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

[vexingshieldbearer]

"Is this what the Irish Sanctuary comes to in my absence? Tsk, tsk. Here I go on an extended holiday, expecting to have left my dearly beloved country in good hands, and I arrive to find assassinations galore have been going on in my absence. And no one even told me I was missing the fun stuff."

Dexter Vex was a man of many things. Adventure. Good looks. He'd been, quite literally, all over the world in the century and more since the war ended. It had been a good time. Worthwhile.

He'd been running. He knew it and his friends back home had known it, and yet he hadn't been able to muster the desire to go back. Even after a century, it was all too raw. He wasn't strong like Skulduggery, able to face down the demons who'd murdered his family. He'd just been able to honour the people he'd lost in the only way he could. The only way he knew how.

He'd only been able to apologise to one of them in the only way he'd known how.

But, eventually, one must always go home. Dexter had known one day he would; he'd just been putting that day off. It had been easier because he'd been deliberately avoiding finding out what was happening in Ireland. If he didn't know, he couldn't be lured back in.

Of course, eventually he had to find out.

Eventually he had to want to come back.

Eventually he had to put aside the stupid wig and broken shoes he'd been wearing since before the war ended. It had been a long time. He wasn't even sure he knew how to be Dex anymore. Then again, being Rue hadn't been much better. He felt more like he could cope with being Dex, though. Even though his suit was wrinkled because he hadn't worn it in just that long. At least he'd showered and shaved and brushed his hair, and the wrinkles weren't that noticeable anyway. (They were.)

The Adept was half-sure the news that his old general and one of his old comrades were actually leaders of the country was a joke when he arrived at the Sanctuary. It had taken a bit of manouvring to get around the Cleavers ... mostly because he'd waited until the Cleavers were occupied down the corridor and then slipped into the office Corrival had just started to open when he'd been called away.

A bit of time to glance around, to test the plush armchair facing the small reading table in the corner, back to the office ...

Dexter spun around on it, legs crossed and grinning, relaxed as if the office was his. (Relaxed, that is, aside from the faint rings around his eyes and the wrinkles in his suit.)

"Congratulations, Grand Mage," he said cheerfully, and his grin widened as Corrival winced. "And you, Elder Ravel. Finally, someone's realised his age. Are you going to be checking into an old man's home any day now?"

[skeletonenigma]

Erskine was far too stunned to respond, at first.

He and Skulduggery were the only ones standing. Skulduggery at least had the wall to lean against - although, for his part, he seemed incapable of being surprised. For all Erskine knew, the skeleton realised Dexter's presence long before now and was just waiting for whatever the Adept had planned. He barely flinched. Neither did Erskine, but that was more because of his muscles slowly forgetting how to work. Or how to keep him upright against the desk. Erskine could feel himself slowly sliding off of the edge, and he did nothing to try and stop it.

They hadn't seen Dexter for years. Decades. Not since, what, six or seven Requiem Balls ago? He'd still been Rue at the time. Taking a break from traveling, he said. They'd all known the truth, but they hadn't stopped him.

And now he was back, sprawled comfortably in a chair in the Grand Mage's office, pleasantly sarcastic and acting like nothing had changed?

Of course he was. Erskine grinned. Of course he was. The Elemental caught himself on the edge of the desk before he fell off it completely. "Not when I'm through with the old man's home," he quipped back. "What about you? Seems to me you've skipped right past the maturing stage and started letting yourself go already. Can't even iron your own suits anymore?" He tsked right back at Dexter, in the exact same manner, eyes bright and tone teasing. "For shame."

In truth, he looked good. He always looked better as Dexter Vex than he did as Saracen Rue.

[vexingshieldbearer]

"Of course I didn't," Dexter said with an easy shrug. "Figured you guys would start early and the lady I was with last night was something of a distraction. What, you think I'm gonna prioritise ironing my suit for you guys? Psh."

"Why didn't you know he was there?" Corrival demanded of the bloke in the other chair, the one who looked awfully familiar in the manner of someone Dexter didn't particularly want to remember. What had Erskine called him? 'Prophet Wreath?' Right, right. One of the Necromancers from the war. Memorable only because he'd seemed to actually have a sense of humour on top of an oddly familiar, if vitriolic, relationship with Skulduggery.

Right now, the man looked worse for wear. His arm was bleeding and his hair had greyed, and there was an odd sort of blankness to his eyes. Unless--no. Those rumours were just rumours, right?

Of course they're not. It's Corrival Deuce. Who else would nominate a blind Necromancer as an Elder?

He also looked a tad startled, or frustrated, and ... weirdly resolved as he lifted an eyebrow at Corrival. "Excuse me for not noticing a person none of your souls recognised as a threat after having been attacked in my own bathroom and then manipulating my own soul to cause my attacker untold metaphysical agony."

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Corrival said dryly, and Dexter grinned. It was a slightly melancholic grin, but a happy one at once. He always forgot how much he missed this, this banter, until he came back, even though the Necromancer was a surprise. Ex-Necromancer? Eh. There wasn't really any such thing, when you got down to it. Even Morwenna Crow had still been one after she left the Temple.

He clapped his hands, sitting forward in his chair, blue eyes brighter than before. "So come on! Apparently I've missed a lot. Where's Ghastly and Anton? We should get them together, paint the town red. Oh, wait." He snapped his fingers. "We can't. Someone beat us to it. Obviously, we have to think of something else equally memorable."

Seriously. Seriously! He got back to Dublin and someone had painted the town red! He hadn't laughed so hard since ... since a long time ago.

... Larrikin would have loved it. Clearly, it was his duty to one-up the perpetrator.

[skeletonenigma]

"Speaking as an Elder," said Erskine, "I can't officially be involved in anything that's technically illegal. Nor can I know whose fault it was."

"Why not? You haven't arrested Rafe yet," Skulduggery pointed out quite calmly.

"That's because I wasn't Elder at the time."

"And now?"

"Now, there's absolutely no conclusive evidence pointing to him. Or to anyone. I can't admit a confession that wasn't official, and the perpetrators - whoever they were - didn't leave any trace of themselves behind. All rather mysterious, if I do say so myself. Dexter, don't get me wrong, I'm ecstatic that you seem to have taken it upon yourself to become my personal critic, but what are you doing back in Ireland?"

"And why didn't you say something sooner?" Skulduggery added. "We could have planned a welcoming committee. We've found ourselves in the possession of two large and very friendly dogs recently. They would have absolutely loved to meet you."

Erskine was gripped with a mental image of the two disguised Archangels both leaping onto Dexter at once, all slobber and fur. He had to cough into his hand to cover the snort of laughter.

[vexingshieldbearer]

Dexter stared for a moment. They didn't. They couldn't know who was responsible. Could they? Of course they could. They were Corrival Deuce and Erskine Ravel. How could they not? A slow, broadening grin spread across Dexter's face which faltered when Skulduggery mentioned the person behind it by name.

Even Skulduggery knew.

They all knew.

For the first time in a century Dexter truly, actually felt as if he'd missed something. That there were jokes these people knew--that a Necromancer knew--which he didn't. He didn't like the feeling.

"I like dogs," he said inanely, still staring at Erskine, then blinked and shrugged would-be casually. "Heard this is where all the interesting things were happening. Like Dublin getting painted red. And Ravel getting elected Elder--how many people did you have to pay off to put that through, anyway? And something about you--" He turned abruptly to Skulduggery, grinning. "About you falling in love. So who's the lucky lady, eh? Skulduggery, for shame. Two centuries stag and now you don't even call to let me know you have a new beau."

Of course, he knew that one was completely fictional. Whoever the old angler in the pub in Australia had been, he knew a lot about Ireland--too much to not be telling the truth when he said Ghastly was a friend of his. Dexter had never met him before, though, and that was when he first started to get inklings that he'd missed something. And the old man had made it sound interesting. Interesting enough that Dexter had wanted to come back to see just how many of the things he'd said were true and how many he'd spun out of proportion.

[skeletonenigma]

Oh no. Oh, dear. Dexter's comments were all the funnier just for how flippantly they were being made. He didn't truly believe his own words, and that was just making Erskine cringe. Of course, why would he believe his own words? They were talking about a living skeleton. Erskine still wouldn't believe the truth if Wreath hadn't complained about it.

Skulduggery's head tilted, but he said nothing. In an effort to head off any of the questions that would be coming in a rush very soon in response to that, Erskine cleared his throat. "I'm officially ordering the Prime Detective to bring Dexter Vex up to speed."

Skulduggery's head swiveled to him. "Me?"

"Unless you wanted Gabe or Valkyrie to replace you?" Honestly, Erskine was just happy not to be the one left in the dark for once on this bizarre journey. Paddy and Barney, impressive though they were, didn't count. They were mortal. When you were learning about the existence of Archangels at the same time as the existence of magic, shock kind of blurred together.

Skulduggery shook his head. "There are certain parts I'm sure he'd much rather not hear from me." The detective hesitated, and his skull straightened on its spinal column. "Such as Vile."

Vile. Shit. Yeah, maybe Skulduggery wasn't the best choice. "Ghastly, then. Ghastly would probably volunteer."

"Probably." Skulduggery turned back to Dexter. "Who told you I'd fallen in love with anyone? There are very few people who could or would tell you that, and none of them have been outside Ireland recently."

[vexingshieldbearer]

The thing about Skulduggery Pleasant was that he was not a man given to evasion on important things. Not unless he was teasing, and when he was teasing, he had very specific reactions. Reactions he wasn't showing at all right now.

Skulduggery Pleasant made no comment only when he couldn't lie about an important fact and yet didn't want to admit that fact. That fact, that incontrovertible truth, was a dull buzz in Dexter's head as he stared at the detective, not quite open-mouthed.

"But--you--"

He was vaguely aware that he was stammering and couldn't seem to do anything about it. Skulduggery Pleasant was in love with someone? Unironically? Genuinely?

Wreath was laughing to himself. The only reason Dexter didn't snap at him was because he was, frankly, too stunned to do so. Besides, Corrival was sitting back and chuckling too. Dexter found he almost didn't mind that. Hell, he probably wouldn't mind it if it was someone else, but since it wasn't, he did mind it. Quite a bit.

The comment about Vile was heard distantly at first but it slowly sank in as a deep, clutching coldness. They didn't joke about Vile. Not without the jokes being dark. This was dark, but not joking. They'd found out something about Vile, something Skulduggery didn't want to talk about. Something he was going to ask Ghastly to do instead.

All of a sudden Dexter didn't want to hear anything at all. It took a moment for him to overcome his unintentional impression of a fish, but then he finally managed to find words. "Met a guy in Australia who knows Ghastly. You're in love with someone?!"

Almost on the heels of his words there came a knock at the door.

"Get your arse in here if you're meant to be here, clear out if you're not," Corrival called, and there was a pause. Then, hesitantly, the door cracked open and a curly-haired head poked inside.

"Healer, sir," said the woman rather nervously.

Corrival lifted an eyebrow. "What did I just say?"

"Er ..."

"No one here has any sense of humour," the old man muttered, then sighed and beckoned. "Wreath, present arms."

"If you so insist." With a tightening in his face that said how much the injuries hurt, Wreath peeled his arm away from his coat and showed it to the Healer. All this byplay washed past Dexter as easily as debris in a clear but fast-moving current. He was too busy staring, his mind trying to wrap itself around Skulduggery Pleasant being in love.

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery, as a general rule, never consciously lied to himself about anything. He did plenty of that without even realising it - as most people did - and to keep the objective viewpoint he was so well-regarded for, it was imperative he not deliberately add to that pile. So Skulduggery accepted truths about the world, about war, and about himself that most people would have run from. And while surprising him with an already established fact was certainly possible, it was rare enough that it still stunned him whenever it happened.

"You're in love with someone?!"

Dexter hadn't known Skulduggery when he was married. To him, and to most of the Dead Men, Skulduggery had always been a living skeleton. They knew intellectually that wasn't the case, but unlike with Ghastly, they didn't have any memories of that time to help them understand it. It was a silently agreed-upon fact among them that whatever Skulduggery was before, living skeletons just... weren't capable of that sort of relationship. Perfectly reasonably, of course. Until this last year, Skulduggery thought so too.

Gabe was... different. To understate, undermine, and simplify the whole thing. It wasn't that he was an angel - if anything, that was detrimental to the cause. No, it was more that any sort of feelings existing within that space either couldn't possibly exist, they were being induced, or they were a cover for something else.

That was as far as Skulduggery had gotten in accepting the truth. Probably because no one had actually used the word 'love' yet. Not so plainly, and not with such unmitigated shock.

It left Skulduggery internally reeling, because he didn't actually have a reason to deny it. Plenty of excuses, yes, but... no real reason.

He didn't have to respond at first, thanks to the convenient arrival of the healer. Solomon's injuries went a lot deeper than the ex-Necromancer admitted back in the empty office, both literally and figuratively. The razor had gone all the way through his hand, not just stabbed into it, and the way the blood soaked his sleeve all the way up his arm spoke of more injuries than just that. Probably not quite as bad, but they would never heal properly either.

It was a convenient distraction not to have to answer the earlier question. "Ghastly doesn't know anyone in Australia."

"Um." Erskine raised a hand. "He does, actually."

"Ghastly doesn't know anyone in Australia well enough for them to have discussed rumours of that nature within the last week." Erskine nodded and raised no objection, so Skulduggery continued. "Who did this friend say he was?"

[vexingshieldbearer]

Wreath's injuries might have been a good distraction for everyone else, but Dex was still having trouble wrapping his mind around everything. Wait, so if Skulduggery was in love, did that mean that--but he was a skeleton--but there were probably ways that--maybe they'd been researching the Internet because you could find anything on there and--

"Please tell me you're not having sex." The words were blurted out before Dexter could even consider trying to stop them. Then, of course, he had to try and clarify. "Or whatever equivalent you can manage. I mean it's probably possible, with a bit of research, but that's just--"

"Vex, stop talking," Corrival ordered, and Dex thankfully shut his runaway mouth on his own words, his face flaming red. The healer was choking in the corner, though she had a good enough grip on her nerves that she hadn't stopped working either. Then again, that might be because she needed the distraction. Wreath was quivering suspiciously though, staring over her head and unable to contain the twitch of his mouth that was either disgust or amusement. Or possibly pain. Dex couldn't tell which.

He cleared his throat. "Just a friend. Some old sailor who talked like a proud daddy." He grinned suddenly, relieved and thankful for the distraction as he remembered something and dove into the pack hidden by the chair. "Asked me to give you this, Erskine. Catch!"

Quick as a snake he yanked out an auburn-furred teddy-bear and tossed it at the Elder.

[skeletonenigma]

For the first time since the illusory and off-putting disguise was revealed to them, Erskine found himself sorely wishing Skulduggery was still wearing it. This way, it was impossible to tell what the skeleton's reaction was. Amusement? Embarrassment? Befuddlement? He wasn't so much as tilting his head, and without a tone of voice to go by, it truly was a mystery.

But speaking of the illusory and off-putting disguise, Erskine was going to have to talk to Dex about that later. Sure, it was only an illusion, but it was an illusion created by an Archangel. Skulduggery could even eat with it. Who was to say there weren't... other features? And Dex was the only other person Erskine could imagine theorising about that with - anyone else either wouldn't take him seriously or would take him too seriously. He didn't actually believe Skulduggery was having sex. It was just a fun idea to entertain. Like all their jokes during the war - safe to make, and funny to listen to, because you knew none of it was true. It made the whole thing somehow more adorable, too - not that Erskine would ever mention that out loud. He'd prefer not to be strangled.

By reflex, the new Elder reached out and snatched the bear out of the air. Red fur, perfectly innocent-looking, although you wouldn't have known it with the way Erskine was staring at it.

He looked up at Skulduggery and held the bear out. "Even when I'm not the last to know, I'm the last to know. How is this fair?"

The skeleton's shoulder blades rose up and down in the vague approximation of the shrug of someone whose mind was very much on a different subject than the one they were responding to. "Maybe He's challenging you."

"To what?" Erskine had been joking, for the most part, back at the carnival. The full gravity of what the existence of God actually meant was starting to weigh heavily down on him, and he had no idea what to think. One meeting would have been grand. This... this was almost like Erskine was being singled out. The thought was raw and terrifying. Still holding the bear out, still with only one hand on it like it might be contaminated, he turned back towards Dexter. "What was He like? What did He say about me?"

[vexingshieldbearer]

That was ... very much not the reaction Dexter had been expecting. He had no idea what he had been expecting, but it had involved jokes and banter not underlaid by disconcerted shock. Even Wreath turned and looked directly at the bear, one eyebrow raised, and how could he do that when he was meant to be a blind man, Dex wanted to know.

"Er ..." Dexter stared at the way Ravel, Ravel who stared Serpine in the face and made stupid jokes, was treating the rather adorable and huggable teddy-bear like it was a vampire skin.

"All done," the healer announced hastily, like she really wanted to get out. She was already packing up her kit. She may have worked fast, but she was efficient, at least. "There's a painkiller in with the other creams, but try not to use that arm too much. Keep the bandages on for three days and then take them off. They should be healed by then, but if they're not, come see me."

"Why wouldn't they be?" Solomon asked, turning that raised eyebrow on her, and she hesitated.

"They were made by an enchanted blade. I can't tell what kind of enchantment it is. It's not the non-clotting kind, luckily, but let me run some tests in the lab and I'll come back to you if there's a danger."

"Thank you, Healer," Corrival said almost mildly, and with great relief the woman all but fled. Wreath flexed his fingers gingerly and then winced.

"Just what I needed: another hole in my hand," he muttered, and tilted his head vaguely in Dexter's direction with a lazy wave of his good hand. "Oh, don't stop on my account. This is all very interesting."

"What the Hell are you even doing here, anyway, Necromancer?" Dexter grumbled.

"Ex-Necromancer," Wreath corrected evenly.

"Whatever." Dexter waved his hand equally dismissively, because everyone knew there was no such thing as real ex-Necromancers because one would never give up their magic completely like that, and turned back to Erskine. "He was a sailor. A sailor with an empty leg." He rubbed his head ruefully. "I don't know how long he was indulging before I got there, but Lugh's balls, that man can drink. And he can talk, too, but most of what he talked about was actually kind of interesting to listen to."

Especially when you were four sheets to the wind and most of the things you're hearing kind of seem nonsensical no matter who they're coming from. Dexter shrugged. "Mostly he was ... nice. Amiable. Way, way too happy for a sorcerer as old as he is, but a pretty good drinking buddy." The blond grinned, opened his mouth, closed it again, and slid his gaze sideways toward Wreath.

The man wasn't one of the Dead Men. He wasn't one of them. There were things, implications in their jokes, to which he wasn't privy. All of them had trouble sleeping, but Erskine's trouble was somewhat unique excluding Skulduggery's situation, and far be it for Dexter to start bringing up personal problems in front of someone who wasn't one of them.

Oh, what the Hell. Wreath would probably just take it as a joke. Dexter summoned the smirk back up. "He said you were probably gonna be cold in bed for a little while."

[skeletonenigma]

Erskine's face was rather fascinating to watch. For a beat, it oscillated between sheer surprise and outright indignation; then it descended into a fazed uncertainty, which disappeared when Erskine looked back down at the furry animal. "So He gave me a teddy bear?"

Skulduggery, for his part, was more interested in a different statement, now that he could finally re-focus on what Dexter was saying. The conversation over the last minute replayed hastily through his mind, supplying Skulduggery with all of the important details as it had been trained to do. "Scars inflicted by Sanguine's blade don't heal," he told Solomon first. "You'll be fine. You'll simply bear the mark of getting stabbed through the hand for the rest of your life. Par for the course in the lucrative profession of prophetism, I believe. Sanguine's probably helped you."

It didn't soften any of Skulduggery's feelings toward the Texan, or create any chance whatsoever of leniency when they finally caught him. But it was probably true nonetheless. Assuming Solomon ever started his own religion comprised of ex-Necromancers, he certainly had all of the prerequisite suffering taken care of.

"And just how old did this man say He was?" Skulduggery asked, turning his attention back to the more interesting topic. The way Dexter had phrased it, he sounded sure of an exact age. "Did He give a name? And was that name any version of the word Dad?"

[vexingshieldbearer]

"It's perfect for a child like you, Erskine!" Dexter said brightly, flopping back in the chair and crossing his legs, for all as though he owned the place.

"Because I didn't already have a mark of being stabbed through the hand, and would have for the rest of my life?" Solomon asked dryly, staring down at his hand with distaste and turning it this way and that as if he could see the wound through the bandage. "As payment for Sanguine's help, I hope he doesn't mind being stabbed back."

"Most people seem to object to being stabbed," Corrival noted, "but I'd say it's a fair repayment in this case."

"Ah, so I have the Crossword Puzzler Extraordinaire's approval?" Wreath nodded, laying his hand on the arm of the chair and leaning back in it. "Good to know."

"You're not going to let that go, are you?"

"You are the one who chose the title."

"Can I take it back?"

"Of course not. It's already in Lynott's vocabulary list."

Dexter stared for a moment, amused and yet vaguely nonplussed by the easy way the Necromancer had segued into the banter. He chose, for the moment, to ignore it. Because that was just weird. And wrong. And weird. He was a Necromancer.

"Ex-Necromancer," Wreath murmured as if he'd overheard, and Dexter also chose to believe he'd mumbled something out loud, and promptly ignored that too in favour of turning to Skulduggery.

"He didn't, really," Dex admitted. "But he's obviously a sorcerer and he looked in his 60s, so he's gotta be getting on in years. And actually yes, but what I want to know is: why are you even asking when you obviously all know the guy? Where'd you meet him? He's a pistol."

[skeletonenigma]

"He's God," said Skulduggery, using the same tone of voice he would have used in any similarly flippant comment. In fact, the only thing that made this statement any different from a flat joke was the way Erskine side-eyed Skulduggery in the silence that followed. "You met God in Australia, Dexter. Our all-powerful Lord and Creator. Congratulations."

"Doesn't that count as classified information?" Erskine wondered aloud. "Shouldn't you need our permission to reveal it? Although, as long as we're being so open..." He raised his gaze up to the ceiling and pointed at the bear. "Thanks, really. But don't think that this is a viable substitute for a meeting. Because it's not."

"Why are you so worried about this?" Skulduggery asked.

"Aren't you?"

"Not particularly. I'd live quite happily without ever experiencing a face-to-face meeting. Seeing Him in Rafe's memories was more than enough for me."

"Yeah, all right," Erskine relented with a nod. "I suppose I'm just unhappy no one told me about any of this soo - his memories?"

"Yes." Skulduggery's head tilted. "Rafe decided I was being unfair to both myself and Gabe, and took it upon himself to demonstrate how wrong I was by inserting a memory into my head. It was strange."

Erskine stared. It didn't take him long to recover his voice this time, however. "Does this mean everyone's met Him in some capacity except for me?"

"Corrival hasn't," Skulduggery pointed out. "Fletcher hasn't. Paddy hasn't. I think you're blowing this a little out of proportion."

"I just got sent a teddy bear by God," Erskine muttered. "I don't think I'm blowing anything out of proportion. I'm starting to question if 'proportion' is even a viable concept anymore."

They both knew what they were doing, and neither of them seemed about to stop. Skulduggery had just dropped one hell of a bombshell on Dexter, and now neither of the Dead Men were easing up - continuing their banter as if nothing had changed. Because nothing really had. Banter was how the Dead Men made it through tough situations, so familiar as to be their fallback. Comforting. An indication to Dexter that, yes, the world was a strange place and yes, God existed and it was a bit of a shock, but at the end of the day, it really wasn't worth getting all excited over.

That was part of the reason Erskine suggested Ghastly deliver the several rounds of Earth-shattering news, and why Skulduggery had agreed. The more familiar banter, the better, and Ghastly would have provided the added benefit of trying to break it all gently.

[vexingshieldbearer]

"And I don't need to," Corrival said gruffly. "What would be the point? I already know the answers to any question you'd ask God. Getting confirmation either way won't change anything."

"More to the point, Reveller," Wreath said, tilting his head vaguely in Erskine's direction and wearing a tiny smirk. "Exactly what would you consider a viable substitute for a meeting?"

"Knowing him, it would be clothes, food, a woman or gold," Corrival noted blandly. "Since the teddy-bear's supposed to warm him up at night, I think we can scratch a woman. Now Ghastly's kind of on the Sanctuary payroll, I think we can scratch clothes. That leaves food or gold."

"A poison apple, perhaps?" Wreath suggested. "Would you like to play Snow White? Or maybe a teddy-bear's picnic, now you've joined this exclusive club?" He patted his pocket.

This was ... not right. There was a lot of things not right, but this was particularly not right given how typical it was. Banter? Check. Necromancer? Not so check. Moving on in spite of overwhelming shock? Check. Discovering God was real? Not so check.

Dexter sat there in numb silence, listening and unable to contribute. His mind was ticking over like a car whose engine wouldn't start, but was really trying hard, for all that. He'd been absolutely prepared to pass it off as a joke, except ... they hadn't let it go. A lot of people couldn't tell the difference between jokes and jokes. A joke, once made, was dismissed as part of the conversation. Maybe it would become a running gag, like so many of their jokes had, but each individual instance was short-lived.

This wasn't a joke, because it wasn't short-lived. Because it continued to be the topic of conversation, not just between Skulduggery and Erskine, but Corrival and Wreath as well. Because there was a familiarity to the banter, the kind of familiarity a person could only have with experience, and these were Dead Men and they weren't treating this joke like a joke which meant it was real and that meant God was real and--

And that was the point where Dexter's brain would short out and restart, and cycle through the whole thing over again.

Eventually something caught. It was Solomon Wreath, and Dexter turned his silent gaze to the man. The blind man. The blind man who could look directly at teddy-bears and said 'this exclusive club' like he was part of it. The blind man who said he wasn't a Necromancer, even though he was, but whom Skulduggery had called a 'prophet'. Whom Corrival had accepted as an Elder in spite of his magic.

Solomon Wreath was the odd thing out here. Skulduggery, Corrival, Erskine, they were all perfectly legitimate. Solomon Wreath was the weirdo. He was the one who got Dexter's accusing stare.

"What's going on?"

"Why are you asking me?" Wreath asked back, something close to incredulity in his tone.

Dexter's shoulders slumped. "I don't know. You're a weirdo. You're the only thing in this room which doesn't fit. D'you mind getting out? Maybe things will make more sense if you left."

"I doubt it," Wreath said dryly, "and anyway, I think it would undermine my authority if Elders started taking orders from underlings."

[skeletonenigma]

"Actually, they probably would," Erskine contradicted Wreath. "Make more sense, I mean, if you left. Like it or not, you are the weirdo here."

Skulduggery had to agree, living skeleton aside. Solomon was the only one here who simply couldn't explain his magic to anyone who didn't already know something about his situation. There were still Sanctuary employees who didn't believe he was actually blind. They would have been in for a bit of a surprise.

As things stood, Dexter would be in for a lot of surprises.

"There are things you miss when you don't leave any way to contact you," Skulduggery informed the wayward Adept calmly. He tipped his head. "Then again, apparently there are things you don't. What do you think, Erskine? Do we need to instigate some sort of initiation, or should I just call Ghastly?"

Erskine laughed. "You should probably call Ghastly either way. Sorry, Dex. We've got about sixty years to catch you up on, and trust me when I say the last four were definitely the most interesting."

[vexingshieldbearer]

"Can I take a rain-check?" Dex asked not-quite desperately as Skulduggery called Ghastly. "Can I take a rain-check for the next hundred years because I'm pretty sure that's how long it's gonna take to get over the fact that God exists and Skulduggery's in love with someone but definitely not having sex because you're not having sex, I hope, because there's something kind of gross about that--"

At which point he had to stop and take a breath, and Corrival snorted. "Breathe," he said, "and leave. We've got a lot of work to do after our holiday yesterday afternoon. Tipstaff says the hardware's all installed in your office, Wreath, and includes vocal commands so you can't plead injuries to get out of it."

"Joy of joys," Wreath said deadpan. "By the way, Skulduggery, I want that cane you promised me. I'll even sacrifice some bells and whistles if I can get it by the end of the day, just in case there are other assassins waiting in the wings. And if you wouldn't mind giving a message to Merlin, I'd like to learn how to ward myself soon. Also starting today, if at all possible."

He did not say Merlin, Dexter decided. He did not say Merlin. Dexter had misheard. Dexter had misheard or the Necromancer had said it on purpose to make him blink. Because he was a Necromancer and Necromancers were petty vindictive bastards like that.

"Can I leave and pretend I never came back into the country?" Dexter mumbled vaguely, too shocked to even jump when the young man with the awesome hair appeared in the office. Unwillingly and rather numbly he rose and picked up his bag, and Wreath actually had the gall to give him a little, cheery wave with his good hand before they and Skulduggery vanished.

"--didn't have to hold me back like that!"

"You were practic'ly chompin' at the bit, li'l bro! I mean, geez, can'tcha even last for twelve hours without havin' to see your boyfriend?"

"Something was wrong. Solomon was being attacked. What was I meant to do?"

"Oh, I dunno. Wait and trust that they can handle things for themselves like you promised you would?"

Dexter blinked, stared, blinked some more. They were in Ghastly's shop, which Dex recognised because he'd dropped by last time to get some suits tailored. He recognised the shop. He recognised Ghastly. He recognised Tanith Low, and given other circumstances he'd have been surprised to see her there. He didn't recognise the young Teleporter with the hair, he didn't recognise the girl who'd grow up to look pretty damn fine, ans he didn't recognise the old man leaning back against the walls with his arms crossed in an 'I'm not getting involved in this but he's right you know' manner.

He most definitely did not recognise the tall African man with surprisingly doeful eyes and the shorter, Arabic man with tumbling curls and a slight frown, both of whom were stunningly beautiful. And arguing. In a tailor's shop. Sort-of. The Arab had just stopped and while he wasn't scowling, there was a definite trace of unhappiness around his mouth. The sort when the person knew someone else was right and didn't want to admit it.

Boyfriend. Chomping at the bit. Solomon attacked. At a distance from himself, knowing what he was about to do and utterly unable to stop himself from doing it, Dexter turned to Skulduggery and blurted, "You're in love with a man?!"

[skeletonenigma]

"No." Skulduggery gave Fletcher a nod of thanks as the Teleporter moved off towards Valkyrie. "I'm in love with an angel. There's a distinct difference. Hello, everyone. I'd like you to meet Dexter Vex, an old friend of mine who's been off traveling and unreachable for the last few decades. Dexter, you know Ghastly. This is Valkyrie Cain, my partner. Fletcher Renn. Tanith Low. Merlin. Raphael, and Gabriel."

He indicated each person as he mentioned their name, and each one had a vastly different reaction from the last. Ghastly, who'd likely been momentarily stunned for a few moments at the arrival of a friend he hadn't seen in years, gave Dexter a warm smile in greeting. Valkyrie looked vaguely shocked, and since she'd never met Dexter before, Skulduggery had no idea what that could be about. Tanith had gone red with what sounded suspiciously like barely concealed laughter, but nodded politely towards Dexter when she was introduced. Fletcher waved a little hesitantly, but otherwise seemed perfectly at home again.

Ghastly's smile faded at the introduction of the last three. "We've already told him everything?"

"Not exactly." Skulduggery took over his usual armchair, which had fortunately been left vacant - probably due to Valkyrie. "I was hoping you could help us with that. He's met God, but is otherwise blissfully ignorant."

Ghastly sighed. "Of course he is. Hello, Dex. How was your trip?"

Valkyrie looked like she was about to say something, and then thought better of it. But the look she gave Skulduggery was slightly worrying. It was the same one she'd worn for months when they first met - tense with confusion, a strong determination to understand the cause of that confusion, and eventually growing slack as she gave up.

[vexingshieldbearer]

Dexter let out a strangled noise which sounded rather as if someone had choked a laughing chicken. Angel. In love. He actually admitted it. That he was in love. With an angel. The sad thing was that Gabriel was pretty enough to qualify.

In love. Those words ran around his mind over and over, and the only thing Dexter could come up with was, "But he's a man!"

"I can be a woman if you'd rather," Gabriel offered, and far from being annoyed, there was something so blazingly warm and amused in his eyes as he looked at Skulduggery that Dexter both didn't want to stare and couldn't help it. He was practically glowing. It wasn't all relief, either.

"You can do that?" Dexter asked without thinking, and his tone was most definitely dazed, his eyes rather wide and face rather grey.

"Of course," Gabriel said, turning a dazzling smile on him. Dazzling and with the edge of a smirk. "It's the family discipline. We're all two- or even three-gendered."

"Definitely makes things interestin'," Raphael agreed with an absolutely straight face. "Means people can make requests and everythin'."

"Are you sure you're not having sex?" Dexter asked Skulduggery. "Because, I mean, if you can make requests then I don't know why you wouldn't, but given that you kind of lack the bits I still think it's--"

At which point his voice cut off, though his lips still moved, and his eyes went wide as one hand rose to touch his throat. Gabriel, red as a beet, drew his hand back and very carefully avoided looking at anyone in the face. His brother had no such restraint; he was busy laughing his guts out, slinging an arm over Gabe's shoulders and half collapsing on the fairer Archangel.

"You walked into that one, you have to admit," Merlin murmured, looking as if he couldn't decide whether to be amused or put off by the image. "Are you sure you can see souls? That should have been obvious."

"Shut up," Gabe mumbled, shoulders hunching as if about ready to sink into the floor. "Why is everyone here obsessed with assuming sex is involved?"

"Because for most humans, it is," Merlin pointed out.

"But I'm not human!" Gabe complained.

"But you look human. That's all that matters, really."

Dexter thought about waving his hand to attract attention from their argument and ask for his voice back, then decided it would be better if he didn't and turned to Ghastly instead, his wide eyes silently begging for something to sit on before he fell down.

[skeletonenigma]

Ghastly gave him the chair at the table with the sewing machine. Or rather, he rolled it out from behind the table and stepped back. Even if Dexter's looks weren't easy to figure out by now, the fact that his knees were shaking might have been a bit of a giveaway.

"I never assumed sex was involved," Ghastly muttered just loud enough for those paying attention to hear, while Dex sorted himself out. In an effort to steer the conversation away from those dangerous waters, the tailor cleared his throat and straightened up. "Is Solomon alright? Rafe had to drag Gabe back here."

"Oh, he'll be alright." There was something almost hasty about Skulduggery's response. "None the worse for wear. Bandages on his hand for a few days, a mandatory constant bodyguard, a new appreciation for the sort of magic he can do. Speaking of which," and Skulduggery returned his attention to the two Archangels, "apparently, he can throw pieces of the lifestream now. Should we be worried?"

An Elder hadn't been assassinated, then. That was good. The Sanctuary was going to have enough trouble rebuilding without its newly appointed leaders dropping like flies. Ghastly tuned them out, confident he'd get the details when and if he needed them, and put a hand on Dex's shoulder. "How are you holding up?" he asked quietly. "It's a lot to take in, I know."

[vexingshieldbearer]

Dexter managed to stumble to the chair without falling over--barely--and flopped into it with all the grace of ... well, Rue. His eyes were still wide and his lips were moving, but it was hard to tell exactly what he was saying. If anything at all.

"Really?" Gabe looked vaguely startled, and then a proud smile spread across his face. "He's learned fast. I figured he'd ask what he could do when he's ready, but I didn't think he'd start using it that quickly."

"To be fair, life or death scenarios have that effect," Merlin said musingly, "but that's still fairly impressive. Does he have any spare time today? I could go and give him a hand, after I've dropped Valkyrie off at school. Given his situation it isn't really wise for him to experiment without initial guidance."

Dexter looked wordlessly at Ghastly, trying very hard to ignore the conversation happening behind him. If he had the voice he probably would have been making little strangled noises. As it was he was just slump-shouldered and rather ashen. Then something like exasperation cross his face and he reached out to grip Ghastly's arm hard, groping for the pencil and paper on the desk.

I got drunk with GOD. S. is IN LOVE. With an angel? And I don't have a voice. Everything's just fine and dandy. CAN I GO HOME NOW?

[skeletonenigma]

"I doubt he has spare time anymore," Skulduggery mused. "But he'll make the time, if he has to. He asked for you specifically, and today if possible. Something about warding himself. And if you could tell me what unholy magic you employed to get Valkyrie to agree to that, I would very much appreciate it."

Far from snapping aloud her irritation, like she'd done before Skulduggery arrived, Valkyrie simply sulked. "He's way more persistent than you are."

"I'm very persistent."

"Skulduggery, you give up the moment some other bad guy appears and I point out how much extra training I need to be useful."

"She's right," Ghastly nodded absently, rereading Dexter's scrawl. "You do."

Skulduggery's head tilted to the side. "That's hardly my fault. That's reasonable. If you didn't need to sleep all the time, we'd be able to get a lot more done."

Valkyrie blinked. "We're blaming my biological priorities now?"

"No. We're blaming you. In all seriousness, Valkyrie, how often have you gone to school yourself in the last year?"

The teenager suddenly became very interested in her shoes. Ghastly decided not to try and catch her eye, since he was just as much at fault in that respect. He hadn't tried to make her go. Neither had Tanith, although Tanith at least brought up the idea several times. Tanith believed Valkyrie shouldn't be such an outsider to her own life. Ghastly believed Valkyrie should have as much a chance at normalcy as possible. He had to admit, that belief slipped while he was focusing primarily on getting Skulduggery back, because Skulduggery didn't deserve that hell and Valkyrie didn't deserve his death as a reason for being forced back into normalcy.

Things were about as far from normal as it was possible to get right now, and that was precisely why Valkyrie should be taking over more of her old life again.

"You're not the only one," Ghastly told Dexter, lowering his voice to keep this particular conversation between the two of them. "I ran into Him at a bar a few days ago, too. I needed the help just then." Once he'd gotten over the initial shock, of course. That couldn't have been healthy. That had to be the psychological equivalent of a heart attack. "Skulduggery and Gabriel spent the last year powerless and running from a psychotic man in an alternate dimension before Gabe rescued Skul from the Faceless Ones. They've had a lot of time to sort things out. It's just a little difficult for the rest of us to wrap our minds around right now."

God-sanctioned love between Lord Vile and an Archangel. Yeah, Ghastly was still having a hard time picking it apart.

"And I'm sorry about your voice," he added, a little dumbly. "I didn't know he could do that. Or would do that." A somewhat mischievous grin began to spread. "Try praying nicely for it back, though. I'm sure he'll listen."

[vexingshieldbearer]

"Ah, of course." Merlin nodded. "He asked me about that earlier. It's entirely possible to ward one's soul, and his doing so will make things easier for him to manage. I just wasn't certain how capable of it he'd be until he'd had more time to adjust."

Dexter glared at Ghastly during the conversation behind him, not for any reason but because he could and, let's face it, he'd be the one best able to take the glare. He wouldn't take it seriously but might actually respond to it. (Not that he did, but there was the potential for it!)

"Aw, school ain't that bad," Raphael was saying, and Dexter heard a slap like he'd just clapped a hand to Valkryie's back. "I'll even go with ya, what d'you say?"

"That would defeat the point of her going at all," Gabe objected. "You'll distract her!"

"Not if I'm outside the whole time it won't!"

"Have you been listening to yourself recently?"

"'Course not. What'd I miss?"

Dexter's glare dissolved into an odd mix of relief and disconcert. Ghastly had met Him? Ghastly? Because he'd needed the help? What kind of help would Ghastly need that Skulduggery couldn't give and would make God step in?

... What kind of situation would make God tell Dexter to return home and Dex actually do it?

Oh, yes. Praying. Wonderful idea. Excellent idea. Superb.

Stop the train, I want to get off. By the way, you're not helping.

Dexter stuck his tongue out at Ghastly and dropped the pencil, swivelling the seat to face the arguing Archangels. He pouted, widened his eyes pleadingly, and clasped his hands before his chest.

'Oh amazing and delightful paragons of virtue and graciousness Gabriel and Raphael, please may I beg of you a boon, just a tiny one, just an itty-bitty one that really, really wouldn't take much of your time, because I'd kind of like my voice back.'

As one the Archangels cut off short and turned to look at him with identical amused expressions.

'That's really kind of creepy, by the way. You're not time-travelling angels, are you? You're not reality-chomping angels that can time-warp you in a blink?'

"Well, we could, if y'really wanted us to be," Rafe drawled.

"But we choose not to," Gabe ended, grinning.

'Well, that's good to know.'

There was a beat of silence. Both the angels looked at him expectantly. Dexter looked expectantly back.

'Ah, about that boon?'

Gabe's eyes widened innocently. "Yes? You were going to ask for one, weren't you?"

"Yep. Can't do anything without you askin' for it." Rafe nodded.

This was ridiculous. This was--of course. Of course Skulduggery Pleasant would discover angels and they would be just like him. Of course he would discover God and God would be completely and utterly one of them. Abruptly Dexter bent in on his chair, laughing in silent convulsions to such a degree that the chair scooted backward into Ghastly.

All of a sudden, everything in the whole of the universe made perfect sense.

"I think we broke him," he heard Rafe saying, and couldn't even stop laughing long enough to answer.

"Maybe you should try and fix him, then?" Gabe suggested.

"Oh, I can do that." There was a definite wicked tone in his voice, a tone which reminded Dexter so much of Larrikin that his laughter died and his head snapped up so he could defend himself against whatever Larrikin was about to do next. He did not expect to have a gorgeous African woman plop herself on his lap with a friendly smile in a fashion that was actually entirely platonic, given there was six inches of space still between them and she wasn't even wearing anything revealing. Except for the fact that she was gorgeous and Dexter really couldn't handle that.

He squeaked, wide-eyed, and Rafe grinned back at his brother over his shoulder, shaking back his--her?--long plaited hair. "See? Told ya I could fix him."

"Help." The word came out strangled and very, very quiet, and with a laugh Raphael got up again, spinning in a way that made his coat billow.

"This free-will thing's kinda fun."

"Really?" Merlin said dryly. "I hadn't noticed you thought so."

[skeletonenigma]

There was something disconcerting about watching two Archangels turning to face a man so obviously praying. Probably because excepting moments like these, or when they let their wings out, it was difficult to remember that Gabe and Rafe actually were Archangels. Not just powerfully divine beings, but the same powerfully divine beings everyone prayed to. Looked to for guidance. Millions of years old, the summation of an entire evolution of a sapient species on their shoulders.

It didn't help that Skulduggery spent so long at the Institute believing Gabe was mortal. Powerful, and possibly an Ancient, but ultimately mortal. The sorts of trials they were forced to endure back then as shadows of their former selves made it... nearly impossible to imagine Gabe with wings. Or answering the prayers of half the world.

Or as a woman.

"Your voice is back," Ghastly murmured behind Dexter, as if the Adept might have trouble realising that on his own. Although, to be fair to Ghastly, with the current state Dexter was in, he'd probably need help remembering his own name.

Raphael had barely stood back up again to let Dexter breathe before Skulduggery turned towards Gabe, and when he spoke, if you listened very carefully, there was almost a hint of desperation in his tone. "Don't ever do that."

There were multiple reasons he didn't think he'd be able to handle it, and Skulduggery wasn't about to try and voice any of them out loud. His wife, for one. Until now, it had been relatively easy separating her and Gabe, because they were so different and their relationships so laughably incomparable. He didn't want those relationships to blur, even if he was interested. Gabe meant one thing to him. His wife meant something very different, something Skulduggery had been positive he'd never find again. Something he'd never wanted to find again. Blurring the two was a disrespect to both.

Fortunately, Gabe should know all of those reasons, even if it was only by soul-reading and nothing else.

"I don't know," said Tanith thoughtfully, observing Rafe's new form with a raised eyebrow. "I think I prefer the dog."

Valkyrie's eyes widened. "The dog? He was a dog?"

"Yep. Yesterday. Both him and Gabe." Tanith grinned at them. "It was adorable."

"You know what?" said Valkyrie. "I think Skulduggery's right. I think I need to sleep less. All the cool things happen while I'm sleeping. Dublin painted red, angel dogs... Is there magic to make me not need to sleep?"

"If there was," Skulduggery cut in, since it looked like Tanith was about to answer with the truth and that couldn't lead them anywhere good, "it would be incredibly dangerous and hardly worth the risk."

"Can't you say that about everything we do?" Valkyrie insisted.

"That it's incredibly dangerous? Yes. Luckily, most of it is very much worth the risk."

"You're no fun," Valkyrie grumbled. "Is there something an angel could do? That would be safe, right?"

[impudentsongbird]

"Okay?" Gabe's amusement was startled at Skulduggery's abrupt request, but then he caught up with the complicated nuances in the detective's soul a moment later and his eyes widened. "Oh. Yes. Okay."

It had occurred to him, sort of. Not in this specific context, but the comparison between him and Skulduggery's wife, the desire not to step on the toes of her memory. It wasn't fair to either of them. To any of them. It wasn't something Gabriel had ever meant to do, but he probably wouldn't have thought using his female skin--for one reason or another--would count until after he'd already done it. Not that using it would change anything, for him, but human sexuality was a very complicated thing and Skulduggery was still ultimately human.

"You prefer the dog?" Rafe lowered his arms from where he was 'modelling', prepared to pout, and then stopped thoughtfully. "Naw, you're right," he agreed. "Dogs have a much more practical physiology, for one. And they're cute as buttons for another. But I could always be female and a dog if that floats your boat."

In a beat he was a dog--a bitch, naturally--and trotting happily toward Valkyrie, tail held high and tongue lolling, to flop on her feet. He looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes. 'Well, don't ask me. I'm a dog, I dunno shit about magic and stuff. Gimme a scratch?'

"It's not exactly impossible, but messing with the body's requirements like that isn't really wise," Gabe explained in a tone that was a cross between apologetic and firm. There'd be no help from that direction, Valkyrie.

Quietly Merlin approached Dexter and Ghastly, his expression exasperated--at his 'uncles'--and sympathetic at once. He didn't talk directly to Dexter, though. The man wasn't making noises anymore, but he was staring wide-eyed at Rafe, and from the tumble of his surface thoughts he'd work things out okay. He just needed something to hit the bottom first. Which, frankly, wasn't going to be terribly hard to push him to.

"Did I ever tell you," Merlin said conversationally to Ghastly, turning to look back at the now-being-blissfully-petted Archangel, "that Nimue was actually an angel? Fallen, naturally. For a bunch of non-sexual beings they are extremely good at playacting."

Dexter squeaked, his surface thoughts rippled, and abruptly something in his mind settled as he scowled. "You did that on purpose."

"I was commiserating."

"You're really bad at it. You're all mean. Meanie-heads."

Merlin laughed and squeezed his shoulder. "I'm so glad that four hundred years' worth of language hasn't been lost in you, youngster."

"If you want someone that old you should talk to Ghastly."