course," he continued, "the very last thing we want is the safehouse to lose integrity, and we will need to tailor each person's circle to their individual magic for maximum efficiency and to enable them to take back whatever is left." He set the tip of the spear down and looked back to China. "How would you suggest we proceed?"

It was complicated. Merlin knew that. But using the safehouse as a foundation, Rafe would have that much more to take, would be able to heal Gabe that much better. And Gabriel, Merlin knew, would never countenance anyone giving their magic at risk of backlash. Nor would Rafe or Merlin themselvse. All safety measures had to be taken.

[skeletonenigma]

Erskine didn't know anything about the language of magic. Well, that wasn't strictly true; he knew enough to get by. He knew enough to recognise obvious traps and seals when he saw them. But he didn't know anywhere near as much as Skulduggery did, and he could never hope to know even a sixteenth of what China did. Which meant that as China answered Merlin's question, her face creasing into a frown as she looked around at what was already on the ballroom floor and made suggestions, Erskine was immensely surprised to find that he was already growing bored.

Bored.

Corrival was right. He really was incorrigible. Erskine shook his head and, with one last glance at Merlin - at Merlin - went over to join Ghastly and the others instead.

"Where's Anton?" Ghastly asked as he approached.

"At the Hibernian. Getting healed up. Did you know Solomon Wreath gave up Necromancy?"

"Yes," came the almost unanimous reply from Valkyrie, Tanith, and Fletcher. Each had a different set of feelings about it, judging by their various expressions, which made Erskine smile in amusement.

"Why does Anton need healing up?" Ghastly pressed. Ever persistent. The problem was, Erskine didn't know how much Ghastly knew about all this, and he wasn't going to be the one to say anything. Not when events barely fell within his own understanding.

The bare basics, then. "Nearly lost control of his Gist. Did a number on him, but nothing Professor Grouse can't fix. He'll be perfectly fine. Ghastly, how have I missed the existence of Archangels for over 400 years?"

"They don't exactly come from here," Tanith explained.

It didn't take a genius to work out what the mysterious woman in leather meant. Erskine was stunned all over again, staring at the display of two different and powerful lights emanating from the middle of the chalked circle, at once surprised and not that Skulduggery was kneeling with them.

He felt... stronger, now. Better able to handle it. Erskine decided to take that new feeling at face value and stopped nodding when he realised he hadn't quite done even that yet.

"You know," Valkyrie spoke up. "China brought up a good point. Gabe almost... died, or Fell, or whatever it is angels do. Skulduggery's not going to be happy. Do we... is there something we can do?"

Ghastly looked at her. "Like what?"

"Well... stop him. From Hulking out." She hesitated. "Random question. Who would win in a fight between Merlin and Lord Vile?"

"I have absolutely no idea. Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Erskine blinked, and found himself staring once again - but this time at Ghastly. "You know?"

Ghastly blinked and stared back. "You know?"

"Of course I know! I only just managed to drag Anton back from the brink of despair! It's part of the reason I'm here. Ghastly, and I mean absolutely no offense whatsoever by this, but how the hell is Skulduggery still alive?"

For a moment, it looked like Ghastly wasn't going to answer. But then he closed his eyes, sighed, and shook his head. "Two reasons. First, I don't have any idea how to go about it. And second, divinity."

"Divinity?" Erskine spluttered. "Because there was a pair of Archangels - "

"No. Because I met God."

Erskine stuttered to a halt.

"Really puts things in perspective," Ghastly went on. "Look at them now, for instance. Would an Archangel in that much pain cling to the soul of someone like Vile? Would his older brother let him?"

Erskine was forced to agree that, no, they probably wouldn't.

"Merlin," Ghastly mused, "has access to more varieties of magic than Vile does. He's lived much longer. He's the son of an angel. In the end, Valkyrie, I think he would, but not before a long and hard fight. And," he added darkly, "that's assuming Skulduggery doesn't trust anyone else with his true name and accidentally learn what it is."

Erskine paled. "He what?"

"He had to," Valkyrie answered. "It's a long story."

[comedianhealer]

China Sorrows, Merlin had to admit, was an extremely intelligent woman with a very great talent in language, and the sorcerer was gratified to learn that. It put her resemblance to Nimue ... Kallaystra ... at further remove. She never had been terribly interested in stories, even when pretending. Fortunately, or she might have figured out what he'd done with his house.

The fact that China was somehow ... humbled also helped. She had the manner of someone who had been through a world-changing shock and still hadn't quite figured out what to do with it, except that all her power suddenly seemed meaningless.

He was impressed. He admitted it; he was impressed with the sheer complexities of the safehouse and the magic pooled into it. He wasn't entirely sure about China herself, but she was willing enough to be helpful, even if it was out of fear. (She didn't look at the Archangels. The only times she even looked toward the centre was to glance toward the skeleton, and then only once.)

Drawing the circle took time. They sketched a smaller version of the circle, then asked who was helping out (everyone, apparently, and Merlin was pleased to see that once Erskine had recovered some composure he was security-conscious) and passed it by Gabe's scattered thoughts to help focus the injured Archangel. Then Merlin drew out the sigils in the walls for China to begin amending them to tie into the circle while Merlin himself finished said circle, asking questions of the others as he did. The inner sigils were the hardest; Merlin needed to duck in and under wings, to work around the bulk of the angels and draw a circle that could include Skulduggery. Given the nature of his existence, that made them particularly complicated.

Finally he stepped back, glanced across to China and received a nod in return, and turned toward the others. "We're ready," he said, and pointed to a pair of circles on one side, not quite overlapping but definitely part of a pair given the lines coiled around them. "Valkyrie, on the right. Fletcher, on the left." The significantly blunted spear-point shifted to point at another pair of circles precisely opposite the first. "Tanith, right, Ghastly, left."

He nodded toward Erskine. "Erskine, you will take the right-hand circle over there." He pointed to another circle, not exactly in a pair--flanking one another with feet to spare in-between, rather, and placing Erskine beside the Tanith-Ghastly pair. There was a third circle opposite, forming the apex of a triangle, to which Merlin directed Kenspeckle. He himself was to take the final circle, the one alongside Erskine and flanking the Valkryie-Fletcher pair.

"You may wish to sit down," he said as he motioned the spear away, stepping up to his circle. "All you need to do is enter the circles and do not leave them. This circle--" He pointed to a middling one connected to the outer on which the individual circles were placed by many varied and layering lines. "--represents the power pool. All our magic will go into it. It may crack the floor, but no matter how it seems like it will break, do not leave your circle. What remains of the magic will be returned to us." He'd explained this to Erskine already, but there was nothing wrong with repeating it. "If we're all ready?"

"Ready," Rafe said, and though soft, his voice sounded like an ocean boom in a deep cliff-cave.

"Ready," Kenspeckle said, his chin uplifted and eyes glowing with that kind of vibrating enthusiasm of a scientist in his element.

[skeletonenigma]

One by one, the others followed suit, entering into their assigned circles and confirming that they were ready once they had knelt down in the middle of them. China stood by, an eagle eye on her own work; her movements suggested a sort of calm she didn't truly feel. Where the others were tied to the outcome either through a desire for everyone to be safe, or a deep trust that anything involving two Archangels had to go perfectly smoothly - or both - the only thing keeping China focused was fear. And she wasn't used to that. It snapped at her otherwise orderly mind like a little yappy terrier, dangerous only because China's mind wasn't currently its usual orderly self.

So she was currently double-checking everything, just to be sure. Even as the sigils started to pulse, China continued to edit herself. Edit herself. Second-guess herself like some less intelligent sorcerer.

The only thing keeping her from unacceptable panic due to that fear, really, was an equal measure of fascination with it all. The preparation, the execution. The others' reactions to being put in obvious pairs. And she found herself unspeakably glad that Merlin hadn't asked her to participate - not because it would have drained her dry, even though it would have. China would easily have said no.

She was glad because now, she didn't have to say no. She didn't have to disappoint everyone else in the room.

It was alien. So, so alien. But... it also didn't quite feel wrong.



In the middle of the innermost circle, Skulduggery had almost no awareness of any of these other events at all.

He'd waited for Raphael to arrive with the knowledge that he really was doing something to help, as the other Archangel had briefly shown him before withdrawing back into the Gaol from the unfamiliar contact. It wasn't just Skulduggery trying to convince himself anymore; it was fact.

In that brief instant, Skulduggery had even understood it. Like he could manipulate the metaphysical himself.

And then Gabe's pain and deliriousness came crashing back down, washing over the sand of that understanding, wiping it clean until all Skulduggery had left was the memory of its existence, which kept him there and focused. Strong, like a rock by seaside cliffs. Anchoring Gabe to some form of consciousness.

It was hard. It was hard because Skulduggery didn't like the feeling of his own mind being so open, particularly when he didn't understand exactly what was causing it. It was a feeling just similar enough to certain abilities he had as a Necromancer; expanding his awareness to encompass everyone else's, then drawing their very life forces back into him. Similar enough to be unnerving, even if it was different in all the ways that counted. For one thing, Skulduggery was pretty sure it wasn't his awareness expanding out.

It was Gabe's. There was nothing holding the Archangel's thoughts together anymore, thoughts which scattered and faded just like his wings trailed off into nonexistence. And the thoughts that were there rang delirious, delirious in a way only Gabe could ever be. Skulduggery was just... somehow along for the ride. And he felt it, every stab of pain, everywhere those thoughts traveled. Skulduggery made an effort to steel himself against them, as much for Gabe's benefit as his own. If Gabe could take Skulduggery along for mind-rides, why couldn't Skulduggery try to exert some influence of his own?

It worked, to some minimal degree, and Skulduggery was well on the way to maybe getting some control of his mental state back when he felt Raphael arrive.

Raphael disrupted it. Raphael knew Gabe's mind and existence far better than Skulduggery did, which the detective normally wouldn't have had a problem with, except that it was a little like getting caught in a gentle maelstrom. Or getting lost in the merge of two planet-sized consciousnesses. Skulduggery's mind seemed to twist out of his skull entirely for a few moments, crashed into everything Gabe knew and expected of his older brother - far, far more than Skulduggery could handle - and in a last minute panic, Skulduggery tried to withdraw.

He couldn't. Not completely. Maybe Raphael wasn't letting him, maybe Gabe wasn't. Maybe he wasn't letting himself. Either way, the only reason Skulduggery knew they'd even changed location within the safehouse was because Raphael had broadcast the intent.

He focused on the bones of his hand, spread out against the floor to prop himself up. It was illuminated with a strange kind of light. Oily. Faded. With a detached sort of fascination, Skulduggery let himself get drawn back in and marveled at the way his vision faded completely. The ocean and the seaside cliffs surrounded him again.

One thought. He needed something to anchor himself just as much as he was anchoring Gabe. The gentle maelstrom, the sudden clatter of souls all around them, the pain and the sheer openness... they weren't even working in combination to overwhelm Skulduggery, as would have been the decent thing to do. They worked separately, jabbing into each other just as often as they jabbed into him, and Skulduggery didn't have the knowledge or the experience to ride it all over and see anything worthwhile on the other side.

A thought.

Gabe used my true name.

No. Wrong thought. Bad thought. It wasn't going to do anything to help anyone, least of all Gabe. But it was too late; it caught and it grew, slowly but surely, into the anchor Skulduggery needed. Because the implications explained everything, up to and including what was happening now; tied it all up in a neat, smug little bow.

And so Skulduggery clung to that one thought and to the parts of Gabe he thought he could recognise.

[comedianhealer]

Merlin was the one who stepped into the circle last. Raphael knew it because he could feel it, the pieces of power snapping into place one-by-one, matching the lines Merlin had drawn. The circles hummed on a level only Archangels, or mortals attuned to the metaphysical as Merlin and Skulduggery currently were, could hear.

It was only when Merlin closed his circle, marking the final line of power, that the circle crackled in a way that marked the physical. It wasn't anything flashy; the lines hummed, glowing, phosphorescent. It left an illumination in the air at once there and not, almost able to be smelled and heard and felt as the warmth of that perfect moment of connection between one's self and another, rather than seen.

The individual circles would be draining, but in the manner of honest exertion, just as if they had used their magic in a normal way. Kenspeckle's circle, unique, his lines cross-crossing to mark each of the others', was what did it. Raphael was glad. He could have buffered the others himself, but it would have made things inefficient. Now, Kenspeckle's magic would keep them safe and level, protect them from the sharp edges of Gabe's pain as Raphael wasn't able to protect Skulduggery.

The detective was simply too close. Raphael had threaded himself in-between them as gently as he could, provided as much support to Skulduggery as possible, but he himself was unfamiliar to Skulduggery's soul, unaccepted; forcing himself on the sorcerer would only make him panic on a level even his vaunted control couldn't oppose. It already had, once. The pair were sharing a balance to such a degree that to remove Skulduggery entirely would only have destablised Gabe all over again, and even for the sake of Skulduggery's pain, Raphael would not let that happen to his little brother.

Even now, Raphael took the threads of Skulduggery's anchoring thought and diffused them quietly before they hit the chords that made Gabriel's inner self. As understandable as that doubt was, Skulduggery was anchoring Gabe because of Gabe's love for him, and a thought like that would only be like water on limestone. Dissolving.

Kenspeckle's power washed through the circle and activated the inner, and like a tide drawing sand and seaweed into its ocean, it took their magic with it. They were added to the pool, each a rush of power unique to the person to whom they belonged. It wasn't a clash; it was never a clash, because the wards in the circle made sure there wasn't. Each individual's magic flowed through the tiniest filaments, finely-drawn letters to synchronise them before they hit the greater pool.

Kenspeckle's first, like a lightning-bolt hitting solid, sun-baked stone. Unyielding and always-moving at once. Then it was Erskine and Merlin's together, their magicks mingling just before the inner circle. Erskine's was warmth, a never-dying hearth which smelled of timber and fragrance. Merlin was white, but not the pure white of divinity; the white of snow, blinding when clean and grimy when stained--difficult to keep clean at all. In that brief moment they were mingled, before they joined with Kenspeckle, they felt like a protected wood cabin in the woods, just when winter was at its peak and liable for either viciousness or tranquillity.

Each of the couples' magicks pooled around in a third, smaller circle wedged up against their sides that made their circles shine even before their power joined the rest. Fletcher felt like staring into the night sky with not a cloud or city-glow in sight, into that wondrous expanse and feeling small but aware, secure, of one's place in the universe all at once. Valkyrie's magic was yawning, a canyon with depths unplumbed, with the smell of pollution--but clearing. Revitalised. Combined they created a vastness that looked upon one another but never quite met.

Ghastly was more solid than Kenspeckle. He was the weight of the ground under feet, not looming or heavy, not even stone--just the earth, the soil, warm and giving. Tanith was movement. Not like lightning, quick and darting, nor like fire, crackling and hot. She was exertion, control, a pulse and heartbeat. When they were together Tanith's magic walked the broad expanse of Ghastly's, sowing it and exploring it and finding depths not quite plumbed.

These powers aligned and flowed into a single pool, a rush of difference that combined created a harmony. Some were louder, some were quieter, but each were present and needed, even the softest chord lending resonance to the loudest. The music built and the third, and smallest, circle in the middle opened with a quiet sigh.

Skulduggery was there. Skulduggery was there and surprisingly strong, the edges of his circle filtering his magic past the Archangels'. Skulduggery was ... restraint. The stillness of a deep, deep pond with currents that couldn't be seen from the surface, currents invisible unless or until someone dropped just the right-sized stone in just the right way. So deep one could drown in it, be swept away in it, and never know the danger until the step into it had been taken.

That was all of them. Every one of them, except that Skulduggery's magic was ... it didn't hide anything. But it reflected something, something as expansive as starlight in a pool, wide and scattered and with the appearance of having no boundary at all. But distant; made distant by the reflection itself, so the weight of it came down on the pool and not on those viewing it.

Gabriel.

And with him, dark matter, invisible except in the awareness that it was there but unseen, was Raphael. Unseen, except by the influence he left on the universe inside that circle of power.

The Archangel released Gabriel and Skulduggery, let them support one another, let the detective pull his brother's self together to the here and now. He laid his hands on his brother's back and spread his wings around the circle. His flight-feathers brushed certain sigils at certain points, and he let the power flow up and through their lines and vanes, gathering the freely-offered magic into the web of his being. His glory illuminated the room with a kind of light that left no trace except by the way it washed with quiet welcome up against Gabe's, with the way it caressed the bodies and minds of those in the room.

Breathing was breathing pure magic. And then Raphael took what was offered to him and let it trickle through his hands and into Gabriel.

It wasn't sudden; it was a gentle thing, an alignment of harmonies, weaving him back together, nudging thoughts and intent back to where they should be. Raphael didn't work around Skulduggery's presence, but used it, building on those strains in Gabe that were made strongest by the detective's soul. Slowly, Gabriel's wings solidified, his feathers patterning. His light resonated, its oiliness dissolving, until it was as clean as--cleaner than--it had been when he arrived.

That light drew out everything in the room worth keeping, as it always did, but where Raphael's light struck it drew crystalline and resonant. In the closeness between the Archangels, Skulduggery's soul was cast starkly in contrast. Like a stained-glass window, paned and rainbow-coloured, throwing light everywhere save the blurry black threads which kept the panes together.

Everywhere Gabriel's light hit that glass, the humming air was painted gold.

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery could feel the gathering magic in the room, but only as far as Gabe could feel it, and only in that context. He couldn't pick out nuances, and didn't really want to. He could feel the pool, then the rush, then the trickle, and - slowly, but steadily, balanced and cautious but full of relief - Gabe's thoughts knitting back together.

It didn't do anything about the sheer openness, but Skulduggery hadn't seriously been expecting it to. He was a stabilising influence, not a healer. And the bit about the stabilising influence wasn't really his doing, either - at least, not in the sense of needing to do anything for his soul to tether Gabe down.

Skulduggery tried drawing back again, just as slowly as the healing, just as carefully. Physical awareness swam back in like a quick tide, revealing chalk lines on the floor Skulduggery didn't see there before and - if he concentrated hard enough - a large ballroom, slightly blurred around the edges, reflective mirrors covering the walls and -

Gold.

For a long few moments, Skulduggery couldn't drag his gaze away from the mirror it had landed on. He'd felt, rather than seen, Gabe's influence on his soul before. At the church. It wasn't until right just now that he finally understood Gabe's description of it as a stained-glass window was more than just a metaphor.

That's almost exactly what it was. Rainbow panes, calm and stationary and only held together by something darker. Thrown into sharp relief, washed up against by something gold and beautiful.

With an intent he maybe shouldn't have had but didn't think too hard about, Skulduggery reached out to brush Gabe's feathers once more. There was no comforting backflow, like there had been in the church. Skulduggery was the one providing comfort this time. Instead, the light the feather emitted turned gold where Skulduggery's fingers grazed against them. A gentle white-gold painting those specific feathers, and dwindling off into those around them. Like Skulduggery had dipped his hand into a calm pool of water, with the golden light as the ripple effect spreading outward from where he touched. It almost seemed to ripple slightly in the air, the colour deepening as it spread, humming with a sound - a tune - that Skulduggery was vaguely aware he recognised.

It was captivating. Skulduggery switched hands and brushed the new one against a new area on Gabe's wing, and the exact same thing happened. A golden glow, tinged with rainbow. After another few moments, Skulduggery let himself get drawn back in, and allowed his vision to fade.

It was quieter. Calmer. Less overwhelming. Skulduggery didn't lose complete physical awareness this time. In fact, he retained enough of himself to wonder just how this strange new connection was working. He didn't want to feel out the extent, not quite yet, not without knowing for sure Gabe could be there to catch him if something went wrong. But he stopped trying to steel himself in one place, and instead started to branch out into the unknown. 'Gabe?'

Not too far. Not too loud. Not too anything. There was very little point to being a stabilising influence if you didn't feel stable and in control yourself. Especially not with their very souls so intertwined.

And that was when Skulduggery realised it. The connection. He was right before; there was no leaking of consciousness or anything, because they were aligned on a level deeper than that. The gold, and the wash of Gabe's light... their souls were in unison.

It was compelling and terrifying all at once.

[impudentsongbird]

Raphael hadn't been able to take all the pain away. Not really. Not completely. It was like having a broken bone and feeling its sharp edges grind, and knowing it should hurt; a visceral sensation from which there was no escape. It shouldn't have felt like that, because Gabriel had been healed by Raphael before and knew he could take even that away, but Rafe was exhausted.

The assuaging of the pain was enough, though, that some part of Gabe could filter through himself and gather the threads of his being. At least, he could see them. Know they were important. Weaving them back together ... was a bit beyond him. All the Archangel really knew was Rafe's presence, a warm blanket around him, and Skulduggery's soul, the hearth at which he could rest and know he was safe.

The rest of him of was still out there. Somewhere. But he knew Skulduggery, a presence he didn't want to leave, one he wanted to curl up around and be held by at once. The quiver of his consciousness provided an image of a kitten on a lap, curled around a protective hand. Yes, that would do. That's what he felt like. Protected and protective at once. Owned and possessive.

Raphael's power trickling into him was soothing. As if he'd been caught in a blizzard, and the fireplace and the blanket were the only things keeping it off. Now a house was being built around him, his body reconstructed into the boundaries he needed to be his own being instead of a poor lost fool at one with the cosmos due simply to its sheer depth. Planks of thick timber drawn up around him, warm and drawing in the heat of the fire to reflect it back and warm him further. Broad and sturdy windows through which he could see the blizzard outside, but his gaze nudged away by the labourer.

Not yet. Wait a while.

Gabe acquiesced to that intent without objection, turning his attention to the comfort around him instead. There was something odd about it, something at a remove--not dishonest, but as if there was a blanket between him and a callus. It was so slight it didn't matter all that much, and Gabe was content to simply exist, aware of how he was being rebuilt, of the universe beyond it that was losing its sharp edges. Some things weren't being restored, he could tell. Something in the foundation of a bit crooked, like an earthquake which had left a crack in the concrete. Fixable, but beyond their means for the moment. Only for the moment.

Someone stroked him, spoke a chord that resonated, and without thinking Gabriel responded, not with any true sounds or thought but just with a resonance back. Like a cat's purr. A feeling of relief, of peacefulness, of gratitude. Love. He curled deeper into that presence, trusting and without any barriers at all, but without pushing anything anywhere it might be too much to bear. An ocean tide beckoning, washing up to meet the shore and promising gentleness to the man already sitting hip-deep in the waves, but content just to meet him there if that's all he wanted.

'Skulduggery.'

[skeletonenigma]

Relief spread, crested, broke and washed over him. Part of it, Skulduggery knew, was Gabe's, but most of it was his. Pure, and relieving in itself. Seeing Gabe in as much pain as he was, flickering as much as he was, even his mind broken as far as it was... Skulduggery made it a point never to give up, because until there was no one left to question or resist, there was always something worth fighting for.

Even so, Gabe's condition, sprawled in the bottom of the crater with his surface tension just gone... Skulduggery had felt something very close to defeat.

Not anymore. It was most definitely Gabe who responded, Gabe back in some form of control, Gabe being healed. Still scattered, but... more an exhaustive kind of scattered, bound and familiar, something unimaginably powerful flowing and reaching back out towards Skulduggery. Far from overwhelming him, that obvious power increased the relief. Skulduggery could sometimes forget just how powerful Gabe really was. Powerful, and strong. He'd make it. He'd pull through.

With the relief came a gentle wash of thoughts and sensations, love and gratitude chief among them, but multiple others Skulduggery couldn't quite place. Blizzards, a foundation. Something about a kitten. Skulduggery didn't understand most of it, except that Gabe wasn't currently feeling any pain. Discomfort, maybe, but not outright pain.

'Are you going to listen from now on when I say not to strain yourself?'

There was a gentle amusement behind the question, surprising even Skulduggery. He wasn't used to that. It wasn't that he didn't feel any anger at all, exactly, because he did. Seething somewhere deep, just like always, it was there. The thing was, he couldn't focus on it even if he wanted to. It was buried by everything else, by the relief and the love and everything Gabe felt for him.

Probably for the best, Skulduggery reflected. Not because of Davina Marr - he didn't care what happened to her. And after today, he doubted anyone would object too strongly if he did hunt her down. No, it was more because a small measure of that anger was over the fact that he might be being controlled.

It was the kind of thought he would have squirreled away for much later, if he'd been able to. At least now, it wouldn't get in the way. It didn't get in the way. He would never have been able to manage amusement if it was.

[impudentsongbird]

Chagrin. Chagrin against Skulduggery's gentle amusement, chagrin and apology for worrying him ... but no regret.

Safe.

Well, the Sanctuary is, anyway. You got the Engine away in time.

They weren't words so much as a knowledge, a resonance in him of what was true. It hadn't come from him, it had come from him--it was a mixture of everything in the universe that came to a focus in Gabriel. The Sanctuary was all right. Everyone in the Sanctuary was all right. How could Gabriel regret that? He couldn't. He could only regret the hurt and worry it had caused in Skulduggery, and the way the Archangel drew around the detective spoke of need to comfort just as much as one for comfort.

Gabe wasn't entirely sure what happened next. He wasn't unaware of Raphael's presence, but his brother was a solidness at his back, something he knew would always be there. Even in another universe entirely, his brother had been there when he most needed him. But Rafe did something. Shifted something, and it was like that thin veiling blanket had been lifted.

Something ... strange. A musing of gentle amusement to resignation to acceptance of something that Skulduggery was glad wasn't in the way. Gabriel didn't even have to prod it, even if he wanted to. The thread followed through and rasped against the way he was snuggled around Skulduggery's soul, and Gabriel saw the thought Rafe had been hiding.

He could feel, distantly, the power in the circle beginning to reach a point where Raphael had to be careful with what remained, but that wasn't important. Rafe could handle that. What mattered now was this thought. Skulduggery thought he might be controlling him? Making him feel things?

There wasn't even anger. There was just bewildered confusion. Why would Skulduggery think that? Why would Gabriel even want someone he'd made himself, a construct, instead of someone who was going to be real and truthful and everything glorious in his Master's creation? What would be the point of that? That love wouldn't be real.

"My Lord, we are ... none of us ... to be punished, then?"

"What for? Failing to sacrifice all that I love most, even to spare yourselves damnation? What kind of employer would punish such behaviour? Punishment has rarely much to do with justice anyway. None of you know how long I've waited for this day! Michael, stand and look at me. The love I know you've always born Me, dear old friend, is at last truly perfected. Can you not see that?"

Michael's voice, deferential. His Master's voice, amused and fond and laughing and joyful in ways Gabe had, before then, only ever heard directed toward humanity.

Except for the last words. The last words, a tentative question that Gabe cast before Skulduggery. Why would Gabriel fill Skulduggery with feelings that weren't his, when being given love freely meant so much more?

He must have done something wrong. He must have done something wrong to make Skulduggery think that, and so it wasn't even really a choice for Gabriel to want to give him something in return. An apology, an exchange. Something to put them on equal terms, the ones he'd promised made Skulduggery special to him. Gabriel's wings pulled tighter around them both as he opened himself up to the detective, his soul singing with a name, his name, as only his brothers and his Master could hear it. A wordless gift. An offer.

[skeletonenigma]

There were many things about the next few minutes - or however long the span of time was, since it was getting difficult to tell - that Skulduggery had been expecting. The apology, without any regret. That was a definite. The way Gabe's soul drew up close, which was less of a definite, but just as unsurprising.

Realising Skulduggery's own thoughts. The subsequent confusion. The complete lack of any self-doubt, any suspicion, any anger. Blaming himself, almost immediately. All expected, all unsurprising, all objectionable.

But then something else happened. Something so far unexpected that it had never occurred to Skulduggery as a possibility, even in all the multiple scenarios that ran through his head every moment of spare time he had. There was a memory of a conversation he'd never had, between two people - no, not people, beings - he'd never believed existed. That was surprising. But even that paled in comparison to what happened next.

Skulduggery froze. Really froze, not just a physical skeleton growing still, but his entire existence spinning to an abrupt halt.

For what felt like an eternity, he couldn't even think. It took real effort to spin his thoughts back into motion, and the instant they did, they shot off in every conceivable direction. What did this mean? It was Gabe's true name. Gabe's true name. Gabriel was offering Skulduggery something that, up until now, only his fellow angels and God Himself had ever possessed. Yes, it was different, because God could always interfere where His son was concerned. Skulduggery wasn't anywhere near as powerful as Gabe was; he might not be able to keep it hidden. Psychics weren't able to read his mind, but Sensitives in general could still have visions about him. Not to mention Skulduggery wasn't sure how any of this would work practically; he'd never be able to pronounce what Gabriel was giving him out loud, much less use it to control anyone.

But then again, he wouldn't. Even if he could. Even if he had any idea how to manipulate his own soul. And that was the point, wasn't it? Gabe was giving him a way to control an Archangel, with the full knowledge that Skulduggery would never choose to do so. Just like Gabe wouldn't.

Equals in more than just what they had. Equals in what they chose to do with it.

The open, genuine, and honest level of trust stunned Skulduggery down to his very core. The metaphysical equivalent of being struck speechless, some part of him noted. He tried to focus enough to give Gabe an answer, but the fact that he wasn't quite sure what his answer was meant that no amount of focus was going to achieve anything.

Finally, he managed a short and startled 'Really?'

[comedianhealer]

Gentle amusement, and a movement somewhere between a stroke and a snuggle as Gabriel held him closer.

'Really.'

His Master wouldn't mind. Not after all He'd said, no matter how much names really belonged to Him. It was a loan, a guardianship, something they could each protect and hold until everything was over. If it ever was. So Gabriel didn't pull back, curled around Skulduggery's soul and basking in it like a kitten in a beam of sunlight, cuddled up against him in a way that wouldn't have been metaphysically possible if Gabe hadn't been so badly hurt and Skulduggery so selfless in keeping him together. Waiting. Just waiting, for Skulduggery to decide if he was ready or not.

Quietly, unnoticed, Raphael wove off the last of the power he could afford, leaving Gabriel's surface tension quivering and then settling, as intact as it should be. There was still the matter of the Cacophony's twist, but that could be fixed later. Raphael siphoned some of the power off for himself, to ease the ache in his own limbs, but then let the rest go back into the power-pool.

The Archangel lowered his wings, letting them brush the circle, averting his eyes to give his brother and his ... his soulmate some privacy. And to wonder at the mixed feelings of pride and protectiveness the sight of it all wrought in him, both of them fierce, one of them almost jealous. That was his brother offering Skulduggery Pleasant his name. Gabriel, whom Raphael would never in a billion years imagined would want to offer that much to anyone other than their Master. Especially not in an unequal relationship.

But that was the thing, he forced himself to acknowledge. It wasn't unequal. That was the point. Skulduggery's situation was unique beyond almost anything Rafe had seen before. Unique like Merlin's situation was unique, if in a different manner, and that meant there were certain things possible with Skulduggery that just weren't with anyone else, just as there had been with Merlin.

Possible enough for Gabe to fall in love with an immortal who never should have been. Except that their Master always turned the never-should-have-beens into the greatest of all--or at least gave them that chance.

Like now. Like now, when this detective who had murdered millions had a soul that sang of such fierce love that he looked his sins in the face and stood them down. When this detective's soul went still with shock, so still that it rang clear and gold, the blurry black lines between panes suddenly washed over with it. When they came back clearer they were sharper, thinner, as if cleaned of grime; as if they cast a shadow of something white and crystalline. Or maybe it was the black thread that was the shadow. They were entwined together, darkness and pureness. Sin and hope.

The circle sang quietly as it tuned the magic to its individual users, channelling what remained of it back into them. Merlin and Valkyrie would probably feel very drained; they'd had the most magic to lose. They'd be okay after a good night's sleep. Fletcher would be the best off--his talent took little actual magic and a lot of finesse. So too with Tanith.

Then the circle went silent and Raphael curled his wings around himself, sitting down and exhaling physically just to ground himself back into the physical. Without the light of the circle playing off his, without that nearness, the glory of Skulduggery's soul faded until he merely looked indescribably beautiful for a skeleton, the air around him lit very faintly gold in Gabriel's light.

Raphael rose to his feet with a rustle of vanishing wings, less pained than he had been but tireder too, and walked away to kneel beside Kenspeckle. "Hey, man, you a'right there?"

Kenspeckle was bent over himself, looking exhausted, but he straightened when Raphael's voice sounded and his eyes shone with wonder in a face full of weariness. "I'm fine. Incredible, actually."

"Yeah, y'are," Rafe said agreeably, and grinned as Kenspeckle laughed, looking at once like a much younger man and an older man still hale.

"Yes, I am, aren't I? Give me a moment."

"All the moments you need, Prof." Raphael clapped a hand to his shoulder and then rose again to make his way to the people around the circle, skirting where Skulduggery still held Gabriel and Gabriel still cupped Skulduggery in his wings, while they made whatever decisions they were going to make.

[skeletonenigma]

Anton should have been here to see this.

It was the only useful thought Erskine had during the entire light show. The rest were all lost in the stunned awe, the complete confusion, the brief idea that maybe Anton had been mistaken when he said Skulduggery used to be Lord Vile. Erskine hadn't seen a trace of Vile in the stained glass of Skulduggery's soul. Oh, there was something dark, and if he squinted, he could maybe see it, but...

He would never have believed it, if it wasn't Anton who said it.

Erskine spent the time on his knees, staring down at the floor, trying to hold back a headache that began tapping lightly at his temples. He couldn't take this. He didn't want to take this. Two Archangels in the middle of the floor, one wrapped around Skulduggery, one surrounding Skulduggery in the most gorgeous golden light that it almost hurt to look directly into, because it was Skulduggery. Even leaving aside the whole mass-murderer thing, it was Skulduggery. Erskine had grown so used to the living skeleton being a complete and total aromantic entity, even if only by necessity, that this... hurt to think about.

Erskine didn't even realise how much of his magic and his strength had been drained away until the circle hummed and Raphael's wings curled. The exhaustion crashed over the sorcerer and he fell down to his hands, just managing to keep himself from falling even further. He glanced up in time to see the massive wings disappear like they were nothing more than an illusion in the air, fading into nothing, and then even Erskine's hands gave out.

Of course, Archangels would have to be able to pass for human. It made sense. Of course it made bloody sense. So why was it such a shock? Why wasn't Erskine's mind tired of being shocked yet? Why was a return to some semblance of normalcy freaking him out even further?

Breathe. Like Corrival always said. On your feet, and don't stop moving.

"I'm guessing it worked?" Erskine asked out loud, directing the question at no one in particular. Was his voice croaky? It sounded croaky. He tried clearing his throat, but all that seemed to do was intensify the headache.



It really wasn't fair that Skulduggery was trying to make one of the biggest decisions of his life, and Gabe was heavily biasing it by curling tighter around him.

It probably also meant something that Skulduggery had even considered that. For the time being, he ignored it.

He had questions. Good God, did he have questions - no pun intended, he added firmly, just in case anyone was eavesdropping. Skulduggery had a whole host of questions about the why, and the how, and what on earth this meant about Gabe ever going back home. But Skulduggery always had questions, and it never stopped him from working with the information he had. From making decisions. Making choices.

Snap decisions. Snap judgments. The acknowledgment and the acceptance that Skulduggery began to broadcast was tentative, at first, but it slowly grew in strength alongside his confidence.

There was a measure of logic in the choice, because Skulduggery would never be able to forgive himself if there wasn't. A mixture of knowing he didn't deserve an honour like this, and knowing he'd never be truly satisfied that he was his own person without it. Knowing that he shouldn't take it without knowing more, shouldn't take it period, had to take it anyway for his own selfish peace of mind. But mostly... mostly, it just felt right.

It just felt right. Skulduggery almost laughed. Less than a week, and he barely recognised himself.

[impudentsongbird]

"Oh, I'd say so." Merlin was likewise on the floor, on his back and sprawled, but more like a man relaxing than a man who'd fallen. He took deep slow breaths, channelling his body into a state where it could at least act if he needed it to. He was going to sleep well tonight. If he made it to tonight.

He decided at once that he shouldn't have to make it to tonight.

"What, you doubted me?" Raphael knelt by Erskine, touching his temples and letting its pain spark briefly in his own before diffusing it entirely in them both. "I'm hurt, man. Struck a blow to my chest. Even havin' you fallin' for me like you are ain't gonna change that." He winked down at the Elemental.

"Now you're just asking for someone to pop that swelled head," Merlin sighed, clasping his hands on his chest and stretching out as if he planned to sleep right then and there.

"Ain't gonna be you, grampa." Raphael rose, moved over to the Ancient, nudged him with a booted foot. "You're halfway gone already."

"Hazard of keeping the children off my lawn," Merlin answered, his voice a murmur. "Wake me in half an hour."

"Sure thang, Pops. Sure you don't want me to make you up a bed?" He didn't mean just carrying Merlin into a bedroom, either. He just didn't expect anyone to twig to that.

"Oh, no you don't," Kenspeckle growled, pushing himself to his own feet and finding his balance wavering but steadier if he let the dizziness fade. "I think that's enough magic from you angels for a while. Flying between universes, fighting evil demi-gods, constantly straining yourself. You'd think you were children, with how bad your restraint is."

Merlin snorted and quivered with silent laughter as Rafe, for a moment, stared nonplussed at the sorcerer a third of his nephew's age who was, nonetheless, giving him an order. Arms crossed, chin up, eyebrow raised as if daring for an argument. Rafe raised his hands and stepped back, a grin starting to flicker over his face.

"Hey man, ain't gonna argue with the doctor."

Something tense in Kenspeckle's shoulders eased, and they drooped. "Good. Because I really don't have the energy to argue with recalcitrant patients, and your brother used all that up. More than once."

His tone was sardonic, the last comment pointed, and Rafe's grin only broadened. His brother had good taste in universes to visit, that's all he could say. "Aw, he's just actin' out a little."

Kenspeckle snorted, found the wall only a few feet away, slid down it to the floor and muttered, "Children."



All the questions Skulduggery had to ask, Gabriel was willing to answer, and that willingness was reflected even back against the questions Skulduggery didn't ask at all. The answers rang there, quiet but unspoken, not quite seen because the detective didn't. Didn't feel the need to.

There was something glorious about a choice made without needing all the facts.

Gabriel's answering joy was blazing. Soft, at first, turning slowly like molten gold, but it grew as Skulduggery's confidence firmed, a wellspring of wonder and amazement. Gabriel had been a servant of humanity for a long time. He'd just never known how it felt, to have something to offer to someone who knew what they were being offered, and have them accept it anyway, in spite of all doubts.

He was already curled around Skulduggery's soul, but the touch he made now was like a caress, awed and tender at once. He'd have been content to stay like that a while, except that he was distantly aware that Rafe had left him, of things that were happening outside this moment when their souls were balance.

Gabe let one more feeling pass, something that wasn't exactly a thought, but a sensation, something which resonated with joy and excitement and that newness of recent acknowledgement.

'Love you.'

Then he withdrew, unfurling his wings, letting the wash of Skulduggery's soul return to its own thin confines without even requiring an answer.

[skeletonenigma]

The nature of Erskine's shock was such that it took him a full minute to even process what Raphael had said. The headache was gone, but apart from the pain, it still felt very much there; Erskine's head was swimming and shrouded in a haze. Conversations other people were having around him, filled with the quiet and exhausted satisfaction of a job well done, barely registered. When Erskine could finally look up again, the first person his eyes fell on was Ghastly, and the tailor - balancing himself tentatively on his haunches - was looking right back at Erskine, the unspoken question written all over his face.

"I'm fine," Erskine muttered. "Give me a couple of days in a bar, and I'll be grand."

For some unknown reason, Ghastly chuckled. "Pick the bar carefully, or you might end up worse off than you think."

Erskine blinked, tried to find the hidden joke, couldn't, and set the words aside in favour of something a little more immediately important. "No one told me they were mind-readers."

Ghastly hesitated. "Sort of. It's more like soul-reading." He smiled grimly. "I don't think that's what he was doing, though. It was a rather obvious joke."

He knew exactly what Erskine meant, of course. The joke of taking someone's fall to mean they were falling in love with you was a joke that had gone around the Dead Men almost constantly. Started by Larrikin, actually, if Erskine remembered correctly. Something about a baker's son and rosemary-scented buns.

But Ghastly was right. Obvious joke. Just... not one Erskine had ever expected an Archangel to make. "Don't they need our permission?"

"To joke?"

Erskine glared. "Don't you dare make me be coherent right now, Bespoke."

A smile spread over the tailor's face. "Not as far as I can tell. Gabe would probably be polite, but... well, with Raphael, I have no idea."

"And Merlin?"

"You can always ask him."

Unless he could read minds, in which case Erskine wouldn't even need to ask. It was like meeting Hopeless all over again. Except that with Hopeless, they'd all been making an effort to trust each other, which naturally led to Hopeless keeping secrets even from Meritorious himself. Besides, Hopeless was at least human, with human reactions to things. Erskine had no idea about angels. He liked what he'd seen so far, but what he'd seen so far amounted to a little less than an hour.

An unwelcome thought occurred to him. Did Hopeless know what Skulduggery had done? He'd never been able to read the skeleton's mind, but that didn't mean he didn't have access to information the others had no idea existed. And if there was one secret Hopeless would keep completely to himself for someone else's benefit...

Erskine hadn't let himself feel the anger before. There simply hadn't been time, what with Anton's Gist about to break free and slaughter people. Then Anton was in dire need of medical attention, and then Skulduggery was in danger of... what, exactly? Becoming Vile again? In the presence of Archangels? Looking at the pair of them now, Skulduggery and Gabe, with the angel finally starting to pull away and the golden light starting to fade, Erskine's anger changed from something cold and deep, to something hot and hurt. Hurt that Skulduggery had never trusted them enough to tell them right when it first happened.

He watched Skulduggery stand up, slowly, like he was teaching himself how each bone moved all over again, and briefly remembered that he hadn't seen Skulduggery in almost a year. The detective was with the Faceless Ones that whole time. Or - well, wherever he was. Somewhere nasty, at any rate. Being tortured somewhere nasty for months.

He watched Skulduggery's head snap up. "Erskine? When did you get here?"

It was almost funny. God help Erskine, it was almost adorable. The anger flared, lent him a temporary strength that coursed through his limbs. Without thinking, Erskine stood up, took a few steps, and snapped his whole arm forward, driving a concentrated blast of air straight into Skulduggery's chest. It lifted him off his feet and sent him spinning backwards, where he would have landed relatively unscathed if Erskine didn't cut off his trajectory by bringing his arm down, and slamming Skulduggery back into the floor.

There was the sound of something cracking. Maybe a bone, maybe the floor. Erskine didn't stop to check. He immediately raised his arms in surrender. "That's it. That's all. Sorry, sorry. Just had to get that out of my system."

For better or for worse, nobody smote him. Or at least, Erskine continued to perceive the world turning. He waited a beat, not taking his eyes off of Skulduggery, then used the last of the temporary strength to walk forward and hold out his hand.

"That," he said, "was primarily for being an idiot. But there was some other stuff too."

The anger had burned itself out. It would probably come back later, once Erskine really thought about it, and he could deal with it when it did. Right now, Ghastly was still here, and Skulduggery's soul was rainbow coloured. That was really all that mattered. In the few seconds it took Skulduggery to accept Erskine's help back to his feet, Erskine couldn't help wondering if souls showed up in photographs. That was one photograph he wouldn't mind never being able to show anyone else.

Skulduggery straightened up with a short hiss of pain that kept him slightly bent over, with one arm held gingerly by his side. "Is Anton alright?"

That was Skulduggery for you. Always making connections. He'd even pretended to be a mind-reader himself during the war once, when someone was getting a little too close to figuring out Hopeless's abilities. The memory made Erskine smile. "Got to him in time, yep. Little beaten up, but otherwise okay. Just... don't go visiting him, or anything. He needs some time."

"And you don't?"

Erskine made a noncommittal noise and shrugged. "I don't know what's good for me half the time, remember? Besides, it's a little hard to be scared of someone who is, apparently, constantly emitting rainbows."

"I do not emit rainbows."

"The Archangels might have something to do with it, too," Erskine added, as if Skulduggery hadn't spoken. "Ghastly, obviously. Corrival. Oh, and Merlin. You can't just bring legends to life and not share them with your friends. Are you okay? I heard something crack."

Skulduggery grunted. "Just a rib or two. I'll be fine."

[comedianhealer]

Was it wrong, Raphael wondered, to feel a little bit vindicated by the strength of Erskine's reaction? Gabe was still hiding his wings and readjusting to being physical again, so much so that the younger Archangel couldn't do much more than yelp and rise, but he was already relaxing by the time Ravel offered Skulduggery his hand.

Rafe was watching. And he was chagrined to find he didn't have as much of an objection to the sorcerer's reaction as he should have. It wasn't like Gabe and Skulduggery's decision was hard to see. There was a tiny happy smile lurking around Gabe's mouth, one Rafe had never seen him wear before, and the sight of it made the healer angel simultaneously happy and protective.

Gabriel had crossed dimensions for this man. Raphael had seen this man's soul, knew he was worthy--as worthy as it was possible to be--and part of him still wanted to put Skulduggery through the wringer.

Even still, when Gabriel turned to him with a question in his eyes and unspoken on his lips, Rafe found he couldn't really say no. Not that he was going to make it easy, of course. He folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. "What? Whatcha want me for, bro? I ain't your boyfriend's keeper."

The look of surprise, followed by Gabe's cheeks going pink, was oddly satisfying. That little lurking smile, and the way Gabe radiated happy contentment? Well, Rafe could get used to that. The elder Archangel grinned suddenly and flitted toward the skeleton, reaching through his back to deftly put the ribs back in place and heal them within a moment's thought.

"Oi!" Kenspeckle barked a split-second later, just a little too late to actually stop anything. He leaned on the wall to get to his feet, glaring, his finger out-thrust. "What did I just say about you Archangels resting your magic?!"

Raphael stepped back, raising his hands in an imitation of Erskine, except that he was laughing. "Don't smite me, Mister!"

"Don't make me tie you down," Kenspeckle threatened. "Archangel or not, I will find a way if that's what it takes to keep you idiots off your wings for a few days!"

"I like 'im," Rafe said to Gabe as he strolled back to the other angel. "He's like a puppy who thinks he's top dog. What're you laughing at?" Gabe's shoulders were shaking, the younger Archangel in a fit of silent mirth, but then he straightened and shook his head and just smiled, a smile that was more like a beam.

"Just glad you're here."

"You oughta be," Rafe grumbled. "Leavin' your things lyin' everywhere. Off comes the leash and suddenly you're a slob, Gabe, I dunno what we're gonna do with you." But the his expression softened, sobered, and he embraced his brother with a sudden fierceness Gabe returned. Rafe held him tightly, took a moment to work through the absolute terror he'd felt when he heard Skulduggery's prayer and ran into Gabriel's agony, and let it dissolve with the knowledge that everything was well. He planted a soft kiss into his brother's hair. "That's the second time you've left us to pursue things on your own and needed catching, brother. Please try not to do it again. I don't know what I'd do if we lost you when I knew I could have saved you if I'd only known."

"I know," Gabe said softly, and squeezed briefly before pulling back to glance around the room, wonder and gratitude written all over his face as he met each of the others' eyes--or tried, in the cases of those who weren't looking back. When his gaze lit on China Sorrows, something in his face grew gentle and proud at once.

The scan ended, predictably, with Skulduggery Pleasant. "But you're wrong. I wasn't alone this time, Rafe."

Raphael followed his gaze, but couldn't answer. He was too busy being floored by the wave of awed tenderness and amazement and sheer love his brother emitted in that moment. It was the kind of thing humans felt all the time, no less glorious for its frequency, but Raphael had never come even close to feeling it first-hand. Through Gabe, it was a several removes, but there. Pure, golden, a wild joy tempered by quiet peace.

"Yeah, well," he said gruffly, falling back into his human persona for lack of anything else he could do. A wicked grin slid slowly over his face. "Hope you know you're setting him up for a hazin'."

Gabe laughed quietly. "He'll manage, I'm sure." The look he cast up at Rafe was pure mischief. "He might even surprise you, Rafe."

"It's that you doubtin' your big brother I hear?" Rafe demanded mock-sternly. "I think that's earned a punishing. C'mere, you!"

With a yelp Gabriel found himself in a headlock, struggling back as Raphael tousled his hair playfully. The younger Archangel's laughter rang out across the room, even as he pushed at Rafe's arm. "Peace, peace!"

"Children," Merlin sighed from where he still lay motionless, eyes closed and hands folded on his chest. "They won't even let a man take a nap."

But there was a smile in the lines of his face as he spoke.

[skeletonenigma]

"Hazing." Skulduggery's head tilted to the side. "Would I regret asking what that might entail?"

It surprised Ghastly. Honestly, it was one of the few things that still had the potential to do that these days. After Erskine's reaction and Raphael's surprise healing, and especially after Raphael's outright accusation, Ghastly hadn't been expecting Skulduggery to say anything for at least a few minutes. And definitely not something that, serious though it was, came out tinged with amusement.

Erskine didn't seem to mind. He had his hand on Skulduggery's shoulder, like he needed to constantly remind himself that the friend and brother they all remembered was still there. That, Ghastly knew, wouldn't last; as soon as they had a quiet moment, Erskine would round on Skulduggery once again. But that was a bridge they'd tackle when they came to it. Ghastly was a little more concerned over Skulduggery's uncharacteristic behaviour.

"You can't tell," he'd told Tanith quietly when she helped him to his feet earlier, "but I'd bet you anything Skulduggery's blushing, too."

Tanith had only laughed and shook her head. "Skulduggery? Blushing? Over a joke?"

Not just a joke, Ghastly had almost replied. He didn't, in the end, because he figured that was something Skulduggery would tell them about when he was ready to. Except that now, he... didn't seem too worried about being subtle. Nothing wrong with that, but Ghastly had to wonder if Skulduggery's better judgment was being compromised.

He enjoyed the obvious display of love from the brothers, though. Really, when they both looked human and acted human, for the most part, there was nothing to get used to. Even Raphael's antics became something endearing, instead of an antithesis to everything Ghastly thought he knew about Archangels from the Bible. Everyone was quiet during the brothers' scuffle, with Skulduggery only speaking up after Merlin did.

"Yes," came China's immediate answer to the detective's question. "You would. Fletcher, if you're not too busy nursing Valkyrie back to health, and if no one else needs me for anything, I was rather enjoying time alone in my library. I'd like to get back to it."

Ghastly frowned. China being abrupt? He'd known her to skip small talk before, particularly when she was in a bad mood, but completely turn away from one of the most educational opportunities she would ever experience? The chance of a lifetime? Maybe he'd been really underestimating her need for a vacation over the years. Or maybe he was overestimating her ability to move past life-changing events.

Valkyrie dragged her head up. "I don't need nursing."

"Of course you don't," Fletcher agreed. "Just rest, that's all. Rest and relaxation. On my lap."

Valkyrie's fist raised slowly up into the air, then dropped back down onto Fletcher's knee, as if she barely had the energy to even contemplate hitting him for teasing her. Fletcher seemed to realise that, too, and he grinned. "You know, I've always wondered what being a nurse was like."

"I'm not going to be like this forever," Valkyrie murmured. "You just think about that. China, I'm sorry, but I need to sleep."

"On our only means of transportation, you mean?"

"He's soft. He's a pillow. He's not like the floor."

"I'm still worried about this hazing," Skulduggery continued hesitantly. "I'm not an angel, Gabe. I realise the resemblance is startling, but your brother does know that, I hope?"

"Soulmance," Erskine announced quite suddenly. Ghastly was definitely not the only one to look up at him, and he probably wasn't the only one with confusion etched onto his face as he did so. Erskine met each look with a smile and a shrug. "Trying to think of a word that makes more sense than romance. Soulmance. Like a soulmate. Makes sense, right?"

Ghastly was the first one to laugh - possibly because he was the only one to know Erskine was being completely serious. "I like that. Soulmance."

"See, this is what happens when you don't answer my questions right away," Skulduggery grumbled.

[comedianhealer]

"I thought you could handle yourself," Gabriel said, and something close to a playful pout ran across his face. "You're making me look bad, Skul."

"Soulmance," Raphael mused. "I like it too. By the way, dunno if you noticed, bro, but you're blushin' something fierce." The last was said not to Gabriel, but directly to Skulduggery, and Raphael leaned close in to the skeleton's head, one finger raised as if to trace the blush. "It's all over your face, y'know? Hey, Gabe, how far d'you reckon his blush would go?"

Now it was Gabriel who was blushing fiercely, even while Raphael looked over his shoulder and grinned, finger still raised. That is what an angel means by 'hazing', Skulduggery. After all, it's not like there's anything hidden from them.

"I'm not going to get my nap, am I?" Merlin asked rhetorically, opening his eyes with a sigh and pushing himself upright, then slowly to his feet. He bowed toward China. "Ms Sorrows, I can't claim to be a Teleporter, but as I'm not an angel either and thus exempt from Professor Kenspeckle's directive, I would welcome the opportunity to see your library, presuming you are amenable."

"He's making us look bad," Rafe said to Gabe. The other Archangel chose to ignore him.

"Do you have the magic to spare?" he asked his nephew. Merlin couldn't travel to places the same way as an angel without being called, but this case qualified. China Sorrow's library was layered with sigils. At least one of them had to be a caller for her name and her person. Merlin could trace that, if given the right one, and she wouldn't need her magic for that. The question was how much magic Merlin had left.

"Enough for this opportunity," Merlin answered with a raised eyebrow. "Ms Sorrows is a woman of rare knowledge, and I would be a fool to have it pass."

'Do you really want her alone after this?'

Gabriel hid a smile and carefully didn't shake his head. 'No. Thank you, Merlin.'

'For every soul, Gabe.'

Finally Gabriel turned to Raphael, his blush under control and his eyes hugely innocent. "I'm sorry, Rafe, you were saying?"

[skeletonenigma]

"Nothing," Skulduggery interrupted any potential response from the older Archangel. "He wasn't saying anything. And he's going to continue saying nothing for as long as I'm in the room."

It wasn't a joke, Tanith realised slowly, her eyes wide and her mouth open. None of it was. Raphael might have been pointedly teasing, but he was still being perfectly serious. And Gabe's reaction alone...

China was smiling. It was a tentative smile, but not the sort of tentative China usually wore; it wasn't calculating. She wasn't trying to figure out what the best option for her was. She wasn't sizing Merlin up. It was... It was almost like she wasn't sure if she should be smiling at all. And that was so unlike the China Sorrows Tanith remembered that she couldn't help staring at that, even with all sorts of other thoughts careering around her head.

"Well, if you're that interested..." China hesitated. "It's not quite in the condition it used to be, but if you can forgive that, then by all means."

So she either already knew, just like Ghastly did, or she didn't think remarking on it was wise. Probably that latter one, actually. Skulduggery hadn't even looked at her the entire time. Suddenly, it made sense that China would want to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible. The question was whether that was completely out of fear for her own safety, or partly out of respect for Skulduggery. Two days ago, Tanith would have been certain she knew the answer to that. Now, she wasn't so sure.

So she turned her attention instead back to Gabriel, and tried very hard not to think too loudly. Because the kind of things she was imagining now, she didn't particularly feel like being called out on in front of everyone. "Wait, does that mean..." her voice faltered, and she tried again. "Are you guys actually..."

She couldn't finish. She just... couldn't. How did that even work? How did...? Was Skulduggery capable of - why didn't Ghastly tell her about this before? Why didn't someone, somewhere, mention something?

Skulduggery didn't answer Tanith, but after a moment his whole frame shifted. "Thank you, everyone, for all your help. But we have a potential mass-murderer to track down, as soon as Valkyrie feels up to it."

Valkyrie groaned. "I can't just take the rest of the day off?"

"You could. But every moment that slips away from us is a moment Marr has to slip out of the country."

Valkyrie waved a hand dismissively in the air. "You just start without me. I'll help in the morning."

[impudentsongbird]

"Spending an afternoon with a lovely lady and a library of books, or spending it with these reprobates?" Merlin raised his hands as if weighing up and then offered his arm to China with a smile. "It isn't really a contest, I admit. Which sigil am I calling, my dear?"

It took only the right sigil's name, a weaving of magic, a step--and then Merlin and China, her hand resting on his arm as befitting a lady, were gone.

Gabe knew it was only a matter of time before the Ancient would come back with his own dry quips and nudges. He couldn't see souls, but he would wonder. And believe. And want to know. And offer advice.

They were doomed. Especially since Gabe's cheeks were pink again. Rafe wasn't exactly wrong, either. Skul was blushing, even though no one except the two Archangels could see it. In light of Tanith's dawning realisation and Rafe's wicked grin, Gabe chose the path of valour: changing the subject.

"I'll help," he offered. "Valkyrie's earned a day off. Everyone's earned a day off, really." He smiled around at them, trying to get the attention off the two of them. "Thank you all. Really. Especially you, Erskine. You didn't even know I existed an hour ago."

[skeletonenigma]

There were a lot of things Erskine hadn't known an hour ago. He hadn't even known Skulduggery was back an hour ago, let alone been told anything else about what was going on. Still, he supposed he could forgive that. The last thing Erskine felt like doing, after all, was telling anyone else about this, never mind how close they were.

The Archangel's sudden attention on him did make him jump, though - or at least snap to attention. Gabriel - Gabe - whatever - looked normal. He sounded normal. He and his brother both did, now that the healing was over, and it was so very jarring that Erskine had to wonder why the others believed it for even a moment before this. Why Skulduggery believed it. But maybe that wasn't so surprising; Skulduggery had a habit of believing nonsensical things which then turned out to be fact. He just had an equally strong habit of being intelligent to a fault.

"I didn't know the Faceless Ones existed until a year ago," he pointed out. "That didn't stop me from giving up most of my life to fight their return." He hesitated. "Not that I'm going to fight your return, or anything. Just saying knowledge isn't all it's cracked up to be. Besides," he added, and here he smirked, "anything for a friend of Skulduggery's."

He was never going to let the skeleton live this one down. Neither, he suspected, was anyone else.

Having said that, Erskine desperately needed a nap. That earlier temporary strength was fading fast, and his hand on Skulduggery's shoulder was rapidly turning into an arm with half his body weight behind it. He didn't say anything, though, not until Fletcher had gently maneuvered Valkyrie's head off his lap and helped her to her feet. "Anyone want to go home?" he asked.

"Oh, me." Erskine raised his free hand in an exhausted attempt at mimicking an excited schoolchild. "Me. Me. Pick me."

Fletcher grinned. "Valkyrie first, though. I think she's about to pass out."

She did look dangerously pale, so Erskine didn't argue. Not that he would have, anyway. Ladies first. He took Fletcher's proffered hand as the Teleporter nodded towards Skulduggery. "Be right back."

And the three of them vanished.

After another moment, Skulduggery looked towards Gabe. "No magic. No metaphysical feats. Nothing that would raise a mortal's eyebrow. That includes spiriting away with magical bombs, although it could really be anything you instinctively want to do. Otherwise, I'm leaving you in your brother's capable hands."

[peacefullywreathed]

They were the exact same conditions as last time. The ones which Gabe had been entirely incapable of keeping. He bit his lip and ducked his head with chagrin, but nodded. He was about to say something when--

"Hey, man, I'm not sure whether to be approvin' or disappointed on Gabe's behalf. Here I'd have figured you want him under your hands all day long."

Gabe's face reddened and he made a very un-angel-like strangled noise, his hand jerking up as he made to--to--to do something. Like maybe take Rafe's voice. Except he couldn't, because he'd just promised, and Rafe was dancing away laughing like a loon while Gabe stood there blushing.

All of a sudden he wasn't sure about this 'free-will' thing. It shouldn't have even been embarrassing, at least not for himself. Rafe knew he wasn't interested in sex.

It was just that Skulduggery was embarrassed. Because Skulduggery was new enough to these feelings, and he had been a sexual being, and it implied things that were inappropriate without even considering that Skulduggery considered this inappropriate to begin with. So even though it was embarrassment on Skulduggery's behalf, it was intense, uncomfortable, and something Gabe could do a great deal without.

He ran quickly through several courses of action before decided ignoring Rafe was once again the better part of valour and turned back to Skulduggery. "I'll trade you one use of my healed wings if we can start on this investigation now, with whomever wants to join us."

"Oh, good, 'cos I always wondered--"

"--except him," Gabe added, politely ignoring his brother. Or at least as politely as possible when he was still red and outright ignoring someone.

The Archangel was almost certain that, right at this moment, it was an offer Skulduggery wouldn't be able to refuse. Gabe couldn't blame him at all. And when Skulduggery took him up on that offer, he swept the detective away while trying not to think of all the quips about the two of them being alone which Raphael was going to make in their absence.

~~~

Something was wrong. Something was--something was wrong. Very wrong. It wasn't any physical sense; not sound, not taste, not smell or touch and most certainly not sight, because he was fairly sure his eyes were closed. At least, he hoped his eyes were closed. He couldn't be entirely sure, because there was something about this blackness that was also ... wrong.

To be perfectly honest, Solomon wasn't even sure that he was awake. He felt like he was drifting, half-aware, in a haze. Except for a whisper ... some sort of whisper. Not anything from which he could hear details. Just enough to know there was one. And it was cold. It was so, so cold.

He wasn't shivering. He couldn't even feel his body.

He wasn't awake.

But then suddenly, with that realisation, he was. There was a hard stone floor under him. His eyelids flickered and dim light shone through their cracks. He took a breath and it hurt, hurt not because he was injured but because the motion had all other sensations filtering in. A low ring in his ears which he realised sounded exactly like the Scream. The cold, cold that twisted his insides, made him feel like there was a pin of ice in his heart. Something cold and seething, something which pricked his skin from inside out as if seeking an exit--or a fix.

Solomon cried out breathlessly and curled in on himself, breathing in the suffocating magic of death in this dimly lit room, and remembered.

Exiting the Hibernian wasn't as easy as just stepping out the front door, no matter how much Solomon watched it. There were backdoors, ones the ex-Necromancer had covered once he was well enough to actually scout them--and Skulduggery had pointed them out to him. Or refused to, until Solomon could point them out himself. Solomon had been caustic at the time, but he couldn't deny he'd appreciated the distraction.

Now he hurried through the backstreets, his heart pounding slowly, his skin alive with adrenaline. He was eminently aware of everything around him, the gun in one side of his coat and the knife in the other. And yet neither mattered; if he was found, he was a dead man.

So he just had to be careful not to be found.

He should have known better.

It wasn't that he had relaxed his guard. He hadn't. It probably wasn't even that he hadn't been careful enough while leaving. He'd been as careful as it was possible to be.

Sometimes being careful just wasn't enough.

Solomon felt the magic in the sick turn of his stomach, the sudden chill, the way his skin prickled in a way adrenaline just couldn't do. He stopped short on his way down the alley, his breath catching and hand snapping toward the gun. Even that short distance wasn't enough.

The Necromantic fist struck him just as his fingers grazed the handle; Solomon went flying back and hit the wall, winded twice over. He gasped for breath and his knees shook, but he didn't fall; something freezing yanked him back upright against the wall. Solomon's chest ached with lack of air, the shadows around his wrists and shoulders making his skin burn with ice and something deep within him coil and uncoil. He was helpless to do anything as Tenebrae walked forward and quite calmly rifled through Solomon's coat for both his weapons, tossing them carelessly aside.

"Solomon," he said in an admonishing, fatherly tone, "I'm disappointed in you. First you betray me--no." He shook his head. "You betray the Temple, the faith, and then you expect us to have given up watching you after only two days. For shame."

Solomon coughed, dragged in air, and managed to hold it. That didn't mean he could talk, though he tried; all that came out was a croak. Tenebrae lifted a hand. "No, no; there's no need for that. It really doesn't matter what you have to say. What matters, Solomon--" Tenebrae's voice turned gently stern. "--what matters is that you come home."

There were others in the alley, Solomon was dimly aware. Others drawing shadows and magic after them, shadows which shrieked in his head and made that tightness in his body worsen until his whole being rang with it. He tried to talk, but all that came out with a groan.

He didn't even see who struck the blow.

Laying on the hard stone floor, Solomon wrapped his arms around himself and tried to breathe. It was hard--almost impossible. His magic bubbled under his skin, whispering and demanding and scattering his thoughts everywhere. His mouth was dry, his stomach roiled, but his throat was too closed for even the consideration that anything might come up.

He was at the Temple, he knew. He couldn't be anywhere else. He was at the Temple, in one of the dungeons. At the Temple, in a dungeon, and all around him was death, death, death--

His magic shrieked and coiled with helpless need for an exit, and Solomon's body clenched, his fingernails digging hard enough into his palms to draw blood. The shadows around him were still; the war wasn't in them. He had no means by which to control them.

It hadn't been this bad at the Hibernian, Solomon thought dizzily.

He hadn't been in the middle of Ireland's most powerful seat of Necromantic magic at the Hibernian.

After an interminable length of time Solomon's body relaxed and he sank against the floor, panting, his shaking hands wrapped in his shirt to try and stave off the sting in his palms. Someone had taken his coat. It was dark. Dark, and whispering, and all the while, his magic simmered under his skin.

And he wondered how long he'd be able to resist it.