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

[impudentsongbird]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Comments

[impudentsongbird]

This time it was Joseph who laughed, and he slid the paperwork across the desk. "Here. It's just permission for the surgery to happen, seeing as we don't need your financial details. We'll probably have more for you when we know what kind of rehabilitation she'll need, but let's take this step-by-step for the moment."

Then he broke into a smile, a gentle, understanding smile of a type he rarely used, because he only rarely had such wonderful news or felt so directly affected. It was hard not to be, in the face of such a devoted father and such a mature little girl. "Congratulations, Barney. I just need your signature here and here, and I can fill in the rest. Allie's waiting for you in the recovery room."

And so she was. She was still drowsy, but she didn't mind falling asleep during the tests because they were annoying. She just didn't want to sleep through Daddy's being there. So she asked Mrs Sheldon to wake her up if she fell asleep, and had to argue for it because she had almost got fired.

Allie as sorry to hear that. It wasn't Mrs Sheldon's fault. It was just that she didn't know about Rafe.

Either way, she was still sleepy when Mrs Sheldon shook her awake again, mumbling, "Daddy?"

[skeletonenigma]

"Permission for the surgery?" Barney nearly laughed again, barely glancing at the paperwork before signing it. What was he going to say? No? Oh, he understood about hospital liability and the things that could go wrong during surgery, but it was still a laughable concept that he had to agree to save Allie's life before they could do it. Besides, what was going to go wrong? What could go wrong? Rafe and the sorcerers and God Himself wouldn't have gone to so much trouble if Allie was going to stumble right before the end.

Barney caught himself just before he signed the last line. No. No, he couldn't rely on nothing going wrong. He couldn't build up hope that didn't have a solid foundation. As the doctor pointed out, it was still open-heart surgery, and it still carried risks.

He was still grinning when he walked into the recovery room.

With a quick mumble of thanks and a nod towards Nurse Sheldon, Barney went straight for Allie's bedside, pulling up a stool as he went to kneel on it in Allie's line of sight. "I'm here, sweetie. Right here." Even his voice sounded different while he was smiling so broadly. "How are you feeling?"

[impudentsongbird]

"Sleepy," Allie told him honestly, blinking to make her eyes open and reaching out the hand not clutched around Nicholas to grip her father's. They weren't alone in the bed, either, because Daddy's bear is seat up on her pillow too.

Allie blinked once more and then tilted her head at him.

"You're smiling," she said, a little awed, because when was the last time she'd seen Daddy smile like that? She almost couldn't remember it! Slowly an equally bright smile crossed her face. "It's okay then?"

Of course it was. Rafe said it would be, and angels didn't lie. She still didn't want to, or try to, make the grin go away.

[skeletonenigma]

A nurse must have put the bear on Allie's pillow. There was easily some sort of mundane explanation like that. It didn't manage to stop Barney from giving it a look, and wondering if it wasn't some sort of message. A welcome one, under the circumstances.

Barney felt his smile broaden, and lowered his voice so that only Allie would hear. "Didn't Rafe say it would be? Allie Lachlan, are you doubting the word of an angel?"

Hypocritical to the extreme, naturally, but Allie shouldn't have a reason not to hope. Not to believe. "There's going to be one more operation," he told her gently, "and then you're going to be absolutely fine. A few more months with the other children, and it'll be like you were never sick in the first place."

If things went well, if the operation was successful, and if rehabilitation was possible after that.

But for the moment, Barney could believe they would be.

[peacefullywreathed]

"I would never do that, Daddy," Allie said very primly, still grinning, and then brought his hand up so she could nestle her head against it like it was the pillow.

"Home," she murmured, and the smile never left. "I'd like to go home again. I love you, Daddy."

She was already half asleep, entirely secure in the knowledge that everything would be okay, because the angels said so.

~~~

Corrival had a headache. He had a headache and he was blaming Solomon Wreath entirely. This was all his idea. If he hadn't seen into the Cleavers, if he had given more forewarning, if if if--

If Corrival wanted to be honest, this was really the only way any of this could have gone. Most of the people right now in the council room, arguing and trying to drown each other out and mostly just being pests, would have been there much earlier if they'd known what the Elders planned. Sure, the Elders might have been the leaders, but that didn't mean the rest of the prominent sorcerers couldn't make their feelings known. The Cleavers had won them the war. Destroying them, two days after this Council had been elected?

Most people said they'd gone too far, too fast.

Which was why Corrival had a headache. He had, some time ago, managed to direct attention away from him and into the petty arguments, and was now sitting and waiting for their energy to run out or his wayward Elders to arrive.

Which they did. Quite suddenly, and with the doors swinging wide and dramatically, Wreath came in with all that sort of dignified self-possession his sort of man had in spades, even being led by Dexter as he was. It wasn't the sight of him who made everyone fall silent, however.

It was the sight of Bliss, behind him, still in the tunic and breeches he'd worn the day the reflections had been made.

"Bliss?" someone gasped. Wreath lifted an eyebrow at Corrival.

"You didn't warn them?"

"Figured they wouldn't listen," Corrival said with a shrug, "even if I could manage to shout them down. Bliss." He nodded at the man. Bliss nodded back.

"Deuce. I've been told congratulations are in order. Or sympathies, perhaps."

"I'll go with the sympathies. I can use all the sympathies I can get. Now are you lot ready to shut up and listen?" This last was directed at the quietly stunned crowd who'd accosted him. Tipstaff, in the corner and equally quiet, was also staring in Bliss's direction, but he looked oddly vindicated. Corrival wondered how many people had pestered him for the details before they finally got past him to pester Corrival himself.

"What's going on?"

"Oh, it's quite simple," Wreath said, letting Dexter guide him to the table, find him a chair, and sitting down as if he'd been blind all his life. His gaze, however, had found the speaker easily, and there was a not-quite-smile lurking around the corners of his mouth. Corrival knew mischief when he saw it. "The Cleavers were reflections of Mr Bliss. When he was killed, he was trapped inside them. We simply freed him."

"Simply?!" someone else growled. Corrival wordlessly marked them. "You've destroyed our defence force!"

[skeletonenigma]

"We've done no such thing." Erskine, who'd entered after the others with a lot more subtlety and a lot more charm, but no less confidence, smiled brightly at the sorcerer who spoke. "What we did was destroy an outdated, and frankly immoral, not to mention creepy, defence force that was really no longer needed."

The stir of angry whispers at those words, far from pushing Erskine back, almost seemed to buoy him up. He wouldn't say politics were his game, exactly - he wasn't mature enough to handle this sort of thing on a daily basis, and he certainly didn't want to be. What Erskine was, however, was persuasive. Charmingly and endearingly convincing. Compelling, when he wanted to be. While it might have helped if these people were warned about Bliss's return, at least China agreed to wait outside. Adding her questionable loyalties into the mix was just asking for trouble.

"Immoral," he answered those whispers, "because when we discovered Mr. Bliss was trapped inside the Cleavers, we couldn't sit back and do nothing. Outdated, because it was impossible to create any more of them, and with a growing demand for them these days as well as an increase in death rate, that was always going to come back to bite us. No longer needed, because once we realised replacing the Cleavers would be necessary, we put an alternative in place before we did anything else."

"An alternative?" someone else spluttered. "You mean those angel statues?"

"The Host, I believe they're called." Erskine nodded affirmation. "Yes. More of them can be created whenever we need them - in fact, more are on the way. They're animated by pure belief, which means their one and only mission is to protect the Sanctuary and those affiliated with it. They're able to communicate with each other, they're remarkable fighters, and we're already working on ways to improve them in the future. Such as making them indestructible." He hesitated for a moment, and his bright smile turned somewhat dry. "They're still creepy, but we had to keep something the same."

He could see the tide turning in the crowd, slowly but surely. He worried for a moment that someone might ask how exactly they knew Bliss was trapped, but since the evidence that they were right was standing right there, that worry turned out to be completely unfounded. Erskine crossed his arms. "We did not simply have a whim this morning and decide that destroying the Cleavers sounded like a good idea. And honestly, I'm a little offended that we were trusted enough to be elected, but not enough to be given the benefit of the doubt here. Anyone else? Offended?"

[peacefullywreathed]

"I do believe I am as well," Solomon observed. "Yes, most definitely offended."

"You're the one who used to be a Necromancer," Corrival pointed out. "If you were expecting people to trust you, you're more delusional than I thought, Wreath."

"And yet I'm still offended. Are you offended, Deuce?"

"I think I am, at that. Wasn't it you, Geoffrey, who said I was already handling day-to-day affairs perfectly well?" This question was fired, suddenly, at Geoffrey, who was standing in the order with a slight frown and admittedly hadn't really been involved with all the shouting. Mostly, he just wanted answers. Now, he jumped with surprise, and then nodded.

"If you lot can trust me in a war," Corrival continued, scanning the crowd slowly to meet as many eyes as he could, "I'd think you can trust me with regards to our security force in peace-time, especially given how near to the brink of war we've been for the last two years. The Cleavers were no longer working as they once did. We just didn't have any better ideas. All Bliss's presence did was prove it was time to make an overhaul, and there was no reason to wait. So we didn't. Any questions?"

For a long moment there was silence. Then, finally, it was Geoffrey himself--of all people--who raised his hand. "How did you know Bliss was in there?"

Damn it. They hadn't yet worked out how to explain Wreath's powers away, except to agree not to let on just how far they went. Fortunately, Bliss was ... well, Bliss. Impossible to fluster and extremely good at adapting on the spot.

"I tried to communicate with them," he said, fixing Geoffrey with his blank, cold gaze. "It caused one of my reflections to shatter, and they saw a glimpse of me."

Geoffrey's shoulders hunched in, but then he straightened again and looked back, half in fascination, to ask, "Is that a real body? Your other one was burned, if I recall ..."

"No," Bliss answered with that sort of heavy, stony patience of someone who knew precisely what his words implied. "I'm inhabiting one of my reflections. I'm alive, for a given definition of alive. A Skulduggery Pleasant definition of alive, if you will."

The last was, very faintly, said with the ironic lilt of a quote, and Solomon laughed. Corrival snorted and then rose. "If we're all done here, I'd suggest we all get back to our jobs. Erskine, Wreath, in my office. Bliss, I want to see you there too. Oh, and you too, I suppose, Dex."

The last was added deliberately as a careless afterthought just as he moved toward the door, and the last thing Corrival heard was the blond whining, "Why am I always the afterthought? You'd think I'm forgettable!"

[skeletonenigma]

Erskine just managed to stop himself from wincing at Scrutinous's question, as well as the fact that it was Scrutinous asking it. Bliss came to the rescue, at least, so nothing wrong there. It was amazing how people simply shut up whenever Bliss spoke, and accepted the things he said as gospel. He had that way about him. Not trustworthy, exactly, but reliable. Inasmuch as China was reliable, anyway.

And then, of course, Erskine couldn't help laughing with the others. A Skulduggery Pleasant definition. He wondered briefly if the skeleton detective owned any dictionaries, and if he did, how to gain access to them without Skulduggery finding out. Alas, he had to put that thought away for the time being, what with Corrival's abrupt ending of the proceedings.

"Hm?" Erskine stepped up behind Dex on his way to follow Corrival out the door. "I'm sorry, who were you again?"

His face betrayed the humour of the statement a moment later, and he danced out of Dex's path before the Adept could even try to hit him. "Corrival, China's waiting just outside somewhere. She created the Host this morning, and helped rescue Bliss. Any chance we could pay her for that?"

[peacefullywreathed]

"If I wasn't bearing something fragile, Reveller, you'd have gotten socked something good," Dexter said with faux-dignity as he led Solomon out of the room. "And if I were you I'd remember this day the next time you get yourself a hangover."

Corrival didn't even break stride at Ravel's question, though he did glance toward his Administrator. "Tipstaff?"

"I have already written an invoice for Ms Sorrows according to her usual fee and the nature of the job, Grand Mage."

Corrival winced at the title, but then shrugged at Erskine. "There you go. I want to talk to her, too, Tipstaff. So I can actually get some information about my security force."

The last was said pointedly at Solomon, but the ex-Necromancer only smiled. "What was it you were just saying about trust?"

"I'm not much fond of backtalk either."

"You must have hated commanding the Dead Men, then."

With a roll of his eyes and a tiny smirk of satisfaction he knew Wreath wouldn't be able to see, Corrival shoved open the doors to his office and made for his desk. He kept his face turned away so no one else could see the smile either. It wasn't for any reason other than the satisfaction of knowing he had a good group of people to work with. If he had to be Grand Mage, at least there was that.

"Alright." He took a seat, motioning at the others around the room. Guild hadn't liked offering people seats. Corrival's office more resembled a sitting-room than an office. "Report for me. Wreath, you start, you've been in on this from the beginning."

Solomon settled himself down in what was fast becoming his customary armchair, near the desk but off to the side, and began with meeting China in his office.

[skeletonenigma]

China joined in the explanation once Tipstaff led her into the office, filling in the details Solomon either couldn't or wouldn't be able to explain as well as she could. Erskine was surprised to hear her being almost clinical about the whole thing. There was some element of pride, of course - there always was where China was concerned - but not nearly as much as there should have been. Was that because of Mr. Bliss, he wondered, or was she only just now realising how much more work she'd have to do with regards to the Host? Perhaps it was some combination of the two.

Erskine took the opportunity, when it arose, to explain about his little prank that morning, and apologise briefly to Tipstaff before the man left to go and attend other matters. The Elder still didn't regret it, but as Solomon said. It was probably a good idea to keep Tipstaff around for as long as possible, given how well he seemed to be adjusting to certain eccentricities.

And then there was the mirror maze. Erskine was just beginning to wonder how to keep Rafe mostly out of things, what with Bliss standing right there, when there was a knock on the door and Skulduggery opened it. Erskine brightened immediately at the welcome distraction. "Ah, speak of the Devil. What have you been up to all morning?"

Skulduggery paused with his hand on the door handle, skull as inscrutable as ever. He didn't answer for a moment, and then shook his head. "Tracking down Davina Marr. Hello, Bliss. You look remarkably healthy for someone whose head was split in two."

[peacefullywreathed]

"Pleasant," Bliss said, inclining his head. He hadn't said much, and simply remained standing against on wall, his arms crossed, while using the opportunity to catch up. "You look remarkably alive for someone who was burned on a pike."

"Did you find her?" Corrival asked, sitting up.

"No," Gabe said with a shrug, sidling in after Skulduggery once the skeleton had given him enough room to do so. "But Myron put us onto someone she's probably talked to in order to disappear so completely. He wasn't home, so we'll try again later." He shot Skulduggery a puzzled glance at the sudden worry.

Nor was he the only one. Solomon raised his head to look at the detective's soul and the startled skating darkness of uncertainty and concern across his panes. There was something odd about it, too. Some of the panes had darkened, not as if there was a cloud behind them or dust on them, but more as if they were simply in shadow. As if hiding themselves.

A chill trickled down his spine. "What is it?" he asked sharply, more sharply than he meant to, except that those shadows looked like aversion. Not an embarrassed kind of aversion, such as he displayed when they were teasing him about his relationship with Gabe, but something else.

[skeletonenigma]

Solomon's reaction put Erskine equally on-edge. He may not have a solid idea of Solomon's new powers quite yet, but he knew enough to understand that the ex-Necromancer was seeing something in Skulduggery he'd rather not. And that could only mean bad news.

Again, Skulduggery hesitated. That was enough to make Erskine stand up, suddenly tense and mentally prepared for a nasty shock. "Skulduggery?"

"It's something I'd prefer to discuss with the Elders alone," the detective finally said. "And, of course, anyone the Elders might need to be able to get around effectively."

Meaning Dex. Basically, Skulduggery was asking for Bliss and China to leave the room, and while his method of doing so was polite, he certainly wasn't trying to be subtle. That meant it could only have something to do with the Archangels, and that thought did absolutely nothing to relieve Erskine's tension.

China stirred with a delicate shrug of her shoulders. "Oh, alright. I can tell when I'm not wanted." She hesitated on her way out the door, however, glancing from Skulduggery down to Valkyrie. "You will tell me if the world's about to end again, won't you?" she asked the teenager. "I'd prefer to have my affairs in order sooner rather than later, if that's the case."

Valkyrie gave her an uncertain smile back. "I'll do my best."

[peacefullywreathed]

"I have affairs to recover in any case," Bliss observed, shifting out of his parade stand and dropping his arms to move to the door. "Whatever did happen to my personal effects, Sister?" He happened to know they went to China, because she was his only family and he'd had no one else to handle said affairs after the fact.

That, and it amused him to make her have to handle his will and all the related minutia. If ever she'd managed to kill him herself, it would have been his last laugh. Of course, knowing her, she'd have spun it perfectly to her advantage anyway.

He nodded to the others and then left behind her, closing the door.

Gabe was looking at Skulduggery, Solomon had noticed. He'd caught the Archangel's puzzled look, as if whatever Skulduggery was showing in his soul was something Gabe hadn't expected to be there, but didn't feel was his place to involve himself in. And the shadow wasn't leaving. "What did you find, Skulduggery?"

[skeletonenigma]

Valkyrie went straight to the last available chair and claimed it, drawing her legs up under her and otherwise staying silent. Gabe, too, seemed perfectly content to let Skulduggery explain whatever it was. Erskine's uneasy feeling deepened, and he forced himself to sit back down, just in case.

"It's not a matter of what we found," Skulduggery said to Wreath, "so much as there being something the Council should know. The angel statues are animated by belief. Does that mean they're capable of falling?"

"Apparently," Erskine answered instead, remembering what Wreath said earlier that morning. "China said something about them possibly turning homicidal. I'm pretty sure she was mostly joking."

Skulduggery nodded. "She probably was. I should warn you, though, that when Gabe and I went to visit Finbar Wrong, Finbar already knew who Gabe was. In fact, he mistook Gabe for Lucifer at first."

A long silence met his words as Erskine numbly let that sink in. It wasn't that he'd never considered the existence of Satan before now, it was... well, it was that he'd never considered the existence of Satan before now. A possibility like that, Erskine felt sure someone would have told him about. He'd been perfectly happy to ignore it otherwise.

He swallowed hard against something stuck in his throat. "That probably wasn't because Finbar's just a bit flighty, was it?"

Skulduggery's head tilted to the side. "Finbar says there's a good chance Lucifer is going to make it here to this dimension. If he wants to try and take down the Sanctuary, the Host would be the perfect way to do that. Otherwise, he's never dealt with sorcerers as widespread and, to be perfectly honest, as corruptible as ours tend to be."

Erskine was suddenly very glad he was sitting down. The room seemed to spin wildly around him, and he closed his eyes against the dizziness to try and keep some sort of foothold, rubbing his temples gently against an impending headache. "What were you doing at Finbar's? Does he know anything about Marr?"

"No." Skulduggery's tone was strangely flat. "We went to see Finbar almost a week ago."

The room stopped spinning. The headache reared its ugly head and started to pound. Erskine opened his eyes to stare up at the skeleton detective, hoping he'd simply misheard something. "You what?"

[peacefullywreathed]

"We went to see Finbar almost a week ago." Solomon almost shook his head incredulously, because the thought was laughable. There Skulduggery was, telling them that Satan was going to arrive in their dimension, and he had known for almost a week.

Frankly, the fact that Satan was going to arrive here wasn't all that much of a surprise. That wasn't what left the sudden recession of sensation in all Solomon's limbs. It was the fact that Skulduggery had known. Not telling Guild was understandable, but Guild hadn't been Grand Mage almost since the same time. The new Council had been in office for three days.

The Host were untapped potential. Solomon's stomach turned over. The Host, potentially, could fall. They could fall, they could destroy the Sanctuary, and Skulduggery had known and said nothing.

Solomon was almost startled by the low burn of heat in his gut. Hard enough. Hard enough what he'd had to endure for the past week, with what he'd had to put up with, with suddenly being saddled with leadership of a country, to seeing things he could barely comprehend. He'd made himself more open this past week than ever before in his life, and still Skulduggery kept secrets. He'd had friends, and he hadn't relied on them when he should have, and now he still had friends and he was treating them as if they were incidental by pretending he could keep secrets like this.

The ex-Necromancer's mouth drew tight, and he said nothing, because he had no idea what he was going to say.

Surprisingly, it was Dexter who spoke first, blurting, "Are you nuts? You--"

His tone was surprised and shocked more than angry, but he didn't get to finish, because Corrival cut him off. "Dex."

The Adept fell silent. Corrival looked at Skulduggery, his face tight and strangely blank, and couldn't release the tension in his body. He had considered the Devil. But he wasn't one of the Faceless Ones, and apparently he didn't exist in this universe. Until now. "Why," he asked in a very, very quiet tone, "did you not tell us this until now?"

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery looked towards Erskine, Dex, and Corrival in turn as each of them spoke, finally holding Corrival's gaze and answering the Grand Mage without a hint of anything in his voice other than a level and calm attempt at explanation. "When we first discovered it was a possibility, Guild was still Grand Mage. It took Gabe months to reach me in that other dimension, and as far as we can tell, it took months to get back home from there - and that was with an Archangel who knew what he was doing. Rafe and Merlin would have been lost forever if Gabe hadn't helped them. Even if Lucifer did make it here, it wouldn't have been for a while, and we had more immediate problems at the time."

"A week, Skulduggery." Erskine's voice was practically cold, and he didn't care. "A week. We've been in office for a good few days. Corrival was unofficially in charge before that. Hell, you were standing right there when we talked about replacing the Cleavers, and you didn't say a word?"

"The angel statues were a good idea."

Erskine nearly laughed. He was glad he didn't; he didn't want to know what that would have sounded like. "And you didn't think we could come to that decision ourselves?"

"You didn't need the complication. Especially when there wasn't any other choice."

This was not Skulduggery. This was not the man Erskine fought alongside during the war. No one Erskine had fought alongside during the war distrusted him to this much of an extent. No one Erskine considered a friend would willingly, and for no good reason, keep him so firmly in the dark. This could not be Skulduggery Pleasant.

Except, Erskine realised with a spreading numb, it was. It was the Skulduggery Pleasant none of them had wanted to see. The man who would go out and murder millions, only to come home and pretend none of it had ever happened.

Erskine fisted his hands in his pockets to stop them from shaking. "You know, when Anton first told me you were Vile, the only reason I believed it is because he nearly tore himself open with his own Gist. I just couldn't understand it. I couldn't understand you. There's being an idiot, there's being guilty, and then there's being..."

He couldn't even find the words to finish the statement. Vile was evil, but more than that, he was a manipulator. Creative in a way few sorcerers under Mevolent were, because he seemed to know how to push peoples' buttons - how to add a twisted sort of method to his rampant destruction. Skulduggery Pleasant should have encompassed everything opposite to that, but he didn't. He was the one who betrayed his friends. The one able to make the tough decisions, the one able to play on peoples' emotions without a hint of regret. The manipulator.

"Now," Erskine finally managed quietly, "I can see it. Dex, would you mind driving me to the Hotel, please?"

[peacefullywreathed]

The more Skulduggery spoke, the harder Corrival's face got, until it could have been carved from marble just like the Hosts' were. While Erskine answered, Corrival didn't for some minutes, simply staring at Skulduggery with an inscrutable expression.

"Um ..." Dex glanced from Skulduggery to Erskine to Solomon to Corrival, but he didn't get a chance to reply or ask permission to leave.

"You've spent all this time as a detective," Corrival said coldly, "because whether or not you think you're worthy, you're trying not to be Lord Vile. To make up for it in some way, right? Not just in terms of what you did but for not trusting us with your issues?" He went on without an answer, his voice rising. "In case it escaped you, it doesn't work to make up for withholding information by withholding more information!"

His last words were almost shouted, and he risen to his feet without quite being aware of it.

"You say we didn't need the complication? You had no right to decide that. I get you keeping it from Guild. But we're not Guild. We are your friends, Skulduggery, and three days ago we chose to trust you even though it's the last thing you deserve. Because we're your friends. You approved of our election, and yet here you stand, telling us you don't trust us enough to let us make the decisions for which we were elected. You arrogant bastard. How dare you throw that back in our faces. How dare you not trust us to make the right choice after what we've given you."

He pointed at the door. "Get out. Get out and do your job instead of ours."

Solomon rose quietly. "I'll finish interviewing the rest of the Sanctuary staff tomorrow," he said quietly. They would need to know who was corruptible, who Lucifer might use as an in, as soon as possible--since they'd lost three days. But not now. He couldn't do it now. "Vex, I'm going to need you."

"But, uh ..."

"I'll go with." Solomon's voice was carefully neutral. It didn't matter where he went right now, as long as it was away from this prison and the skeleton detective.

"Oh. Okay. Come on, then." Throwing a glance at Corrival, who had sat down and was pulling over a sheaf of paper with every intent of fully ignoring Skulduggery's existence, Dexter took Solomon's arm and led him toward the door.

[skeletonenigma]

Erskine followed. He didn't particularly want Wreath to be there, but he couldn't really find it in himself to object just then. He couldn't really find it in himself to regret what he said, either, partly because Corrival vindicated him, and partly because it was true. Anton telling Erskine about Vile, seeing Skulduggery again, even hearing Ghastly talk about it so calmly - none of that even came close to this. Because for a moment, back there, Erskine could believe he was interrogating one of Mevolent's men.

It made him sick to his stomach.

Lucifer. Satan. The Devil himself was going to be here God-knew-how-soon, and... and none of them had the first idea how to prepare. Because one Archangel was wrapped around Vile's little finger, and the other one... hell, did the other one even know?

Securing a car was easy. Technically, they still had the one from that morning signed out. Or so Dex said, anyway, and Erskine didn't respond. He must have looked angry enough to worry Dexter, though, because on the drive to the Hotel, the Adept dialed Ghastly and asked the tailor to meet them there.

Again, Erskine wasn't sure how to feel about that. He glanced back at Wreath, then settled down and stared out the window as they drove. "What are you doing here?"

[peacefullywreathed]

Solomon said nothing the whole way to the car, or as Dexter helped him into it, or as they moved off. This car was an empty space around him, tinged only faintly with the contours of the souls within it; he stared out the window as they drove, watching the twisting currents of the lifestream around him.

Anger, he was finding, was painful to look at. Even against his wards. Dexter's banner was snapping so wildly that it made an audible crackcrackcrack sound almost like gunshots. He wasn't sure if that was anger or fear--there wasn't always a lot of difference. Ravel's soul was storm-lashed. Literally. Leaves and needles dropping, foliage whipped and wood groaning; every time Solomon looked at him he felt that storm battering against the window of his wards. Without them, he suspected he'd be in a very literal gale, metaphysical though it was.

Ravel's bitter voice made him stir but not look over. "Because you commandeered my bodyguard."

Because he needed to be anywhere but another underground temple, bureaucratic though this one was. Because he needed to be away from Skulduggery Pleasant and anywhere he might choose to be to 'do his job'. Because, once more, Solomon wanted nothing to do with the life he had right now, wanted nothing more than to retreat back into his blissful ignorance, and knew that it wouldn't happen. Maybe eventually that feeling would fade.

Right now, he needed to be somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere he could try and figure out the turmoil in his own soul. And he had nowhere else to go.

[skeletonenigma]

Erskine wasn't sure what to say to that. And since he could feel himself teetering on the edge of the precipice in saying something he'd later regret, he chose not to say anything at all.

"Dex." Well, maybe something. Even if it was the last thing he ever did, Erskine wanted so badly to understand, and Dexter Vex was his only real lead right now. "You and Descry knew. From the beginning."

He wasn't there when Skulduggery found out, but Ghastly called Erskine with the details later. Out of professional courtesy, he said, though Erskine got the feeling his friend just needed someone uninvolved to talk to. And while Erskine couldn't even begin to fathom why Skulduggery never said anything, he could at least understand why Dexter, and especially Hopeless, chose to keep the possibility to themselves. That understanding was somewhere to start. "Why didn't either of you ever talk to him about it?"

Flinging accusations around wouldn't have helped anything. But talking to Skulduggery alone? Just to find out if they were right? Maybe nothing would have stopped Skulduggery's stupidity when he decided to go seek answers in Necromancy alone, but what about after that? If the Dead Men knew the truth from the beginning, would the war have gone any differently? Would their tactics have changed, as Ghastly pointed out over the phone, and let a lot of good people keep their lives?

Or would just that simple private confrontation have ended their unit - their family?

[vexingshieldbearer]

Dexter didn't look over, but his shoulders hunched inward as he drove. The fact was, he wasn't as angry as the others. How could he be? He'd been keeping secrets too. He was more afraid this would be it--the last straw. After everything, their family would be broken.

He wasn't even surprised that Erskine knew. Ghastly hadn't wanted to get drunk right away. Dexter had started first.

"Because I didn't want to admit that Descry might be right," he said. "And Descry was worried it might make Skulduggery go off and not come back next time. Remember when he tried to kill himself? He kept trying to run. If he knew that someone knew, maybe he'd have left again, and then we couldn't have helped him."

Maybe he'd have succeeded in killing himself. Or maybe he'd have fallen again. Or maybe he'd have just become a shadow of a person, without anyone to care for him. Any way they spun it, they would have lost him.

[skeletonenigma]

That should have made sense. It did, sort of. But all that sense really accomplished was making Erskine sink further into the chair, and deeper into a black mood. "Fat lot of good we did, helping him. He still doesn't trust us. Every single one of us stuck by him when we found out, and he still thinks he has to do everything by himself."

Betrayal. That was really what it all boiled down to. No matter why Skulduggery thought he'd been doing the right thing, no matter what his reasons were, he still didn't think twice about betraying his closest friends. Not once, but twice. "What did he think was going to happen? Lucifer would get here and decide to leave the Sanctuary alone? That he'd ignore anyone who didn't know he existed? Does he really have that little faith in us?"

He wasn't really talking to anyone by that point, unless the scenery outside the window counted as a person. Nor did Erskine expect a response. He fell back into an uneasy silence himself, vaguely wondering how Anton had fared over the last week.

[peacefullywreathed]

Solomon wasn't versed enough in soul-reading to tell the nuances of Skulduggery's intent for sure, but he didn't think mistrust was involved, exactly. It was more something else, a complicated blending of things Solomon couldn't yet translate. Not mistrust, but an unwillingness to be open. Or rather, an ... inability to be open. As if Skulduggery's hinges were rusted shut.

"I don't think it was that," he said, and his voice was still carefully neutral. "I think he's spent too long being self-contained. He feels he isn't worthy, and makes it so."

Solomon couldn't tell that because he'd seen it--at least, not completely. Not in so many images. He knew it because he knew Skulduggery, and more importantly, because he knew himself. After he'd realised what he'd done during that fight in the Temple, he'd felt like a coward. Skulduggery was a much better person who'd fallen much harder. He spent all this time covering unworthiness with warm arrogance. After all this time, of course he'd fallen into habits in which he didn't need to live up to expectations--because there weren't any expectations, except his own.

Now there were.

Now there were and Skulduggery was just throwing it all away, for no other reason than because of habit. Because he had already judged himself, and refused to let the ones who deserved to do so have the chance. Because he was--he was bloody selfish, that's what he was.

That was the part that made Solomon angry. It was a slow anger, a jealous anger. Because Skulduggery had people. Solomon had had no one. Skulduggery's family had hauled him out of the grave. Solomon had to haul himself, to such a degree that God had to intervene.

Solomon had had no one. In the past week, he was starting to realise just what he'd been missing out on. The very gift Skulduggery was using as if it would never run out.

It made Solomon furious. Furious and jealous and resentful, because Skulduggery had always had everything and taken it for granted so much that he could afford to let it go.

Solomon stared out the window, and even though he tried to keep his neutral mask, he knew his face had tightened and lips twisted bitterly. He'd told Valkyrie on their first meeting that Skulduggery changed people. The skeleton did. For that reason alone, he was dangerous.

[skeletonenigma]

Erskine grunted in response. "He's an idiot."

Maybe Erskine didn't really have the right to judge how Skulduggery felt about himself, because he'd never murdered millions of people and then woke up one day to find himself feeling terrible about it. But he did have the right to judge how Skulduggery felt about and treated others - and, more importantly, how Skulduggery was taking on all of their perceived 'judgments' for himself. That was just stupid. Stupid, wrong, and insulting. And it led to debacles like this, where he didn't even tell them about a looming danger until it might have been too late to stop it.

There were only so many places in Ireland Anton's Hotel could appear. The exact location tended to vary, but there was enough of a pattern that even Dex, who'd spent the last century traveling, knew basically where to start looking. And, sure enough, it was barely twenty minutes later when the three-storey Hotel loomed into view along a rutted road just inside a patch of wood.

The Hotel was still operating, so at least Anton hadn't gone and done anything stupid after Erskine left. That boded well. Ghastly's white van wasn't parked anywhere in sight, so they probably beat him here. Erskine took a deep breath when he got out of the car, trying his best to reach a place where he wouldn't sound or look quite so bitter, and waited impatiently for Dex to help Wreath out.

[peacefullywreathed]

The only reason the Hotel was in Ireland right now was because, at some point last night, Dexter had rang Anton and very drunkenly told him he was back in the country. It had been a long time since Anton had seen Dexter. It was worth a visit, even to a country to which Anton was feeling ambivalent right now.

His wards registered the car. He just didn't know who was driving it until they walked in the door. Anton tilted his head at them, the nearest thing to surprise he'd register. A good chunk of that was at Wreath, being there. Even more, leaning on Dexter like he needed the guidance.

"Erskine," he said, eyes on the man, examining him. Taking in the tight lines on his face. "Heard about your promotion. Congratulations. Things falling a little flat, are they?"