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]

In spite of himself Solomon smiled. Maybe not magical, but children could be astoundingly wise at times. Usually when they didn't actually recognise it, and therefore couldn't actually take advantage of it. Solomon couldn't see Paddy's expression, but he felt the priest's regard and met his gaze nearly by accident.

"So long as it's the bike that's blind and not her rider," he murmured, and then rose, one hand on his cane and the other resting on the table. "No. Thank you, Paddy."

He turned to Saffron. "Are you ready?"

He heard her take a deep breath, but he saw it as well--or the metaphysical equivalent, anyway. She stood with a scrape of the chair on linoleum. "Yes, sir."

"You don't have to 'sir' me, either." He wouldn't usually mind being called 'sir', but coming from Saffron, it almost made his skin crawl. She'd been brainwashed. He didn't want any scraping and snivelling from someone conditioned to do so. Not anymore, anyway.

"Yes--um. Wh- what should I call you?"

"Oooh! Ooh, I have some answers to this one! Pick me, pick me!"

"Nothing that Vex suggests," Solomon grumbled, allowing the man to take his arm. This close, he could almost feel the tremble in Dexter's knees. The idiot. "My name will do fine, please."

"Oh. Okay." She still sounded tentative, but hopefully that would change.

"Where to now, Master Solomon Sir?" Dexter asked cheerfully.

"The Midnight Hotel," Solomon said. "Another time, Paddy." He bowed toward Erin, in lieu of being able to see her hand, and nodded at Sean. "Good evening."

[skeletonenigma]

Erin was taken aback by these men, Paddy could see. Dexter Vex, the sort of man who would never take anything seriously, but still very firmly in the grip of old-fashioned chivalry. Solomon, referred to multiple times as 'sir,' who didn't quite look all there and yet didn't seem blind either, bowing towards her. Bowing. Paddy was willing to bet that Erin had never experienced that level of courtesy before in her life, despite the fact that Paddy wasn't a gambling man.

"You too," his sister finally managed, giving Paddy a look just as pointed as the one Paddy had given Vex, if with an entirely different meaning. He returned her look without any indication that he was actually going to answer her unspoken question. Paddy still barely understood this himself.

"Can I drive the bike home, Mum?" asked Sean.

That was enough to distract Erin from her queries. "No, you may not. You have no idea how to ride it, Sean. It isn't like a bicycle. We'll just have to keep it here for now."

This didn't seem to deter Sean very much; he didn't argue. He just nodded, resigned. "Oh, well. Thanks anyway." He looked around at them all, and then bounded forward without warning to hug Dexter as fiercely as he could. "Thank you," he said again, this time with a lot more feeling behind the words. "I'm sorry I doubted you. See you around, right?"

[vexingshieldbearer]

Solomon lifted his arm, removing himself from Dexter's field of balance right before the blonde found himself tackled. With a dramatic squawk Dexter flailed, then stopped and grinned. "Ah, I can't even pretend. Come here, kid."

He slung his arm over the boy to hug him back, then put him in a headlock and mussed his hair, ignoring any objections the teen might have. "I'll come by tomorrow morning to bring her out of the kitchen, how's that? Maybe even give you lessons, so long as we don't dustify my suit. My suits are too nice to get dusty."

Dexter released the teen and then bowed with an elaborate flourish toward Erin and Saffron. "Miladies. Good Father Sah. Meanwhile, I need to get this old man to his bed. Toodlepips and all that."

"Vex," Solomon said, allowing his arm to be taken again so Dexter could guide him outside, "you're exceedingly lucky you're on my side for this prank war, or I might have to get you for that."

"Oh yeah? How would you do that, blind man?"

"Don't tempt me ..." Their voices faded into echoes in the main part of the church. Saffron, still standing awkwardly by her chair, looked at Father O'Reilly and waited for an instruction, not quite able to keep the apprehension off her face.

[skeletonenigma]

It wasn't that Paddy didn't notice Saffron's predicament, or that he didn't want to help her right away; he just needed to first impress upon Erin the need to keep quiet about even the little she saw, without expressly saying she needed to stay quiet, because that would ensure the entire congregation knowing about Sean's birthday present within the week. It was, of course, impossible, but that had never stopped Paddy from trying. After reassuring Sean that nothing would happen to the bike overnight, and reassuring Erin that Dexter Vex was a licenced driver who was indeed qualified to give Sean lessons, the pair finally left to head back home for the night, leaving Paddy alone with Saffron.

"Would you like anything to eat?" he finally asked her. "Or drink? Otherwise, my car's just outside, if you want to leave right away."

Exactly what degree of free-will existed in the Temple, Paddy still didn't quite know. Saffron was used to being told what to do, that much was obvious. But Solomon hadn't been. And basic decisions like the one he'd just given her still had to be a part of Necromancers' daily lives, right?

[impudentsongbird]

"No, thank you," Saffron said softly, her hands folded in front of her and head bowed so her gaze was fixed firmly on O'Reilly's feet. "I ate at the Sanctuary." She wasn't sure how to handle this. Solomon Wreath treated this man with so much respect, even subtle and wry as it was, that Saffron had to do the same--according to her station, of course. Even though she wasn't sure why.

He was mortal. He was mortal and a Christian priest, and Elder Solomon Wreath treated him like a trusted confidant. Saffron couldn't understand it. What was so special about him that one of the most powerful people of whom Saffron knew would trust him so much? Especially someone who was an ex-Necromancer?

She had to ask. She couldn't be so disrespectful to ask Elder Wreath himself, especially with how he'd reacted the first day, but she could ask O'Reilly. "What did you do to him?" she blurted out, her gaze rising to his chest. She flushed. "I mean, um. What--why does he trust you so much? He's--and you're--"

Solomon Wreath was a powerful sorcerer, a Cleric of the Temple. Patrick O'Reilly was mortal and a Christian priest. It was obvious now that O'Reilly had something to do with Solomon's decision to leave the Temple, however truthfully dangerous Necromancy truly was. Saffron just didn't understand how. They were two men who should never have even crossed paths, let alone thoughts. "I don't understand."

[skeletonenigma]

The real reason for Saffron's inability to understand went so very unsaid that it practically hung in the air. She revered Solomon. Solomon was probably the only person she thought she could still trust, outside the Temple. It was a form of hero-worship, illogical at its very best and dangerous at its very worst, and Saffron couldn't understand how the person she revered could hold anyone else in equally high esteem.

What did you do to him?

"I didn't brainwash him, if that's what you're wondering," Paddy answered gently, if a tad more humourously than was wise. "Before he left the Temple, he needed some help. He needed some help he wasn't going to be able to find in any sorcerer, or in most people. So he came to me. I helped him find the answers he needed, and we became friends in the process."

Maybe leaving right away wasn't the best idea. Saffron still had questions. Better she ask them now, of someone who knew the truth, than feel even more out-of-place when she couldn't ask any of them later because she was surrounded by people she'd been conditioned to see as inferior.

[impudentsongbird]

Brainwash? Saffron frowned a little. She honestly wasn't sure what it was she was thinking, although that had occurred in some manner, she supposed. He had to have done something. Someone like Solomon didn't just change everything on a whim. Then again, there were all those other strange people around too--they might have had something to do with it.

Saffron shook her head and resisted the urge to sink back into her chair. It would put her at a disadvantage. O'Reilly didn't look like he was fighting her, but she still felt as if there was a conflict in the room. As if he had the high-ground already, just because he was so sure of himself.

"Cleric Wreath isn't the kind of person who needs help," she said with certainty, narrowing her eyes at him. "It isn't in the nature of a Necromancer to want help, and he certainly doesn't need it."

Did he? He was blind now, it was true, but he was hardly helpless, if the rumours were true. He was an Elder of Ireland now. He was using people as aides, true, but even the High Priest had had advisors. It was different.

That was leaving aside the idea that Solomon and O'Reilly were friends. Necromancers didn't have friends. It was dangerous. And even though Solomon might not have been a Necromancer anymore, people didn't change that quickly. Nor did it change the fact that having friends was still dangerous. Friends could betray you. The emotions involved in having friends could be used against you. Solomon wouldn't make that mistake.

Would he?

[skeletonenigma]

True, it hadn't been in Solomon's nature to want help. Some part of him was almost begging for guidance, for someone to tell him what to do, but he'd actively fought that at first. And Paddy had the distinct impression, even before all his suspicions were confirmed, that Solomon went through a personal hell before he stooped to considering the church. Paddy wasn't Solomon's first stop. Nor was he the last.

But there was a large difference between wanting help and needing help, a difference Saffron seemed to understand better than Solomon had. There were people who wanted help, but didn't need it, and there were people who needed help but refused to accept it. It was very rare when a person recognised that discrepancy for themselves. The fact that Saffron did piqued Paddy's curiosity.

He sat down at the table and rested his chin on his hands while he observed her. Leaving for the shelter was going to have to wait. This was a conversation they needed to have. "Everyone could use some help now and then," Paddy said slowly, doing his best to pick the words carefully. "From the most self-sufficient hero to the lowest of criminals. You're no exception. Neither is Solomon. What makes you so sure he doesn't need any help?"

[impudentsongbird]

He was too nice. Anyone this nice was angling for something. No one at the Temple bothered being this nice because everyone at the Temple would have known they wanted something, but on her very few occasions outside it--mostly for supplies--Saffron had seen the very same characteristic: people who acted nice to get what they wanted.

Except that Saffron couldn't tell exactly what it was the priest might have wanted. Maybe he was hoping for a conversion.

She didn't comment on the fact that she needed help. That was why she was a true healer and not a Necromancer. She was weak. Her mentors had always said she was too soft to be anything but a healer. She was too weak to even have faith in the Temple. That wasn't the point.

"He never has," she said with that sort of certainty, underlaid with indignation, of someone with a kind of faith they couldn't help but have, because there was nothing else in which to have it. "The only reason he isn't High Priest himself is because High Priest Tenebrae is older and Cleric Wreath could help the Temple more if he was able to leave it. He's got just as much political clout and he's more powerful."

Of course, this priest wouldn't be able to tell that from a glance. He would probably ask how she knew that. Solomon didn't seem to think it was very noteworthy, and Elder Ravel hadn't reacted well, but part of Saffron felt that someone ought to understand just what he'd achieved. So she added, "There was a Necromancer about a century ago. A Necromancer so powerful even High Priest Tenebrae was afraid to fight him to test his power. So he ordered others to do it instead. Cleric Wreath was the only one to survive. And now he's left the Temple, and lived, and become an Elder. He's that powerful. He doesn't need help."

[skeletonenigma]

The more Paddy heard about the Necromancer Temple, the more he wanted it torn down stone by stone. Not just brainwashing, not just torture, but something that basically amounted to willful executions? Setting up fights, duels, where the outcome was almost certain death, and - worse - the victims participated in those duels anyway, as if they had no other choice? Because in a place like that, they didn't have any other choice?

He didn't ask about the powerful Necromancer. He didn't want to know.

"Saffron," Paddy began, shifting backwards in his chair and folding his hands in his lap, "I don't doubt Solomon's... powerful. I never said he wasn't." Strong, too, to be able to withstand torture and being blinded, and talking about it like it was only a minor inconvenience - at least, when he wasn't alone with Paddy, and had to keep up a brave face. "But being powerful, and not needing help... they're not mutually exclusive. He's been through a lot because of that power. There comes a point where being strong can only help you so far, and if you don't have a way to pick up the pieces afterward... if you don't have someone to help you when you need it, then all that power amounts to nothing."

Solomon would never have become an Elder, if he hadn't had Paddy's help in rejecting Necromancy. What might have happened to Solomon, if he never sought help after meeting Gabe? Would he ever have mustered the strength himself to leave? Or would he have rotted away inside a cult he knew, knew, was pure evil at its heart, but couldn't bring himself to do anything about?

"He's always needed help," Paddy added quietly. "It's just taken him a long time to realise it."

[impudentsongbird]

Saffron shook her head. "No." The priest was wrong. He had to be wrong, not because she didn't want to think Solomon Wreath needed the help. Well, she didn't, but it was about more than that. If it was true that even someone like Solomon Wreath could need help, then everything Saffron had ever known was even more wrong than just a magic she didn't even use being dangerous.

It meant that it was okay to need help. That it was okay to be weak. If it was okay to be weak then where did that leave her? Why was the Temple like it was? Why did she have to live there for so long and accept all of what she'd been taught? None of it made any sense and she couldn't even trust that the Temple would give it meaning through the Passage. If what the priest said was true, then Saffron had even less idea what the world was about than that, and the thought frightened her a lot more than going back into the Temple. At least in the Temple she knew her place.

Out here ... she didn't. She didn't know anything, except that Solomon was strong, someone she could depend on when she'd never truly been able to depend on anything in the Temple. Now this man, this priest, was trying to take that away from her. Probably so he could start talking about God. Please. If God was real, the Temple wouldn't exist.

"No," she repeated, her voice shaking a little. "He doesn't need help. He's not weak. He's not like me."

[skeletonenigma]

"You're not weak."

Paddy nearly surprised himself with how quickly he responded. Nearly. Magic was more of an equaliser than he'd ever thought possible, and it very clearly wasn't always a good thing. Because Saffron wasn't just talking about magical power now; she was talking about mental strength. Mental acuity. Capability. Who she was.

"You're making several mistaken assumptions here, Saffron. Needing help doesn't make you weak. It makes you human." And then some, Paddy added silently to himself, remembering how Skulduggery and the others had leaped to the rescue of a missing Archangel. "Those who accept it when they need it - they're the people who go on to do great things. Solomon isn't any stronger than you are. Look at what you've both managed to accomplish. Look at you. You've just left the only life you've ever known. It doesn't matter why, it doesn't matter if you were brave or resourceful, or if you had faith in Solomon, or if you were just plain scared. What matters is that you did. You've accomplished what, as far as I know, only one other person ever has. Correct me if I'm wrong. How many people do you know who've managed the impossible?"

Impossible was relative, anyway. Paddy liked to avoid the word when he could. After all, he might have said real magic was impossible just a month ago. And look at where he was now; trying to help someone who was utterly convinced that anyone without magical abilities was somehow defective. Weak.

[impudentsongbird]

"I am," Saffron insisted. She didn't want to listen to this. This man, this priest, was mortal. He was weak in a way that denied its own weakness, because if he didn't, he--like every other mortal--wouldn't try so hard to live. Saffron was the one facing reality. She was the one accepting what she was.

It was mortals who went around thinking they were things they weren't.

"Necromancy is powerful. I was never able to use it. And I'm soft. Too soft to do much to help further the Temple's cause." She never had the stomach for death. That was why she was a healer. Even the Temple had uses for healers, weak as they were. That was how the world worked. The strong used the weak.

But she couldn't hold his gaze anymore. She'd hardly even held it before, only because of her indignation, and even then she had skirted around O'Reilly's eyes. He was so steady, so certain--there was something in his very presence which was quiet with, well, faith. Not the kind of faith Necromancers had. That was self-assurance. They were just afraid of something and believed they could solve it.

Saffron dropped her gaze to the floor, clutching her robe to hide the tremble in her hands. "I couldn't even have faith in its cause," she whispered. "I--"

Why was she even arguing? As if this man was worth arguing with? He was a mortal. The epitome of delusioned. And she was even worse. Needing help from them. At least this man knew what he was doing in his life. She'd never known. She still didn't know--she'd just followed the only man in the Temple she'd had any respect for. She barely even existed at all; just a blip on the radar of the universe.

What was the point in that?

She stood there, hunched and silent, gripping her robe and with her head bowed, her hair half-hiding the tears she couldn't stop.

[skeletonenigma]

If she was so sure that she was right, why couldn't she look Paddy in the eye?

It was an inner crisis that she, like Solomon, had never asked for. No one ever did. But more than that, she hadn't seen it coming. She'd probably followed Solomon out of the Temple due to fear. Or maybe just curiosity. Paddy was pretty sure now that she had no idea about Gabe, or Rafe. She'd leaped headlong into the deep end of a swimming pool without any idea that it wasn't the shallow end, and now she was drowning.

At least Solomon had an idea of what he was getting himself into. Saffron didn't even have that, and now she was being violently faced with everything that had been wrong for the last... however many centuries she'd lived. And she probably thought the breakdown she was having because of that was just another sign of her supposed 'weakness.'

Paddy's heart went out to her. Without waiting for her to say no, he pushed himself up, walked over, and hugged her - just as he'd hugged Solomon the first time the ex-Necromancer broke down.

"Maybe there was a reason for that," he told her gently. "Maybe it all led you to this. Right here, right now. A chance to do more than just whatever you're told, in the Temple."

[impudentsongbird]

In her entire life, Saffron had never before been hugged. She'd been born at the Temple. She didn't know who her parents were. Affection was a weakness unsanctioned by the Temple. It wouldn't do to foster traits that would prevent its clerics from furthering its cause. Sometimes a few developed feelings--but they weren't common at all.

Saffron was too busy trying to regain some control to see Paddy coming. The next thing she knew his arms had come around her in a manner that made her stiffen.

She had enough magic to defend herself from assault. This wasn't like that. It wasn't restraining. His grip was too fragile; warm and firm, but at the same time she could tell that if she tried to move away, he'd let her go. She just wasn't sure if she could move. She'd been with people before. She was a healer; she knew biology. Physical pleasure was something she could offer beyond her job.

Not like that. Not like that at all. No expectation. Nothing but a gentle embrace. Saffron stood frozen, her robes wrinkling under her grip, and stared wide-eyed past O'Reilly's shoulder. She didn't know what to do. She wasn't sure she wanted to pull away. The sensation, alien as it was, only seemed to highlight the rawness inside her.

His words only filtered in slowly. Her voice came out strangled. "I don't know how to do that." There was a pause and then some more words managed to find their way to her mouth. "Please don't talk about God."

It was impossible that there could be any kind of higher being somehow pulling the strings in the background.

[skeletonenigma]

Despite everything, Paddy chuckled. "I wasn't going to."

He had his beliefs. But unlike what many other priests in his position might have done, Paddy knew that trying to spread those beliefs in this sort of manner would only be detrimental to all involved. Some people couldn't be helped by that kind of faith. It didn't mean they weren't worth helping.

"You're not alone there," he added. Saffron hadn't pulled away yet, so Paddy didn't break the hug. It was heartbreaking, wondering how many times she'd been given this sort of comfort before; given how stiff she was, Paddy could guess. "Plenty of people have no idea what to do with their lives. Solomon had no clue beyond destroying his cane, and look at him now. The beauty of it is that there are no preset plans. Just chances. Opportunities. You either take advantage of them, or you don't. You've already taken your first one. How did you leave the Temple?"

[impudentsongbird]

For a very long moment which stretched into very long minutes Saffron didn't know what to say. So she said nothing. Instead she merely stood there, within this Christian priest's grasp, his words whirling around in her head.

"The beauty of it is that there are no pre-set plans. Just chances. Opportunities. You either take advantage of them or you don't."

Even the Temple said you should take advantage of opportunities when they came. Saffron had never quite known what they looked like. She'd never been offered them before, or at least not that she could remember. Until now. And she still didn't know what to do about it, but maybe the point was that at least she had one.

She didn't have the strength to not answer, once the question finally registered.

"Cleric Quiver," she said finally, her voice wavering. "He's--he's High Priest Tenebrae's closest advisor, even closer than Cleric Wreath--th- than Solomon used to be. He helped oversee the operation. But afterward he made sure Solomon would be looked-after." She swallowed hard. "Solomon--he said that next time I do an autopsy to ask what happened to the body's soul. I couldn't stop thinking about it. Somehow Cleric Quiver knew. When he sent for me, I thought--but he just sent me out to get medical supplies."

She stirred a little but didn't pull away, blinking away the tears. She was being held. She'd never been held before. Not like this. She didn't know how she was meant to respond, but at the same time she didn't want to do something that might make it stop.

"The thing is ... The thing is that the cleric in charge of supply can usually handle that. Someone only gets sent out specially if there's an emergency, and there wasn't. Cleric Quiver would have known that."

He had to have known that, which meant that he knew that she was affected by Solomon's words, which meant that he knew she was sympathetic. And he'd saved her, instead of reporting her. She wasn't sure what to think of that. No one knew what Cleric Quiver ever thought, but his saving her? No one would consider that.

"He got me door clearance. I didn't dare go back. If he knew I was sympathetic to Solomon, it was only a matter of time before someone else knew. And I didn't ... I mean, I was afraid ..."

[skeletonenigma]

Cleric Quiver... Paddy noted the name to ask Solomon about it later. The idea that someone inside the Temple was already helping to get others out caught and held the priest's attention, because he hadn't thought changes would occur that quickly. Solomon wasn't going to have long to rest on his laurels. Saffron wouldn't be the only Necromancer leaving the Temple, and she'd probably be followed almost immediately. A group of young sorcerers, all terrified of the leap of faith they were taking, all in precious need of guidance that only someone like Solomon would be able to provide.

"You could have," Paddy pointed out. "You'd be surprised at the number of people who return to dangerous situations simply because they're more afraid of the unknown than they are of the danger. You didn't. That's one chance you took."

And she wasn't the only person inside the Temple who, for whatever reason, sympathised with Solomon. Someone else did. Someone in a position of power, able to create opportunities for the others. More than that, knew when to create those opportunities, and was wise enough to know not everyone would receive one as well as Saffron did. Maybe Cleric Quiver heard or saw something during Solomon's... operation, but it still took an extraordinarily strong man to be able to think so clearly through it all. Paddy wanted to meet him, eventually.

"Knowing what other chances to take is impossible without knowing the future." Which, granted, some sorcerers could apparently do, but that was beside the point. "Start with this shelter. It's not just somewhere to keep you safe. Believe me, you're not going to be the only woman there displaced in the world, and wondering what on earth to do next. And if you think of those other women as... well, as fellow refugees instead of people beneath you, you could all learn a lot from each other."

[impudentsongbird]

"There wasn't anything there which made it worth me staying," Saffron said numbly. "I'm just a healer. Even the Temple has uses for healers every now and then. But the Temple's ultimate goal is the Passage. I can't contribute to that. I'm not strong enough mentally or magically."

The Temple had a few healers. It didn't actively murder its members, because there was no point in that, but those who served very little purpose were ground under the feet of the rest. There was no point in helping the weak only to be dragged down. Saffron was weak and she knew that. At the Temple, she couldn't help herself. Maybe out here, she could.

Maybe out here, she didn't need to.

Fellow refugees instead of people beneath her. No one was beneath her. She was at the bottom of the Temple rung, bowing before someone she'd been taught all her life was at least still under her feet, and discovering that he had more worth than she did. A mortal. How could she sneer at other women, knowing she was already lower than the dirt she'd been taught mortals were?

Not the only one displaced and wondering what on Earth to do next. Not alone in her feelings and fears. That--sounded nice.

Her fists convulsed and then released her robe. In the slow manner of someone expecting to be rejected she lifted her arms to wrap them around Paddy Steadfast. She only meant it as a test, fully expecting the priest to pull away, fully expecting it to feel too awkward to continue. Instead the rawness in her chest surged upward, filling her throat and making her face and eyes burn, and she found herself clutching him tightly.

"Okay." Her voice came out strangled and breaking. She was very tired of having to fight just to pretend she wasn't weak. For once she was being offered the chance to be weak in a place where everyone else was too, where she wouldn't be mocked for it, and even if it meant she was giving up she didn't care.

She didn't let go of Paddy, either, for as long as he didn't let go of her. Not until the tears and the pounding heat in her head had eased, until she could pull away and wipe her face, sniffing and too miserable to even feel embarrassed about the wet patch she'd left on his shoulder.

[skeletonenigma]

"I did no such thing."

"Yes you did!" Erskine insisted. "I remember you did. I'm the one who bought the make-up for you."

They'd been talking for a good hour by now, in the same room as before, with Erskine intermittently working on his paperwork as he told stories - a process made much faster and more efficient by the use of the blasted triplicating spell he now knew existed. There was an unspoken effort among the three of them - Corrival, Erskine, and Skulduggery - to at least try and highlight the good parts of magic, and the good stories, before Mr. and Mrs. Edgley left for the night. Valkyrie was enjoying them too, of course. Any self-respecting teenager enjoyed embarrassing stories about the mentors they looked up to. And it certainly wasn't going unappreciated by her parents.

"Granted," Erskine told Desmond and Melissa with a large grin at the fond memory, "he ended up just wearing a painted mask for three weeks, but Dexter decided to experiment with his skull anyway. It was wonderful. We paraded him around without a disguise at the next festival, and everyone assumed he was wearing some sort of full-head mask."

"You're joking," Valkyrie said, despite the grin splitting her own face in two.

"Cross my heart and hope to die. 19th century, unfortunately. No cameras yet. But he'd been missing for five years before that. How did he expect us to react?"

"Like mature soldiers, perhaps?" Skulduggery suggested.

"Now that just goes to show how detrimental being away from us for five years was. Remember the day after that festival, Skul? We all showed up to the next debriefing wearing make-up identical to his, because we took pity on his complaining so much. That was the first time I think I ever saw Corrival actually falter during a speech. Meritorious was speechless. Doubled over laughing, I think."

It was the same debriefing where Skulduggery announced his relinquishment of his family crest, upon seeing the embossed symbol on the document. Erskine knew why now. He was glad he hadn't known at the time, or this wouldn't have made nearly as funny a story.

[vexingshieldbearer]

"Mature soldiers?" Corrival snorted, long and loud. "I was your commander for a century, boys. Even Shudder turned from a responsible warrior into an under-sexed fool when you lot got together, and we're talking about a man who managed to get a camp full of three hundred people to stand by their allotted housekeeping duties."

Gabe was giggling madly, leaning on the back of Skulduggery's armchair. Melissa had a hand pressed to her mouth, not quite hiding the smile as she looked at Skulduggery, quite obviously imagining him all made up.

"You can laugh," Corrival grumbled, "but it was Hell on Earth getting three hundred people to stand by their duties and not go around swapping and switching and pretending they forgot to dig the cesspit." He cracked a smile almost reluctantly. "But I can't deny it was worth seeing Meritorious with his face in his hands and laughing like a loon. First time he had in a decade."

Corrival himself had been ready to rip them a new one when they came in late, halfway during his report. He'd never gotten the chance, after seeing their faces when they all filed in as if there was nothing strange about their get-ups. Except for the fact that Hopeless had needed to be led surreptitiously to his chair, none of them had let on that there was anything to laugh about.

"First time who had who in a decade?" Dexter asked, wandering back into the room with the ambling gait of someone whose knees were about to give up on them.

"Where's Wreath?" Corrival demanded.

"Dropped him off at Shudder's Hotel. 'Scuse me." He picked up the finished paperwork on Erskine's lap, put it neatly on the floor, and flopped across the man's lap with a groan. "He's an awful leader," he said, his voice muffled by the chair's arm. "He didn't stop me when I stupidly made one more object than I should've and still expected my legs to hold me up. Don't suppose I could get a massage while you're up there, Reveller?"

[skeletonenigma]

"What, in front of our guests?" Erskine asked, pouring the disbelief and offence into his tone. "You want me, a handsome and distinguished member of the esteemed Council of Elders, responsible for the lives and safety of every single person in Ireland, to personally pander to your foolish behaviour and give you a massage to relieve unnecessary stress that you, let's face it, really brought on yourself?"

Even as Erskine spoke, he'd already gripped Dexter's shoulders and started massaging them. He was very good at it by now. Or at least, very good for someone who'd never had any formal training, or any sort of practice beyond Dexter's occasional demands for it.

"Speaking of massages, Gabe," said Skulduggery, turning in his armchair and patiently waiting for the Archangel to be finished laughing behind him. "How's that residual pain doing, and do you still have the oil Professor Grouse gave you?"

Desmond leaned in close to Valkyrie, but he barely even tried to make his voice any quieter than it had been before. "Is this normal?"

"Probably," she answered with a shrug, still grinning. "I only met Dexter a few days ago, but it definitely seems normal. Is this normal?"

"Very normal," Erskine assured them both. "Has been for centuries."

"Is every sorcerer..." Desmond hesitated. "How do I put this delicately? Really flamboyantly over-the-hill unabashedly gay?"

[vexingshieldbearer]

"Yes, exactly." Dexter mumbled, sighing and relaxing, sprawled over Erskine's lap. "And I did not bring it on myself. Paddy's nephew refused to believe I could actually conjure a working dirt-bike. I had to prove him wrong, didn't I?"

"Of course you did," Gabe said, straight-faced, as he managed to gain control of his laughing fit. "Now the question is how you're going to get to bed, or how you'll convince Corrival to take you home?"

"I'm still too old for him," Corrival said blandly. "Erskine, on the other hand ..."

Gabe glanced down at Skulduggery with a smile, still leaning on the back of the detective's chair. "I do," he said, "and it's ... tolerable." He made a face. "Relatively speaking. I'm still not planning on extending myself, aside from those wards I promised to raise. Not until Rafe can heal me properly, anyway."

'And I'd really quite appreciate a massage, if that's what you're asking,' he added mentally, where no one could hear and therefore tease them. 'Apart from that, I could use a grooming.'

If Skulduggery wasn't willing, Gabe would ask Raphael. Gabe didn't think Skulduggery would be unwilling. Possibly just a little awkward.

A moment later he nearly stuffed his hand in his mouth, his shoulders shaking with another laughing bout.

"Oh, not really," Dexter said, waving a lazy hand. "Most sorcerers haven't a clue about how to be happy. Remember that idiot from Somerset who was always on guard duty and didn't have a sense of humour? Grumpy this, grumpy that. I still say he just needed a bit of fun in his life."

Corrival was shaking his head, his mouth twitching like he was torn between laughing and presenting a sane front. "After having lived in the same tent for a century," he said, "you find that personal space tends to shrink. Especially with a group like the Dead Men who don't take anything seriously and are obsessed with setting new records." He shrugged. "Pretty sure they had most of the camp convinced there were orgies every night. I actually got noise complaints."

He chose not to mention the part about Dexter being married. Not because he thought the Edgleys wouldn't take it well--but because he wasn't sure Dexter would appreciate Rover being mentioned. Then he decided to Hell with it; he had never coddled his men or ever will, and it wouldn't serve Dex to keep pussy-footing around his grief as if it was as fresh as having happened yesterday.

"Of course," he continued blandly, "we're also talking about a group of men of whom two decided to get married just so they could have a party afterward. Something about it having been over a year since the last party, and their needing an excuse to throw one. Codswallop, I say, but it was a very nice ceremony."

[skeletonenigma]

It was, in fact, exactly why Skulduggery had asked. He'd promised Gabe a massage over a week ago, back before the Archangel spirited away the Desolation Engine and nearly dissolved himself doing so. It was high time Skulduggery delivered on that older promise. 'Later,' he agreed silently. 'If it could take days, we should wait until we're not in the middle of a crisis.'

"Noise complaints?" Skulduggery shook his head. "If only that was all we had to deal with. I once had someone come up and ask me straight out if the Dead Men all copulated in one small tent at night. He seemed to think that if it were true, I was the only one not in the tent, for the admittedly obvious reason."

"Really?" Erskine asked, amused. "Did you tell him the truth?"

"Not really. I told him I participated in them. Never saw him again."

Erskine burst out laughing. "Was that Alenko? I wondered why he resigned so suddenly. I always thought it was the wedding party."

Valkyrie was probably bursting a rib, she was laughing so hard. And she was far from the only one. Her father, for one, was struggling for breath, trying not to laugh and utterly failing. A job well done, Skulduggery decided. There were still going to be consequences, as there should be, but hopefully her parents would now see that there was more to the world of sorcery than danger and deceit. That wedding party was a story all who attended it still told, not just the Dead Men. Even in the midst of war, there were good memories to be had.

Skulduggery had also been handed irrefutable proof of what Gabe kept trying to tell him. The make-up story - it occurred after, it occurred because of, Skulduggery's five-year disappearance. Erskine knew now what the disappearance had been. And still, he was telling the story. Still, he laughed at it. Looked back on it fondly, didn't regret a second of it, and would probably repeat the whole thing if he could.

"It was not codswallop," the Elder disagreed vehemently. "Over a year, Corrival. Over a year. Some of the younger recruits were going insane. Unless you wanted some unhealthy copulation on your hands, we really needed a party."

[vexingshieldbearer]

'We're not in the middle of a crisis,' Gabe pointed out. 'The crisis hasn't started yet, and it might not end very soon. After I finish work tomorrow? We can do it in segments. Or wait until the weekend, when I might not be working.' True, he was working to find Marr at the shelter, but that didn't mean he was just going to walk out on his shifts if she wasn't there. He could arrange something, he was sure.

"Copulated?" Dexter turned his head so his face was directed at Skulduggery, amusement distilled in his grin. "Was that the night after the mission in India in which you had to drag us out of an opium den, when we went into Erskine's tent, all fell down and didn't get up again until it was eighteen hours later--only about ten of those actually spent sleeping?"

"The one where I had to go looking for you and found you all collapsed like a stack of pick-up sticks?" Corrival asked. "Yes, it was, assuming it was Alenko. I got a report from him, you know. He came up wanting me to reprimand you all for misbehaviour. Just his bad luck Descry was reporting at the time. Think he changed his mind after that."

Probably something to do with his overhearing Corrival jokingly ordering them to let him know next time so he could join in.

Melissa had her arms around Valkyrie's waist and her face pressed against the teen's hair. She was managing to avoid suffocating, but she wasn't managing to stop laughing.

"Exactly what is classified as unhealthy copulation?" Gabe asked with interest.

"There was that time Rover demanded maternity leave," Corrival mused, "and came back a week later with an armful of newborn puppies."

"Who needs maternity leave?" came a deep but feminine voice from behind him, and the next thing Corrival knew he had dark, doe-like eyes looking at him from upside-down and behind. Rafe looked up. "Aw man, Fletch, don't tell me Val'n you have somethin' to tell us. Got impressive speed there, y'know, but you can trip over your own feet that way."

Melissa raised her face, sitting up straight and raising her eyebrow at the rather mismatched trio of the old man, her daughter's boyfriend, and the stunningly beautiful African woman leaning on Corrival's chair.

"Young men do have big feet," she said, straight-faced. "And they are very eager."

"Aw." The African woman waved a hand. "That's what inoculations are for."