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

[impudentsongbird]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Comments

[peacefullywreathed]

That was really not helping. Solomon tensed further, his face tightening. "He didn't spare me," he said shortly, and folded his arms in the hope that it might stave off the urge to clench his fists on the scars in his palms. "For one thing, this was at a stage far before he came to be as powerful as he was. At that point, he could be fought one-on-one."

"But you were the only one that did, and lived," Saffron said, and there was a note in her voice, a quiver in her soul, which Solomon really did not like. It was bright and unflickering, and looked a lot like awe. "He was--frighteningly powerful even then. You were the only one that lived. I'm not sure even the High Priest could have lived if he'd tried."

"I wish he had," Solomon muttered. "Believe me, it wasn't--"

He was about to say it wasn't because of anything he'd done, but it had been. He just hadn't known it. And he didn't like that quiver in Erskine's soul, either, because that one was less bright and verged on a kind of resentment.

Saffron leapt in before he could figure out what to say instead. "But you did it," she said. "And you walked away this time too. The High Priest's furious. If I don't go back, he'll send someone to find me, unless I'm somewhere I can't be touched."

Healer she might have been, but she was definitely raised in the Temple. The words had an almost clinical practicality. Regardless of whatever other emotions she was feeling, she'd sought him out because she believed he could protect her. She was a fool.

No, she was just ignorant. She would have been a acolyte or an apprentice back then. A student, like one of the dozen he'd murdered to save himself. It took a moment for him to realise his skin was crawling.

"You don't want my protection," he said in a low voice. "I can direct you somewhere you'll be safe, I can give you a bit of advice, I can tell you for certain that remaining at the Temple is as great a risk as you're fearing, but I can't protect you or save you the way you're asking."

"That's not very fair."

"Life's not fair." He was prepared to give this whole meeting up as a mistake and call Tipstaff back to give her some money and a list of safe havens, or a plane ticket off the island, when her soul surged like a dam blocked and now unleashed. Before she even said anything, he knew what she was going to say, and his mouth dried.

"How did the acolytes watching that battle die?"

It took Solomon a moment to answer. He was shaken, and he looked it. He knew that. He couldn't help it. "What?"

"The acolytes who were killed during that duel," Saffron repeated. She was terrified. Terrified of Tenebrae, awed over Solomon, and God help him she was still Necromancer enough to play a trump. "I was just into my apprenticeship, you see. I helped autopsy the bodies. The High Priest wanted to know what side-effects there might have been. No one ever just fell dead on the sidelines like that before. Not that we discovered anything. I doubt we'd have discovered anything even if we had all the resources today; they just fell down dead."

"A great deal like the ability Vile later exhibited, you may have noticed," Solomon pointed out. He was slipping. He was slipping badly, if that had shocked him.

Who was he kidding? He'd slipped a long time ago, and hadn't yet regained his equilibrium.

"Yes, it was," she agreed, and then said nothing, but she didn't need to. The implication hung in the air, a visible thing. Solomon almost couldn't believe it was there. How could this, a healer, have known? And not said anything? It was impossible.

No, she was bluffing; she had to be. There was no reason to assume anything other than the fact that Vile had killed them. She was just tossing out aspersions, and he'd already tipped his hand too much. It was probably his comment that Vile hadn't spared him. If Vile hadn't, then Solomon had to have fought him off on his own--somehow.

Two weeks ago, Solomon would have lied without a qualm. Now, even though he refused to actually confirm it, he found that the words to deny it outright just wouldn't come. And the silence stretched on.

[skeletonenigma]

Erskine had no intention of breaking that silence. He'd grown very still over the last minute in stark contrast to his mind, which was working at about a mile a minute.

The implication indeed hung in the air. And it was the only answer that made any sense. The thought of Lord Vile in an actual duel with anyone was only made slightly less darkly humourous by the fact that no one ever survived those duels. Solomon wasn't exactly a powerful Necromancer. Influential, certainly, but not powerful. Nowhere near Vile's level of powerful. By his own admission, Vile didn't spare him, which relieved Erskine's earlier worry, but did nothing to make him feel any better. In fact, it only made things worse. Because it meant Solomon fought back, and that something he did worked, and there was a group of Necromancers on the sideline who apparently dropped down dead during the duel.

Vile got addicted to the power Necromancy brought him. Necromancy's power came from death. Erskine knew that it was possible to overwhelm someone with magic, especially with an ability no one had ever seen before, and which would only crop up again in one of the most powerful sorcerers the world had ever known. Vile fed off death. Anyone who caught a glimpse of him on a battlefield knew that. Erskine might not know the mechanics of that death ring very well, but he was willing to bet it made a marvelous distraction.

His right hand, which was still cradling his elbow, tightened. Most people assumed that the ability to kill dozens at once without lifting a finger disappeared along with Vile. Vile, after all, was a unique Necromancer. The Dead Men never liked to assume anything, but even they eventually considered the danger passed.

Wreath could do it.

Wreath had done it, and survived in a duel against Lord Vile because of it.

Erskine wasn't particularly surprised that he couldn't quite look at the ex-Necromancer. Looking at Skulduggery wasn't an issue, what with the skeleton detective standing behind him, but Erskine didn't think he'd have been able to do that either. He suddenly felt surrounded by the immensely powerful, from Vile to Wreath to the two Archangels, Merlin, China Sorrows, someone raised in the Necromancer Temple. He was remarkably grateful for Dexter's presence just then. Someone he didn't need to forgive for anything, someone he knew, someone he could count on.

Not that it would help much if Wreath ever felt murderous over anything.

And so the silence stretched on until Skulduggery, with a short clearing of his throat, stepped forward. "Solomon has a point, Saffron. A very mysterious group of people seem to want him dead, and they don't seem to have any qualms about involving the Temple. He's not the safest place for you to be right now. If you'd like somewhere the Temple probably wouldn't even think of looking, I recommend a church. A specific church, of course. The priest is a friend of ours. We seem to wind up there a lot, so Solomon can still keep an eye on you, and I'm sure our new Elders could assign Sanctuary protection if that would put you more at ease."

Erskine took one more moment, and then nodded. "I can certainly talk to Corrival about it."

"Well, there you go. You might even learn a hymn or two before the week's out."

[peacefullywreathed]

This was a mistake. The air was just starting to clear between souls, in spite of Skulduggery's presence, and now it had darkened again. Solomon didn't want this. He was quite happy to undermine Tenebrae's powerbase by giving Necromancers an out, and on an objective level he was quite happy to give someone a hand in escaping.

But he wasn't capable of being actively responsible for anyone else. Even though somehow he was, and he didn't particularly want that either. The last thing he needed was to be spiritually responsible for anyone. The last thing he needed was for the tentatively building trust to be shattered all over again. Like it just had been.

He couldn't say anything. There wasn't anything to say, against the realisation in the souls around him. Being a Death Bringer was almost at the bottom of his list of things he'd ever wanted to be. Being associated with being one was also very close on the list.

The only reason he wasn't prepared to toss Saffron back to the Temple was because she was terrified, and he couldn't ignore that. She had figured out more about his implications than she'd said; she just didn't want to admit it. It was hard to dismiss signs of fear when they were all but battering him in the face.

Even accompanied by confusion as they now were.

"A ... church? Like a--a Catholic church? Is that where C--Elder Wreath went?"

She was very carefully not talking to him anymore. A detached part of him wondered what his expression looked like. All he knew was that it felt tight. He bit his tongue to avoid an accusation; she was curious and confused but not intending to use Paddy's church against him. Not that that was a guarantee she wouldn't in the future. She'd just tried to blackmail him. And badly. It had put him off-balance, true, but if she'd known a little more about politics she would have known not to risk angering him with such a clumsy attempt. That would have achieved the very opposite of what she wanted.

If it weren't for Skulduggery and Erskine stepping in Solomon honestly wasn't sure what he would have done. His instinct was to push back. The burgeoning light in her soul, much more pleasant than the darkness, asked him to have mercy. Having mercy was still a foreign sensation. He'd had it with Craven, and submitted if only out of fear for his own soul. Now he was back to that all over again.

Part of him really, really wanted to tell her to figure it out on her own and rationalise it away as protecting Paddy. The problem was that he'd never be able to tell Paddy. Because Paddy would have welcomed her with open arms, and Solomon, for numerous reasons, didn't particularly want the priest disappointed in him.

Trying to be a good man, Solomon thought, sucked.

"The priest's name is Paddy Steadfast," he said shortly. "He knows about magic, so he'll be able to keep an eye on you." In more than one way, and Saffron heard the implication; he could tell from the way she folded in on herself. She knew she'd made him angry, and she reacted by pulling inward.

"Okay. Th- thank you."

He heard the rustle as she rose. He could also see Gabe watching him from out of the corner of his eyes, and felt a surge of annoyance at the Archangel just for existing and being so forgiving and trusting and believing that Solomon was actually worth anything. Gabe smiled wryly at him, but said nothing.

Damn angels. Damn expectations. Damn his being able to see how people feel, and not just see but be viscerally affected by it. It was hard to accept staring into pestilent shadow when he knew he could change it.

Wearily Solomon rubbed his face, just to give himself an extra moment, and exhaled slowly. He forced himself to relax, forced a reminder that this was how she was raised and she didn't know any better, forced himself to remember what he would have done for the help of just one person who knew how it felt.

"Necromancers' souls," he said quietly, "are consumed by their own magic when they die."

She stopped and took a moment to answer. "Oh. That makes sense. From a magically scientific point of view, I mean."

"Unfortunately, yes." But of course they hadn't thought of it, because most of their perceptions of their magic were completely wrong. And even if they had, as Craven said, why wouldn't they just make sure the Passage happened quicker?

Saffron didn't have to worry about that. She just had to get out, and safe. And at least they could do that. Because it was a 'they'. It wasn't just 'him'. Skulduggery and Ravel were in on this too. Maybe now the girl would get over her awe.

But not quite yet. If they moved fast a proper escort might not be needed, but he couldn't very well just dump her in Paddy's lap without explanation. He'd need to talk to the priest himself, and in person. Saffron would have to hang around the Sanctuary for a little while longer, and he knew just the person to keep an eye on her.

He laid a hand on the wall. "John Doe. I need you in Ravel's office."

[skeletonenigma]

It didn't take long for Doe to arrive, looking a little uncertain at this new habit of his assistance being requested in many of the Elders' more important tasks that seemed to be developing. Erskine shot the man an apologetic look. John Doe was, after all, just a janitor. That was all John knew, all he wanted to know, and all he was used to.

But Wreath was right. No one in the Sanctuary right now could be trusted more.

A round of brief introductions later, and Doe offered to give Saffron a quick tour of the Sanctuary. For a mere janitor who was being asked to do things a little above his pay grade, Doe had a surprisingly good grasp of basic politics. Enough to know that things needed discussing, and they needed discussing without Saffron there, so he took her away without question. He'd give Tipstaff a run for his money, Erskine realised with a faint smirk. Not that Doe would ever choose to actually give Tipstaff a run for his money, but still. That would be a sight to see.

The instant the pair were gone, and before Erskine could lose his nerve, he rounded on Solomon. "You," he said with a jabbing finger, "have some explaining to do." His tone was far less caustic than it could have been, which was pleasantly surprising. Erskine dropped his finger and went back to leaning against the desk, arms folded. "How is it you can do something Vile killed whole armies with?"

Too late, Erskine remembered Skulduggery was standing right there. Too late, Erskine decided he didn't care. Forgiving Skulduggery might have been an inevitable and foregone conclusion, but that didn't mean he was going to start treading carefully or being gentle with his words. He never had before, and Skulduggery had always managed to deal with it then. He could do so again now.

"And," the Elder added as a vague afterthought, "why the Devil didn't you think this was pertinent information to share with us the very first day we took office?"

The answer to that was rather obvious. Erskine was only asking because it was the sort of obvious question that needed to be asked.

[peacefullywreathed]

The sudden regard directed at him made Solomon tense again, just short of actually flinching, but there wasn't as much heat in it as he was expecting. There was surprise, and wariness, and curiosity. A desire to know all the details so he could round everything out, fill in all the gaps, and make sure he could react properly to surprises.

That and Erskine didn't care enough about Solomon to get angry. Which was relieving ... and oddly disappointing at once.

Solomon exhaled slowly again. "It's not something I generally think about and it's not something I've ever been able to replicate. I'm not powerful enough to manage it without an acute driving force." He glanced toward Skulduggery. "Like being terrified beyond all reason. I wasn't even sure what I was doing at the time. It's only afterward that I found out just what had happened, and then I couldn't say anything. It's a Death Bringer ability. The Temple's perception of Death Bringers doesn't have a scaling system. If they'd lumped me in with Vile ..."

Solomon shook his head. "If I wanted to be saved from dying, that was the exact wrong way to go about it." He lifted an eyebrow, summoning his calm and pushing away as much of everything else as he could. It was getting disturbingly familiar. "If it makes you feel better, Reveller, I highly doubt I'm going to go off on a rampage with it. There's nothing here quite scary enough to prod me into it. Except perhaps your singing."

[skeletonenigma]

"My singing?" Erskine broke into a grin. "Excellent. I can help you learn control, then."

He was still wary, Skulduggery could tell. And probably would be, for a while. But the joke helped. Jokes usually did. And the fact that Solomon had only done it once, didn't mean for it even then, and certainly never planned on it again couldn't be hurting his case either. Skulduggery might have felt a little better about the whole thing if he knew Solomon's abandonment of Necromancy cut off that ability for good; alas, if a couple of days ago was any indication, it hadn't.

Even then, it wouldn't have been so important, if it weren't for exactly what Erskine pointed out next.

"You know..." He stopped, pursed his lips, and looked around at them all. "We have a timeframe, and we have... what was it? A metaphysical slingshot?"

Skulduggery nodded. "Something like that."

"And we have a metaphysical slingshot. And Sanctuary wards. Correct me if I'm wrong, but we're not always in the Sanctuary, and isn't Lucifer supposed to be manipulative?" He looked towards Gabriel. "None of us know what he looks like. We don't know what to be prepared for. Which means we should give him as little ammunition as possible, and..."

He didn't need to finish, and for a moment, it didn't look like he would. Skulduggery had been giving the idea a lot of thought, too. Even so, he waited for Erskine to almost physically work through his own trepidation before speaking again.

"What if he uses Vile against us?"

Skulduggery didn't wait to let another awkward silence grow around them. "Corrival, Ghastly, and I talked about this," he answered, surprising Erskine. "Well, not about Lucifer specifically, but about Vile. Gabe mentioned that... soul-leashes were possible." He didn't like that phrase, but Skulduggery had to admit that it was the nearest accurate one he could find. "To basically spread him out among other people. It's..."

He hesitated, then sighed. "It's something I'd be willing to consider."

[peacefullywreathed]

"He's hard to prepare for," Gabe said quietly, "because he looks like anything he wants. He can look like a good guy. He frequently chooses to. It gives him plausible deniability. Aside from Rafe and me, Solomon's the only one who's going to be able to see what he actually looks like, and once Lucifer realises that Solomon can, he'll probably ward himself even from that."

In other words, Lucifer would remain as elusive and hard to catch as, well, evil. Solomon wasn't surprised. If things were easier than that, morality wouldn't be so grey.

"And he probably will," Rafe added. "Use Vile against us. Against Gabe. Skulduggery's exactly the kind of soul he likes to claim. The soul of a hero, fallen hard. You'd be a target for him even without your association with Gabe." The Archangel shrugged genuinely apologetically at his brother. "Sorry, bro, but he's still mighty pissed at you."

"Which," Gabe said firmly, "is one more reason not to rely on me to keep Vile in check if Skulduggery's control ever breaks. Lucifer's never been able to understand true unity. He treats the rest of Hell like minions he has to trick, bribe or threaten into helping him when he wants it. A group of people working together will be more effective than I alone."

"Wait, how does that work?" Dexter demanded. "You're an angel, in case you didn't realise."

Gabe grinned. "I did realise, yes." The grin turned gentle. "And some things are more powerful than I am. The combined force of your regard for Skulduggery is a metaphysical power that will be far more effective than my strength alone. And it won't go away, like I did when I was caught by the Desolation Engine."

Of course it would be more powerful. Forces like those--the kinds of forces Solomon had really noticed yesterday and missed having so sharply he'd almost drowned in it--were ... unshakeable. Solomon still had no idea how to define them, let alone how they worked on a metaphysical level, but they were there. They were there and they were beautiful every time.

And he had no idea if he wanted to volunteer. If he should. His own situation could either compromise things or support them.

"Oh, okay," Dexter said. "Well, I'm in. Who else?"

[skeletonenigma]

It was rather incredible, Erskine distantly reflected, how his feelings towards Skulduggery at any given moment could be so greatly ambivalent - and yet, the only emotion he felt when he heard that Skulduggery could be a prime target for Lucifer was anger, born out of a fierce protectiveness.

Skulduggery didn't deserve Hell, no matter what he thought. That much was unshakeable fact. Erskine wasn't going to let that happen.

And Gabe had a point. If all of the Dead Men took on a burden together in order to help one of their number out, that burden would just... cease to exist. It wouldn't be quite so easy anymore, without Rover and especially Descry - a man used to taking on others' burdens, and who had always suspected about Vile from the beginning - but it would still be something. And if the Archangel claimed it would be stronger than an angel's strength alone, Erskine was in absolutely no position to argue.

But while Dexter leaped right in without a second thought, Erskine couldn't bring himself to do the same just yet. "Soul-leashes?" he asked. "What does that entail, exactly? And how would it work?"

[impudentsongbird]

"It's ..." Gabe paused for a moment to find the right words. It was always difficult, explaining a metaphysical happening in terms of pure language when it was all so sensory. Even more than how Solomon witnessed things--his mind only translated them into a means he could comprehend. It wasn't actually like that; it was just sensory enough to leave impressions of things with which Solomon was familiar.

"It's like a web," he said at last, "more than a leash. It involves creating a connection between a group of people, with Skulduggery at its centre, and using the threads of the web to ease the burden on him. The nature of the rope that creates the thread is how you feel toward him--your love for him. That's the part that will make it unbreakable, regardless of distance or state."

Erskine's wistful, accepting thought had given him an idea, though. Gabe didn't know much about Descry Hopeless except what he'd gleaned from nuances in the surviving Dead Mens' souls, but if the seven of them were involved in the web together--eight including Corrival--it would provide the basis of a web even stronger than Gabe had initial visualised. Seven points to a web. Seven was an exceedingly powerful number. These were men who'd known each other as well as embodied souls possibly could.

These were men whose souls were so closely bound it didn't matter that two of them were dead.

"You'd feel some vestige of what Skul was feeling," Gabe went on apologetically. "Not to the extent he does now, and it would be worse if he was under duress, but the point of it is to disperse his burden around in a manner that makes it easy to carry for any single individual in the link."

[skeletonenigma]

"Then I'll do it."

He'd meant to ask more. There was still a lot Erskine didn't understand; he was, for one thing, a little worried that any of the others could take on Vile-like qualities if this worked. Not Necromancy, exactly, but... attitude. Thoughts. Things like that. Gabe's last comment did absolutely nothing to resolve that worry, but it still somehow made the idea of it unimportant. Not because the burden would be spread out, but because they'd all feel something of what Skulduggery felt every day.

Maybe it was a purely selfish thing. Because Erskine still didn't properly understand where Vile came from, or why Skulduggery was so worried about Vile making another appearance with the right stressor when not even Skulduggery wanted this to happen again. Maybe Erskine just wanted to understand how all of this happened in the first place.

Or, more likely, maybe he just wanted Skulduggery to feel less of it. As a friend, rather than as an Elder concerned over giving the Devil more ammunition.

Whatever it was, Erskine nodded at the detective. "Corrival will, too. And I'd bet the farm Ghastly's already in."

Skulduggery didn't move for a few seconds, skull impassive and thoughts unknowable - although they could be guessed. Erskine was fairly sure he could guess what they were. The Elder waited a moment longer, and then grinned. "Hang on. Anything he's feeling? Does that include things like love?" He exaggerated a cringe. "Sorry in advance, Skul, but apparently I'm not going to be able to help myself. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Is that a barb about my arrogance, or about Gabe?"

Erskine shrugged. "Take your pick."

[impudentsongbird]

Rafe burst into giggles. Gabe blinked at Erskine, nonplussed. "Er ..." He was blushing, wasn't he? Just a bit. Yes, he was. "No, not really. The point will be to ease the burden of his anger, since that's the catalyst. The web doesn't need to be sensitive enough to touch on ... other things."

Because if they could feel Skulduggery's care, then it was very likely they'd be able to feel Gabe's too, at a second remove. And the Archangel didn't particularly want them to be able to feel those, from either side. That was theirs. He'd never had something over which to be possessive before, but he was being it now, and he wasn't going to apologise for it.

"I'm in," Corrival said from the doorway. Bliss was standing behind him, his pale blue eyes trained on Skulduggery. Corrival glanced toward the detective, his face set. Something in his soul had calmed; maybe it was just the process of telling someone else about it. Or maybe he'd just had the time to come to terms. "Don't think I'm forgetting your stupidity, Skulduggery. I'm in because you and the world need to be protected, and I made Vile my responsibility the moment I covered up for you. I'll be damned if I step out now because of your stupidity."

"That's four," Gabe said brightly. "We only need the other three to make up seven points and we're set, although I won't say no to anyone else if they want to weight in. Better think it over, though. This kind of link isn't easily reversible."

Solomon's brow furrowed and he tilted his head at Gabe with that slow turn of contemplation. He'd noticed Gabe's turn of phrase, but didn't understand it and dismissed it in favour of considering his own circumstances. "I'll think about it," he said after a moment. "I don't know if I'll make things worse."

'I don't know if I can handle it', was what he meant, but it was a fair concern. Solomon had burden enough already.

[skeletonenigma]

"Probably just as well," Erskine nodded with an equally exaggerated sigh. "Love triangles tend to get overly complicated."

It was good to see they were over Gabe, at any rate. Erskine and Dexter both. In fact, almost everyone seemed to be taking the news rather well, up to and including Bliss. Although, if the way Bliss was studying Skulduggery indicated anything, the news of just who Lord Vile really was occupied his full attention. Skulduggery didn't exactly have eyes at the moment to give anything away, but he still avoided meeting Bliss's gaze. The strongest man in the world also had the most piercing eyes Skulduggery had ever seen, whether he was possessing the body of a Cleaver or not.

Avoiding Bliss's gaze became remarkably easy once Gabe spoke. Neither Erskine nor Dexter seemed to notice the discrepancy in his words, but Skulduggery - cursed as he was with such a finely honed and observant detective's instinct - did, and his skull spun towards Gabe. 'Three?' he directed silently towards the Archangel. 'You're not counting Valkyrie, are you? Or China?'

True to form, as always, China spoke up right after Solomon did. "If it's all the same to you, I'm not going to get involved. I have quite enough problems without trying to keep someone else's mind tethered."

Erskine laughed. "And here we all were, hoping we could count on you, China."

"That's a grave mistake I dearly hope none of you will ever make again."

"Why would you think we were making it in the first place?" Erskine wondered, something pointed and almost accusatory in his tone. "Were you perhaps thinking of volunteering?"

"Hardly. You all seem to come to me for every little thing these days. I thought it was best to make my thoughts clear from the start."

If not China and Valkyrie, who was Gabe thinking of?

Skulduggery eyed the Archangel a moment longer as the obvious answer finally occurred to him, then forcibly dragged that thought back under lock and key so he could focus on the more important things. Like the cane he'd been holding for the last few minutes, which was a good few minutes longer than he'd intended.

It was long, slender, and black, perfectly aerodynamic in the way that only a weapon would be, and - in Skulduggery's opinion - very tasteful, if one went in for such things as canes. The top flipped back to reveal a knife, sharp enough to slice through bone if it had to. There were no additional charms apart from the standard hidden ones, which would make the cane seem like an ordinary cane even to the most sophisticated metal detector. Useful in airports, particularly.

Skulduggery hooked the end on his wrist bone, spun the cane in a wide circle around his arm a few times, and then held it out towards Dexter, who was standing a bit closer than the ex-Necromancer was. "Here you are, Solomon. Long overdue. Not intended in any way to make you feel obligated to do anything. What do you think?"

[peacefullywreathed]

Solomon saw Gabe give Skulduggery a beatific smile, but what it could possibly mean the ex-Necromancer had no idea. He'd seen something, a ripple, which was far too defined to be anything but an actual transmission of thought. It looked like a piece of thread weaving together, golden and emitting a soft rainbow.

The Archangel said nothing, though. And thought nothing, as far as Solomon could tell. But his smile was knowing.

He was distracted a moment later by Skulduggery's satisfaction, tilting his head at the man. Dexter put something into his grasp, but he already knew what it was, and smiled. He held it in his hands, rolled it, feeling its weight and heft. His fingers found the hilt and he twisted the main stave off the blade, slicing the air to hear its ring.

And it did ring, at least to his ears. It was a magic blade, of a sort. It was made with magic, and he found that even though it had been shrouded enough by Skulduggery's soul that Solomon hadn't noticed it was there--or at least not what it was--as soon as he'd laid hands on it there was a hum against his ... well, soul, probably. It was a quiet rainbow, not exactly locked in a box but still similar in nature to the angel statues. Untapped potential.

Solomon hummed and traced a thumb down the blade, letting the golden light flow across it. It was a cutting edge and he felt it, sharp but not painful. He just knew it, like it was a new friend he'd just met, a potential extension of himself.

"It will do, I suppose," he said mildly as the light shone across the blade's surface and down it again, like liquid sunlight. "And whyever would I feel obligated to do anything when given something already owed to me?"

He sheathed it with a soft snick, cutting off the light, and set its base to the floor with a satisfactory thud. "Well then. I suppose we ought to think about these wards and statues. Or is there something you wanted, Corrival?"

"Lunch," Corrival said immediately. "I'll be back in an hour. I feel like I haven't left this place in days. Any orders?"

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery refrained from pointing out that when Solomon touched the blade, he displaced visible golden light very similar to the kind that resonated between himself and Gabe. If the cane was really as difficult to make do as Solomon was implying, Skulduggery was having a hard time seeing it. Solomon practically caressed the cane.

Instead, the detective shrugged. "I thought the timing of it might have made you feel obligated to help. Good to see you haven't changed that much."

The words themselves may have been a tad sarcastic, but there was none of that in Skulduggery's tone. In fact, there was something almost warm. Teasing, like the way the two of them were before Solomon's Surge. Skulduggery surprised himself with it, but he didn't try to take any of it back. The ex-Necromancer had more than earned it.

"Any chance you'll take me with you?" asked Erskine. "I don't think I'm going to be much help with the wards and the statues, or - " He cut himself off mid-sentence, looking a little startled, and then his face set into a resignation Skulduggery was fairly sure was nothing more than a carefully put-together act. "Never mind. I should oversee the proceedings, seeing as Solomon is physically unable to."

[peacefullywreathed]

"You were like a little brother to him. And, like most older brothers, he was jumping at the chance to show you off."

Skulduggery didn't say anything to confirm what Ghastly had said. He didn't even imply it. But there was a warmth in his tone which Solomon remembered almost hearing back when they were friends, a warmth he'd forgotten--the sort that made his chest glow on the rare occasions he was able to hear it. How many times, he wondered, was it there and he just couldn't tell?

But now he could tell. He could see the way all the panes facing him shone gold. It made him have to consciously withhold the smile, and even then his lips quirked with a flicker of it.

"Of course not. I haven't changed at all. Can't you tell?"

Erskine's soul shone, but this wasn't exactly with the same warmth as in Skulduggery's soul. This came with a quiver of mischief in his leaves and needles, and Solomon tilted his head at the other Elder. "You're meant to be firing people, not plotting whatever it is you're plotting."

[skeletonenigma]

Erskine gasped. "I'm wounded! I am offended, Solomon, that you would think I'd plot anything. That I'm even capable of taking advantage of my position like that, shirking my duties just to go around plotting things. Do I plot, Skulduggery?"

"Not really. But you do scheme."

"Am I scheming anything right now?"

Skulduggery shook his head. "No. I have to agree with Solomon. You're plotting."

Erskine threw up his hands. "Attacked from all sides! I give up. Look, as long as everyone I'm supposed to fire is gone by tomorrow, and the Sanctuary doesn't burn down or explode, I'm in the clear, right?"

"So one would hope." Skulduggery reached up to adjust his hat. "Now, if that's all, gentlemen, I have a list of places given to me by one Ephraim Tungsten that need investigating, and a teenage detective-in-training to train."

Erskine waved him off with a nod. "Yes, yes, go do your detective thing. We'll have beaten Lucifer by the time you get back."

"I wouldn't mind seeing that. Gabe?"

~~

The first three potential safehouses Tungsten put together for Marr were dead ends. It took Skulduggery, Gabe, and Valkyrie the rest of the day to determine that, during which Valkyrie complained bitterly about being forced to go to school herself the next day - until she remembered that it was a teacher workday, and a holiday for the students. Skulduggery chose to believe her, and Gabe didn't seem to have any objections either. So he picked her up in the Bentley bright and early on Monday morning, only to discover she was dragging Fletcher along for the ride.

"Why?" he asked when the two had a moment alone.

Valkyrie shot him a look. "Because he's my boyfriend, and you're supposed to do things together with your boyfriend, and he wanted to come along. Is that a problem?"

"No," Skulduggery answered slowly. "Not until his hair scares potential witnesses away."

Valkyrie punched him on the arm. "Be nice."

"I'll be perfectly nice to the potential witnesses. It's your boyfriend I'm worried about."

"Your boyfriend's an Archangel."

Skulduggery hesitated. "Touche?"

"Oh, shut up. Fletcher needs some work, I know, but he's not going to get it if we keep leaving him behind. Come on, let's get going."

The next place on the list was a support group center for abused women. Skulduggery parked across the street from the building, illusive brow furrowed. "That's a problem."

"What's a problem?" asked Fletcher, glancing out the window.

"They're not going to take kindly to men striding in with questions about someone who will have undoubtedly passed herself off as someone they need to help."

"I'll go in," Valkyrie volunteered.

"No. Marr would recognise you. You're not going in alone."

"I could always take Tanith."

"And we run into the same problem of Marr recognising you both."

"Yeah, but she's not going to try and kill me with Tanith there. We could chase her out and you guys could apprehend her out on the street."

Skulduggery shook his head. "That draws far too much attention and puts too many innocent people in danger. I'd rather Marr not know how close we are, or even that we've located her. I wonder if Saffron would be willing to do a favour for us."

"Saffron?"

"Necromancer who isn't really a Necromancer following Solomon out of the Temple. I think she likes him. Maybe she'd do us a favour if she thought Solomon was the one asking for it."

[impudentsongbird]

In all honesty, Gabe hadn't minded that the day hadn't completely yielded results. It was an interesting experience which revealed that, in spite of the age difference, Skulduggery and Valkyrie really did work well together. He was learning more about them, from a non-intrusive standpoint, and he always enjoyed that.

Moreover, he was learning more about being a detective, which he actually wasn't, but was finding fascinating nonetheless.

On Monday, while Valkyrie and Skulduggery argued half the way there, Gabe grinned at Fletcher and asked him questions about the training Rafe and Merlin had been giving him. Gabe had dropped by a little to watch and give pointers, but mostly it was Merlin doing the actual teaching--mostly because he was more familiar with a human perception of instantaneous travel. He could relate better than the angels could.

They'd wound up having a whispered not-actually-drinking-game relating to Skulduggery and Valkyrie's conversation and the number of times they insulted one another. Or did, until Valkyrie called them on it and they broke into laughter.

But, here and now, Gabe frowned when they parked across the street to the centre. Typical, just typical, of evil to find solace in a place meant for healing. Typical--and smart. It meant that they couldn't bully their way in; these women weren't just innocents, they were abused innocents. To use a heavy hand would be an unnecessary cruelty Marr knew Skulduggery wouldn't stoop to. Or that Gabe wouldn't let him stoop to.

Fortunately for them, they had other options Marr didn't know about. The problem was ... the problem was that Skulduggery had already asked him to avoid it. Gabe glanced at the detective sidelong.

"I have a solution ... but you're not going to like it. At all."

[skeletonenigma]

Skulduggery returned the sidelong look. "Why wouldn't I - "

He stopped, and looked away again. "Ah."

It was practical. It made sense. They weren't going to find Marr if they had to keep backtracking every place they went to with help from the Sanctuary, and finding Marr was the most important thing right now. It had to take precedence over everything, including... what had Rafe called it? Skulduggery's neuroses?

But this had nothing to do with how he felt about Gabe, or about himself. It had everything to do with how Skulduggery felt about his wife.

"I don't get it," said Valkyrie from the backseat. "What's the problem?"

Skulduggery took an extra second to center himself, took a conscious and steadying breath, then turned back. "Nothing. There is no problem. Gabe, do you need us to wait out here? There's an ice cream parlour just around the corner, and I've always been curious about the hype."

It was an innocent enough question, but it didn't fool anyone in the car - even if Valkyrie hadn't quite gotten the significance behind it yet. It wasn't very often Skulduggery willingly removed himself from any part of an investigation, but he felt that this could easily be one of the few exceptions. The less he saw, the better.

[impudentsongbird]

"That would be best," Gabe agreed. "We don't want her to look out the window and see you across the street." The Archangel glanced at Fletcher. "I'll give you a call if I need help fast, okay?"

With that he opened the door and stepped out of the Bentley, using the car as a cover so he wouldn't be seen from the windows. He ducked down an alley nearby as if taking a shortcut, waiting for the Bentley to move off and that there was no one nearby to see anything, and then pulled a new cloak over himself. Well, not a new one, really. A very old one, actually. A woman. He used it with relative frequency, except that he hadn't used it here before, for obvious reasons.

It took him a moment to get the clothes right. Having someone wander around only half-dressed for Irish weather was a sure sign to Marr that something was off, or indicate a relation to an odd cowboy who did the same. In his male form Gabe didn't mind the odd looks, so he wore what he enjoyed best, but this was different. This was going undercover.

So he chose something suited to the rundown area of the neighbourhood, well-worn if not ragged, but clean and well-kept. Clothes for a woman who understood the others' situations, but could take care of herself. Faded jeans, worn sneakers, sleeveless top, jacket. No make-up. He didn't want to look too business-like. Just one of the girls.

Right. Scraping hair off his neck and back into a loose ponytail, Gabe jogged across the road, glancing this way and that for traffic, and pushed the door open. The building was more than just a support-group--it was a halfway home. As broken down as the rest of the neighbourhood, but with clear signs of care and the determination to get it fixed up--enough that it was in better condition once you took a closer look.

It was the hope.

There were a few women in the lobby, and they looked up when Gabe entered. He gave them a little half-smile, sheepish and unassertive but not shy, and they left him alone as he moved to the front desk. The woman manning it was on the phone, so he stood quietly beside the desk to wait, glancing around the halfway-home, taking in the surroundings and mapping the place in his mind to give back to Skulduggery.

[skeletonenigma]

Janet was a woman who had seen all sorts pass over the threshold of her support group. Women on the verge of breaking down. Women close to suicide, women with nowhere else to turn, women who couldn't be touched without flinching. Women who'd already learned how to cope, and wanted to help others. Women in the process of healing, women who had no idea how to start the process of healing, abused wives and girlfriends and everything in between, all hoping for some extra support or those connections with someone - anyone - who understood.

This newcomer was different to any of them. Similar enough in the ways that counted, like her uncertain smile and her choice of clothing. The way she looked around the lobby while she waited, like she wanted to know her surroundings, and maybe figure out a quick exit. But there was something about the Israeli-looking woman that Janet couldn't quite put her finger on. She was... uncertain, yes, but not to the point of faltering. And she was polite, too. Polite and friendly, like she was just dropping by for a quick chat.

Out of curiosity, Janet wrapped up her phone call quickly. It was a routine thing, so hanging up earlier than she strictly should have brought absolutely no guilt with it. "Can I help you?" she asked the woman with a gentle smile.

[impudentsongbird]

"I was kind of hoping it'd be the other way around, actually," Gabe said with a quick little grin, turning back toward the woman behind the desk. 'Janet', read her nametag--one of those plastic clip-ons you could slid a piece of paper in. He held out his hand over the desk with a warm smile.

"Mary." He spoke with an accent, a quiet one, just enough to indicate that he was probably from the Middle-East but not enough for someone to pinpoint unless they'd heard it before. "I just came into the country and I was hoping ... I could lend a hand."

His gaze was steady and open, with the sort of understated sympathy of someone who had witnessed exactly what these women had endured--so much so that their only inclination was to help. It was a little more than that, though. Not just a sympathy, but a velveted sort of wiriness which indicated he'd been there too. The depths of that despair, that need for rescue without any way to see from where it might come. He'd been there and come out of it, and now he just wanted to be the light for other people.

It wasn't even a lie.

[skeletonenigma]

"You'd like to volunteer?" Janet's smile brightened as she shook Mary's hand. "We could always use more volunteers. I have to say, if this is your first time in the country, you have an impressive grasp of English. Where did you learn it?"

She was stunningly beautiful. It was hard to miss; the other women in the lobby were sneaking looks, as well. And if Mary really was Israeli, then she would have been in the military, or at the very least would know how to defend herself. Would she be willing to teach others? That was something Janet always wanted to do at the center, and never did because it was never feasible before - offering self-defence classes.

But she couldn't count her chickens before they hatched. Janet didn't know much about the Middle East, and she didn't want to offend Mary by making the wrong assumption about her nationality, or about her skills.

[impudentsongbird]

"Here and there," Gabe said with a quiet, tinkling laugh. "I studied abroad, but I was never able to stay in any one place for very long. Life's a bit like that with its aim." He shrugged easily, withdrawing his hand and resting it on the counter.

This was the trouble he'd had with Landel's--the line between misleading without lying. He just wasn't very good at lying, and didn't like doing it anyway. He had to tread a little carefully, but he could make it come off as if he was choosing his words carefully, as non-native language speakers often did.

"I have some hours free this afternoon," he offered, and then checked himself a little sheepishly. "I mean, I don't want to presume--I can just take a look around on my own if you're busy yourself, and come back on another day when you have the time to spare?"

[skeletonenigma]

Mary was being very vague, probably on purpose, and probably for reasons that Janet shouldn't pry into. So she didn't. Instead, she pushed back her swivel chair and smiled at the girl. "Actually, if you'd really like to volunteer here, there's a little bit of paperwork you need to fill out first. Nothing formal. Just contact information, mostly."

Overly detailed forms and paperwork tended to turn people away when they were already scared, so the support group never turned anyone away, period. Nor did they keep files on the women they sheltered, helped, or counseled. But for their staff, both paid and unpaid, Janet needed at least a phone number. It was impossible to be too careful in an organisation that helped abused women, and there had been enough incidents in the past that Janet now viewed any man entering the building with suspicion. She didn't like that, but sometimes certain attitudes were necessary to create an atmosphere of safety.

Of course, she didn't want to lose someone who was volunteering out of the blue, someone who seemed genuinely caring and friendly. And Mary's request wasn't an unfair one, so as Janet reached down to grab the aforementioned paperwork from the filing cabinet under her desk, she continued speaking. "But if you want to take a look around first, I can have someone give you a tour."

[impudentsongbird]

"Oh. Right." Gabe let himself blush. He hadn't thought of that--contact details. He should have. The problem was that he didn't exactly have contact details. He winced. "Did I mention I only just got into the country? Is it okay if I give you my boyfriend's details? He's the reason I even made it here."

The Archangel gave in to the urge to nibble his lip, to let his eyes flicker just slightly. Yes, he'd 'studied' abroad. Of course he had. But, unless one had other avenues of transport, leaving Israel was very difficult. A lot of people who managed it had to leave a lot behind.

"I asked him not to come in with me for obvious reasons, but I don't ... really have any contact details for myself yet." He mustered a smile. "I'd still like a look around either way, though. If that's still okay."