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

[impudentsongbird]

"Name's Gabe," Gabe said, looking around the office. He made it to the desk but didn't stay there, wandering around, picking up things and putting them carefully back down exactly where they were, inspecting the office with the air of a man genuinely curious and yet unconcerned by the reaction of those to whom the office belonged. "New to the area, sorta. Well, I've been to Ireland before and all; nice place, ain't it?"

Although it had looked as though the Archangel was paying only scant attention while he rambled, in truth he spent the time inspecting Tenebrae himself. His soul was like very few Gabriel had ever seen--strong in all the wrong ways, liable to break utterly if the pressure points to which Gabe was so eminently qualified were hit. Strong and with a veneer of fury and distaste and confusion. All that he'd ordered done to Solomon wheeled on his surface in a medley of hues; Gabe let it wash over him, didn't internalise it, didn't react.

There was nuance even in stone, though. Facets, colours which radiated from the deep centre. There was a secret in Tenebrae, something he had spent centuries concealing--so long, so vital to his sense of importance that the presence of the secret itself was no secret at all.

That secret, whatever it was, would be a key to convincing him to let Solomon go without a fight. Which was why Gabe teased it out and found himself extremely glad he had been using the man's office as a cover, flipping the pages of a book idly and gracefully between his fingers. It meant he managed to conceal his shock when the secret ebbed out like a slow, creeping shadow.

"I don't joke before about eight o'clock. Then again, it's past lunchtime, ain't it? Oh well." He shrugged, put down the book and ambled back over to the desk with a smile. "Here's how I see it, Auron. We're here for Sol, and you know that. Whatcha don't know yet is that you're gonna let us walk down to his room and take him away without a fight."

[skeletonenigma]

Gabe. Tenebrae's gaze never moved from Gabe's methodical search of the office, even though he never explicitly made his displeasure known. The High Priest wasn't foolish enough to leave anything important out, so there wasn't any real need to worry. Still, Tenebrae felt a thin vein of distaste as he watched, and a sudden flare of anger each time Gabe touched something, which he almost instantly dispelled.

The stranger was a lot like Skulduggery Pleasant, but in all the annoying ways. The way he talked, for example, like every single word he was saying held the utmost importance. The way he danced around his point, delaying it, taking joy in making others have to wait. The confidence, of course, went without saying. But there was even a hint of that utter, utter smugness Tenebrae detested so much.

"Is that so?" Despite himself, Tenebrae smiled back at Gabe, leaning comfortably against the back of the chair with his arms folded. "I have to say, I doubt that very much. But please. Impress me."

[impudentsongbird]

Gabe surveyed the desk for a moment, very carefully rearranged it a bit so he could sit on the edge, and did so, hands folded in his lap. The whole time, the smile never left. As confident as the actions were, there was an oddly contrasting gentleness in them all. As if Gabe was still using kid gloves, for the moment; as if he wasn't deliberately out to make Tenebrae look foolish, but that Tenebrae would as a result of his own actions and answers.

"Well, since you asked so nicely. You're gonna let us take Sol, Auron, because, well, you may've heard that he and Skulduggery Pleasant were kinda attached back in the day." He waved a hand toward the general direction of the Temple entrance. "Obviously he ain't here right now, but that took some arguin', believe me. He knows we're here. And he knows Sol is here. And he even knows you did something really bad to him. Now."

The Archangel looked back at Tenebrae, and although the smile had never left his face, it now took on the faintest of steely edges. "The question you oughta be askin' yourself, Auron, is that given what both you and I know about Skulduggery's past activities, and the fact he's just spent a year in a dimension filled with Faceless Ones, do you really wanna be pokin' that hornet's nest?" He tilted his head. The smile looked friendly, almost gentle even. His gaze never flickered. "Or for the rest of the Temples to find out the details about that failure? I'd like t'remind you, here, that he's expectin' us to report back pretty soon."

[skeletonenigma]

Tenebrae felt an odd stillness as he returned Gabe's look, his own gaze never faltering in the weight of that steel. The stillness masked not terror, but a sudden and tumultuous flood of thoughts.

Pleasant wouldn't have told anyone, much less a perfect stranger. That should have been enough to keep everything hidden. Tenebrae had been rather counting on that keeping everything hidden. Still, he'd considered the possibility of a strong enough Sensitive discovering the truth, so he couldn't discount that this man standing - sitting - in front of him might in fact know.

It didn't mean he did. Just that he could.

Assuming he did know, and wasn't simply bluffing in the hopes of hitting on something, he had a very good point. The last thing Tenebrae wanted to do was knowingly direct Pleasant's ire at the Temple. Now that Pleasant might well be unstable...

Even then, Tenebrae was confident enough that he could handle any and all consequences to come from that, if Gabe wasn't so clearly implying something even deeper than that. But no. No one knew that. It was impossible even to pretend this man, this... Gabe might know. Serpine himself hadn't figured it out.

Either way, Tenebrae was fairly sure Gabe would be careful about how much he said in front of the others - Erskine Ravel, especially. So it didn't matter whether he knew Skulduggery's true past or not. What mattered was not giving the possibility of a bluff any indication that it might be hitting anywhere close to home. So that was exactly what Tenebrae did.

"I'm not sure what 'hornet's nest' you're talking about," he remarked evenly. "You may not have heard, but Skulduggery Pleasant is not too fond of Necromancers. Unstable or not, he's hardly going to mount an offensive just to rescue one. As for the rest of the Temples..." Tenebrae's smile returned. "You really are new to this area, aren't you? You really think you hold any more weight within the Necromancer Order than a young acolyte at best, much less a High Priest? And that's assuming you actually have anything to tell them."

[impudentsongbird]

"Skulduggery Pleasant ain't fond of people who hurt people he's cared about," Gabe answered simply. His smile had gone, now, but there was still an oddness in his bearing. As if what he was doing now was a fair warning, a gentle but stern reprimand. Gentle, but this time, the kid gloves were off. "I think he'd be real eager to take revenge on someone who did that. Especially if he found out that someone was responsible for all the Hell he's been through."

He leaned forward slightly, holding Tenebrae's gaze. Reading the memories in him, the memories turning over by the mere vagueness of his previous implication. "Kinda like you, Auron. I don't think the Temples will be too pleased to find out you're the one who created Lord Vile. Who brought the most powerful Necromancer in the world to the Temple, from the outside. Who utterly failed to control him at all. The day he came to you must've been one of the best days of your life, right? You taught Serpine that trick, made sure it wouldn't kill Skulduggery, but it didn't work out how you thought and then Skulduggery never came to figure out what went wrong. You were beginnin' to lose hope he'd ever be interested. And one day he just turned up on the Temple's doorstep, all cloaked and hidden. But you knew it was him. An' you told no one."

Gabe tilted his head. "'Course, how the Temples will react is nothin' to how Skulduggery will when he finds out it was all your fault. Your fault he died the way he did. That he couldn't move on after. That he's forced to live day by day in complete and utter rage. How many things d'you think he can overlook before that rage boils over? D'you really want him t'be aimin' at you when it does?"

[skeletonenigma]

Tenebrae blinked.

The stillness was gone. He wasn't quite sure what it had been replaced with, but whatever it was, it grew the longer Gabe kept speaking. Tenebrae could feel one of his hands start to shake; he folded it into his lap to hide that fact and didn't let the expression on his face change.

But he didn't try to deny any of it either.

Wondering how on earth this man knew any of what even Serpine never guessed was about the least useful thing Tenebrae could do, so he focussed instead on what to do now that the secret was apparently out. Most importantly, damage control. Judging by Valkyrie's reaction, she hadn't known any of this. That wouldn't normally have been Tenebrae's problem - in fact, he normally would have found that amusing - but there was every chance she would run back and tell the skeleton detective everything that happened here.

If Pleasant didn't have a reason to come back to the Temple, he wouldn't. But right now, as Gabe pointed out, the skeleton very much did.

Ravel, on the other hand... Ravel was right here. Ravel, Tenebrae would have to worry about. Right now, the man just looked incredulous, and that would likely continue on for a while. That was a good thing. If it didn't, if the incredulity did morph into the anger that would inevitably come, Pleasant wouldn't be here. Tenebrae would. And he didn't particularly feel like taking on someone who even during the war had a reputation for being powerful.

"I didn't bring him back," Tenebrae murmured. "I merely allowed for the possibility. His day-to-day Hell is really his own doing."

"Don't you dare."

Tenebrae raised an eyebrow at Ravel. That was the anger. It had come much too soon. The Elemental had taken all of about a minute to work through what must have been a life-shattering revelation, and now he was defending the man. "Don't I dare what?"

Ravel's eyes blazed as he took a step forward. "You brought him back. You made Vile possible. You turned him into the ultimate killing machine. Don't you dare act like this is all his fault. Don't you dare undermine everything he's been trying to do since then."

The words were edged with solid steel. This went beyond mere defence. This didn't make any sense, unless... unless Ravel had already known.

Which meant Valkyrie also did, somehow. Which meant they'd already had time to work through it. Which meant they'd be looking for someone, anyone, other than Pleasant to blame for what happened with Lord Vile, as per the mysterious rules of friendship.

Tenebrae was teetering on the edge of a precipice, and he could feel it. Gabe was absolutely right earlier. The High Priest was going to need to tread carefully if he was going to come out of this in one piece, all assets and reputation intact. The best way to do that was with the truth. Yes, Pleasant would find out, but better now indirectly from Tenebrae than years down the line with his anger simmering all the while. It was a risk Tenebrae was willing to take in the interests of immediate safety.

"I taught Serpine the ability of agonising death," he explained calmly. "It's a Necromancer trick, you know. Where do you think he learned it? When I did, I managed to make sure it would bind Skulduggery's soul to his body should it ever be used on him. But that is all I did."

"He's a skeleton."

"I noticed that, yes. I had no idea they'd reduce him to mere bones so quickly. Had I known that, I'd have been more careful."

"More careful?" Ravel's eyes were really burning. Tenebrae felt himself stiffen. "We searched for the cause of his resurrection for years. For centuries. And the whole time, it was just you?"

Tenebrae's pride rang. "Just me? It wasn't exactly easy to trick Serpine. Anything could have gone wrong at any moment."

"You don't call Vile 'going wrong?'"

"Vile was unfortunate. And no one was more surprised by it than me."

Ravel took another slow step forward. "If Vile wasn't the intention, why did you stop Skulduggery from dying?"

"I - "

"You wanted a tool. Necromancy wielded by a dead person. Thousands of times more powerful, right?"

"It wasn't - "

"And when he became Vile instead, did you do anything to try and stop it?"

"If I could get a word in edgeways," Tenebrae muttered, feeling his own anger slowly getting the better of him without really caring.

"Why didn't you try to stop Vile?"

Another precipice, but this time Tenebrae threw himself over it without question. "I did. But there's very little you can do when you can't say how you know someone isn't who they say they are. Lord Vile was the most powerful Necromancer our Order had ever seen. We didn't simply let him go."

"Why did he leave?" Ravel demanded.

"I suppose it's because he wasn't really interested in saving the world."

"Gee," Ravel snapped, every word spitting with acid, "I wonder why. Proud of yourselves, are you?"

"For creating Vile? No. For creating a Necromancer who, apparently, is still easily within grasp of it?" Tenebrae shrugged noncommittally. "I'd be lying if I said I regretted that."

Tenebrae barely had a moment to realise what a bad idea that admittance was when Ravel lunged across the desk towards him.

[impudentsongbird]

Quick as a flash Gabriel was on his feet, catching Erskine by the shoulders and turning him to avoid having to use too much strength to stop him in his tracks. He couldn't afford to display too many apparent skills, and while he'd been content to let Erskine get his anger out, punching Tenebrae was very much the wrong track to take.

Especially since Erskine had already almost tipped their hand completely.

"Esrkine, stop," Gabe said quietly, one hand on the sorcerer's chest, the other gripping his arm. He looked into the man's eyes, silently asking him to trust. "This ain't gonna help, okay? We're here for Sol." He looked at Tenebrae. "And if you ain't careful, Auron, Skulduggery's the one who's gonna be here for Sol. I'm willin' to let you off if you let us take Sol right now, without a fight. But if you don't, well."

He shrugged. "Erskine'll probably attack ya. Valkyrie will probably help. Your Necromancers will come in an' help you. Meanwhile Fletch will Teleport out to go get Skulduggery, bring him back in, and before you know it the Temple of Ireland is uprooted and razed to the ground. That really somethin' you wanna risk, Auron?"

[skeletonenigma]

Ravel, miraculously, actually did stop. Either Gabe was a lot stronger than he looked, or Ravel was forcing himself to back down in response to Gabe's words. Tenebrae couldn't tell which. Maybe it was a combination of both.

Gabe, though, was starting to unnerve him. It suddenly became clear why the man had perched himself on the edge of the desk like he did - to be able to immediately stop something like Ravel's intent from happening. Gabe wasn't angry. Gabe was thinking clearly. Gabe was smiling almost the whole time he was idly threatening, perfectly friendly and even somewhat gentle. He'd been vague at first, like he was actually trying to protect Tenebrae. It wasn't the gentle and cheerful protectiveness of the genuinely malicious, either, because Tenebrae could truly believe this man did not want any violence to result from this exchange if he could help it.

Utterly and truly did not want violence - but was strong enough to be able to stop it when it occurred badly, and allow it to happen if that was necessary. A series of traits so rare in sorcerers as to be nonexistent. Tenebrae found himself trusting that Gabe really would let him off the hook. Ravel, Cain, and Pleasant, he was less sure about.

But there wasn't much he could do about it anymore. Gabe had given him a chance to keep it hidden, and Tenebrae had completely squandered it.

His earlier prediction proved true. Tenebrae did not like Gabe one bit.

"No," he answered, just as calmly as before. "It isn't. Cleric Quiver, please show them to Solomon's room."

[impudentsongbird]

"Yes, High Priest." Quiver's voice actually sounded shaken, and he was slightly pale, but composed, as he turned toward the door. His gaze skirted around Gabe and the others--but mostly Gabe--and the necromancer took the lead with short, controlled steps just enough to keep him ahead of the group.

With a gentle nudge Gabe urged Erskine out along with the others, following behind the shaken necromancer. His flames were burning still, small but now so hot that the edges of his shadows looked as if they might start to dissolve.

As soon as they were far enough from Tenebrae's office Gabriel said, "You don't have to show us the way. 'Sides, there's somethin' you've got that still belongs to Sol in your medical wing. Rather you wrapped 'em all up, y'know? No need to put things like that on display." His voice was even, but it still made Quiver stop short and turn to look at him. For a moment the necromancer's throat worked, and Gabe saw in him a burning desire.

One he quelled. Quiver was an extremely thoughtful man who had just discovered several extremely unnerving things, and he needed to process them before he added to them. The thing that made Quiver unique was that he recognised that trait, saw the escape-route Gabe was simultaneously offering and the salted wounds of which Gabe was aware by sending him to retrieve ... those. And he knew Gabe knew it, too. He knew, and the necromancer still nodded shortly, his hands tense but unclenched on his robes just before he reached up to take a key from his ring and hand it over.

"I'll bring them to his quarters for you."

He turned down another intersection, moving quickly, not quite as if trying to flee. The man was terrified, and he didn't even understand why. Yet.

But he would. Of that, Gabriel was certain. The Archangel turned to follow the luminous golden wash radiating down the corridor. It only seemed like a few seconds before they were before Solomon's door and Gabe was fitting the door to the lock, pushing it open. And there he was.

Solomon was at once the most pitiful thing imaginable and the most glorious thing in the world. He lay limp and unmoving on his side, curled up around the tiny grey teddy-bear. His clothes, far from the elegant suits, were a pair of loose grey pants and a cotton shirt; hardly more than hospital-wear. He was bandaged almost everywhere, it seemed--his hands, his wrists, his feet, his forehead, his eyes; his shirt had ridden up slightly and showed the white curve of another bandage around his back and side. With all the grey and the white of his clothes, bandages and sheets, his dark hair stood in contrast, and that only made the grey in it look even more obvious. They weren't just flecks. They were quite obvious ribbons, trailing back from his temples.

He was a sick man. A wounded man. A wasted man.

His soul shone gold, the undistilled brilliance of a sunset whose clouds only made its beauty all the greater. The sight of it brought tears to Gabe's eyes.

Solomon lifted his head and smiled an oddly vulnerable smile, the sort of a trusting, unquestioning child. His voice was hoarse, but steady. Serene, even. "I knew you were here."

Gabe smiled back and went to him, kneeling by his bed, taking the hand not occupied with holding Kian. The tears were on his cheeks now; he let them fall. "D'you know how beautiful you look right now, pardner? You're all golden."

"I was about to say the same thing to you," Solomon murmured drowsily and with a quirk at the corner of his mouth. "Except I suspect you're blurrier to me than I am to you. Who's with you?"

"Valkyrie and Fletch," Gabe said, "and Erskine Ravel."

Solomon's eyebrows rose and his face shifted slightly in the others' direction. "Well, this is a surprise. Do come in to my humble abode. Valkyrie, you've done something with your clothes and makeup. They're less black. I approve."

Still holding Solomon's hand in his, Gabe rocked back on his heels, threw back his head and laughed.

[skeletonenigma]

Quiver, Valkyrie had always thought, was the most reasonable one of the three. Well, okay, not always thought. When they first met, he'd been scary and intimidating. Powerful people who rarely smiled were usually like that. People like Mr. Bliss. But then she'd come a little more often, and gotten to know the more powerful Necromancers a little better, and from that moment on she'd always thought Quiver was the most reasonable. Probably also, after that display, the most intelligent one, even if Valkyrie couldn't quite figure out why he hadn't asked them anything yet.

She couldn't help shivering when she thought about the repercussions of this, though. It really was a good thing Skulduggery didn't come. He'd been searching his whole un-life for what brought him back, and probably redoubled his efforts after what happened with Vile. He... wouldn't be too happy to discover the answer was Tenebrae.

Erskine wasn't happy. And he'd known the truth for less than twenty-four hours.

She resisted the urge to ask what got left behind in the medical wing - Valkyrie knew she wouldn't like the answer, no matter what it was - and stayed quiet while she followed Gabe. She tried to imagine what might have happened, what Solomon might look like when they found him, and her blood ran cold. These were people who could control death. People who treated life like a privilege, one that only Necromancers had earned. Solomon was no longer a Necromancer.

He'd probably be wishing he was dead.

When Gabe unlocked the door, though, he... didn't look quite as bad as Valkyrie was picturing, which was a small mercy compared to everything else. They'd bandaged him up, at least, even if it meant she couldn't tell just how bad the injuries were. Only that they seemed to be... pretty much everywhere, really, with one bandage even covering his eyes. But the way Solomon was curled around that teddy bear was what really pulled at Valkyrie's heart.

He didn't even care about his dignity anymore. But Solomon Wreath always cared about his dignity. Valkyrie swallowed hard and forced herself to take a step forward after Gabe.

He couldn't see anything through that bandage, could he? Valkyrie frowned and instinctively reached up to touch her face, but she didn't wear makeup. She knew she didn't wear makeup. And her clothes were Ghastly's black clothes, black as ever -

Oh. Her soul.

Valkyrie grimaced. He could see souls. Was that always going to be an aftereffect when he was in Gabe's presence? She thought he said that only happened because he was using Necromancy at the time. Maybe it was different now. Maybe it was taking over for his physical sight.

She smiled. "It's a new look I'm trying out. Can't really say I like yours, though. Grey isn't really your thing."

[impudentsongbird]

"And here Craven was just in to tell me how distinguished I look," Solomon answered with threads of amusement, his face turning more completely toward Valkyrie. "You'll make me think he was lying. By the by, I don't suppose one of you could take care of the camera that's lurking in the walls somewhere?"

Gabriel looked up, glanced around, and then pointed toward the faint sheen of a camera lens. "Just there. Good catch, Sol. We don't wanna be spied on. Well, not by them, anyways."

"Oddly enough, you get used to it." Solomon stirred, turned into the bed to try and push himself up onto his elbows, and then into a seated position. Gabe put a hand on his shoulder to press him gently onto the bed.

"Not yet. Nathanial's bringin' us something and then we'll leave. Think you've earned the right to not move for a li'l while."

There was an air of relief around him as the sorcerer relaxed again, turning onto his back more fully. "That sounds nice, actually. By the way, Ravel, pursuant to that question you asked earlier--yes, I have."

[skeletonenigma]

Valkyrie was almost completely sure Craven said nothing of the sort, but it made her laugh anyway, even as she wondered if this meant Solomon was going to age now. Age. At the normal rate. She'd never quite realised how accustomed she was getting to sorcerers who'd lived centuries and didn't look a day over 35, and seeing the grey in Solomon's hair was a little more unnerving than she wanted to admit.

Golden soul, she reminded herself. Golden soul. She sort of wished she could see it.

A tiny and selfish part of her wanted to know why Skulduggery got a rainbow soul and Solomon got a gold one and all she got was less black. Valkyrie squashed that part of her before it could make itself too insistent in her mind.

Erskine blinked. "Question? What question? 'Please don't attack us?' I don't remember asking a question." He gestured towards the camera. "Would you like the honours, Valkyrie?"

Valkyrie grinned. "Yep." In lieu of a sharpened shadow to call on, Valkyrie focussed on the camera, held her hand out, and snapped her palm towards it. She'd been aiming just for the camera, and while that broke off, it took a good section of wall with it. She lowered her hand with a sheepish smile. "I've... got a lot of catch-up work to do, I think."

[peacefullywreathed]

"You'll have the time," Saint Gabriel said to her. He said more, but Solomon tuned it out to watch; the sorcerer wondered if Saint Gabriel knew how his voice made the lifestream ripple. Probably. It was fascinating, actually. Fascinating and beautiful. When he spoke it was like a butterfly touching down on a pond-surface; even the Scream stilled to listen. And that when he was speaking with a mortal's voice.

Solomon knew that if the Archangel spoke with his true one, the Scream would do a lot more than just perk up its non-existent ears.

He couldn't help staring. Everything was blurry, even Saint Gabriel, but the Archangel was the thing Solomon could see with the most clarity. He was defined; where the other sorcerers were balls of colour or shadow, and he had had to squint just to see past the soul to the people when he'd had physical eyes to see, Saint Gabriel had a face. He had form. 'Beautiful' was too tame a word. He was soft, gentle. Peaceful. Quiet surf on an endless golden beach, and the starlight in his wings extending forever in all directions overhead.

Such brightness in the physical world should have overshadowed the others, but it didn't. Valkyrie's soul wasn't shadowed anymore--at all, actually. Solomon hoped that meant she wouldn't suffer any part of a withdrawal. It was still young, though. He could tell that. Young, like a ... a sun, maybe. Bright and colourful and explosive, but still being shaped. Fletcher's soul was young as well, but in a different way; his was more flighty, pulling this way and that as if it had the attention span of a puppy. With wings.

Ravel was steadier. More tempered. Like a tree, one that had stood for a very long time and would likely stand for longer yet. Not a heavy one, though. Not an oak or a pine, but something more supple.

The Scream quivered. Solomon tore his eyes from the people filling the room to the corridor at the same time Saint Gabriel looked up. "Here's Nate. Ready, pardner?"

"Past it," Solomon agreed, and made to lever himself up again as Saint Gabriel turned to him. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he was a little startled when the Archangel reached down to pick him up, cradling him to his chest and rising as easily as if carrying a child. Solomon was a few inches taller; it should have been awkward.

It wasn't. After a moment Solomon just felt relieved he didn't have to try to walk and rested his head on the Archangel's shoulder. The throb of pain all through his body, both from injuries and from muscular strain, eased just with the Archangel's touch. A moment later he felt warmer, comforted, as wings folded around him. Holding the bear on his lap, Solomon reached out curiously and found feathers under his touch, soft and humming. It made him smile without thinking.

Quiver came in and stopped short in the doorway, and Solomon had to look. Had to stare, really, not that anyone could tell. That tiny pilot light had grown into something bigger, something big enough to actually start affecting the shadows. It looked painful, actually.

"Thanks, Nathanial," Saint Gabriel said; Solomon tracked the ripples his voice made, the way they hit the blurry purple-red and made it still. "Hand it to Erskine, will ya? Fletch has the key."

What was--oh. Quite suddenly Solomon was glad he couldn't see what Quiver was holding, although if he could, Quiver wouldn't be holding it and it wouldn't matter. He was, Solomon decided, getting very close to being delirious from sheer tiredness.

He expected Quiver to leave after the exchanges were made. To his surprise the man stepped into the room, the fire in his soul still and steady but bright, and Solomon heard the door close. "You can see souls, can't you." It wasn't quite a question. "It's you who taught Solomon how to do so. You whom he was protecting."

"I showed him a different way," Saint Gabriel corrected, turning to stand beside Fletcher Renn. "Anythin' else is somethin' he did on his own."

"Who are you?" Quiver's voice wasn't quite even. Not quite the matter-of-fact tone Quiver usually displayed. The light flickered, but never actually dimmed.

"My friends and family call me Gabe," said the Archangel, "but on formal occasions my Daddy calls me Gabriel."

The last thing Solomon saw before Fletcher Renn whisked them away was the sight of the flame in Quiver's soul exploding into a searing bonfire.

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery was being unreasonable. He knew he was being unreasonable, too, which made it all the worse, but for some reason he couldn't quite stop himself from continuing to be unreasonable.

He'd never particularly liked waiting, but he liked it even less when he didn't specifically have to. Add to that his conscious avoidance of accidental praying, and waiting was taking up almost all of Skulduggery's energy. Twice now, he'd almost given up and left to head to the Temple himself. The first time, he stopped without interference, after remembering that Fletcher had never been inside the Temple before. So of course it wasn't as simple as Teleporting in, then back out again.

The second time, about ten minutes later with no word whatsoever, Skulduggery began to wonder how dangerous the situation needed to get before Gabe would call him for help. He debated praying himself, decided that if everything was going well it might only be a distraction, and then headed for the door again.

Raphael stopped him that time, reminding him simply of the promise he'd made to Gabe. That stopped Skulduggery in his tracks, although for very different reasons than Raphael had probably been intending.

He closed the door again and turned back around. "How much does a person's soul tell you about them? About their magic?"

[comedianhealer]

To be fair to Skulduggery, Raphael was pacing the room like a prowling panther himself. The Archangel's energy wasn't precisely restless or nervous, but it wasn't subsiding and it infected the room. Even Kenspeckle was looking distracted from his attempts to return to his work. Merlin was sitting on the lone chair, legs and arms crossed, staring up at the ceiling and tapping his fingers on his arms.

Rafe turned at the question, his eyes distant for a moment before he blinked and actually looked at Skulduggery. "They aren't mutually inclusive things. Not always. Just like any other trait or experience, it depends upon how much a person's magic defines them. But, Skulduggery, a person's soul is the sum of them. It tells us everything--even their magic. How easy the details of their magic is to see is only dependant upon how important it was, or is, in creating the person they are. As is everything else."

[skeletonenigma]

In that case, Skulduggery nearly asked, why isn't there even a hint of Necromancy in mine?

But that wasn't what he needed to know right now, regardless of whether Raphael heard or not. "It tells you everything. You've had a long time to practice. If someone were new to the whole business, how much could they tell? Say, if someone were subtly manipulating something around them, how obvious would that magic have to be before it..." He hesitated, trying to think of the right way to phrase what he meant. The feeling of being lost for words was so foreign to Skulduggery that the pause lasted a beat longer than he really meant it to. "... shows up, in their soul, to a novice?"

Particularly when said person's soul was far more under their own control than any human had ever been able to say.

Skulduggery's attempt at remaining vague was about as obscure as a glass wall, he knew. Hell, he was probably broadcasting it by this point, whereas before he'd hidden it so well that the thought didn't even consciously occur until just now. Ever since being thrown into the metaphysical deep end... But there was no way he could hide it now. Not when the worry was latching on to the already existing worry and growing at an exponential rate.

[comedianhealer]

There was an answer to that, but since it wasn't a question asked out loud, Raphael let it pass by. The rules had changed once people knew they existed. Before, answering unspoken questions in some fashion was the only means they had to answer them at all; now, waiting until they were actively asked seemed like the best way to avoid too much interference--which, regardless of his usual actions, Raphael agreed with his brothers was necessary.

It would just be self-policed in a way none of them had ever expected before.

Besides, that silent question aside, the one Skulduggery was really asking was far more important. The Archangel was taken by surprise by the sudden blast of anger, and before he could control himself his eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean, Skulduggery?" Merlin asked, regarding the skeleton with confused patience.

"I know," Rafe cut in tersely, and Merlin's head snapped around to look at him in surprise. Raphael didn't look back. He was too busy wrestling with that upsurge of anger, even while he came nearer to where the skeleton stood. Even so, his voice was tightly controlled--but furious. "My brother gave you his NAME."

"He what?" Merlin's startled voice was a background noise. Raphael ignored it.

"This is exactly what I was talking about in the car. There is no manipulation of that kind. There will never be any manipulation of that kind. You know that, and yet here you are: asking me if Gabriel would make you feel things because you are so bound up in neuroses you cannot help but wonder."

It wasn't just the fear of what Skulduggery was suggesting. It was that Skulduggery was expecting, assuming, that it was a foregone conclusion. That was the part that made the Archangel so angry--that Skulduggery would bend to his own neuroses enough to assume that Gabriel, the gentlest and most loving of them all, would actually be capable of such a thing.

Under any other circumstance, Raphael would understand. He would. But this was Gabriel, and Raphael was finding he was far less objective when things came to his loving, reckless little brother. The worst part was that he knew his words would do nothing to convince Skulduggery of anything at all, except that he wasn't worthy. The fear wasn't worthy, not Skulduggery, but he was so busy chaining himself to his guilt that he couldn't tell the difference between the two.

So in a fit of recklessness worthy of Gabriel, Raphael showed him.

"Hey there, li'l bro, what's cookin'?" Raphael appeared suddenly with his arm around Gabriel's shoulders, sudden enough that the younger Archangel actually looked startled. Rafe was prepared to feel smug, except that startle segued easily into amused incredulity.

"What was that? That wasn't any accent I've ever heard."

"I was experimenting," Rafe admitted, torn between chagrin and amusement, and wound up simply laughing as he sat beside his brother on the middle rung of the H in the HOLLYWOOD sign. The Archangel looked down at the city sprawled beneath them, all shining into the night sky like a reflection of a much more rainbow-coloured moon. "What are you doing here? After--"

He cut himself off, surprised by the sudden well of emotion. After so long away from our Master, I would have thought you'd want to stay close.

Gabe heard it anyway and shifted a little nearer, enough to press their shoulders together. "I needed to think," he said softly. "After some things He said. I didn't want to ask Him more about them because, well ..."

"We're meant to be thinking for ourselves?" Raphael finished for him, and Gabe nodded. The younger Archangel looked at him with puzzlement in his eyes.

"But there's something else I've been wondering, Rafe. You've taken to ... all this ... so well. You weren't even involved in the wager, but you don't seem to be finding this hard at all. Your horrible accents notwithstanding."

The last was said dryly, with a fleeting grin. Rafe grinned back before sobering. "He didn't have anyone to talk to while you were gone, Gabe. I think He was lonely without you. So He came to me, and there were some things He said--I didn't understand them at all, at the time. But now I do."

He didn't wait for Gabe to ask before sending over the memory; the question was in his brother's face, as was the uncertainty over whether he should ask.

In real time, the here and now, Raphael dulled that memory-within-a-memory for Skulduggery. Most of it was private, but there was one thing--just one--which was relevant, and that, Rafe let Skulduggery see.

He wouldn't usually have done this. He wouldn't usually have done this at all. But Skulduggery needed to understand why Gabriel would never, ever do what the detective was thinking. Know it, understand it, not merely think it and then continue to worry. Gabriel's name should have been enough, but apparently it wasn't, and some part of Rafe was angry enough to hit Skulduggery a bludgeon.

Enough that he showed more than, perhaps, he intended or was wise.

"You know how much time I spent down here trying to fix the massive neurosis Lucifer had inflicted on those sad innocents, but they were too convinced I was angry at them to trust Me. I tried reassuring them. I tried jokes. I even tried punishing them, hoping they'd feel expiated and leave it behind. But nothing worked ... and that's when it hit Me, Rafe."

They were on a snow-capped mountain, a strong wind all around them, enough to make the mountain groan. Yet in spite of that, the Creator's voice was the thing most solid in the memory, audible over everything, as if everything else were simply background. That voice, glowing with excitement.

"I remember standing on a hill one day, watching them burn down each other's little villages, all trying to shove their own shame onto others' shoulders, just as Lucifer had done to them, and suddenly thinking, "Oh my God! They really are totally out of control! Even Mine! Raphael, awful as I felt about what they were doing, I could not have been happier about what they were! I swear, Rafe, if Lucifer could have just stopped trying to eradicate his shame by getting rid of them all, I might have invited him back with open arms and a hero's welcome!

"Of course, this hardly excused Me from addressing all the damage My own angel had inflicted. So I hung around, trying to shove them back on course: forcing them to apologise when they'd maimed someone, thwarting their little wars, telling them over and over that they couldn't be God no matter how angry they were, scaring the crap out of them when it was necessary. Let's face it, Rafe, I was a world-class party pooper, and yet the most amazing thing happened. A few of the little buggers began to get what I was after, and, Rafe, they liked Me!"

The smile. The child-like smile of wonder, a silly little smile of a kid who had been all alone for a very long time and was all of a sudden invited to a party. That smile, and those tears. "Love. My greatest creation took Me by surprise."

"But ... I do not mean to contradict You, Master," Raphael said, and in the memory his own voice sounded disconcerted. Hesitant, at a loss, no idea what was going on or why his Master should look like that. "But how could Your own creation take You by surprise?"

"Oh, I created the things that created love, but while I was more than able to make them obey Me, nobody made them like Me, not even Me! This wasn't just an empty imitation. It was the real thing! Don't you see? They chose, Rafe. Well, I saw right off that the whole thing had to stay free, or none of it would be real. You can't control the bad stuff and pretend the rest is spontaneous. So I backed off. I still do what I can, of course. I'm not one to leave the building before the fire's out, especially when I helped set it. But even knowing too certainly that I exist would kill the whole thing. Like what you said earlier, why would you lie to Me? Why would you try? You wouldn't, even though you could. And I don't really want you lying to Me, Rafe, but in another way, you'll never love Me the way they do--the ones that do love Me, at least."

The rest of the memory-inside-the-memory faded deliberately into background noise, but in the memory Gabriel heard it all and had tears in his eyes.

"He's right," said the Archangel, and there was a mix of misery and wonder in his voice. "All this time and we were never what He really wanted. I--"

He was cut off by the sudden arm around his shoulders again, by Raphael pulling him in for a sideways hug. "You know that's not what He meant, little brother," Rafe said, a little gruff because of the tears in his own eyes. "We're capable of it, just like them. We just didn't know it, and couldn't until we'd figured it out on our own. But that's why I don't seem to be having as much trouble as you." He smiled through the tears. "Though you're better off than me, you know. You've already experienced what it means to love Him without being asked. I haven't, yet. I just know ... because He told me."

For a very long time, long enough that night had turned to day had turned to night again, they sat in mutual, silent contemplation of the cityscape below and their own existence. Then, abruptly, Gabriel laughed, and there was such a wealth of understanding in that laugh that Raphael almost laughed with him. "Do you remember that pair of sisters? The doctor that wouldn't stop praying to you, and the aimless student who was always jeering about her sister's piety but at night, she'd write those little stories about you?"

For a moment Raphael looked at him, nonplussed, before the memory clicked and he laughed. "Do I! Some of those stories were amazing. Completely wrong, but so funny."

Gabriel grinned. "You spent so much time with the first sister because she was always asking you for help during surgeries."

"But it was the second sister I liked being with more," Raphael said quietly, Gabriel's meaning hitting him like a lightning-bolt of intent. "Because even though she didn't believe I existed, she still liked me. For me."

"I think that's probably what it's like, Rafe." Gabriel leaned into him, resting his head on Raphael's shoulder. "We've all had people like that, haven't we? People who think they have to like us just because of what we are, and then the people who really do."

"I think you're probably right." Raphael looked back toward Los Angeles, still smiling.

When the memory ended, Raphael looked silently at Skulduggery, and didn't hide the tears on his cheeks.

[skeletonenigma]

It wasn't a foregone conclusion. Or at least, that wasn't what Skulduggery intended. Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

What he'd been worried about, for the most part, was that Gabe didn't even realise he was manipulating anything. With free will being so new to the Archangel, there was every possibility he might be going through changes even he didn't notice. It was Skulduggery's job, Skulduggery's innate instinct, to think of what no one else would, even if it meant drawing the ire of an Archangel. He'd been prepared for that. He faced Raphael's tightly controlled fury as if he regularly faced a possibility of being smote.

Gabriel didn't even have to be actively manipulating the name anymore - he used Skulduggery's true name for what they could only assume was months spent in between dimensions, during which anything could have happened that neither of them were aware of. It all really came down to what was happening before then, and that was the dilemma. Skulduggery couldn't remember if he'd actually felt anything towards Gabe before, or if he'd just been in denial practically the whole time.

He couldn't remember. That was what bothered him.

And then, very suddenly, he could remember, but it was about the furthest thing from what he was trying to remember as possible. A memory crashed over him, large and loud and powerful, subtly angry and protective and it didn't stop crashing. After a moment, he finally figured out it wasn't even his. Rafe's. Angels sitting on the Hollywood sign. Skulduggery remembered it as clearly as if he were there, as if he were the one with an arm slung around Gabe's shoulders recalling a conversation with God.

A conversation with God.

If there was any part of Skulduggery that could still think clearly, with his own memories, then it was definitely thinking that God was decidedly different to how Skulduggery always thought of the man - being - thing - no, concept. He'd been raised Catholic, technically. There was something viscerally wrong about hearing the whole Bible summed up as a child might phrase it, but from the Lord Himself. Skulduggery didn't even have the ability to be properly in awe - it was a secondhand memory, reactions and feelings about the conversation that were not his own taking precedence over anything else.

And then: 'We've all had people like that, haven't we? People who think they have to like us just because of what we are, and then the people who really do.'

Gabriel wasn't going to sully what he'd only just discovered his Father always wanted. Not because of that fact, but because he actually understood why. Skulduggery could feel that, through Raphael's memory, through whatever angelic connection it was they had. Not just acceptance. Understanding. Understanding and agreement that came from Gabe, not from some misplaced notion that he had to agree just because. And when angels understood something, they understood it with everything they had.

That was the last thought Skulduggery could have before the memory abruptly ended, and he was faced with the jarring realisation that part of it had been a punishment. Getting memories forced into your head like a bludgeoning axe hurt. He stumbled backwards a step with a strangled gasp, and caught himself on the edge of a table behind him before he could fall.

Something inside his head pulsed with revulsion. Pulsed. Like a headache that had come from nowhere. But Skulduggery didn't get headaches as a skeleton, regardless of what he looked like on the outside, because there was nothing there to hurt apart from the skull. Nevertheless, something quite definitely pulsed. Something in the place where his ears used to be popped.

Just how good was an angel's illusion?

Skulduggery's own memories washed in to take the place of the intruders, a feat that was rather like a small wave trying to wash off an entire beach. He remembered when Gabe instinctively put together a mobile phone for him, without thinking, and how even through Skulduggery's complaints he could now use the heat-activated interface as if his fingers still had blood pumping through them. Simply because Gabe felt bad about not thinking the 'smartphone' part through. Because, now that Skulduggery could approach this with a fresh and deeper understanding of angels, the place where intent met action in their existences was so blurred it practically didn't exist.

Gabriel would never be able to do anything he'd never consciously do. It was just a fact. A simple, unalienable fact.

And through the pain, through the guilt, through the sudden and new feeling of having acted like a bastard, Skulduggery accepted that.

He took a deep breath. Released it. Then another one. The pain in his head slowly subsided, his thoughts knitted themselves easily back together in the usual, familiar pattern, and Skulduggery could let himself reason things out again.

Why had this been bothering him so much? Yes, it was a legitimate concern, but as Raphael pointed out, Gabriel gave Skulduggery his own name. Never mind that Skulduggery would never be able to pronounce it out loud. He had it. Because Gabe trusted him. Because if there was even a hint of that trust being based off manipulation, Skulduggery would have seen it; he was too close, too deep in that healing process, not to. Wherever their souls touched, the air actually burned gold.

Skulduggery didn't have to be a genius to know that couldn't be completely one-sided.

So then why? Because he couldn't understand an Archangel feeling that way towards him? That wasn't it either. That was something Skulduggery accepted as fact no matter which scenario he was worried about. The only thing it could be, then, was guilt. Or, as Raphael called it, his neuroses. The idea that he didn't deserve to feel the same way back.

Objectively, that was a ridiculous idea.

Skulduggery's knuckles were white gripping the edge of the table. Strange, how that looked strange. His skeletal knuckles were white, after all. He slowly let his fingers loosen, and then pushed himself off of the table. "Thank you."

All he felt now was relief that they managed to get this out of the way before Gabe got back.

[comedianhealer]

For several long moments Rafe stood frozen. It wasn't because of Skulduggery's reaction. Yet it was. It was, because even though Raphael had been nudging the boundaries, playing fast and loose with the privacy of peoples' minds, this was one step further. He had forced his memories onto Skulduggery.

There was a word for that, in the English language. Several words.

He felt the pulse. The pain. The way the detective's memories needed to knit back together, recover from that bludgeon.

All the anger drained out of him and his hands loosened. He was shaken. Felt it, looked it. Not exactly pale, but a little shocked. Like a man who'd just realised something not exactly good about himself--only Raphael was no man. When control was lost, where did the boundaries lie?

"Forgi--I'm sorry," he said roughly, changing words halfway, just because a plea seemed less appropriate than an apology. "I--you needed to understand, but that crossed a line. I should have been gentler. Or asked permission first. Or done it another way. Something."

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery almost laughed. He probably would have, if he thought it might make the situation any better. Under the circumstances, he thought it was probably best to keep quiet.

Archangels learning free will. Skulduggery would read that story. And, he realised with a sudden jolt that finally solidified his thoughts in order, it probably was a story of some kind. He'd met the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz, after all. When they had free time at some point - when Davina Marr was safely behind bars - Skulduggery would have to find out.

He'd also have to work on his mental defences, what with the two Archangels and Merlin holidaying in this dimension.

Nonexistent breath back under control, Skulduggery shook his head. "No need to apologise. You're right. I did need to understand. Thank you." He couldn't deny that another way might have been easier, but it wouldn't have had nearly the same effect if he'd been expecting it. Shock value was very good at forcing people into understanding things.

It was very good, however, that the others Teleported back into the room the very next instant. Skulduggery wasn't sure of where the conversation would have gone after that point, and Merlin was looking confused enough that the detective didn't really want to find out. Skulduggery's life had really taken a turn for the strange lately. So terrifyingly turned, in fact, that he hadn't even thought to use the waiting time to question Merlin. That was just unacceptable.

Visible face probably reflecting the trepidation he still felt, Skulduggery surveyed the group. No one apart from Solomon looked hurt, and most of why Solomon looked hurt was the Archangel cradling him in his arms. Solomon didn't even look quite as bad as Skulduggery had feared. He'd already gotten medical attention. Far from satiating Skulduggery's fears, though, the sight of the bandages prickled him even further. Tenebrae wanted to preserve Solomon. Why? What could he have possibly gained from that, other than further sadistic pleasure gained from torture?

"Oh!" Erskine exclaimed after he'd caught his balance. "Right! You mean the conversion thing. I remember asking about the conversion thing." He hesitated. "What, you mean you've actually converted? You decided that based on torture?"

Skulduggery ignored him. "How did it go?"

"It went perfectly according to plan, Skulduggery," Valkyrie answered. "We went in, we talked, we took him out without a fight. How come our cases never go perfectly according to plan?"

"I wish you'd seen it, actually." Erskine hefted a large covered jar under his arm. "Gabe here blackmailed the hell out of Tenebrae. It was fascinating to watch."

Skulduggery blinked. "Gabe did what?"

[comedianhealer]

Part of Raphael wanted to argue. There was shock value and there was shock value--Rafe had done what he'd done, how he'd done it, because he was angry, no other reason. That was ... well, not unforgivable, to be honest. Arguing was only being a hypocrite: pretending his guilt was worth as much as Skulduggery's own.

With an air of relief, still looking somewhat shamefaced, Rafe said softly, "You're welcome."

He was extremely aware of Merlin's shocked soul brewing in the background. The way the Ancient was wrestling with that little bombshell he'd dropped. An Archangel, giving a mortal his own name. Not just any--Gabriel. Their Lord's closest companion. It was just like him and something no one would even remotely imagine happening at once.

Still, Rafe felt he would have much rathered answer the questions swirling in Merlin's being than have Gabriel return when he did. At least it wasn't a few seconds earlier, but it was still so close on the feels of recent events that the instant Gabriel entered the room he zeroed in on Raphael, a slight frown crinkling his brow as he felt his brother's guilt.

'Rafe, what did you do?'

Raphael paused only for a moment before reluctantly showing him the memory. Gabe's eyes widened slightly and for a moment he looked as if he wasn't sure what to do about it, if anything, before he consciously relaxed. He mustered a reassuring smile and his wings brushed across the backs of Rafe's in silent forgiveness.

"Actually," Solomon murmured, "it was more what happened during the torture than the actual torture."

His face had turned, almost like drawn, toward Raphael. Rafe looked at him in turn and all of a sudden felt very small beside that gold-burning soul. Not guilty, but humbled. Here he was concerned for a very minor trespass for which Skulduggery gave him no blame, and which Gabriel apparently didn't either, while Solomon Wreath was laid bare to his most brilliant core after having, almost literally, been through Hell.

Rafe meant to say something, but then Erskine's words sank in.

"Gabe did what?" he echoed in surprise, and Merlin's voice had joined with his. Gabe's cheeks reddened.

"It wasn't exactly blackmail," he mumbled as he crossed to the exam table Kenspeckle was pointing to, even as the professor rummaged around his cabinets, grumbling. "It was more just ... pointing out some facts that Tenebrae had apparently overlooked in his eagerness."

Merlin was staring, still looking shellshocked, his expression and tone a mixture of wonder and disconcert. "Only a year and I almost don't recognise you at all, Gabriel."

He didn't say it out loud, but the stunned memory of what Rafe had said was still forefront in his being, and Gabe's blush deepened. He didn't quite look at anyone as he laid Solomon down, very carefully. "You can put that jar down, Erskine. Gently."

Gently. Abruptly Raphael sobered, crossing over to where Solomon lay and taking the man's hand, the one not occupied with holding one of their Lord's bears. He took the burden of the pain from Gabe, allowing the other Archangel to step back, closer to Skulduggery, without quite yet leaving Solomon's side. "Don't think you know everyone here, man," Rafe said with a grin that made Solomon smile back without thinking. "I'm Rafe. The old jailbird over there is Merlin."

He jerked his head at the Ancient and Merlin's focus snapped together. "I beg your pardon. Who was it who tripped over a dimensional boundary and fell into that Gaol? It certainly wasn't me."

Bingo. "Sure, you can go ahead and beg, old man." Rafe turned his grin on the Ancient, broad and teasing. "Don't suppose you can grovel at my feet while you're at it?"

"Only in your dreams, angel," Merlin shot back. "If you had any, at least. I suppose you'll just have to continue on deprived, in that case."

Solomon's breath hitched as he laughed, breathless and quiet with his weariness, but in a way that made the golden beams of his soul seem to wash over everything in the room.

[skeletonenigma]

Gabe didn't mention details about the blackmail, Erskine noted. Of course he wouldn't. Not in front of Skulduggery. Not right now. But for God's sake, you couldn't just not tell someone why they weren't dead. Maybe Archangels were so used to telling people why they were dead that the whole concept was skewed for them. Or, more likely, Gabe would wait for a more opportune moment to say anything.

Under normal circumstances, Erskine would have beaten him to the punch. Skulduggery deserved to hear news like that from a friend, from someone he knew and trusted. The thing was, he knew and trusted Gabe. One could even argue that it made more sense for Gabe to break the news. The Archangel would know how to break it, he had a lot more than just Skulduggery's trust, and if all else failed, he had Skulduggery's true name.

Not that he should use it, Erskine clarified quickly for any potential eavesdroppers. Jesus, it was like having Hopeless nearby all over again, only now Erskine was out of practice.

He didn't set the jar down right away. It was much too light, and Gabe was the one who'd wanted it covered. The one currently asking Erskine to be gentle with it. Erskine couldn't help being insatiably curious, even if he wasn't foolish enough to whisk off the entire cloth in front of the two people Gabe would have been trying to hide the contents from. So he took a corner of the cloth, pulled it back, peeked in.

And immediately paled.

He didn't regret the act, because Erskine made it a point long ago never to regret satisfying curiosity. Nothing bad ever came from satisfying curiosity, no matter how badly his roiling stomach begged to differ. He was, however, wishing he'd... picked a more opportune time.

"What?" he heard Valkyrie ask. "What is it?"

Erskine let the cloth fall back into place. "Nothing." A little too fast, maybe? "Nothing important." And that was just disrespectful. "Nothing you need to know about." Except that she would, eventually, and her eyes were already narrowing at the dismissive response. Erskine's shoulders sagged. "Nothing you want to know about. Trust me."

"Isn't that something I should decide for myself?"

"In this case? No." Erskine very gingerly placed the jar down on the exam table Gabe had indicated. "Please tell me I've been carrying it around because you can fix this."

[comedianhealer]

"Fix it?" Kenspeckle repeated, frowning and still with a small bottle in one hand as he moved toward the jar. His hand was already on it before he paused, glancing toward Solomon and then back down again, and there was a dawning light of horrified suspicion in his face as he pulled up the same corner as Erskine--not enough for anyone else to see.

For several moments he stood staring, paling more slowly than Erskine, but with a rising fury in his eyes proportional to his horror. Quietly he laid the corner down. "He's right. You don't want to know, Valkyrie. But you're going to know anyway, because I need to see under Wreath's bandage."

Gabe had crossed quietly to Skulduggery and laid a hand on his arm, all without looking the skeleton in the eye--not in the manner of avoiding making contact, but because he didn't feel the need to. Kenspeckle refused to look in their direction. There was something happening between the pair of them of whose details Kenspeckle wasn't aware, and wasn't sure he wanted to be aware. So he didn't look. He took a deep breath and said simply, "Wreath's eyes are in this jar."

There was a heavy pause broken only a moment later.

"Well, if he can't fix it, at least I can finally say Skulduggery and I have matching features," Solomon quipped at Erskine, and actually sounded amused. Raphael laughed, and it wasn't forced; he laughed because he could see Solomon's soul, see the pure joy and relief in it. Gabe turned and smiled.

"He's amazing, isn't he?"

"It's incredible." Rafe shook his head. "If I didn't know for a fact I'd seen King Solomon only a century ago playing Mah-Jong with Ghandi, I'd wonder if he hadn't been reincarnated."

"Ah," Solomon said, and even without eyes there was something stunned in the way he turned his head. "I think I'm starting to feel a little overwhelmed now."

"Only a little?" Gabe teased.

"Just a little, yes."

"I can fix it," Kenspeckle said to Valkyrie, to Erskine, halfway to Skulduggery. "I can--" He hesitated. "Well, I need to examine him properly first. I can replace the eyes, of course, but the manner in which the optical nerve was cut will determine whether I can restore his sight."

There was a faint emphasis on the word 'I' as he turned to look at Raphael. The Archangel was still looking steadily down into Solomon's face, still holding his hand. Solomon looked back, what could be seen of his face flickering with expressions best-seen in his soul. Expressions even Solomon couldn't quite determine himself, but which Raphael could see. Hope. Aversion. Uncertainty.

"You can't, Kenspeckle," Raphael said quietly without shifting his gaze. "I could, but not yet. Solomon, your magic has already begun to take over for your physical sight. It isn't perfect; if you still had your eyes, you would be able to See more. Which you will, after they're returned to you. Separating your magic from your sight will take a finesse and energy I simply don't have right now. Once it returns to me, with my brother's help, I would be able separate soul, magic and sight, and cleanse you of the residual necromancy which scars you. The question is whether you will want me to."

For a long moment there was silence. Then, as if he was hardly thinking it, as if soul and intent pushed past the boundaries of the mind's rationality, Solomon breathed, "No."

Raphael smiled, an infinitely gentle and proud smile, and brushed back Solomon's hair with a tenderness only an angel could have for a ward. "I thought you might say that."

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery had worked out what was in the jar long before Kenspeckle announced it. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together - Erskine's reaction, and the bandage over Solomon's eyes. Or, well. The sockets where his eyes used to be, at any rate. Erskine probably wasn't aware that he hadn't quite stopped staring at that bandage, even before Kenspeckle spoke.

And yet, Solomon didn't want his physical sight back.

Skulduggery was stunned, and for more reasons than one. Solomon had become everything Skulduggery wanted centuries ago; everything the detective expected, never gotten, eventually given up even hoping for. Except he wasn't as grateful as he might have been if the same thing happened all those centuries ago. Perhaps because he was still stunned. More likely because of the fury burning deep in response to Kenseckle's confirmation.

He didn't like the idea of someone out there choosing to do this. Evil for the sake of evil, Skulduggery could understand. Wanton destruction could be its own reward. But Tenebrae wasn't evil. And the idea of someone being able to look at a man whose withdrawal, by the looks of things, was painfully sped up in the Temple - probably broken and exhausted and just trying to stay alive - and decide that blinding him was a good idea... Not just blinding him, either, but removing any possible chance of granting his sight back, even by Professor Grouse?

Whatever Tenebrae had planned must have been worth the risk. Skulduggery made a mental note to find out what that was as soon as possible.

"Wait," said Valkyrie. She was paler than Erskine was, and visibly swallowing against the knowledge of what had been done to Solomon. "I don't understand. Your magic's taking over for your sight? So that means all you can see right now are souls?" Her fist clenched. "Are you crazy? Why would you want to keep what Tenebrae did to you?"

Skulduggery knew the answer, but he would let Solomon explain himself. The ex-Necromancer needed that right now. To Skulduggery's surprise, however, the image of Tenebrae in his own mind was slowly starting to fade away - and with it the anger.

That was the only reason he became aware of a comforting feeling surrounding his false skin, calmly and gently stabilising what needed to be stabilised, unobtrusive and pleasantly supportive. It was subtle, but it was there. For the first time since the group Teleported back, Skulduggery looked over at Gabe.

The question was in his eyes as well as his mind, but it was the unspoken thought he knew Gabe would hear.

[impudentsongbird]

It wasn't that Gabriel was actively taking Skulduggery's anger at all, because he wasn't. But his wing was curled closely around the skeleton's shoulders, a steadying influence, an inviting influence--offering to take whatever of Skulduggery's anger he felt he couldn't handle. The Archangel looked back with a reassuring smile, his wing squeezing gently in a metaphysical hug of confirmation.

Solomon was still watching Raphael, not answering immediately. When he did, it was slow and soft, a little burred by sleepiness and accent. "Because it reminds me of what I only just learned. Pain isn't to be shied from. Death isn't to be shied from. Seeing these things I can has given me to strength to stand unafraid for the first time in my life, Valkyrie. It doesn't matter how it happened. That reminder isn't something I want to give up."

Rafe looked down at him, still with that smile, hand resting on his hair. Kenspeckle shook his head. "Idiot heroes," he grumbled, "leaving me to clean up the mess." He sounded resigned, more than censuring, as he came to the table dragging a tray. "How do you plan to treat him, then, Raphael?"

"I don't," Rafe said. "I'll assist you." He laughed at the mixed expression of surprise and gratification on Kenspeckle's face, and shrugged. "Doctor's orders not to strain myself and all, man. You can do this part."