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

[impudentsongbird]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Comments

[skeletonenigma]

Might not be working. Skulduggery shook his head - or at least, performed the mental equivalent of expressing an amused sort of half-disapproval. Leave it to Gabe to be given a simple mission, and come back with a schedule for performing unpaid God's work. 'Let's start as soon as we can, then. Bad guys are notoriously impolite with their timing. Who knows when we'll be swept up into another crisis? Or worse, come across another shelter full of people who need help.'

The opium mission was one Skulduggery remembered all too well, albeit for very different reasons than Dexter's. For one thing, the opium was magically enhanced in ways they still didn't quite understand, making its chemical effects last a lot longer than they should have. Eight hours, instead of four. It was all well and good for the others, who were all in various stages of drugged pleasure and relaxation, but putting them together in a small tent was an eight hour hell for Skulduggery. The moment the Dead Men realised they couldn't feel pain...

It was all he'd been able to do to keep them from accidentally killing each other. Watching people sleep had never been so relieving.

It always amused Skulduggery how Valkyrie could go from laughing at something, to being all up-in-arms over something completely different, without any apparent transition in between. "He did not. He didn't do anything, nor is he going to do anything, and I resent the implication."

"Inoculations for what?" Fletcher asked, looking scared, unsure whether to be scared, uncertain whether there was anything to be scared about, and annoyed at his own ignorance.

"Oh, nothing you need to worry about, I'm sure," said Erskine, taking one hand away from the massage long enough to wave it dismissively in the air. "Rover with the puppies would certainly be one form of unhealthy copulation, but I count anything you regret almost as soon as it happens. Early 19th century, whole groups of bored men sharing tents? That would not have ended well. They weren't all sorcerers, you know. There were plenty of small wars going on at the time. Sometimes one of our factions had to join them to remain inconspicuous. And mortals in that time period had a really, really narrow view of what was socially acceptable. For instance, Valkyrie - Stephanie - would be shunned as a witch for not being married already, let alone expecting children."

"Can we hear more about the wedding story?" Valkyrie asked quickly. "I'd really love to hear more about the wedding story."

[vexingshieldbearer]

'Lord forbid we come across anyone else who needs help,' Gabe agreed, straight-faced. 'If I didn't know any better, Skulduggery, I'd think you wanted to monopolise all my time.'

"It sometimes ended well," Dexter mumbled in the manner of someone only barely paying any attention at all. Only because Erskine had magic hands, of course. "Mostly when we were the ones sharing the tent." He might have gone on, but that's when Valkyrie cut in. He didn't mean to, but he tensed up and then hissed when Erskine's fingers hit hard muscle.

"Ow," he said muffled into the armrest, and forced himself to relax again.

He didn't really want to talk about the wedding. It was too soon. It had been a century and it was still too soon. He just wasn't sure whether to feel angry or glad that Corrival had no such compunctions about talking, because on one hand he didn't want to hear it and on the other it meant he could but didn't have to talk about it himself.

"Ah, the wedding," Corrival sighed, sinking back into his chair. He wasn't exactly prone to smirking, but there was definitely something approaching a smirk on his face. "The wedding of the century. I officiated, of course, as the commanding officer. If I recall, Rover asked Anton first, but Anton declined on account of Rover being too much of a cuddler. Dex was his second choice. Just how did the proposal go, Ravel? I don't remember being there."

[skeletonenigma]

'If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to avoid getting a massage altogether. I wasn't aware angels were masochists. Should I keep that in mind?'

Erskine didn't have any formal training in massages whatsoever, but it would have taken someone like Alenko to miss the way Dexter's shoulder muscles bunched up underneath his hands. He relaxed them immediately, but apparently not quite fast enough to head off any pain, which Erskine heard the evidence of with a wince.

He didn't let on that he noticed anything, leaving barely a break in the kneads of his knuckles, but he was worried. He shouldn't have to be worried, but this was Dexter they were talking about. Dexter had always been the youngest of the group, and... not the most fragile, exactly, but the one most affected by things. Rover's death hit him hard, for multiple reasons, and Erskine had been convinced for a while there that once the war was over, Dex wouldn't be able to find anything left to live for. Wrong, thankfully, even if Dex did go off on his world-traveling lark pretending to be someone he was not.

"It was quick," Erskine continued the story, his voice a little softer than he meant it to be. "We'd been talking about how we needed a party for weeks, and someone was refusing to foot the bill for liquor. I think his exact words were 'What do you think this is, Ravel, a circus?'"

They'd actually been a bit more colourful than that, but Erskine smoothly skipped the details over. They'd been on the verge of some heavy battle at the time. Corrival was forgiven for a lot during those weeks.

"Well, when I reported back, Rover decided we just needed a good enough reason, and asked Anton to marry him on the spot. He even got down on one knee with a little withering daisy in his hand. Anton said no, so he asked Dexter instead. They spent the next hour arguing over how unfair it was that Dex wasn't the first choice, and when Dex finally said yes, they spent the next few years arguing over who was going to be the husband. You'd think they'd been bitterly married for centuries."

[vexingshieldbearer]

'Well, if it gives you something to do ...'

"My words," Corrival corrected, "were 'What do you think this is, Ravel, a circus? Just because you're a bunch of clowns doesn't mean you can skive off, so get down and do your bloody job'." He grimaced. "I was grumpy."

It was the nearest thing to an apology he could offer. That had been a difficult several months. It wasn't even the fights themselves; it was the fact they were each tiny skirmishes, never enough to let go the tension, and all the while they were waiting for an out-and-out battle. It was like getting cock-blocked, only the eventual release was far less pleasurable. They all understood that, and it was a situation no one could help being grumpy in.

"As if I was the second choice," Dexter complained, voice still muffled because he'd shifted his face away again, as if trying to get comfortable. "The only reason Anton turned him down was because he got tired of Rover trying to cuddle him in his sleep. You'd think he'd be smart enough not to share a tent if he didn't want to be used as a pillow."

"But you don't mind being a pillow?" Melissa asked, amusement in her voice.

"Who said I was the one being used as a pillow throughout our marriage?" Dexter asked innocently. The only reason it came out innocently at all was because they couldn't see his face. It wasn't that he had his face deliberately pressed into Erskine's arm ... it was just that the angle meant that it was anyway. He raised one hand to punch Erskine's lethargically in the chest. "And I was too the husband. That was my condition: that I got to be the husband. Just because I never actually got him to promise it doesn't mean anything."

[skeletonenigma]

"Sure, Dexter." Erskine caught the blonde's hand and caressed it the way a mother would of her petulant child's hand. "Whatever you say. You were always the husband."

What he wanted to do was hug the man, if only briefly, because where Dex's behaviour went straight over the heads of anyone who didn't know him, Erskine saw right through it. He felt right through it, what with his arm being used as a smothering pillow. And while a part of Erskine was sympathetic - while most of him was sympathetic - Dex really needed to be over it. Rover's death wasn't his fault, it had been over a century, and if Dex didn't move past the whole thing very soon, he was going to miserable himself to death. Honestly, if Rover himself could descend from the heavens to knock some sense into Dexter, he'd do it - and he wouldn't pussyfoot around the words, either.

In lieu of a full hug in front of practical strangers, which would have been awkward in this position anyway, Erskine squeezed Dex's hand in a quick comforting acknowledgment before he continued the massage.

"I thought Rover did agree to it," said Skulduggery. "He told me once that he did."

[vexingshieldbearer]

"Of course I was," Dexter grumbled. "I'm far more masculine than Rover ever was. I exude masculinity."

"Maybe we ought to help you find it, then," Corrival said dryly. "Call it a gift."

"Ooh, I can do that!" Rafe raised his hand, his female face grinning. "I can do that lots!"

Dexter made a sound halfway between a squeak and a snort. "Mercy."

Merlin had settled quietly in a conjured chair of his own, letting the Archangel lean on its back and Fletcher on the arm. "Never fear, my good man," he assured Dexter sanguinely. "I'm quite good at putting my relatives on a leash."

"You'd think I needed to be restrained," Rafe grumbled.

Dexter turned his head toward Skulduggery, blinking in surprise. "He did? Hah!" He aimed a finger at the ceiling and crowed, "Busted! I told you I was the husband! So there!"

Gabe hid a smile, but didn't quite bother to hide the combined gleam of amusement, sympathy and anticipation from Skulduggery. The detective already had a suspicion. Gabe had every intention of teasing him with it. He knew what Dexter was feeling, knew what was in his soul; he was moving past it, slowly and like a gall-stone, but nevertheless. He'd get there himself, eventually, with the help of his friends.

Gabe could help him get there a bit quicker, with a bit of extra aid. From Rafe, for starters--his brother flashed him a wink--but then later from ... others.

In the meantime, perhaps a change in subject. "Speaking of gifts," he said brightly, "I've got something I've been meaning to give to you, Skul."

He took it out of his pocket, if only so the Edgleys would think he was wearing magic clothes and couldn't just conjure things out of midair like Dexter could, and plopped the wrapped and ribboned hat-box in Skulduggery's lap.

[skeletonenigma]

"Oh, yes, speaking of which." Erskine paused the massage for a moment and raised one hand to point at each person as he mentioned their names. "Mr. and Mrs. Edgley, these are relatives of Gabe. That's Donnie there, and Medwin. Donnie and Medwin, these are Valkyrie's parents, Desmond and Melissa. They've just been clued in to the Big Secret."

But not the Big Big Secret, which Erskine hoped was obvious by his use of false names. Medwin was just the first legitimate name he could think of that sounded like Merlin, and Donnie... Donnie was short for Donatello, one of the teenage mutant ninja turtles, of whom another one was Raphael.

It made sense.

And on another, more selfish note, Erskine was starting to think there were far too many Big Secrets in his life.

Skulduggery stared down at the box on his lap, a blank expression made all the more amusing because of the fact that it was actually an expression, and not just his blank skull. "I'm not opening this."

Erskine pretended to pout as he worked between Dexter's shoulder blades. "Why not?"

"Because I have an idea of what's in it."

So did Fletcher, evidently, given that he was grinning like a loon. Erskine's pout faded into an anticipating smile. "How?"

"Gabe thinks I'm a lot more gullible than he has any right to. That, and there's only one thing he'd want me to open in the middle of all of you like this."

[impudentsongbird]

"Hey." Rafe waved from over Merlin's head. Merlin rose and bowed, shaking Des's hand and kissing Melissa's knuckles in a manner far too chaste to be anything but chaste.

"My pleasure. Your daughter is a very courageous, if somewhat impulsive, young woman."

"We did figure that out," Melissa agreed, smiling at him and squeezing said daughter once before shifting her gaze to the woman hovering over the older man's chair. If everyone in Gabe's family looked like that, Melissa was going to have to start getting jealous. "What's 'Donnie' short for?"

"Donna," 'Donnie' said promptly. "S'Italian. It means 'lady'. Think someone was bein' hopeful." She flashed a grin at Erskine.

"You'd better open it," Gabe said. "You'll regret not opening it. I guarantee you'd have preferred opening it yourself to what's going to happen--oops, too late."

With a blaring trumpet and a circus tune the present unwrapped itself on Skulduggery's lap, its top unfolding with a spray of confetti. Out from the box rose a powdered white and curled wig, rotating slowly on a pike until it presented itself at Skulduggery with a flare of tiny firework sparklers.

"Surprise, pardner," Gabe drawled.

Dexter turned his head to look, snorted, and buried his face in Erskine's arm to cackle madly, muffled though it was.

[skeletonenigma]

"Oh, good." Skulduggery's tone was completely flat, level, and monotone. His face almost matched, apart from the small crease in his brow. "Oh, goodie. What is it going to do if I refuse to wear it? Leap up and strangle me?"

"I wouldn't wait to find out," said Erskine, narrowly managing to restrain his own laughter. Dexter losing control really wasn't helping. "It might spray more confetti."

"Never mind the strangling concern?"

"You're a skeleton, Skulduggery. Play dead. I just don't want to give John Doe any more work than absolutely necessary. And yes, that is really his name."

Skulduggery fisted one hand and put it inside the wig, negating whatever magical consequence might have arisen from doing nothing, but putting off the moment he'd have to actually put it on. The detective's fist became the pike the wig was rotating on, and he held it out away from him like he was trying to observe it in greater detail. Erskine watched with unfettered glee, remembering the last time he saw Skulduggery in a wig like this. With make-up on his skull, a painted face mask, wearing expensive clothes with ruffles. Saracen Rue had made every single member of the Dead Men into the butt of many a joke at some point or another. "Remember when you last wore something like that, Skul?"

"Yes. I do. And I'd like to continue remembering it as the last time, if everyone would be so kind. I'm not a judge. I punch criminals. I don't decide their punishments. And I certainly wouldn't do it... pompously."

"Oh, never," Valkyrie agreed in a wonderfully patronising manner. "You're never pompous when you arrest anyone. Ever."

[impudentsongbird]

"Well, if you don't think that you have the nerve to wear it, I can always help." Grinning hugely, Gabe reached over to pluck the wig off Skulduggery's fist and plopped it on his head. He hummed as he brushed the detective's hair behind his ears, under the wig, straightening its curls until it sat just so.

"Having fun?" Corrival asked, loudly to be heard over the sound of Dexter's snorting giggles. "Should we leave the two of you alone? I was meant to be gone two hours ago anyway."

"Oh, it's up to you," Gabe said cheerfully. "I don't mind putting on a show if Skul doesn't. I can even tame his patronism, if you'd like. That's something of a feat." His hands fell to Skulduggery's shoulders and he squeezed them gently, leaning over him to grin at him from upside-down. "There. What do y'all think?"

"He's gorgeous," Rafe said, straight-faced, before breaking into such laughter that he bent inward on the armchair. Merlin had his hand up to his mouth, not exactly hiding the smile but at least being discreet about it. Just a little bit.

Not enough to hide the dancing amusement in his eyes. "It does suit you, you know, Skulduggery."

"Glad I'm not the only one," Gabe shot back, "so long as no one gives me reason to be jealous. I might have to take measures, if someone made me jealous."

[skeletonenigma]

It went without saying that everyone in the room was doubled over by some sort of laughter, from Merlin's not-quite-hidden smile to the two teenagers completely losing control of themselves. Erskine was far from an exception. He'd given up on Dex's massage, because there wasn't any real strength left in his hands - not that Dex seemed to mind too much.

Part of what made it so funny was Skulduggery's face. It was the whole concept of the skeleton wearing a face, as well as the actual expression Skulduggery was wearing, which sat somewhere between total disgust and resigned suffering - although, if Erskine looked closely enough, he was sure the expression could have been inches away from breaking into a smile.

Valkyrie had surreptitiously taken out her phone and snapped a few photos. That was good. Ghastly really needed to see this.

"I will have to take measures." Skulduggery reached up quickly to try pulling the wig off without Gabe noticing. "And if anyone tries to tell me again that it suits me, they will find this thing stuffed on top of their own heads, regardless of how much respect they're owed."

"But it does suit you," said Valkyrie's father, looking for all the world like a vaguely puzzled man who'd just wandered into the room.

Yep, Erskine thought. That's definitely a smile. He's definitely smiling. And it felt like almost as much of an achievement as the first time Erskine and Dex manged to make Skulduggery laugh.

[impudentsongbird]

Skulduggery's attempt to 'quickly' pull the wig off without Gabe knowing was rather useless given the Archangel was still standing right behind him. "Well, it doesn't suit me," Gabe protested without trying to stop Skulduggery from 'trying' to remove the wig, simply because he knew it couldn't be removed. "I've already got curls."

There was really no point in putting a wig on Skul's head and expecting it to stay there until Gabe had taken other, more subtle measures.

Not that Skul cared quite as much as he was pretending. Oh, he minded, but nevertheless there was amusement in his soul and enjoyment at the attention. Desmond's reaction was just perfect; not the words, but the expression on his face, as if he couldn't imagine why Skulduggery wouldn't feel flattered that the wig suited him. It was just what Skulduggery needed to be more amused than humiliated over his appearance.

Melissa had her hand pressed over her eyes, but a moment later she lifted it, still laughing. "Wear that for a week without stopping," she said, "and I might forgive you for trying to steal my darling daughter."

"Only a week?" Rafe demanded.

Melissa tilted her head, regarding Skulduggery with pursed lips. "No, you're right. A month, I think. At least."

"If I didn't know any better I'd think you didn't appreciate my gift, Skul," Gabe said with a pout. "I think I might have to get upset. I might have to demand recompense and get upset, and then where would you be?"

[skeletonenigma]

"Probably living a much simpler life," Skulduggery muttered, trying one more time to tug the wig off his head before deciding it wasn't going to be as easy as all that. Not that he had expected it to be. "Was I supposed to be appreciating this? Are you sure you don't want your money back?"

It wasn't just the wig. Well, it was just the wig, but it wasn't just that the wig probably looked outlandishly ridiculous. It was that the powdered white curls reminded Skulduggery of a time he'd really rather forget. Or at least not be constantly reminded of, every second of every day. The one time he'd taken on the role of the overzealous Saracen Rue.

On the other hand, provided it was all for a good cause, maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. "I'd agree to a week," he told Melissa, quite seriously. "I wouldn't go quite as far as a month."

Valkyrie's merry laughter abruptly stopped. "Wait. Seriously?"

"Why not? I have more than enough aplomb and charm to pull off a powdered wig while making arrests, so long as the arrestees don't try to draw attention to it."

All Valkyrie could do, for several long minutes, was stare at him. Then she repeated, just as incredulously, but slower and much more deliberately, "Seriously?"

"Yes. Seriously. I'll agree to a week."

Desmond turned to his wife. "I get the feeling this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity," he said. "I'd take it and run. Unless you think we could hold out?" He directed his last words at the Grand Mage, trying and failing to hide a smile that was only slightly smaller than Merlin's.

[impudentsongbird]

"I think I have to object to that," Gabe said. "I'd threaten to leave for good if I didn't think you'd wave bon voyage under the erroneous assumption that I'm better off without you." He shook his head. "We have got to work on that self-esteem of yours, Skul."

"A week?" Melissa repeated thoughtfully, also looking toward Corrival. Dexter managed to get hold of his laughter and sat up, bracing his elbows on the chair's arm so they didn't dig into Erskine's leg.

"A week?" he echoed, his whole face lighting up with glee. "A week with Detective Skulduggery Pleasant wearing a powdered and curled wig? Voluntarily? Without extenuating circumstances? Take it! Take it and run!"

"Definitely," Corrival agreed. "You'll never get a better deal than that."

"Since the experts have spoken, I think I'll take that deal," Melissa said, turning to Skulduggery and holding out her hand. "So long as you swear on, I don't know, maybe Gabe? Just to keep you on the level, you understand."

"Oh, I'll keep him on the level, don't worry," Gabe said with a beatific smile.

[skeletonenigma]

"I don't know why everyone is making such a fuss over it," said Skulduggery, even as he shook Melissa's hand to seal the deal. "I've been known to do stupider things."

"No you haven't," Erskine grinned. "Well, with the one obvious exception. Part of the deal here is that you've got to let us have our fun, Skul. You've got to let us make all the jokes and quips and snide comments, all to our hearts' content."

"Making this different from normal, how?"

"Ah, but this time, it won't just be us. It'll be pretty much everyone you come into contact with. Can the ego of the great Detective Skulduggery Pleasant handle that, I wonder?"

Skulduggery gave Erskine a look, not exactly blank, but not exactly anything identifiable either. Then he placed his trademark hat carefully on top of the wig, perching it precariously amidst the large curls, where Erskine knew from previous experience it wouldn't so much as tilt without Skulduggery expressly wanting it to, so good was the detective's control over the air around him. "Erskine Ravel, with the help of my fabulous tailor and my gorgeous former partner temporarily downgraded to apprentice, I can make anything look good."

"Valkyrie," said Erskine, "your mother has just become my favourite person in the entire world."

[impudentsongbird]

"Of course I'm your favourite person in the entire world," Melissa said with great dignity. "I'm just a generally marvellous person."

"Madam, you have my everlasting respect," Corrival told her, bowing from his seat. "Do you know how hard I've had to work just to get him to occasionally accept my commands without much of an argument? You managed it inside of knowing him for three hours. My hat is off to you."

"And his hair," Rafe stage-whispered. Without looking his way, Corrival snapped his fingers and set his trench-coat on fire. With a melodramatic yelp the Archangel wrenched off his coat and beat out the flames against the chair. Not that it would have done anything to him, or her as the case may be, but the Edgleys didn't know that.

Gabe was grinning madly. "I knew you liked my presents best," he sang, straightening Skulduggery's curls. "You're not even subtle."

"No, dinner, but a show," Dexter said with a satisfied sigh, snuggling back into Erskine's lap and shrugging his shoulders pointedly to silently demand the resumption of his massage. "And what a show. A week-long show. I can't wait."

"So long as you take plenty of pictures," Melissa ordered, and squeezed Valkyrie once before slapping he thigh. "Off you hop, Steph. We didn't get any dinner either, and I think I've heard enough for the night. That and the pictures you took will tide me over, magic-wise, until tomorrow."

"Agreed," Corrival said, rising and pointing at the sparking wards on the wall across the room. "And whoever did that can fix it before I come in tomorrow, or someone's going to be in trouble. I take bribes, for the record. Night, all."

[skeletonenigma]

The next day dawned dreary, but warm, and by lunchtime the sun had dared to show its face again. With the clouds parting and the threat of a little rain completely passed, Paddy was doing some work outside the chapel. A little gardening, because that always relaxed him, but also some reading and internal organising of future events at the church. Routine things, really. Not much happened on Tuesday mornings.

No sooner had the school bus trundled its slow way around the corner than Sean showed up, pelting around the church to where Paddy was sitting with his book, breathless and grinning. That bus hadn't even been Sean's; he and his mother lived more than a few blocks away. The teenager must have caught a ride with someone, or else leaped off his own bus the instant he could and ran here as fast as his little legs could carry him.

He found the dirt-bike waiting for him outside on the grass. Paddy was stronger than he looked, especially when he had all morning to move the bike, and - he suspected - the bike was unnaturally light due to its magical makeup.

"You're friends with sorcerers?" came Sean's greeting as he stumbled to a halt in front of Paddy's chair.

And, because Paddy had promised to explain everything later, he did. As much as he was allowed to, and as much as Sean could handle. Nothing about the Archangels, although he did mention he knew a living skeleton, and he did have to confirm it was possible to believe in both magic and God at the same time.

"They called you Paddy Steadfast," said Sean, by way of a latest question.

"They did," Paddy agreed.

"Is that a sorcerer's name? Have you taken on a sorcerer's name?"

Paddy hesitated. He didn't want to scare Sean with the truth about controlling names, which left the explanation a little harder to come up with than it should have been. "Yes and no," he answered eventually. "It's not a sorcerer's name. It's my name. It is a name I chose based on sorcerers' traditions, however."

"Can anyone learn magic?"

"Not anyone, no. Anyone can learn to ride a magical motorbike, though. They should be along any minute now."

[peacefullywreathed]

The only good thing about having missed the rest of last night was the fact that Dexter hadn't shut up about it. He had managed to get evidence, in the form of texted pictures, from Valkyrie, which didn't help Solomon at all given he couldn't see them. It was one of those moments where he wished he still could see, which had been growing easier to ignore over the past few days. Occasionally they still leapt up on him.

Erskine had also dobbed him in. The instant he walked into the Sanctuary that morning Corrival had told him he had to go fix the wards he'd broken. Which was fair enough, he supposed, except that he had no idea how to fix them.

Especially since China had refused to help. Not that he'd actively asked for help. He'd just tendered the suggestion that, if the opportunity arose, she could help rebuild some Sanctuary wards ... which hadn't fooled her in the least. Solomon had definitely come off second in that encounter, even over the phone as it was.

Merlin, fortunately, had been more accommodating, and Solomon now knew a great deal more about an older version of sigils than anyone used nowadays than he had last night. Which was a good thing, if he was going to continue being able to see the Sanctuary wards.

It had still taken the better part of the day to get them fixed, and his fingers were still singed.

But seeing as it had been Merlin, and Solomon had essentially received six hours of personal teaching, and now knew a good deal more about how to manipulate the Sanctuary's wards in a way not even Merlin could accomplish, he was feeling rather satisfied with himself.

A feeling which was fading the closer they got to the church. Dexter hadn't stopped talking since they'd left the Sanctuary; Solomon let him carry on, only interjecting absent-mindedly with suitably scathing remarks. There was no technical need for him to be here. None, except that he needed to talk to Paddy, and hadn't gotten the chance the night before.

The fact was that Saffron's appearance had put an extra burden on him he wasn't sure how to handle. It wasn't the sort of thing he could talk about with the others; they only tease him over it. He still wasn't used to having people he could actually rely on. Tossing sarcasm back and forth to cover up all their individual issues was one thing. Tossing sarcasm back and forth to highlight their mutual dislike was another. Talking seriously, and expect seriousness in-between the sarcasm? He wasn't sure how to do that yet. Not with things like this.

He still, he thought ruefully, wasn't quite over the irony of an ex-Necromancer needing a Christian priest's opinion on how to live.

They pulled up outside the church. Between his cane and his ever-expanding experience, Solomon managed to get out of the car before Dexter came around to open the door for him. "Hey there!" Dexter called cheerfully up to the pair resting in the church's grounds. "Long time no see. What's up?"

"Don't make me put the leash on you," Solomon said as the conjurer led him up the curb and into the church's garden. The ex-Necromancer addressed Paddy with a roll of his eyes. "He's been like this all morning. Apparently I missed out on quite the show last night, after he went back to the Sanctuary."

"Skulduggery! In a wig! I've got pictures!"

"Which I can't see."

"That's your problem. Hey, Seany-boy, wanna see a skeleton wearing a fake skin wearing a judge's wig and a detective's hat?"

[skeletonenigma]

"Yeah, I do!" Sean bounded over almost immediately, delaying only the amount of time it took to stumble into a standing position and trip over his own feet. Paddy laughed in parts at the spectacle, and at the idea of Skulduggery wearing a judge's wig - in either form, human or skeleton. It was good to see that even sorcerers with the weight of the world on their shoulders were able to have a little fun. By the sounds of it, they knew how to have fun better than most normal politicians did. Perhaps that was because they had the weight of the world on their shoulders.

"I'm going to assume that wasn't his own idea?" Paddy asked of both Dexter and Solomon. He'd only known the detective for a week, but it was fairly obvious Skulduggery wouldn't have put something like that on and let pictures get taken without a very good reason. "We've been fine. Sean hasn't been able to restrain himself all day. And a hearty thanks to you, Dexter, his mother still isn't happy with me. She's been demanding to know who you are."

"That's not a skeleton," said Sean, disappointed. "That can't be a fake skin. It looks way too real. When can I meet him?"

[peacefullywreathed]

"You're welcome, Paddy. And technically speaking, Seany, you're a skeleton too," Dexter told the boy. "You're just a skeleton with lots of meat and blood and skin all on top of it. Skulduggery's whole body is fake. It's a really, really good fake, made for him by his boyfriend, but it's still a fake. And you can meet him when Paddy says you can. Or when you both just happen to be in the same place at the same time."

His banner fluttered with glee and amusement, and it had been doing so the whole day. It would have been pleasant, if it weren't so distracting.

"As I understand it, it was a gift from Gabe," Solomon said, finding the edge of Paddy's chair so he could situate himself better between the wall, the door and the pathway. "And then became an apology. Valkyrie's parents found out about her use of magic. They weren't very pleased with the man who'd been responsible for leading her astray." He shrugged gracefully. "Skulduggery decided humiliation was the better part of valour."

All of which was interesting to hear about the once, may have been more interesting if Solomon could actually see the pictures, and had nothing to do with why he was here. Now that he was here he didn't particularly want to beat around the bush. "Have you a few moments, Paddy, or would you rather we chaperoned the children here before they blow something up?"

[skeletonenigma]

"How do you make a fake body?" Sean wanted to know. "Is it like when you made the motorbike yesterday? Did he just conjure it out of thin air? Uncle Paddy, when can I get to meet him?"

Sean was thirteen. He barely stumbled at the thought of a skeleton having a boyfriend - probably barely even heard it, and wouldn't have given it a second thought if he had. Paddy envied that easy acceptance. He, unfortunately, did still stumble, even though he knew the truth and theoretically didn't have a problem with it. He still froze for a split second every time someone mentioned the Archangel Gabriel and a living skeleton being in a relationship. "I honestly don't know, Sean. He's a detective. I'm sure he has a busy schedule."

Could he eat, when he had his fake skin on? Paddy had been debating a possible sorcerers' dinner at some point, but he wasn't sure if inviting a skeleton to a dinner party would go over too well.

"That depends," he answered Solomon with a shrug. "Are they likely to blow something up? I think someone might notice if they came to church next Sunday and found nothing but a smouldering hole where the building used to be."

[peacefullywreathed]

"Nah, things work differently for animate and inanimate objects," Dexter said, sounding a little pouty. "I can't conjure anything that's actually alive. I don't know any conjurer who can; biological objects are self-sustaining in a way that's too complicated for us to manage. Gabe's got musical magic. Skulduggery used to be alive once, so Gabe musicked up a solid memory of his old body. Or something like that, anyway."

Solomon tilted his head thoughtfully, his sightless gaze on Dexter as if to consider whether the man could actually be trusted with a thirteen-year-old or not. In reality, he was watching Paddy. The man was so welcoming and tolerant that it was almost a shock whenever something rustled in him which made him feel uncomfortable. Solomon's Necromancy had been the first and most obvious. There was only one thing he'd seen since then, and it was always whenever Gabe and Skulduggery were brought up. Together.

He never mentioned it, though. So Solomon didn't either.

"If they did blow it up," he said at last, "at least Dexter would be able to conjure it again."

"Of course I can! I can even remodel, if that's what you want. Go on and gab about theology, Messrs Priest and Prophet Sahs. We'll be fine. I'm good at clean-up."

"Just don't break the boy," Solomon warned, finding Paddy's shoulder. "Or I might have to dock your pay. Or at least talk to Ghastly about your suits. And he can, by the way, Paddy. Eat, that is."

Thoughts, Solomon couldn't see. Regular debates, considerations and imaginings started to form images after a little while, enough that Solomon caught them this time during his regard.

[skeletonenigma]

Call Paddy old-fashioned, but he'd really rather have kept the church exactly the way it was. Magic was all well and good, but churches should really be solid, in a way the dirt-bike wasn't. Churches were meant to last. To Paddy's knowledge, Dexter's conjurations were long-lived, but only temporary.

"So that's what he used to look like?" Sean examined the photo again with a fresh eye, brow creased. "What happened to him? Did he die, or was he just cursed and his flesh rotted away?"

Paddy might have been a little more worried about Sean's vivid imaginings, far too vivid for a thirteen-year-old boy, if his attention wasn't almost immediately caught by Solomon's words. "You can read minds now?" he asked without thinking.

[peacefullywreathed]

"No, he was--" Dexter paused. Right. He was talking to a thirteen-year-old. True, as a thirteen-year-old he himself had already known how to remove a full suit of armour in less than two minutes, to say nothing of riding in a full suit of armour, with shield and banner. And definitely saying nothing about having been trained to use himself as cannon-fodder for his brother.

But that was three centuries ago. This was today. Today was a lot better about not tossing your kids under a bus.

"He died," he said instead of what he'd planned, which was 'he'd been murdered'. "In a war that was going on at the time. The way he was killed didn't let his soul move on." He shrugged. "It's a bit more complicated than that, but that's basically it."

Paddy wasn't exactly wrong. A conjuration was magical, true, but there was something more grounding about a hand-built church, especially one more than a few decades old. Solomon was just looking up at the church from nearly inside its periphery, wondering what it would feel like if he tried to touch it and if he dared, when Paddy's unease rippled past him.

"What?" He blinked, looking down to the priest. "No. Oh." He knew he'd said something. He just hadn't paid attention, exactly, to what he'd said. Or what he was responding to. It was actually something he'd started noticing lately; his concentration wasn't where it should be, or at least was in different places than it had been before. It was like the difference between seeing someone at a bar who obviously didn't want to talk, and answering a question someone hadn't meant to be answered. One discouraged response. The other implied a response was requested without expecting to get one.

It meant that while Solomon could choose not to comment on things he saw, there were moments when he did without intending to.

This was something that could very easily get frustrating.

"It's something you've been turning over in your head for a while," he said lamely. "It just ... grew enough weight for me to see evidence of the consideration when it was unguarded."

[skeletonenigma]

"Oh." Sean handed Dexter's phone back to him. He gave no thought to the supposed war going on at the time, or why Dexter might have hesitated before answering properly. "That must suck for him. What's it like, being a skeleton? Can he die again?" Sean stopped and glanced with surprise towards Sheila, who'd almost been forgotten where she rested in the long grass on her kickstand. In light of the excitement he'd been feeling all day over that bike, events that happened eons ago to someone else began to pale in comparison. "Never mind. I'm sure that's all his own business. Can you start teaching me how to ride, please?"

Paddy was absently grateful for the care taken in phrasing. That, more than anything else, convinced him Dexter was more mature and responsible than he tended to come across. And why wouldn't he be? Weren't most of the sorcerers Paddy knew more than a couple of centuries old?

Paddy was absently grateful, however, because Solomon's unique new state of existence was demanding the priest's full attention. He'd known peoples' souls were as varied as the people themselves. But Paddy had no idea exactly what those souls looked like, beyond Solomon's brief descriptions of a few. He hadn't really thought about certain ideas becoming more visible with time.

After a few moments' consideration, Paddy decided not to comment, and started leading Solomon carefully towards the manse. "How does that work, then? Where does..." His voice trailed off before he tried again. "Where does the food go?"