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]

It wasn't often someone asked a question regarding the shelter that Janet didn't immediately know the answer to. She stared after Gabby and Davina for a moment longer, took a long and steadying breath after the doors closed behind them, and shook her head. "I don't know, Kelly."

There was a bullet hole through one of her windows. Janet was glad Detective Pleasant had intervened when he did. If Davina was hiding a gun when she asked for shelter with other abused women, what else would she have been willing to do? Did she care at all about other people? If Gabby wasn't so beautifully able to handle herself with a gun in her face, she'd be dead. What would Davina have done then? Run? Would Detective Pleasant have been waiting outside? Would he have shot her on sight, rather than subdue and arrest her?

The wild thoughts circled, and they were getting Janet nowhere. She exhaled loudly and reached up to rub her temples. "We'll tell them as much of the truth as we can. Angela has tried to kill people in the past, and she tried to kill Mary today. Mary stopped her. And because Mary's boyfriend is a police officer, Angela is never going to bother us again."

What they were actually going to do to Davina, Janet didn't know and didn't want to know. People wanted for what basically amounted to terrorist attacks, especially when the public didn't know about those terrorist attacks, tended never to be heard from again.

"It'll be a marvel for a few days," she predicted. "Gabby should enjoy a short stint as a celebrity. And then the excitement will pass. What remains, hopefully, with Gabby continuing to volunteer here, is a heightened sense of safety. Could you get the other volunteers together, Kelly?"

As long as no one questioned the handcuffs Gabby had, there wouldn't be a problem Janet couldn't deal with. As long as everyone believed this was a coincidence, a spontaneous event quickly and efficiently dealt with, rather than one that was planned, the excitement really would pass quickly.

~~

It was a very, very long time since Erskine was last standing in on an interrogation like this. It was different to what he was used to. During the war, interrogations were for useful information only, and the prisoners were just that - prisoners. Nothing was written down or put on record by anyone. Nothing was official. Here, everything was official. He couldn't so much as change into the new Elder robes Ghastly brought them that day without someone making a note of it. And while Davina Marr's activities and interrogation were officially 'off-the-books,' that was just it - it was still official. Someone, somewhere, was still committing the whole thing to the annals of history.

Skulduggery was leading, of course. But he was far from the only one in the room, and far from the only one currently looking at Davina Marr shackled to the table. Ghastly and Tanith were there, both leaning against the back wall. Solomon, officially there on Corrival's behalf and in reality their living lie detector. And because Solomon was there, Dexter was there too - the only one of the gathered humans who didn't look intensely serious or bitter.

And then there was Gabe. Gabe, back in his male form. Erskine still wasn't quite over rushing out to help with Marr and seeing an absolutely gorgeous Israeli woman stepping out of Skulduggery's Bentley. He was the only one who did, unfortunately, since Gabe took the first opportunity to slip away; and out of respect for Skulduggery, Erskine didn't say a word to anyone.

Still, it was hard not to keep glancing towards Gabe and wonder.

Skulduggery didn't have a file in front of him, and he even ended up pushing the chair away in favour of leaning on the table to look Marr in the eye with what were, once again, big empty eye sockets. "I feel I need to cut to the chase," he said. "You're looking at the next two hundred years in prison. Prison's a fact, here, no matter what happens. Countless counts of attempted murder, physical assault, destruction of public property, and I'll bet you don't even have a permit for that gun we took. But you can minimise the amount of time you actually spend in prison if you tell us who hired you to blow up the Sanctuary."

[peacefullywreathed]

If Solomon could see Marr's face, he rather thought she would look something almost close to happy. Or maybe relaxed. Marr's soul was a swamp--not the natural kind. It stank, it was murky, it was polluted. There was fear there, a lot of fear; there was disdain and hatred too, all growths of algae and other things Solomon didn't care to identify. The worst part was the way it spread out into the room at the rest of them.

But in some parts of her, the water was something approaching clear. Or at least not as dirty as the rest. She was definitely relieved. Relieved enough to start being sarcastic.

Relieved and very, very annoyed. He couldn't tell at what, exactly, besides the obvious; but he could see the swirl of the current in the swamp moving the foliage.

"You like to complicate things," she said. "It really wasn't as complicated as that. I was just disgruntled. At you, I admit. And at your boyfriend here. And your apprentice. Where is she, by the way? She didn't get fired, did she? That would be a pity. I was enjoying the thought of the pain and suffering she'd get to endure as your partner."

Really. Solomon made a noise somewhere between a snort and a sound of disdain. She wasn't really a very good liar, though she wasn't precisely lying. More like evading the question with sarcasm, and even then, not very well. Solomon, for one, had things to do as an Elder which were much preferable to being in this room with her, and some of them included having fresh souls to look at. Souls that didn't make him want to choke on non-existent fumes.

There was something there, though. Something in that current which reacted in response to Skulduggery's words. His noise drew her attention.

"Ah, yes. Solomon Wreath. A Necromancer. I'm surprised you're lowering yourself to their level. After all, you're just a murderer like me, aren't you?"

Her soul swirled. Solomon tilted his head. "A murderer, yes. But not like you."

"Of course not." The sneer was audible. "You had goals. Whatever they are."

"And you didn't?"

"As I said, I was disgruntled."

"You were hired," Solomon corrected, and smiled at the ripple of the current. It was ... aversive. Like something sitting under the surface, blocking a path. A path to knowledge, or to a memory. "And you don't know who hired you. There's really no need to be shy; we all have days like that. It's a hazard of getting old."

Dexter laughed. Marr's soul snarled. Quite literally; it snarled. Solomon had to fight not to show signs that he was startled by it. It would figure she had crocodiles lurking in there somewhere.

[skeletonenigma]

Erskine was liking the idea of being an Elder less and less. If merely being disgruntled was, for some people, a good enough reason to try and blow up the Sanctuary... well, he didn't want to be anywhere near it. He'd made quite a few people disgruntled the other day just by firing them.

Solomon didn't seem to think that was the case, though. And with the way Skulduggery's head tilted, the skeleton detective agreed. "You don't know who hired you?"

"Why are we assuming anyone hired her?" Erskine asked. "Who gains from the destruction of a Sanctuary?"

"I don't know. But something like this right after someone hired Billy-Ray Sanguine to attack Elder Wreath? That's not a coincidence." Skulduggery changed his mind about the chair, pulled it back, and sat down. "Marr, you're many things, but stupid isn't one of them. Even if you did hold a grudge that strong, you're not going to blow up the Sanctuary on the strength of a note from someone you don't know. You had to have met them at least once. So is it that you won't tell us who they are?" He leaned forward. "Or that you can't?"

[peacefullywreathed]

"Take your pick," Marr said with impressive indifference. "Does it really make a difference? Yes, I tried to murder you people. You annoy me."

"She can't," Solomon answered for her, without moving his gaze. He knew it was unnerving her from the way her foliage retracted and the uneasy twisting current taking them away, and smiled lazily. "There's something blocking her from remembering. And you've been trying, haven't you, Detective Marr?"

Something flicked up from the edge of the swamp and snapped at him, flicking water in his face. Solomon managed not to flinch, but he tensed, and knew that Dexter, at least, had noticed by the way the Adept's shoulder shifted under his hand.

"I see," Marr said. "Yes, that's exactly right. Well done. Can we move on, now? This is getting really rather boring, and you've already said prison is on the cards. Why wait?"

Solomon glanced toward Erskine. "You know, if I'm not mistaken, we're Elders now. Supposedly, that means we have connections and employees. Connections that mean we could have a magical block like this removed."

[skeletonenigma]

"That's true," Erskine agreed with a nod. "I'm sure we could even make the request unofficial. That's the part that excites me, really."

"You're looking forward to prison," said Skulduggery, completely ignoring the both of them. "Probably because you know that with your failure, the people who hired you will want you dead. Prison is the safest place for you, now that you're backed into a corner. So really, answering our questions is in your best interests. You're not leaving this room until you do."

Tanith, who was really rather enjoying the sight of Marr in shackles, frowned and looked at Ghastly. "Does that mean we don't have to worry about Sanguine anymore?"

"We're never that lucky," grumbled Ghastly. "He wasn't hurt anymore. He can hide for a good long time. And that's assuming that these mysterious employers were at all worried about us apprehending him any time soon."

Tanith scowled. "You know, just once, I'd love for all the bad guys we don't like to be the ones without the advantage."

"They don't have the advantage. Most of them aren't very clever."

"And these mysterious employers?"

Ghastly hesitated. "Well, they are clever. But we don't know for sure that we don't like them. Maybe they're normally very polite."

[peacefullywreathed]

"Should I ask what else excites you, Reveller, or just take silent notes?" Solomon asked blandly. He wouldn't say he'd been 'on edge' lately, but he hadn't forgotten Ravel's threat to pay him back for the incident with the paperwork.

"I'm not leaving the room? Are you sure about that? I don't see so much as a bedpan anywhere. I would have thought you'd remember what physical functions are now you have that lovely skin of yours."

"You know, I've been wondering the exact same thing," Dexter mused.

"Yes, I remember what you were wondering," Gabe murmured.

"What? It was a perfectly natural thing to wonder!"

"He's a skeleton."

"With a skin!"

"I'm really starting to wonder if you and Erskine were wired to the planned specifications."

"Why wouldn't we be? Look at us. We're gorgeous. What else are we needed for?"

Their argument at least defused any pointed barb in Marr's words. Solomon wasn't sure if she was actually amused or not. Either way, she decided to ignore the two of them. The swirl of plants in the swamp was dark and filled with the intent of the creatures under the surface. "I'm shackled to a chair in a windowless room in the Sanctuary, and I only unofficially exist, but I'm still going to be thrown into prison. Are you saying the people who hired me will get the same kind of justice?"

Ah. Davina Marr did not like being hoodwinked. She also had no sense of loyalty or even a remotest sense of honour. Even Sanguine, in his own way, had one of those. "No," Solomon said, and smiled. "I doubt we'd be willing to go out and get them any sort of bedpan, whereas I'm quite willing to send for one for you, and I can probably find out which cell you're going to be thrown in this very minute, while I'm not sure they'll even have one. Maybe a nice unmarked grave."

Marr laughed. "Fine. Do it, then. Bring in your employees and take off this spell, and I'll tell you anything you want to know."

[russiantesseract]

The biggest problem with what Tesseract had been paid to do was that there was a time limit in which to do it.

That wasn't unusual in its own right, but it was normally a somewhat reasonable time limit. With this, he'd been given a few days. Understandable, what with the target's failed crimes and the looming possibility of her arrest, but Tesseract worked best under a condition of at least a few months. He'd told the client so. They hadn't seen eye to eye.

So Tesseract worked much faster than he usually deemed safe, and even then, he was beaten to her. He'd stood out of sight and watched as she was driven away in a gleaming black Bentley, made a few enquiries, and learned who owned the Bentley. More importantly, he learned where Marr would be detained for the next few days.

The Sanctuary, of course.

As a rule, Tesseract didn't like taking on more in a fight than he had to. But also as a rule, he liked getting paid, and he had a reputation to protect. Dismantling the security measures to enter the Sanctuary was difficult, and took the better part of an hour, but he fought down a small thrill of pride when he managed to slip in undetected.

The angel statues that had replaced the Cleavers took no notice of him. Tesseract wasn't interested in harming the Sanctuary. They had no reason to mark him as out of the ordinary.

Marr was most likely in one of the interrogation rooms, as a quick peek into the cells informed him. She wouldn't be in the Gaol - at least, not yet - and her quite-likely stubborn silence would serve as her only means of protection. But there would be more than one person in the interrogation room with her, and so Tesseract headed for the Grand Mage's office first.

A distraction was the key. An attack on someone important enough would bring everyone in the Sanctuary running. Tesseract could slip past the crowd, and have a clear path to Marr. Then he'd be gone again before anyone noticed something was wrong, and only one person would be able to identify him.

If that.

The element of surprise was a tricky thing. Tesseract had found that more often than not, trying to surprise someone didn't work. So, without hesitating, without stopping, without showing any sense of hurry, he pushed open the door to the office, stepped inside, walked up to Grand Mage Deuce and tapped him on the arm.

[peacefullywreathed]

It was something of an odd occurrence for Solomon to know that he could ask a member of the Sanctuary to report to a certain place immediately and know that it would be taken as an order. So, of course, he let Ravel do it. It was a novelty for either one of them, and he could use the brownie points. Besides, people liked Ravel. They were more likely to be happy to get pulled away from their work if he was the one to do it.

Even still, he wasn't exactly disappointed when the wall chimed. It was past time to escape from Marr's soul. Skulduggery and the others could handle the rest. Solomon watched the ripple of the wards patterning out in waves, then touched them to make it stop.

"What was that?" Dexter asked. "Are we being summoned?" He said 'summoned' gleefully, like it was a sexual favour.

Solomon shot him a glare and then admitted, "There's something wrong with a section of the wards."

"Right." Vex's banner rippled gleefully toward the others. "Did we tell you? Corrival's appointed the Prophet as the protector of the wards! Anything goes wrong, it was his fault for breaking them the other night."

"It's impossible for that minor damage to have any ramifications on the rest of the Sanctuary," Solomon grumbled, straightening off the wall and brushing off his new Elder robes. The robes were probably fine, but it was hard for him to accept that with the stink of Marr's swamp all over the room. He switched to Gaelic so she couldn't understand him. "But the Host might have something to do with it. They resonate on a surprisingly similar keel to the Sanctuary wards, and I've seen them bounce off one another a few times. It could be the Host's changing potential has triggered something."

Given that Solomon was now the nearest thing to an expert on those wards, Corrival had linked him up to any and all changes. China, over the last few days she'd been experimenting with those wards, had taken great and frustrating delight in that fact by setting off little triggers which obliged him to go and investigate. Hence Vex's tone. (Solomon might not have minded except that they were invariably in unexpectedly closed-in spaces and China was, without exception, wearing that damned perfume.)

Solomon gave a nod to the others and let Dexter guide him down the corridors toward the location of the alarm.


Marr's capture was, as far as Corrival was concerned, the best news he'd had this week. It didn't exactly mean they could relax, what with the impending arrival of the Devil, but it meant that at least they had fewer distractions around their own backyard before the party came in from next door. In the meantime, Corrival had set Solomon and China on learning and updating the wards and the Host as quickly as was possible given they were both, essentially, learning a new language at the same time.

He'd turned Erskine onto the daily Sanctuary running. Which meant a lot of hiring, because they needed as many good people as they could get, and a lot of overhauling of old policies for safety and efficiency reasons. Bliss was looking into potential allies--either for them or for Lucifer, Corrival didn't care which, so long as he knew which side of the fence people were on.

Corrival himself got the extremely fun job of dealing with their international friends and the signing of the paperwork. At any given time, he was expecting Tipstaff to come in with more paperwork or more news. Right now, he just wanted to hear from Skulduggery about Marr and her employers.

Two hours ago, he'd been wearing his comfortable clothes. Two hours ago, Ghastly had come in with a delivery. Two hours ago, Tipstaff had, with a perfectly straight face, suggested the three of them take their new robes for a test-run by wearing them for the rest of the day. Two hours ago, Corrival had congratulated Tipstaff on his learning speed, the bonus he was going to get this week for getting one over the new Council of Elders, and the fact that he was going to escape unscathed--this time. Then he'd put on his Elder robes and refused to admit they were possibly more comfortable than what he'd been wearing beforehand.

After today, he wasn't going to complain once if Tipstaff suggested he wear them again.

Corrival heard the footsteps behind him and was already turning away from his bookcase when someone brushed his arm. He felt a tingle of magic rebounding off his sleeve, saw the mask, and with a vicious curse threw himself backward. His hand jerked up and pushed the air to throw Tesseract back. "Angels!"

[russiantesseract]

The clothes were magical. Had to be. Elder robes weren't usually so protective. Bulletproof, of course, and some Sanctuaries had sigils woven into the lining to protect against most forms of magic. But Tesseract's ability was a rare one, and for the robes the Grand Mage was wearing to block even that...

He hadn't wanted to kill Deuce. Now, he was wishing he had. You didn't get to become Grand Mage without a powerful grasp of magic, and Deuce didn't hold back. Tesseract flew back off his feet, crashed against the far wall, and sagged back to the floor. He only just managed to keep his balance, stumbling to stay on his feet, and turned in time to see a stone angel appear in the doorway.

They certainly had reason to take notice of him now.

And very violent notice it was, too. The stone wasn't bone, but Tesseract was an assassin for a reason. He had more to rely on than just magic. He managed to shatter an arm of the statue, at least, if not Deuce, with a crippling punch; then he spun and slammed the angel back towards the desk. Towards Deuce, hopefully, to at least send the Grand Mage reeling. Distraction accomplished, Tesseract used that cover to slip out of the office and hurry away, just missing three more of the statues and the Administrator coming around the corner the other way.

He made for the interrogation rooms, keeping his face hidden as best he could, until he glanced up and saw Solomon Wreath. Wreath, with a guide. Dexter Vex. Vex would make this problematic, but Tesseract was never going to get a better opportunity than this.

He stepped to the other side of the corridor, took the Elder robes into consideration, and reached out to grip the ex-Necromancer's wrist as he walked by. The other hand was already reaching for the back of Wreath's neck, where one fingertip's brush would sever the spine.

[peacefullywreathed]

They were several corridors away from the interrogation rooms when something rolled through the Sanctuary's wards. Solomon looked up at them with a frown. He'd never seen them do that before. The wave had come with a hollow, bell-like chime which Solomon was fairly sure, by Dexter's lack of reaction, was magical and not physical in nature.

"Something's wrong," he said, slowing, still looking toward the ceiling. Something else rolled across his vision. A shadow, almost; the arc of a razor-sharp blade. It wasn't like shattered glass; it was too refined for that. It was more like mercury, still malleable but shaped right now to be deadly. Solomon's back prickled.

"What--" Dexter started to ask, on an instant high alert, but Solomon was already turning toward the presence at his other side, all his fingers reaching for the lifestream. Something brushed his wrist and agony erupted in his cane-hand. With a strangled cry of pain he jerked away, away from the edge of that sharp quicksilver soul, and the hand on Dexter's shoulder snapped out with a searing bolt of golden light meant to disorient its target. He'd been practising. He'd be grateful for that fact, later.

In nearly the same instant he felt Dexter's magic surge behind him, and then one of the Adept's shields slammed up in-between them and that killer's soul.

[russiantesseract]

One touch worked. The other never quite reached its target. Tesseract had been told about Solomon Wreath, and done his own research later, and he knew about the mysterious golden light that somehow managed to repel the Texan assassin Billy-Ray Sanguine. He was watching for it. When the beam came, Tesseract twisted out of its way, missing Wreath's neck in favour of avoiding what might have been certain death.

It wasn't. It was painful; Tesseract hadn't been able to avoid it entirely. But it was more a disorienting sort of pain. It popped something in his ears and made his head swim, sending Tesseract stumbling back to try and regain himself, and then one of the shields Vex had been known for in the war shimmered into existence.

Well, he'd tried. For Wreath, there was always another time. No one would know about this; somehow, Tesseract doubted Wreath and Vex would advertise this particular attack outside of the Sanctuary. But for Marr, there was no more time. It was now or never.

So Tesseract abandoned the pair and went back in the direction he came from, moving fast now, against the flow of other sorcerers. He bit back an unpleasant taste at the thought of unfinished business, but this wasn't his fault. He'd been paid to kill Marr in an impossibly short window of time. Any mistakes that arose from that were the fault of Marr's employer, not of him. All this chaos... had Tesseract been the one to decide, it wouldn't have happened.

Only one of the interrogation rooms was being used, and only one person aside from Marr was in it. Tanith Low, Tesseract remembered from the file he'd been given. A wall-walker. Trained as an assassin, willfully defective early on, skilled with a sword. The moment she saw him, that sword cleared her belt and Low was rushing forward with it, tousled blonde hair flying out behind her and her face a grim mask of determination.

The file hadn't lied. She was skilled. Tesseract did his best to keep away from the walls in order to thwart her advantage, but Low didn't need it. Nor did she, apparently, need her sword. Tesseract blocked a particularly vicious strike with his knife, and sent the blade of her sword clattering onto the ground a short distance away, but Low barely blinked before sending an elbow into his ribs and a knee into his legs.

Tesseract blocked the latter by deliberately folding over her elbow, and Low took advantage of the perceived distraction to pick her sword back up. Tesseract straightened the moment she was out of range, turned, and stepped over to Marr.

She'd been pleading almost the whole time, begging for her life, or at least to be standing up when he killed her. Tesseract would have liked to fulfill that last wish, but there were voices in the corridor outside and he knew that his time was up. Without a word, Tesseract reached out and pressed the tip of his finger into her breastbone. It shattered, piercing her heart, and killing her instantly.

[peacefullywreathed]

"Who was it?" Solomon demanded, his teeth gritted. He cradled his broken wrist against his chest, pushing one toe out to find the cane he'd dropped and then stooping to pick it up with his other hand.

"Tesseract," Vex said grimly.

"He's after Marr." It was the last thing he'd seen in that soul's intent, through the heat-shimmer of Dexter's shield. He found the cane and straightened, and the shield dissolved into a wash of other souls. People all over the Sanctuary were panicking. Most of them were headed toward the Grand Mage's office or toward the exit. Solomon slammed his fist against the wall, his touch and voice activating the internal communication wards. "Angels to the interrogation rooms."

It was going to take time for them to get there, if they were already responding to another call near Corrival's office and needed to make their way through the crowd of frightened employees. Solomon set off toward the interrogation rooms, his mouth a thin, pained line at the jolt each step put in his bad hand and radiated down his arm. He breathed evenly, took in the pain, and then put it firmly aside. A moment later he felt Dexter's presence at his side, one hand on his elbow to keep him straight.

"I don't know if you noticed this, but you have a broken wrist," Vex pointed out almost conversationally. "Do you really want to go up against a trained assassin with a broken wrist?"

"I will not be used as another distraction," Solomon growled. He was tired of being the weak link, tired of being the reason something couldn't happen. They were the nearest people to the interrogation rooms. If nothing else, maybe Vex could keep Tesseract from escaping with his shields.

They reached the door to the interrogation room just in time for Solomon to see Marr's soul sharpened to a clear point in the lifestream, her expression terrified. Then she was washed away, salt dissolving in water. All that was left in the room was Tesseract's quicksilver and Tanith's even heartbeat. She was already aiming to attack again. They couldn't just block the door to keep Tesseract from getting out.

Dexter left him by the jamb and paralleled Tanith on Tesseract's other side, his energy-beam charging in his hands, fired toward the assassin as a distraction.

[russiantesseract]

Marr was dead, and even that didn't give Tesseract a moment's rest. He turned around, and was mildly surprised to see both Vex and Wreath in the doorway of the room. How did they know where he would be? They hadn't followed him down the hallway. As far as they knew, Tesseract might have been the one who attacked Grand Mage Deuce. They had no reason to suspect he was after Marr instead.

Vex came at him with his hands already crackling, and Tesseract ducked underneath the energy-beam he released. Too late, the assassin remembered Low, and avoiding the near-simultaneous strike of her blade threw him dangerously off-balance. Low followed up with multiple jabs, which Tesseract defended against the best he could, but the blows still made his whole skeleton rattle. He gritted his teeth against the pain and kicked out at Low's knees, the heel of his boot connecting with only one of them. But one was enough. He felt her go down, reached out to grip her arm, and let go only when he heard her scream as the bone broke.

That just left Vex. And Wreath, who was still blocking the doorway, and still had a hefty price on his head. If Tesseract could dispatch them both quickly enough, he might be able to leave the Sanctuary before anyone realised he wasn't meant to be there.

With Low on the floor, Tesseract spun back to his feet and made for Vex, Low's sword in his hand. He brought it back to jab it forward, drawing Vex's attention to the well-maintained blade, then swept the tip up at the last moment and reached out to press a fingertip against Vex's jaw instead.

[vexingshieldbearer]

Tanith had been closer to Tesseract. Dex saw her go down and quickened his pace. Tesseract was fast, fast enough that he managed to turn before Dex could surprise him, and with Tanith's sword flashing in his hand. He used it like it was a dagger, not a sword. Not the first time Dexter had seen a blade used like that in a street-fight; noble-born he might have been, but he'd spent most of his time getting into fist-fights with peasants.

It had been a long time since he'd had to use conjurations in a fist-fight, though.

His hand came up at his waist, shimmering with energy; the sword connected with the small conjured shield and slid past his side. Dex stepped inside Tesseract's guard and twisted his hand to snake past the blade, energy crackling in his palm toward Tesseract's solar-plexus. His other hand rose to strike Tesseract's wrist and knock away his arm before it hit his jaw, a spiked gauntlet conjured around it for maximum damage.

Behind him, Solomon stepped in through the doorway, thumb twisting the cane's head so the sheath slid off; he flicked the blade to send it out the door, where he couldn't step on it by accident. Marr was gone, but the shackles binding her to the chair and table were enough for him to see where they were. He stepped around them but held back. He couldn't attack Tesseract without hitting Dexter; he could barely tell the difference between them. His sharpshooting skills weren't that good yet.

But he could guard the door, and did.

[russiantesseract]

Vex was right at home in a close fight. Comfortable enough to get close, possibly relying on magically defensive clothes and his conjurations to protect him. His conjurations were certainly doing the job on their own. If it wasn't for the telltale shimmer around his hand when he blocked the sword, it would have looked like Vex had impenetrable skin.

Tesseract had to change his tactic. The sword, he dropped, and that hand went down to protect himself. It was an easy enough task when Tesseract could 'protect' himself by simply tapping his opponent's knuckle.

His other hand was far less lucky, and Tesseract jerked it back with a sharp cry. Not broken. Tesseract knew broken bones. But the temporary spiked gauntlet certainly did damage beyond what thin air should have been able to do, and without thinking, Tesseract took advantage of Vex's foolish closed distance to press his injured hand down against the conjurer's ribs.

The clothes would protect Vex. But it would hurt him. It had to hurt him. And if that was enough for Tesseract to get behind him, that was all he needed.

[vexingshieldbearer]

The shield still curved around Dex's fist and wrist shattered when Tesseract tapped it, but better that than his whole hand. The blow knocked the energy-beam into the floor, less powerful than Dexter intended, but the Adept had to let it go anyway in favour of twisting aside from that jab.

Tesseract's fingers brushed his side and Dexter gasped at the shattering pain which ran under his skin. His lower hand was already curling into a fist, a pair of spiked brass-knuckles shimmering over his joints as he slammed it into Tesseract's wrist just a moment too late.

Then the agony kicked in and he bent over his side, jerking toward the wall to gain some distance. He couldn't afford to get in so close with broken ribs. He could barely breathe. He sank against the wall, using it to steady himself with his vision warping white, and opened his fist to try one last energy-beam at Tesseract's back.

Solomon saw the pair of souls break apart. He side-stepped so neither Dex nor Tanith were in his direct line-of-sight and channelled magic into the blade Skulduggery had given him, then raised it and flicked a bolt of light--the same he'd used for Sanguine--at Tesseract.

[russiantesseract]

Vex's clothes didn't have the same magical defences as any of the Elders. That was a surprising piece of luck. Tesseract barely had the time to wonder if Vex and Ghastly Bespoke had some sort of falling out before his wrist fractured under the force of spiked brass-knuckles that were gone as quickly as they had appeared.

Vex was the first to stumble away with broken ribs, giving Tesseract a much-needed moment to recover his senses and take stock. Low somewhere behind him. Unable to use her sword, still a viable threat. Wreath, supposedly blind, yet all too aware of his surroundings with possession of a strange new form of magic no one understood. Vex, theoretically smart enough to be down for the count, but obviously still strong enough to manage one last energy-beam.

Tesseract dodged that. He didn't manage to dodge Wreath's bolt - but he knew it wouldn't kill him. Sanguine was still alive. Vanished, but alive.

Tesseract met the bolt head-on and grunted under its force, clenching his teeth hard against the way it jolted his fractured wrist, gasping at the sudden and intense pain that wracked the rest of his body. It was painful and it was disorienting, but when the pain cleared, that was all it was. Painful and disorienting. Tesseract was still on his feet, his head was still clear, and he barely took the time to wonder why. He went straight for Wreath, gripped the chair behind the desk between them, and made as little noise as possible while he threw it straight at Wreath's head.

"Watch out!" Low cried out behind him as the chair sailed through the air. So much for that.

Tesseract was already moving, following the chair, hoping it would distract Wreath long enough for Tesseract to kill him even despite Low's warning. Footsteps echoed back behind the desk and, with a thump, were on the ceiling - Tesseract kept an ear out for those while he got close and swung a punch.

[peacefullywreathed]

Damn it. That bolt hadn't done nearly as much damage as it had to Sanguine, not nearly as much as Solomon had expected or hoped. And Solomon hadn't figured out how to dispel magic with enough regularity to rely on it.

One lucky thing--Tesseract's soul was a mercurial mirror of intent. Tanith's warning was nice, but not needed. Solomon caught the flash of the action in Tesseract's soul and stepped aside, hearing it clatter against the wall a foot away from his head. Then he exhaled, as much to steady himself against the pain as to let his magic work.

Light played across the wall and down the blade. He used his sword like the Necromantic cane he used to have, twisting it in the air to catch the sharp edge of Tesseract's soul and direct the next bolt where he wanted it. It was a disorienting one this time, like before--but more powerful, with time to channel more into it. It seeped along the lines of Tesseract's soul and the light on his blade, following him no matter where his physical body tried to run.

[russiantesseract]

Somehow, someway, Wreath could see. Not physically, because his eyes were blank and unfocused, noticeable even from where Tesseract was standing. But he could see. He'd seen the chair. And his next attack didn't even seem to need guidance or aiming - he waved his cane, Tesseract instinctively expected the shadows in the room to rise, and was completely unprepared for what actually happened.

It was somewhat akin to being knocked over by a large wave at the beach. Tumbling head over heels, no idea which way was up, and - sometimes - without even an idea of where you were. Tesseract imagined it was like being in a washing machine. Not a modern nondescript one, but one made years ago, the kind that used to vibrate.

It felt like hours before the room even started to spin in a vaguely cohesive manner around him, and by the time Tesseract could open his eyes without suffering a minor headache, his sense of up and down was completely ruined by the sight of Low on the ceiling above him.

She leaped up from the ceiling and slammed her boots into Tesseract's chest, sending him down to the floor again. But pain, Tesseract could handle, and if anything it jolted him back to his senses that much more quickly. With his sternum still sprouting pain, Tesseract reached up and flipped Low off of him by sweeping her feet out from under her. His hands hated him for it, but Tesseract lumped that pain together with his sternum pain and ignored it all. Low, to her credit, regained her balance fairly quickly. The thing was, Tesseract did as well.

Without her sword, Low was much more wary. She had her broken arm cradled against her chest, but her lower body was relaxed and loose, ready to fight. Tesseract watched her make up her mind. When she finally ran at him again, Tesseract let her feint a kick, then gripped her good wrist as it sailed at him and lifted her whole body up with the ensuing momentum. Her struggle was ultimately useless without anything to kick off of, so Tesseract lifted her even higher into the air and threw her towards Wreath.

[peacefullywreathed]

"Dexter?" Solomon asked sharply as Tesseract stumbled. Tanith had gotten too close for Solomon to trust he couldn't catch her in the crossfire, and the last thing he needed was to disorient an ally. His shattered wrist was sending agony all up his arm; it made it hard to concentrate, difficult to parse exactly where one soul ended and the other began.

"I'm fine," Dexter said breathlessly, strain in his voice. Solomon could tell he was hurt, but not how badly. "Breathing--is kind of a hard thing--but I'm peachy."

Fine. Then Solomon didn't have to worry about him, for now. He stepped around quickly, trying to find an angle to avoid Tanith so he could help her with Tesseract. What happened was too quick for him to see more than a flash of intent, enough for him to try and turn out of the way--but not enough. Tanith was larger and heavier than the chair. She collided with him hard and threw him back against the wall; he screamed at the crunch of broken bones in his wrist.

She hit her head. Her body went limp and boneless quite suddenly, before she could scream in pain herself, and she tumbled to the floor. Dizzy with the agony in his hand, Solomon slid partway down the wall and then caught himself, breathing hard but fighting for control of his body.

The light of Dexter's energy-beam helped catch his focus, but Solomon didn't hear a sizzle against flesh and saw Tesseract's soul shift as he dodged. Then that mercurial blade turned on him, razor-edged and inescapable. Solomon knew then that he was going to die--he'd lost his cane-sword, he could barely think, Dexter was in too much pain to summon another beam in time. Rescue wasn't going to arrive quickly enough. He didn't have enough control over any aspect of his new magic enough to respond.

Except one.

It wasn't a thought. It wasn't fear, exactly. It was just an intense desire to live. Solomon reached out with himself, for the lifestream. It was like turning on a light. He breathed magic, he saw the fine lines of Tesseract's soul. His magic wasn't Necromancy--it couldn't exert a gravity on souls anymore, couldn't just pull them out of their bodies like he had once a long time ago. It didn't have to. He could see the lock, see where Tesseract's soul was bound to his body, the lines connecting it. His hand came up and he touched them, twisted them and pushed. It was easy--so terribly easy.

Tesseract's soul sharpened abruptly and he saw the assassin's true face. He looked startled. Then the backlash slammed against Solomon's wards and for a moment he saw snatches of a lifetime not his, and flinched with it. The lifestream took Tesseract, sweeping his soul away. His body fell heavily against Tanith's limp form at Solomon's feet.

It was only then that Solomon came aware that Skulduggery had burst through the door, and he couldn't tell when.

[skeletonenigma]

The instant Skulduggery learned that Tesseract was the cause of the commotion - that the Russian assassin had appeared out of nowhere, attacked Corrival, and disappeared just as quickly - he knew that leaving Marr alone in the interrogation room with Tanith was a mistake.

"Marr?" Erskine asked.

Ghastly nodded grimly. "Marr."

Skulduggery was already bolting back down the corridor, and Ghastly and Erskine followed close on his heels. Startled Sanctuary employees scattered before them, Skulduggery paid them no more attention than it took to avoid bumping into anyone, and he shoved his way into the room just as Tesseract ducked under one of Dexter's energy-beams.

It was a weak one, Skulduggery noticed right off the bat. That wasn't a good sign.

Tesseract turned toward Wreath, who was struggling to haul himself up along the wall, and Skulduggery stepped forward to draw the Russian's attention. A well-placed fireball might not get all the way through the mask, but it would sear enough of Tesseract's flesh to keep him occupied, and possibly burn his clothes in the process. Feet slid apart and hands splayed, Skulduggery went to throw it...

... and was hit with a massive sieve of black.

It preceded a feeling, like a slight jerk, as if someone had hooked one of Skulduggery's ribs and tried to pull him forward. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. Nor was it welcome. That didn't seem to matter in the next few minutes, as Tesseract's soul faded into the skeleton's awareness and it would have been so easy to reach out and grab it, to absorb the life within it, because it was drifting without being used, and it would have added to the massive sieve of black - power that was practically ripe for the taking -

Something bright flared in Skulduggery's hands and he jerked backwards, hit the wall behind him, looked down to see fire he hadn't summoned dancing over his skeletal fingers.

By the time he snuffed it out, Tesseract's soul was gone.

The world had stopped making sense. Skulduggery closed off his vision and started taking deep deliberate breaths, focusing on nothing more than that for however long it took the world to make sense again. He didn't register Erskine quietly cursing behind him and heading straight for Dexter's side. Nor did he register Ghastly pushing Tesseract's lifeless body off of Tanith and kneeling down to check her pulse.

Then he opened his nonexistent eyes and registered all of it, slowly and carefully. Dexter and Tanith were alive, and would be fine. Skulduggery shifted himself carefully off the wall and snapped his fingers to summon a flame, examining it as if it was the first time he'd ever done so. Elementalism couldn't be used without proper focus and concentration. He knew. He'd tried.

So where did the fire come from?

"Solomon." What did you just do? Skulduggery nearly asked, but he already knew the answer to that. Or at least, part of the answer. The only part that really mattered. So he extinguished the flame in his palm and looked over. "Are you alright?"

[peacefullywreathed]

"You weren't meant to be here," Solomon said shakily, staring at Skulduggery. It was still difficult to focus. His hand was a nearly all-consuming blaze of agony and his metaphysical wards were still rippling with Tesseract's memories. That wasn't even taking into account the swell of shrieking red darkness he'd seen wrap around Skulduggery's soul.

It was gone now. Solomon didn't know where it had gone. It had exploded from the heart of Skulduggery, swallowing him up for an instant before blasting back as if refused, and then it had gone ... somewhere. As if following another gravitational field, as if pulled by someone else. That was important somehow, but Solomon couldn't quite grasp it--not now.

Skulduggery was alright. His soul was spinning with the shadow of clouds on his windowpanes, but he was alright. He'd resisted.

"In case anything ever manages to override that astute judgement, just try to keep in mind that if I'm anywhere nearby, and particularly if Gabe is not, whatever it is that terrified you might well become the least of your problems."

Solomon closed his eyes, bracing himself on the wall and trying to breathe, to gather himself again. His voice was steadier when he answered this time. Steadier, but not without the pain. "My wrist is broken. Badly, I think." He pushed himself upright, but remained leaning on the wall. Until he was properly on his feet again he hadn't quite realised how much that magic had drained him. "Where's my cane?"

The sheath was out in the corridor somewhere, he knew that, but the lifestream was too much a flurry for him to pinpoint the blade even with its magic.

"Over this way," Dexter said weakly. "For the record, that was extremely creepy, and please don't ever do it again. Lugh's ass." He laughed but stopped quickly with that particular reverse-gasp which indicated pain had stolen his breath. "G- glad you're not--a Necromancer anymore. By the way--Ghastly--I need suits. Good ones. Magic ones. Please."

[skeletonenigma]

"Probably not," Skulduggery agreed with a shrug. "But, no harm done."

Metaphorically, at least. Physically, plenty of harm had been done, even if none of it was strictly the direct result of Skulduggery's untimely arrival.

Skulduggery followed Dexter's direction and picked up the cane to hand back to Solomon. Ghastly had taken Tanith's head into his lap, and she was starting to groan with the no-doubt painful return to consciousness. Erskine was tsking and shaking his head at Dexter. "Broken ribs? Broken ribs. Dexter, how many times have I told you not to engage a lethal Russian assassin like he's just another thug in the street?"

"I offered to make you clothes," Ghastly murmured without looking up. "I have a closet full of suits you can choose from. Dexter has a point, Solomon. What was that? Your eyes were gold."

If Skulduggery had eyes, would his have changed colour? He took a moment to ponder that. Lord Vile hadn't had eyes either. Gold was, in Skulduggery's limited experience, the colour of the lifestream, but that didn't mean powerful Necromancy dealing with souls didn't come with its own colour. Black? Red? Skulduggery continued to ponder that as he gently tapped the nonlethal part of the weapon against Solomon's uninjured hand. "Here you go. Good job, by the way. Reclaiming magic in the name of good is very difficult to do."

It was the closest he could get to saying the truth with the others in the room. Because while they all either knew the truth, or had been told enough of it to make the obvious connections, Skulduggery didn't particularly feel like unnerving anyone more than he absolutely had to. Solomon would know what he meant.

Besides, something was still wrong. Skulduggery couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the slight jerking feeling - like his ribs had been hooked - hadn't vanished along with the sieve of black.

[peacefullywreathed]

"I have a closet full of suits," Dexter groaned. "It was raining this morning. I wore something weather resistant. But I want more suits. Suits I can leave in my closet here. When I get a closet. Or maybe a phone-booth. And that was Sol's idea. He wanted to engage the leth- lethal Russian assassin with a broken wrist. Hey--hey, Sol. At least I broke his wrist in revenge for you."

"Just what I always wanted," Solomon muttered. "Stop talking before you suffocate."

"Th- thought you'd never order." Dexter's voice lapsed into a raspy, gasping breathing. At least it wasn't gurgling, which meant nothing was punctured, but Dex's broken ribs were obviously putting pressure on his lungs.

Solomon put his back against the wall and fumbled for the sword's hilt with his good hand, but it was too light to have been sheathed. Useless as a cane then, and nothing to fight. He rested his head against the wall with a sigh in lieu of knowing how to reply to either Ghastly or Skulduggery. The first, grimly aware. The second, rattled but genuine. The genuineness was somehow startling.

"He was about to kill me," he said tiredly, answering Ghastly first. "I used the only weapon I had left." He hadn't realised there had been light, but maybe he should have. Whenever he used his magic now, it registered on the physical plane somehow. After a moment he tilted his head toward Skulduggery and said softly, so only the detective could hear him, "It was easier this time. I wasn't fighting the lifestream for control."

With his eyes closed, all the near details were foggy and yet somehow the ones further away were ... distinct. He could sense the angels in the corridor, the wards. Something else. Like a trail of footprints. He couldn't tell where they led, but he knew that those footprints held an echo of a scream. Solomon opened his eyes to look at Skulduggery. "Where did all your power go? Can you tell?"

[skeletonenigma]

"Can we get some medical personnel in here?" Erskine moved as close to the doorway of the room as he could without taking his hand off Dexter's shoulder, a thoroughly useless hand that he nevertheless probably wouldn't remove until he trusted whoever was stitching Dexter back together. "You. Creepy weeping angel thing. Do you understand me when I tell you to go and get a competent doctor here as soon as humanly or divinely possible?"

The Host must have understood him, because Erskine didn't ask again. He simply turned back around with a dark look on his face and patted Dexter's shoulder. "Don't worry. He'll be competent. I fired all the incompetent ones myself. Plus a woman who was planning to murder one of her colleagues."

"Did we get 'm?" came Tanith's voice weakly from the floor.

"We got him," Ghastly assured her. "He's dead."

Skulduggery wasn't going to argue for it being easier. He'd experienced it for himself. Hopefully, he would never have to again. Solomon's question was all that gave him pause, made his own head tilt to the side and his voice grow quieter. "Technically, without the armour, I shouldn't have any power. Someone in that other dimension opened up a whole new world of possibilities for me. I have no idea what the new rules are."

He hesitated as the feeling in his ribcage grew stronger. "So no, I can't tell. Can you?"