let me be the one you call / if you jump I'll break your fall

[impudentsongbird]

Book Four: Dark Days
1 | into the breach
2 | finding skulduggery
3 | retreat to the tunnels
4 | into the cacophony
5 | sanctuary in the cathedral
6 | reuniting old friends
7 | kenspeckle's new patient
8 | holy water and disinfectant
9 | objecting to china sorrows
10 | the roadtrip
11 | baffling guild
12 | shenanigans at the safehouse
13 | reassuring fletcher
14 | valkyrie's intervention
15 | solomon's revelation
16 | visiting the edgleys
17 | recalled to the sanctuary
18 | guild's confusion
19 | gabe is busted
20 | the psychic tattoist
21 | envisioning the cacophony
22 | angel's first migraine
23 | the morning after
24 | china and solomon
25 | detectives' council of war
26 | china's foolishness
27 | the collector dethroned
28 | finding crux
29 | skulduggery's vileness revealed
30 | sorrows in aftermath
31 | finding equilibrium
32 | the devil's number
33 | at the carnival
34 | meeting authorities
35 | solomon's confession
36 | the stray soul
37 | sanguine unsettled
38 | solomon's choice
39 | a cowboy underground
40 | in scarab's basement
41 | striking midnight
42 | craven contested
43 | emergency services
44 | on your feet
45 | and don't stop moving
46 | easy recognition
47 | a deuce of an evening
48 | engines roaring
49 | compromising judgements
50 | solomon's conflict
51 | axis turning
52 | thinking circular
53 | blasting the past
54 | reviling vile

Book Five: Mortal Coil
55 | sanctuary unsanctified
56 | shudder unravelling
57 | catching an angel
58 | layering dimensions
59 | dead men meeting
60 | when it rains
61 | power plays
62 | sing on gold
63 | the valley of death
64 | grand aspersions
65 | no evil feared
66 | new days rising
67 | angelic neuroses
68 | step-brothers working
69 | the many sorrows of china
70 | peacefully wreathed
71 | tarnished gold
72 | the secret in darkness
73 | magical intent
74 | scars worth keeping
75 | benefits of a beau
76 | grand magery
77 | lighting the darkness
78 | old dogs and new tricks
79 | flouting traditions
80 | drawing lines
81 | brothers and sisters in arms
82 | channelling angels
83 | return of the carnies
84 | the death bringers
85 | meriting agelessness
86 | knick knack, paddy
87 | give a dog a bone
88 | americans propheteering
89 | the right side of honour
90 | tailored shocks
91 | hosting angels
92 | elders anonymous
93 | rediscovered strays
94 | changings and changelings
95 | a state of reflection
96 | adding hope
97 | the devil's truth
98 | dead mens' hospitality
99 | lives half lived
100 | next to godliness
101 | devilish plans
102 | beached angels
103 | lights of revelation
104 | heroes worshipped
105 | new devilries
106 | angels under the yoke
107 | brains frozen
108 | father, mother, daughter
109 | parental guidance recommended
110 | driven round the bend
111 | ongoing training
112 | privileged information
113 | reasonable men
114 | passing the buck
115 | gifting magicks
116 | strengths and weaknesses
117 | immaturity's perks
118 | priests and prophets
119 | scaling evil
120 | blowing covers
121 | marring an afternoon
122 | lie detection
123 | five-dimensional pain
124 | reliving nightmares
125 | taking stock
126 | sampling spices
127 | sleeping prophets lying
128 | rueful returns
129 | dead men reunion
130 | medically-approved hugs

The life of an angel was a contradiction in changes and stability. On one hand, they understood very well the way the cosmos was shaped by events within it. On the other, they stood at one step apart from it—or at least had, for a very long time, up until their Master's recent wager with Lucifer. Changes in the recent past had, even for angels, been fast and turbulent, but there were none that concerned Raphael more than Gabriel's abrupt reserve.

In the aftermath of the wager Gabriel had been almost the only one to know where their Lord was at any given time, a fact which had put the Archangel very firmly under Lucifer's radar. Raphael had joked that Gabriel ought to arm himself with more jokes or worse clothes to drive the fallen angel away; Michael had offered the peace of the Garden Coast. (Rafe thought his idea was better.)

Either way, even though their Master was fair hidden, every angel knew that they had only to ask Gabriel and the Archangel would pass on a message.

Then Gabriel had simply blipped off the radar himself. Poof! Gone! No one had noticed at first, because, well, they weren't exactly in constant connection. It was just when Raphael had taken a whim to seek out his younger brother that he'd noticed it, and let it be, because there was absolutely a reason for it. Gabe did not just off and vanish, except that once with his self-exile, and that didn’t count.

But when Gabriel had come back, he had been strangely agitated and yet close-mouthed. The younger Archangel had vanished off to wherever their Master was hidden for a long chat Raphael was dying to have listened into, and yet couldn't (but only partly because it would have been rude). Now he was here, floating among the stars and examining a black hole with unnerving intensity.

For a time Raphael watched without letting on that he was there, but eventually Gabriel spoke. “I’d rather you came to join me instead of lurking, brother.”

Absolutely refusing to feel chagrined, Raphael let himself manifest with an arm around Gabriel’s shoulders and ruffled the younger angel’s hair. Gabriel threw a fond, longsuffering glance up at him, but there was something in his eyes, something distracted and sharp, which indicated that Gabriel still wasn’t truly present. Raphael only wished he knew where the other Archangel was.

“Just wondering what you’re doin’ all the way out here,” he said teasingly. “There’s a party going on down there on Earth, Gabe.” There was always a party going on down on Earth. “You oughta be down there bobbin’ for apples and switching up party-hats!”

“I can’t,” Gabriel said quietly, with a sort of seriousness Raphael had, for all Gabriel’s literalness, rarely heard from him. So Raphael fell into the same seriousness, lost his playful accent, and spoke directly.

“Why not, brother? You’ve been reserved of late. I conf—I’m worried for you.”

For a very long time Gabriel said nothing and stared into the slow-turning swirl of the black hole. Raphael waited patiently, his arm still companionably across the other Archangel’s shoulders. Eventually Gabriel spoke. “Did you know, Raphael,” he said, “that the universe you see around you here isn’t the only one our Master has created?”

Raphael was so startled that he couldn’t answer. That wasn’t what he was imagining. He hadn’t been sure what he’d been imagining, but that wasn’t it. “I’m not sure what you mean, Gabriel,” he said after a moment. “Our Lord told me the story of Creation not all that long ago, and he never mentioned anything of the kind.”

Gabriel nodded. “He told me that story as well. And then He asked if I really wanted to know details.” He hesitated. “I … admit, I declined. It’s something He said—about faith. I decided I didn’t need to know details. But it’s true, nevertheless. Just beyond this …” The Archangel reached out his hand and touched that gossamer and unbreakable fabric that supported reality. “There are other universes, even with different versions of us.”

“Different versions of us?” Raphael repeated, appalled and uncertain and entirely confused. How could that be possible? What could their Master want with more than one of any of them? What was going on? Where had Gabriel gone in that time he’d vanished? Then something occurred to him and he smiled with relief. “This is a joke, right?”

Gabriel looked up at him and smiled back with such a gentle understanding that for a moment Raphael felt very small indeed. “No, Rafe. I’m not joking. It was a shock to me too. That isn’t the point, though.”

“Isn’t it?” Raphael asked, feeling as dazed as an angel possibly could, especially when he wasn’t even inhabiting an actual physical body.

“No.” Gabriel returned to watching the black hole intently. “I met some people from other realities. One of them is in a kind of Hell, and he very much does not deserve it. I promised him that, if I could, I would save him from it.”

Which did not in the least explain why Gabe was staring at a black hole, let alone a million other questions Raphael would have liked to ask and for which he couldn’t find the words. Finally he found one. “How?”

“First,” Gabriel said with a sort of tranquillity Raphael had heard in his brother’s voice a million times but never after delivering so turbulent a piece of news, “I’m going to jimmy open a crack in the door through this hole.”

Raphael stared at Gabe, and then at the black hole, and then back at Gabe. He opened his mouth to ask whether their Master knew he was planning this and then closed it, because that was a stupid question. He opened it again to query if Gabriel had asked whether he could go around lifting the sheets and then realised that was also a stupid question, because whether he had or not, their Master probably would have told him to do what he felt was best.

It was equally clear that Gabriel very much planned to go through with this, no matter what Raphael said, and really, did Raphael have the right to object? Surely if this carried a risk, their Master would have already forbidden Gabriel from making the attempt?

“I’ll come with,” Raphael said at last, and this time when Gabriel glanced back the younger Archangel’s expression was startled. A moment later that expression shifted into grateful apology.

“I’m sorry, Rafe, but I’m not entirely certain I’ll make it through, and we can hardly leave Michael here alone.” He grinned. “Did you see what he was wearing last festival day on the Garden Coast? He hasn’t moved out of the eighteenth century yet. How would he possibly handle the rest of the world?”

Raphael laughed out loud, warm but startled, and the sound of it rang through space. Gabriel chuckled quietly beside him, and for a few minutes there was just companionable humour that faded into an equally comfortable silence.

Still, Raphael had a lot of questions. How did Gabriel plan to find his friend, let alone the universe he was in? How was he going to get back? What would he do if he met another version of himself? Or, worse, Lucifer? Finally the Archangel just asked, “Have you figured out how to crack open the door?”

“I think so,” Gabriel said, considering the black hole. “Once I figured out what to look for. I wouldn’t have gotten even that far if it weren’t for some things our Master said.”

Which meant that, in some fashion, this expedition was sanctioned by their Master, Raphael translated, and something tense in him relaxed. “Something do to with this drain here, I’ll bet,” he said, falling into his casual accent once more. “Gonna rip out the kitchen sink, li’l brother?”

“Just to see what’s hiding underneath,” Gabriel said with a grin.

“I’ll try’n keep it open for ya,” Raphael promised, and Gabriel sent him a smile which lit up the very space around them with its brilliance.

“Thank you, Rafe,” he said, and straightened. Raphael took his arm away as Gabriel lifted his hands, not exactly stepping back so much as giving Gabriel space. The youngest Archangel didn’t often reveal his power, but it was always a sight to see, a song to hear, when he did.

As it was now. Gabriel’s voice started deep, lifted high, split and wove and became more melodies than one would think a single being could possibly sing at once. The sound of it made Raphael’s heart soar, made him want to fly and laugh. It was so deep, so light, so resonating that it was physical; it touched the slow turn of the black hole and made it, for just the briefest of moments, still. In that moment Gabriel sent a carefully-aimed bolt of energy into the heart of it.

It was the kind of sight Raphael hadn’t seen in thousands of years, a play of physics and metaphysics which he hadn’t thought possible, let alone imagined. There was an eruption in the centre of the black hole, where gravity was condensed; the cascade of energy plumed upward and was dragged back down as quick, a tear in the fabric of the reality not allowed the time to widen or become a danger.

Raphael didn’t even know Gabe had moved until the younger Archangel was gone, he was so busy staring in awe. With a start the Archangel stretched out his senses and just barely managed to catch a glimpse of his brother shooting toward the hole at speeds few angels could have achieved through such a gravity well. Raphael certainly couldn’t have.

How, he suddenly wondered, was he meant to keep that open if he didn’t even have the speed of thought to track Gabriel’s movements through it?

Desperately the Archangel cast about for something to jam in the door, as it were. There was some dark matter nearby and with a thought he fashioned it into a spear and pitched it toward the centre of the black hole. It struck just as Gabriel flitted through the crack nearly wholly collapsed in on itself; the star’s gravity caught it, pulled it in, and plugged the opening like a metaphysical sink.

Slowly Raphael made every part of himself relax. For good or ill, Gabe was gone on this quest of his, and now Raphael should probably go and round up some of their younger siblings to guard the area. Just in case.


Book Four: Dark Days
into the breach | finding skulduggery | retreat to the tunnels | into the cacophony | sanctuary in the cathedral | reuniting old friends | kenspeckle's new patient | holy water and disinfectant | objecting to china sorrows | the roadtrip | baffling guild | shenanigans at the safehouse | reassuring fletcher | valkyrie's intervention | solomon's revelation | visiting the edgleys | recalled to the sanctuary | guild's confusion | gabe is busted | the psychic tattoist | envisioning the cacophony | angel's first migraine | the morning after | china and solomon | detectives' council of war | china's foolishness | the collector dethroned | finding crux | skulduggery's vileness revealed | sorrows in aftermath | finding equilibrium | the devil's number | at the carnival | meeting authorities | solomon's confession | the stray soul | sanguine unsettled | solomon's choice | a cowboy underground | in scarab's basement | striking midnight | craven contested | emergency services | on your feet | and don't stop moving | easy recognition | a deuce of an evening | engines roaring | compromising judgements | solomon's conflict | axis turning | thinking circular | blasting the past | reviling vile

Book Five: Mortal Coil
sanctuary unsanctified | shudder unravelling | catching an angel | layering dimensions | dead men meeting | when it rains | power plays | sing on gold | the valley of death | grand aspersions | no evil feared | new days rising | angelic neuroses | step-brothers working | the many sorrows of china | peacefully wreathed | tarnished gold | the secret in darkness | magical intent | scars worth keeping | benefits of a beau | grand magery | lighting the darkness | old dogs and new tricks | flouting traditions | drawing lines | brothers and sisters in arms | channelling angels | return of the carnies | the death bringers | meriting agelessness | knick knack, paddy | give a dog a bone | americans propheteering | the right side of honour | tailored shocks | hosting angels | elders anonymous | rediscovered strays | changings and changelings | a state of reflection | adding hope | the devil's truth | dead mens' hospitality | lives half lived | next to godliness | devilish plans | beached angels | lights of revelation | heroes worshipped | new devilries | angels under the yoke | brains frozen | father, mother, daughter | parental guidance recommended | driven round the bend | ongoing training | privileged information | reasonable men | passing the buck | gifting magicks | strengths and weaknesses | immaturity's perks | priests and prophets | scaling evil | blowing covers | marring an afternoon | lie detection | five-dimensional pain | reliving nightmares | taking stock | sampling spices | sleeping prophets lying | rueful returns | dead men reunion | medically-approved hugs

Comments

[skeletonenigma]

Valkyrie's insides grew cold at the prospect of anyone going after her parents. Not even Guild did that. Even Crux, as twisted and insane as he was, only came after her. He vanished the moment her parents might have encountered him. No matter how evil sorcerers got, they tended to leave mortals alone - or at least uninvolved. She'd always assumed that keeping her parents out of things would protect them indefinitely.

She should have known someone would eventually come along to blow all that up. Someone who wouldn't think twice about involving innocent and ignorant people to achieve a goal. Hell, he probably wouldn't even think once. Gabe was an Archangel, hands-down the most powerful person Valkyrie had ever met, and even he hesitated when he talked about his brother.

But what was she supposed to tell her parents? Even assuming they knew about magic, even assuming they knew all about her life, they'd just get even more terrified when she couldn't even tell them what the danger was. They'd want her home, safe, with them. And they wouldn't understand that home wouldn't be safe, not anymore. The only place that could conceivably be safe was right here, with Gabe and Skulduggery. She just hoped she could get her parents to see that.

She made a noise halfway between a laugh and something a little more dark. "So I warn them about a charming guy showing up on their doorstep, probably in a nice suit, and telling them insane things that sound like good ideas? Skulduggery, maybe you shouldn't be there with me when I do."

Skulduggery shook his head. "No, I'll be there. This isn't entirely your responsibility, and Gordon would have wanted it that way." His head tilted again. "Besides, living skeletons have a way of calming people down, if you remember."

Valkyrie scowled. "My parents aren't going to faint." She hesitated. "And if we can avoid telling them about the whole skeleton thing, that would be great too."

[impudentsongbird]

It would probably be best, Gabe decided almost at once, if he didn't mention right now that Lucifer's first means would probably to speak rational doubts straight into their heads. That was how he did it. He didn't force, he didn't coerce--he cajoled, unceasingly and rationally, until hope and trust were stifled by the person themselves.

Lucifer would find that impossible, this time. But he'd try. And then he'd probably approach them somewhere other than the house, somewhere Gabe couldn't watch them at all times. Like Des's office, or somewhere business-oriented, posing as a businessman. Probably a businessman bearing bad news, and offering a deal, a deal to help Des escape from this awful news so he can continue to support his growing family.

He would target Valkyrie. He would target Valkyrie by playing on her parents' desire to protect her, and then get at her through them.

"I can be there too, if you'd like," he said. "But if you're prefer someone else, like Merlin, he would be willing as well. It wouldn't be the first time he's had to break this kind of news." He smiled and squeezed Valkyrie's shoulder. "In the meantime, we'll ward your house. And Des's office." The smile took on an odd cast, not exactly grim but sharp and focussed, determined in a way Gabe rarely was, just because it was so cutting. "If there's one thing of mine Lucifer has never been able to break, it's the locks I put on the Hell he created."

Michael had cast him out of Heaven. Lucifer had created his own Hell on Earth. Gabe was the one who had sealed him there. The Archangel was very, very good at locking things. No, Lucifer would have to get at them some way else, other than at the places they called home. But he would manage it. He was frustratingly tenacious and petty like that.

[skeletonenigma]

Valkyrie's next move, she decided, was going to be to read the Bible. Or modern interpretations of the Bible. Something she could understand, anyway. Now that the stories had very real context, she wanted to know them inside and out. She wanted to know what Lucifer was capable of doing, what he might try to accomplish, and - most of all - she wanted to know where he'd failed. Like with breaking Gabe's locks. She needed the comfort that came from knowing even an evil like the Devil himself still had weaknesses, downfalls, and could still be defeated.

She already had a little bit of that. Wasn't she supposed to be related to him, however distantly, however removed? And yet she gave up Necromancy. So did Solomon, even though he didn't have people telling him every chance they could get how evil death magic was. So did Skulduggery - hell, Skulduggery came back from being one of the most evil people alive. It was possible.

Yes, she had to admit, she wanted Gabe there. She even wanted Merlin there. But she couldn't; that wasn't fair to her parents. Skulduggery was directly involved, so they sort of had to know who he really was. They didn't need to know about Gabe, or Rafe. She'd prefer if they didn't know about Fletcher, either, but since that cat was already out of the bag they might as well know Valkyrie's boyfriend never used a taxi in his life.

Might as well know. Valkyrie had to check herself. Magic; that was it. No angels, no Devil, no God. They just needed to know about magic, and about Skulduggery. That was it. Maybe she could eventually come clean completely, but that wasn't going to happen for a while, if ever.

She swallowed hard and shook her head. "They're going to have a hard enough time with Skulduggery. Thanks, though." Tanith might not be too much of an additional shock, though, and Valkyrie could do with the extra support. "And warding sounds like a brilliant idea. Could you do the bank where my mum works, too?" She tried to remember if her dad was working on a construction site at the moment, and decided she'd have to ask. Lucifer wasn't getting her parents. Not at home, not at work - not ever.

[impudentsongbird]

"You're welcome. And definitely." Gabe rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he said, "The way Rafe's going wild, he seems to be recovering nicely. He should be able to give us another go at healing soon, and we'll ward them after that. No point in waiting."

'Rafe?' He broadcast, sending enough of a gist of their conversation across for Raphael to answer yay or nay.

'A day or two, and I can,' Rafe returned.

Good. Once they had the extra power they might be able to figure out how to seal Myron's name without him needing to know about it, too. He gave Valkyrie's shoulder a squeeze, and something changed in his smile, something which turned proud but unspoken. "For now, let's go track us down a traitor, what d'you say, pardners?"

Some miles away, in a field, Rafe turned toward China and clapped his hands with a beam. "We ready then, mateys? And ma'am?"

[neutralcollector]

Ready was a relative term. Physically, yes, they were ready. Rafe created the centre area they needed in the middle of the mirror maze, true to his word. The Cleavers were all inside the maze, stationed at various points throughout the maze corridors as per China's instructions. None were more than a few feet from a symbol drawn in chalk on the mirrors themselves, and those symbols were designed to catch the reflections' magic as they stepped back into their reflected world. Not all at once, naturally - the effect would be much stronger as a ripple, starting at the outermost edges with a few Cleavers at a time, rippling back through the channels China drew for them, drawing on the power of further reflection deactivations deeper inside. One Cleaver stood in a chalked circle with China and the others in the centre, and he was going to receive all that power. Literally, become all the reflections combined into one.

With absolutely no clue what would happen after that, Solomon was standing rather tensely near the Cleaver. Bliss had already seen the ex-Necromancer. The hope was that if he saw Solomon again, it would draw him back out - and enable him to take control of a version of himself able to handle the strength of his soul.

That, or the reflection would shatter. Either way, Bliss would be free. In the latter series of events, he'd simply be free and dead.

So yes. Physically, they were ready.

Emotionally, China didn't think she ever would be. She'd never saved Bliss's life before. She had, in fact, tried to kill him. Three times. Oh, she'd helped him out several times since then, for varying and sentimental reasons, but she'd never simply saved him before. Not without a reason.

Her body gave none of her worry away, because China's body was perfectly under her control. There was barely a tremble in her hands. That wouldn't fool Solomon, however - or Raphael - and she certainly wasn't fooling herself. China was entrusting Bliss, a version of Bliss who might be completely insane, with her own life. She didn't even have a plan in place for if he did immediately try to kill her.

China was taking an awful lot on faith here. Appropriate, really.

"I am," she confirmed. Her role was pretty much ended. The Cleavers didn't need her command to step into the mirrors and dispel themselves; they needed an Elder's. And Solomon would then be the one waging the metaphysical battle. "Elder Wreath looks a little pale, I have to say."

[peacefullywreathed]

"He just needs some help putting colour to his face," Dex said cheerfully. "I'll bet he'd appreciate your volunteering, China."

"Unfortunately for you, neither of us are exhibitionists, Vex," Solomon answered almost automatically, tension in his voice even though it was otherwise even. He wasn't unaware of the tension in China's soul, but he had other things to think about. Her observation wasn't inaccurate in the least. Well, Solomon couldn't exactly tell if he was pale, since he couldn't see the mirrors, but he felt tense. He had no idea what was going to happen. Rafe had been extremely unhelpful, and Solomon suspected from the Archangel's expression that he genuinely didn't know--that there were several ways this could pan out, and it all depended on just how China had written her spell, and the Archangel couldn't tell which was the most likely.

The whole room hummed magic. It wasn't just the fact that it was built of magic, although Merlin's foundation was feeding into the spell. It was the sigils, the way they linked, looped, resonated off each other. The way the eye overlapped the edges of the Cleaver's abyss, echoing it, until the rebounded off each other. It was a yawning hole that had left a low-level ache in his temples. If not for his wards, it would have been so much worse.

He had hardly dared move on his own since they had entered the maze. There were dozens of Cleavers inside it, all reflecting against the magical mirrors. Those mirrors reflected back into their abyss. From almost the first moment he had stepped into the maze, he hadn't been able to see anything except that crevasse.

He kept his eyes open, to keep himself from feeling as if he was free-falling. It meant he could see the yawning pit around him, swallowing him, but he could see the sigils; he could see its limits. There was solid ground under his feet, and it was enough. But he couldn't move on his own. He'd been helpless, needing someone to lead him just to trust that he wasn't going to go spinning off into that void.

It was probably going to get worse. Solomon wasn't going to put it off. He never did like waiting, and this was nearly unbearable as it was.

"Cleavers," he said evenly, trusting to Merlin's magical sound-system to transmit his order, "dispel. Except you."

The last was said directly to the one beside him, though he didn't dare look directly into it. He didn't feel any difference at first. The outermost Cleavers were too far away. But then he felt the surge, a faint trickle which made the sigils hum. A harbinger of an approaching tsunami.

It flooded the void, that wave. It was controlled, a series of ripples and surges through the magical sluices China had written, and that fact was the only reason Solomon wasn't swept away. He closed his eyes and breathed, rather shakily, felt his arms prickle with the swirl of magic and those rising waters and--

A hand landed on his shoulder, warm and solid, and the metaphysical drag eased. He opened his eyes to find broad wings cupped loosely around him, enough to give him a defence but not cut him off from seeing what he had to. He exhaled slowly. 'Thank you.'

Raphael's hand squeezed his shoulder in response.

The wave flowed into the circle at his feet and lit it up with a hum audible even to the others. All the hair on Solomon's body stood up on end, and when he breathed he breathed in magic.

The Cleaver was a fractured void in space, but when the magic hit its circle it jerked. It didn't waver, exactly, but it was like--it was like it was being spun on a potter's wheel, forged in a blacksmith's fire. Its edges grew harder, more defined, and yet less of a broken object. This was its full state, save for some marks Solomon could even now see appearing on its polished surface. Chips, left by the deaths of reflections that would never be returned to it.

The last of the magic flowed into the circle and the reflection's form solidified properly, hardened to that diamond glint. An empty vessel, fully defined.

Limbs tingling, Solomon made to step forward, but he didn't have to; the moment the reflection's state had settled, something was already filled it. And this was like a broken dam, an uncontrollable flood swamping this diamond vessel, something large and inexorable. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't easy.

Cracks appeared in the diamond. With a curse Solomon sprang forward, already reaching out for the ripples in the lifestream they cast. He slammed one hand to the Cleaver's chest and willed that diamond to hold, pressing against it with his own soul like he was holding a barricade. It stopped the cracks from spreading, but some were already leaking; without stopping to explicitly think over the means, Solomon knotted them one by one, like sewing sutures. The worst of them bowed a little under that extra give, but they held.

It was the most he could do. If there was a way he could heal it properly, he had no idea what it might be, and he wasn't going to ask Raphael for help when the Archangel would have to refuse.

Solomon couldn't tell when it all stopped. It seemed to go on forever, the rushing water and the nearly limitless confines of the reflection's interior, the pressure up against him as the sheer force of Bliss's soul filling this makeshift vessel tried to break it.

But eventually it did end. Eventually, the reflection filled, and Solomon sensed that the flood was slowing. He waited until it had, until he was sure there was nothing left, and then eased off, taking an unsteady step back. "Bliss?"

He could almost see the Cleaver's shape, now, filled as it was, except that it was fragmented. Like the bottom of a pool, the water never still. For a moment it just settled, the water swirling as it settled properly into all the nooks and crannies. Then, abruptly, something shifted within it and the Cleaver snapped properly upright. Solomon flinched back from the sudden motion, the turn of that massive presence inside something almost too small for it, and heard a ring of metal of something--a helmet--hitting ground.

"Get me out of this," Bliss said roughly, his voice as near to shaking as it ever did, and Solomon heard him fumbling. "Get me out of it."

"Hold up, arms up!" Dexter Vex sprang past him and Solomon stepped back, turning, suddenly as tired as he'd ever been.

Behind him, Bliss stood still with that quivering nervous tension of someone who couldn't quite, his face lined with untold strain, as Dexter swiftly and with ease of practice undid buckle after buckle; and then, one-by-one, before Dexter had even finished with the rest, the strongest man in the world tore each piece of armour off him and tossed it aside.

[neutralcollector]

Erskine felt rather useless throughout the whole process. That would have bothered him if not for two things. First, he'd volunteered to come, knowing he wouldn't be doing much more than watching - or hoping he wouldn't be doing much more, anyway. And second, just watching the whole process was fascinating enough.

There wasn't any physical evidence of anything happening until the circle China drew on the ground started to glow, and then to hum. His curiosity piqued, Erskine hung around the corner of an intersecting corridor to watch the two nearest Cleavers; when it was their turn to dispel, they simultaneously stepped right into the mirrors, the way any normal reflection would. But rather than becoming normal reflections, their figures dimmed within the glass. Dimmed, and then warped together, bending together into a single distorted reflection of the solitary Cleaver standing with them. The effect was eerie. Erskine could see himself reflected several times over down the corridor, and without a solid knowledge of the maze's layout, he had no idea which walls were the mirrors and which walls only looked like they were walls. The single distorted reflection could almost have been a magical side effect, with the way it looked like it was cast through solid mirrors.

Erskine glanced back at the Cleaver in the middle just in time to see cracks, angled and twisting through the armour. Those same cracks were glowing blue, just as when the last Cleaver shattered as so many pieces of a mirror, only the cracks this time were slower.

It wasn't enough, Erskine realised. Maybe too many reflections had died over the years, or maybe Bliss's soul was just that powerful, but not even this upgraded Cleaver was going to be able to hold him. What would happen if the last possible Cleaver broke? Would Bliss's soul be free to join the lifestream?

As horrible as it sounded, Erskine almost hoped for that. It would solve a lot of their problems. When Solomon leaped forward, however, the Elemental felt a welcoming flood of relief, and that relief turned out to be well-placed as the cracks stopped spreading. They didn't disappear, but they didn't get any worse. It was like the golden light emanating from Wreath held the Cleaver together long enough for Bliss to possess it, an effect that was so much more eerie than the reflections. Because it was looking an awful lot like Solomon fighting Bliss, and... somehow, inexplicably winning.

Erskine had never seen an unhelmeted Cleaver before. He suspected few people had. It was most definitely Bliss under there, and that was somehow even more eerie. Particularly when you realised it actually was Bliss, and not just a reflection of the most powerful man in the world. A simple reflection would never be able to rip whole pieces of armour off like they were nothing more than sheets of light plastic.

Dexter was helping him. Solomon, Erskine had to assume, was down for the count. John... probably wouldn't be much help, even if he did have powerful magic, because he was looking far too dazed to even realise there was a threat. China, on the other hand, looked just as tense and ready to fight as Erskine was. That gave him a small amount of comfort. Until Erskine was sure Bliss was Bliss, he wasn't going to relax.

China wasn't saying anything, and probably wouldn't, and that was probably wise. It left Erskine to step forward, forcing a smile, surveying Bliss's new vessel. "I used to think there wasn't anything under those suits of armour," the Elder confessed. He inclined his head respectfully, because at least the Bliss he remembered was worthy of respect. "Mr. Bliss. It worked properly, then?"

[vexingshieldbearer]

It had been a long time since Dexter had had to unbuckle armour this fast. He was glad that he still could, because part of him was kind of afraid of what would happen if he hadn't been able to keep up with Bliss tearing off his armour. Dex was acutely aware how close he was to the man, that at any moment one of his hands could come down and split his head like a melon.

Neither of them did, and finally the armour was unbuckled, and Dexter took a slightly breathless step back. Bliss ripped off the last piece and then leaned against the wall on one arm, clad only in the thick woollen tunic and breeches he'd worn under the armour. He wasn't moving, in a way that Skulduggery didn't move, but after a moment he raised his hand and looked at it, curling and uncurling his fingers.

He raised his head at the sound of Erskine's voice, and Dexter felt a chill at the look in his eyes. Bliss, before, had had cold eyes. Peaceful eyes, like peace in death. Now they were hollow with a kind of horror made all the more so because it was Bliss.

His gaze focussed on Erskine. "Ravel," he said. "I suppose it did." He straightened and his gaze travelled further, dismissing John, huddled into the wall as he was, and resting on Raphael. He frowned. Dexter tensed. "Who are you?"

"Name's Rafe," he said. "Just a friend of Sol's, here." He jerked his head at the ex-Necromancer still turned away. Bliss's eyes followed the motion.

"You were at Aranmore Farm," he observed. "The man leading the Necromancers. Solomon Wreath."

Wreath turned with that slow sort of caution of someone unsure if they could keep their feet. "Not a Necromancer anymore. How much do you remember?"

"I remember seeing you," Bliss said. "The clearest thing I do, since I was trapped in there. Otherwise, just the bits and pieces I managed to snatch from through the Cleavers' eyes. How long has it been?"

"A year," Solomon said. "Guild's no longer Grand Mage."

"Good. Guild was a fool. Hello, sister." His eyes snapped abruptly toward China. "I'm surprised to see you here."

[neutralcollector]

There was something faintly ironic about China being entrusted with the secret of Archangels - not that there was any choice in the matter - and Bliss being kept in the dark. Bliss, who was meant to be a champion for the Council of Elders and for all things good, while China was regularly ignored by both sides of conflicts because of how untrustworthy her neutrality could be. She knew. Bliss didn't.

She might have laughed, if she were so inclined. But in the end, China decided that the subject of the interesting turn her life had taken should wait for another time. "That makes two of us," she informed him coolly. She was the very picture of grace and elegance, except perhaps to the people who knew her well - in this case, only Bliss, and only if he was paying attention. In reality, she was just as tense as Ravel seemed to be, and just as wary. "Not to skip the small talk, Bliss, but how are you feeling?"

Any murderous inclinations at the moment? went entirely without saying. The last memory she had of Bliss was when he saved her life at Aranmore Farm - distracting Gruesome Krav to give her a chance to escape from the sorcerer's onslaught. The heroic deed made about as much sense to China now as it did back then, and did not help to alleviate any of her worries.

[vexingshieldbearer]

For a long moment Bliss said nothing and merely stared. It was a considering sort of stare, more than a stupefying stare, as if he was still processing the world around him and its changes--as far as he could track those changes. There was a tiny wrinkle in his brow. Dexter wished he knew what the man was thinking.

"You seem somewhat diminished, China," he observed finally, then looked away and pushed himself upright off the wall. "Like I'm stuck in a fishbowl."

He flexed his hands, looking down at them with a frown, and then moved closer into the centre of the room, where most of them stood. His stride was a little hitched at first, but then it evened out into that familiar purposeful step. He still moved a tad gingerly, as if testing, and even in spite of that Dexter let out a relieved exhale at the lengthening distance between them. "How much has changed, aside from Guild's retirement?"

"For one thing," Solomon said with an ironic quirk of his mouth, "Corrival Deuce is now Grand Mage, Ravel and I are his Elders, and we've just replaced the Cleavers with a force of angel statues."

"Deuce is a good leader," was all Bliss had to say on that, and his pale eyes turned to Solomon again, studying him, "but only he would elect a blind Elder. How do you have magic, if you gave up yours?"

"Having magic aligned toward what's after death leaves one with some untapped facets, apparently," Solomon said simply. He met Bliss's gaze with a stare as piercing, but in a different way. Bliss saw a person. Solomon looked into them.

"How could you see me?"

"An side-effect of that magic's shift in alignment," was Solomon's vague answer, and then he shrugged. "It's complicated. Suffice to say I'm not as helpless as it seems."

Bliss digested that and then nodded and looked around again. "What about Batu? The Diablerie?"

[neutralcollector]

China quirked an eyebrow. "It's nice to see you again, too."

She decided not to point out that if anyone here was diminished, it was Bliss. Physically, at least. Mind you, Skulduggery could be considered diminished by that definition, and the skeleton detective was anything but. Being stuck in the construct of a Cleaver hadn't diminished Bliss's legendary strength, so China was willing to reserve judgment for the moment.

She also relaxed slightly - completely unconsciously, but noticeably nonetheless. She'd had enough practice of not immediately associating that now-common observation with the cause of it that China wasn't even unnerved by it anymore. Quite the contrary, the manipulator was enjoying having to work to sway peoples' opinions.

That wasn't to say she wouldn't welcome her magic back. Facing her brother without any of her usual defensive capabilities was not something she'd ever like to do again.

"Batu," China answered, "allowed himself to be taken over by a Faceless One. The remains of his body are, I imagine, still in their reality. Whether or not they're being used, I couldn't say."

Erskine nodded his agreement. "As I understand it, three Faceless Ones came through in the end. Two are dead, one dragged Skulduggery back through the portal with it, and Skulduggery beat it up before coming back home to us. The only Diablerie member who isn't dead is Gallow, and we haven't seen hide nor hair of him. Cut off his own arm, though, apparently."

China didn't particularly want to see Gallow again. Fortunately, she didn't think she would. While she was still proud of him, and of the Diablerie she founded, it was probably the same sort of pride as the one felt by whoever created the atomic bomb while witnessing its destructive force.

[vexingshieldbearer]

For a long moment Bliss stood silent, taking this in. The threat which had killed him was gone, and apparently may not be making a return--though he wasn't willing to lay bets on that. The worshippers of the Faceless Ones were incredibly tenacious. Rather like the Necromancers in that respect, which made Wreath's presence not only here, rescuing him, but as an Elder, extremely interesting.

Absently Bliss flexed his fingers. He hadn't been exaggerating when he said how he felt. Even with the armour off, it felt as if he was still wearing it--that tightness of being constrained. He'd get used to it, but he doubted it would ever go away.

Not breathing was probably going to be easier to get used to. At least that he could use as an intimidation technique. He felt a moment of irony at the thought that he might have become a second Skulduggery Pleasant, though it made sense. They probably had the idea from his existence. Although he'd never meant to live forever, this was better than where he'd been before. If he'd still had a proper physical body just the thought would have sent chills down its spine.

He didn't. He also declined to mention that China was half right. He'd felt it, when he tore off the armour, that he was less than he'd been. He wasn't sure if it was a matter of not having his real body, or that the reflection's constraints were hindering him so he didn't break it, or some combination of the two. It didn't matter. It was enough for his purposes.

"What now, then?" he asked. "I presume you had some plan in place after all this?"

"Of course," Wreath agreed blithely. "I, for one, was thinking about eating out for lunch and enjoying the afternoon. Possibly taking a walk down at the beach, because Tipstaff dragged me back in his prison."

Dexter Vex snorted suddenly, long and loud, and laughed. Bliss raised an eye at the Necromancer. No wonder he'd been willing to be allies with Pleasant. Wreath just grinned back, a rather tired grin, but the satisfied one of a person collecting themselves after an exertion they weren't quite sure was going to happen. This was the man to whom he owed his existence?

It could be worse.

"I did retire once," he observed to no one in particular. He rather doubted he'd be able to do it again, but he had.

"We're good at building retirement plans," Vex said cheerfully as he made for Wreath and took the man's hand to put it on his shoulder, leading him toward the exit. "Come on, blind man. You've missed lunch, and I've got three missed calls from Deuce. I figure I'd leave you to answer the devil, Mister Prophet Sah."

"How magnanimous of you."

[neutralcollector]

"Oh. Oh, no." Ravel pulled out his phone, which he'd put on silent after arriving at the meadow so that they wouldn't be disturbed, just as most of them had. He thumbed it open and winced. "Five missed calls, all from Corrival. I agree with Dex. I think Prophet Wreath should be the one to talk to him. Maybe you can even convince him to give us an extra hour for a lunch break, my treat. Bliss, how does lunch sound? If you can even eat?"

China would never have admitted it, but this was one of the reasons she eventually followed in Bliss's footsteps and renounced her worship of the Faceless Ones. Followers of that faith, while tenacious and determined and overly dramatic, also tended to be incredibly boring. Serious to a fault. Not a scrap of imaginative thought among them. In the end, that had even been Mevolent's downfall; Vile was the only one of the Generals China might have rescinded that statement for, and now that she knew he and Skulduggery were the same person, that seemed even more laughably obvious.

But these men, everyone under Mevolent's command, never took anything seriously that didn't need to be. Erskine Ravel was a prime example; he'd been tense and ready to fight Bliss, ready for a fight he would never have been able to win. Now that Bliss was clearly Bliss and not intending to attack anyone, it was as if that was always going to be the obvious outcome. Vex and Ravel both fell into easygoing attitudes, playing jokes off each other, the threat of an insane Bliss all but forgotten.

China liked that. It took her a few years to get used to it, she had to admit, but now she very much preferred it. Skulduggery was still one of the only men consistently able to make her laugh.

[peacefullywreathed]

"He's a reflection," Solomon said. "Of course he can." They didn't need the sustenance, but they'd be useless as covers if they couldn't at least put up the pretence. The real question would be whether or not Bliss could taste any of it, and if he couldn't, there wouldn't be much point.

"I'll go back to the Sanctuary," Bliss said, and something swirled in the fish-bowl of his soul, something brushing up against the glass as if to startle the watchers. It was almost mischievious. "May I assume you didn't tell many others what you were planning?"

"And have everyone complain about losing the Cleavers? Of course not."

"Of course."

Solomon tugged Dexter to a halt and held up his phone. "How many missed calls?"

"Five," Dexter said with a flutter of his banner that Solomon supposed was chagrin.

"I see."

"Actually, you don't."

"Semantics." He dialled Corrival and the phone hardly rang once before it picked up.

"Wreath, do you even know the meaning of the phrase 'keep me in the loop'?!"

"Of course I do, Corrival," Solomon said calmly. "It's hardly my fault if your interpretation differs from mine."

"Care to explain what your interpretation is in this case?"

"We told you when we left, and we're ringing you now that we're done and coming back."

"And the four hours in-between?"

"You'd rather we kept you appraised of every single little detail it took to set up this venture?"

There was a pause. Then Corrival said, gruffly and with that special brand of exasperation of someone who was still annoyed but amused as well, because they had no real response, "You're going to be trouble, Wreath. I can tell. Bliss?"

"Alive. With a given definition of 'alive'. A Skulduggery definition of 'alive', actually."

"Close enough. Get back here; we've already got people complaining and I want proof it was worthwhile before I start pummelling heads."

"We were actually just going to have a late lunch first, maybe down on the docks ..."

"I'll have something delivered, expenses Sanctuary-paid. Get back here, Wreath, and bring Bliss." The phone clicked off. Solomon tucked it away into his coat-pocket.

"Well, that went well," he said blandly, pretending not to notice the quiver of Vex's shoulder under his hand.

[neutralcollector]

The turn of something incredibly close to mischief in Bliss's tone was enough to convince China they really didn't have a reason to worry. While Bliss wasn't exactly a worshipper anymore, he'd retained many of the Church's habits and teachings - namely, his sense of humour being vastly underdeveloped. If he was feeling mischievous over something that could have gone spectacularly wrong at more than one juncture, then everything was better than fine.

"Is there any chance he said yes?" Ravel asked, though he'd clearly resigned himself to the opposite. "There's this great little place actually built out over the harbour. You can see fish swimming under your feet. It's a popular sorcerer spot. Corrival could come with."

China didn't have her own car, nor did she suspect anyone would divert their trip back to the Sanctuary just for her. She sighed. "I suppose I've been diminished to the point where I must follow all of you around, then. No matter. It would probably be a good idea to check on the Host and make sure none of them have turned homicidal yet."

Ravel glanced back at her. "Could that happen?"

"Oh, possibly, under the right circumstances."

"Those circumstances being...?"

"One of you annoys them too much," China answered with a flash of a smile.

[peacefullywreathed]

"I'm sure there was some chance," Solomon said as they left the central room, "but it didn't come to pass. He said he'd order in at the Sanctuary's expense, if that helps."

Without the Cleavers in the maze, Solomon could actually see where he was going. Bliss still left a very obvious ripple, but even that was tolerable, given how he was contained within a filled vessel. There was only so much it could reflect, now.

"There is such a thing as fallen angels in traditional Judaic belief," Solomon said thoughtfully and innocently. "They must have fallen for some reason. There's nothing to say that the Host doesn't have the same potential, given they're animated by belief also."

"And you say this was a good idea?" Bliss asked. Solomon tilted his head toward the man.

"It was either that or leave you there."

"And yet you chose the former," Bliss observed, keeping pace just behind. Solomon didn't need to turn to see him. "An interesting choice, even for someone who's left the Temple."

There was curiosity in him, Solomon could see. It looked different, because it was so confined, but he could see that presence blotting the front surface of the reflection's form, as if it was trying to peer at him through the glass. "To be perfectly honest, the Cleavers were giving me a headache. Are you familiar with the theory of the lifestream?"

"Somewhat."

"Necromancy is more like Sensitivity than anyone guessed. What it involves is a connection to the lifestream. Necromancy simply happens to be the method people assume they must use to manipulate magic at all in that form. That assumption is flawed. I'm not longer a Necromancer, but I haven't been barred from using magic, because my connection to the lifestream remains through my Surge. Reflections leave something of a ... ripple."

"I see," Bliss said slowly, and fell silent, but Solomon could feel his gaze on his back the whole way out of the maze.

"I'll, uh, get the car," John mumbled nearly the instant they hit daylight, hurrying away.

"I'm just gonna stick 'round here," Rafe drawled, stretching. "Fletch and m'nephew might show up against to do some more trainin'. Nice seeing y'all. Enjoy lunch."

With a flashing grin he turned and strolled around the side of the hall.

[skeletonenigma]

And just like that, Bliss was back.

Erskine had to admit, he rather enjoyed living in a world of magic and wonder. Serpine, Vengeous, Mevolent, and Faceless Ones aside, it was enjoyable and it was convenient. There wasn't much more you could ask for. And there was nothing quite like walking outside after a successful morning to find the sun brightly shining, and a breeze in the air, to put an extra spring in your step.

He laughed as John scurried away. "I guess I'm waiting here, then. China, thank you for all your help. If you wouldn't mind coming back with us for a bit, I'm sure Crossword Puzzler Extraordinaire Deuce would be happy to pay you for your services."

It was a mark of just how much China had changed in the past few days that Erskine actually caught her look of surprise before she smiled. "That," she said, "would be wonderful."

~~

Hospital appointments for terminally sick children turned out to be nearly impossible to get. There was something wrong with that. In the end, it was only with the help of Allie's nurse that Barney managed to make the appointment and get the tests at all, and the earliest time available was a good couple of days after the carnival.

Barney didn't try to argue the point. He was so sick of hospitals by now that he almost didn't care when the appointment was, as long as it happened. It was difficult to remember how healthy Allie looked that entire afternoon when she woke up the next morning barely able to so much as smile at Barney, let alone sit up.

He wasn't going to hope for anything, Barney told himself sternly when she was finally wheeled away several hours earlier. Chances were, the doctors would come back with the exact same results they had countless times before - it was an inoperable condition, and the most they could do was keep Allie comfortable until the end.

That was how any doctor Barney spoke to phrased it. 'Until the end.'

Still, he wasn't going to have much use for money after 'the end.' If all he had to spend it on was one last test, one last glimmering hope, he'd take it. He had just about enough saved up to cover that.

He wouldn't have enough for any potential operation after that, but - no. No, he wasn't going to allow himself that hope. They could cross that bridge - if it even was a bridge - when they got to it.

Another day he was taking off work, but Barney didn't really care this time. He still felt trapped in a daze. His mind refused to go over anything that had happened at the carnival, and without anything else to think about, he was currently sitting on an uncomfortable sofa in the hallway just outside the children's ward, staring blankly at an equally blank wall across from him.

[impudentsongbird]

There were a lot of things Doctor Joseph Murdoch had seen in his time as an MD. A lot of things that would gut a person, if they hadn't de-sensitised themselves, to some degree, to the pain and suffering they see every day. Allie Lachlan and her devoted father were one of those stories that tugged the heartstrings even of the most veteran doctor.

That was the only reason why he'd given in to having the tests. It had been as much for Barney's sake that he refused as for any financial reason. The man had lost his wife not all that long ago. Now he was going to lose his child. Some men, men like Barney who poured the entirety of their beings into the family, couldn't survive duel blows like that. The last thing he needed was false hope.

But Barney had somehow regained a spark of his old tenacity, and Joseph had eventually given in. Even though it put a twist in his stomach. Even though he knew what the results would be. Allie, fair or unfair, was a dying girl.

Which was why, when he received the test reports, he made them do it over again. And then again. And then went over each one with a fine-toothed comb himself, disbelieving, because this was simply ... well, impossible. Scientifically and medically so! Allie's heart was in too bad a condition to even consider surgery again. And yet, according to these reports, she was not only less severe than before--but operable.

For a long time he sat at his desk, stunned and wondering and mind buzzing with all the thoughts of how this could possibly happen before he finally rose and went to his door.

"Please send Barney Lachlan in," he said to the nurse on duty, and went back into his office. He was startled to find his hands shaking.

There were a lot of things Doctor Joseph Murdoch had seen in his time as an MD. Eventually, he supposed, he should have expected something that could only be classed as a miracle.

[skeletonenigma]

"Barney?"

The blank wall lost Barney's attention as his head snapped around. It was one of the nurses, one whose name he couldn't quite remember. It didn't surprise him that she knew his; Barney was a staple around the children's ward by now. Probably meant he wasn't working hard enough. "Yes?"

He nearly cringed at the sound of his own voice. It was hopeful. Hopeful, and cracked with an age-worn grief that those hopes were, once again, about to be dashed.

"Doctor Murdoch's asking to see you in his office."

Barney blinked. "His office?" That hadn't happened before, not even when the very first tests came back. The doctor who administered those came to talk to Barney personally. Allie's caregivers had since switched up numerous times, doctors and nurses alike, but Doctor Murdoch was the longest-running one so far. He'd never called Barney into his office before, either. "Where's Allie?"

The nurse smiled gently. Barney couldn't tell if there was pity in it or not. "She's fine. She fell asleep during the last one, poor thing. She's just resting now; you can see her in a minute."

If there was any kind of change, surely the nurse would have told him already? Barney got to his feet as slowly as he dared, trying to think through the haze that was still gripping him and showing no signs of letting go. "Where is she?"

"She's in the recovery room. We'll bring her back to the ward while you're with Doctor Murdoch, I promise."

Barney shook his head. "The recovery room? Why is she there?"

Now there was definitely pity in the smile, but something... something else, as well. Something Barney couldn't quite place. "We had to do a couple of the tests over, that's all. I promise you, Barney, she's fine. She's awake, and refusing to sleep, and very much her normal self, don't you worry."

Barney felt a small smile break. Allie had always been able to do that, even when she wasn't there - make him smile, regardless of what else was going on. "Alright," he relented. "Where's the office, again?"

Which was how he found himself standing awkwardly in the doorway of an office he'd never been to before, and - for once - with absolutely no idea of what he was about to hear. "You, uh... you wanted to see me?"

[impudentsongbird]

Joseph was still working on figuring things out when Barney arrived. He'd heard about the day at the carnival, and been ready to fire Mrs Sheldon for leaving her post until Allie returned truly none the worse for wear--except for being understandably tired. The only reason he hadn't fired her anyway was because the caregiver she'd claimed was there had come back with the Lachlans, and after speaking to the man Joseph had been satisfied he was what he said he was.

It didn't take all that long, really. The man acted the clown while Allie was there, but fell easily into seriousness, exactly the kind of person to keep up a child's spirits without demeaning their suffering. It was partly because of that man's obvious knowledge and insistence that something had been wrong with the tests that Joseph eventually agreed to redo them.

Now he was wondering if the man, Doctor Raphael Davies he said his name was, didn't have something to do with the odd benefactor the nurses had reported to him that morning. Someone had come to the front desk and paid for all the Lachlan's remaining, and potentially future, hospital fees. He hadn't told Barney because, given Allie's state, it was too little too late and such a well-meaning but futile gesture would have been salt in the wound.

Except.

"Come in," he said, just finishing off a note to himself to have all the machines Allie Lachlan had used in the past year checked, and then rising to guide the man to the chair. He took his own seat back and then ... hesitated. For the first time in twenty years, he hesitated.

"Barney," he said finally, reaching out to pick up the test reports. "These are Allie's latest scans. And these are the ones from the time before. I know you've seen those before, but if you look at the ones from today, you'll see that the damage to her heart isn't quite as extensive ..."

He went over the reports in detail, showing Barney exactly what had changed and watching him closely. The only thing he could possibly imagine was that someone had doctored the reports, but he'd run the tests over. They said the same thing. If that wasn't it then maybe Doctor Davies had been right. They had made a mistake. They'd made a mistake for over a year. Which was equally impossible.

Finally he laid the reports down and smiled and Barney, a weary, bewildered smile who nevertheless knew exactly what he'd just been telling this little girl's father. "She still needs surgery," he said, "but this operation has a very high chance of success. If I had to put money down I'd say Allie will be fine."

Because someone had already paid for the operation her father couldn't afford. Because somehow, they had been wrong and little Allie Lachlan would live.

[skeletonenigma]

The haze that surrounded Barney like a shroud only deepened. If I had to put money down I'd say Allie will be fine...

But she wasn't fine. She'd never been fine. Her growth had stunted a year ago, they took her to the hospital and found out why, and that was that. No ifs, ands, or buts, no bargaining, and no amount of money in the world was going to make Allie fine again.

Until these men, these sorcerers and these angels and this living skeleton, came out of nowhere and fixed everything.

Barney slumped back in his chair. For a while, he couldn't say anything - didn't want to say anything, and all he could do was replay Doctor Murdoch's words in his head. If you look at the ones from today, you'll see that the damage to her heart isn't quite as extensive... but this operation has a very high chance of success. If I had to put money down I'd say Allie will be fine.

Allie will be fine.

"How much?" he asked thickly, before swallowing and trying again. "How much would the operation be? Our health insurance dropped us five months ago, but I've still got some money left. I can pay off the rest over time. You guys do yearly payment plans, don't you? Could we work something out? Please?"

The last word was quiet. Hesitant. Imploring, pleading, and a hundred other tones at once that felt rusty from lack of use.

[impudentsongbird]

Ah. And this was the part which, somehow, was most puzzling. Not the anonymity, even though it hadn't exactly been anonymous in spite of the fact that the cameras had missed the man and the nurses couldn't remember what he looked like. The bank details were legitimate, too--Joseph had already checked. The part that was puzzling was the fact that the donation had been made before any tests had even been run. This operation was expensive. It seemed impossible that someone would just come out of the blue and pay for it--for all of it--for no reason.

Of course, Joseph had to admit that one did start to get jaded about humanity after a while. If this was legit ... and after having checked everything he had no reason to think that it wasn't ... then it more than qualified to restore a good amount of his.

"You don't need to," he said finally. "I didn't want to tell you this, because it seemed too painfully ironic at the time, but someone has already paid for all outstanding debts and future fees." He found Allie's file and the photocopy of the bank details in there which made no more sense now than they had this morning, and showed it to Barney.

"Do you know anyone by this name, or recognise this handwriting?"

The important things were printed and perfectly legible, but the signature was written in such beautiful flowing handwriting it was all but illegible. The name, however, read 'Adonai Davies', and there was a tiny image of a grinning teddy-bear beside it.

[skeletonenigma]

Dreaming, Barney decided. He was dreaming. He watched the doctor pulling out Allie's file, starting to feel a bit strangled and more than a little lost in the mental haze that still hadn't dispersed. Someone paid for... but who? Who could have even known there was anything to pay for? Well, any of the men from yesterday, Barney realised with a little jolt. Stupid question. Better one - who had so much money that they could just... give so much of it away? Impulsively spend it on little more than a stranger?

Well, he recognised 'Davies.' That was the name Rafe - Raphael - Rafe used when he was pretending to be a medical professional. 'Adonai' rang a faint bell, but Barney had no idea where he'd heard it before, or what it meant. Maybe it only rang a bell because it sounded so exotic, like so much else over the last few days.

But he recognised the teddy-bear.

Dear God, did he recognise the teddy-bear.

The haze all snapped to a remarkably clear point somewhere at the base of Barney's skull, something snapped, and all he could do was throw back his head and laugh. Unceasingly, genuinely, in a way he hadn't for years.

He wasn't sure when he finally stopped; eventually Barney just became aware of how he must look, sitting here and laughing at a piece of paperwork that paid for every single procedure Allie would ever need from here on out, and it was only then that Barney made a conscious effort to stop. "Yes," he confirmed, after drawing in a deep breath. "Yes, I recognise the name. Thank you."

He didn't know who that last bit was directed toward. He decided on the doctor, and threw in the same sentiment a second time, just in case. "Thank you."

His chest hurt. He wasn't quite sure why, except that maybe he was so used to it being heavy with worry that the sudden sensation of the opposite was jarring and painful. "The operation - will it actually fix her? Is her heart going to be okay?"

If it works, he wanted to ask, but couldn't quite, can she come home again?

[impudentsongbird]

Joseph couldn't lie about being startled. Of all the reactions he imagined Barney Lachlan to have, bursting into wild laughter was nowhere on the list. He was so startled he started to rise, then checked himself and sat again, staring at the man.

The laughter was unexpected, but there was something about it. Some wealth of understanding which had passed Joseph by, some overwhelming joy which was entirely understandable.

Either way, one thing was clear: Yes, Barney Lachlan knew who had footed the bill.

Joseph smiled tentatively, bewildered and a little unsure but at the same time genuinely happy for the man and his daughter. "I'd bet money on it," he said again. "This operation is much less complicated than the last one. There's always a risk with heart-surgery, given what they'd be operating on, but I'd be very surprised if she didn't come out happy and as healthy as you could want."

There was something about this that kept Joseph from being as objective as he usually was. Usually he wouldn't be so hopeful to the patient, just in case, because of Allie's history and how weak she was. But this was--it was a miracle. There was no other way to describe it. Allie wasn't critical anymore, and her operation was paid for. Joseph's grandmother always had said that things happened in threes. The operation coming off without a hitch would tally.

"Of course," he added quickly, "there would still be side-effects. Her rehabilitation would take a while. She's been a sick girl for a long time. But, if the operation succeeds, and from these tests I see no reason why it wouldn't, she could well be back at home by the end of the year."

[skeletonenigma]

By the end of the year. By Christmas. The absolute best Christmas present Barney could ever have wished for - and all thanks, he realised with another smile, to Santa Claus.

He nodded quickly. "Right. Of course. And all of that, that's... that's all paid for." There was still a note of incredulity to his tone, even through the smile.

The rehabilitation period, he'd been expecting. Just because Allie's heart was healthy again didn't mean it had any idea how to work hard. It was like training for a marathon - you had to run every day, or your heart wouldn't be prepared for it. If you slacked off, your heart could still be healthy, but there was no way it would be able to handle over 26 miles of simultaneous running. It was just a matter of building the stamina back up.

And Allie had over a year of basic stamina to build back up.

Far from saddening or worrying Barney, that thought only made him smile wider. Allie had over a year, now. She had a whole lifetime of great things stretched out before her. In light of that, a few extra months in the hospital - months he didn't even have to pay for - was nothing. Smiling was a wonderful thing, and Barney found he couldn't quite wipe it as he sat forward. "What do I have to sign?"