Nevertheless, Gabriel saw everything Skulduggery wasn't saying in his soul. And the detective wasn't wrong; it didn't make him want to help Myron any less. It didn't matter if Myron was a good person or a bad person--his self had been subverted. Who could say who he was or where he was meant to go, when his very essence was putty in everyone's hands?

It was wrong. Pure and simple.

But Skulduggery had a point. They couldn't very well reveal anything of Gabriel's true self either. The Archangel frowned. "Existing doesn't mean happiness, Skul. I can't imagine anyone whose true self isn't in their own hands, hidden or not, would be very happy." Then he shook his head. "Maybe we can say that's what my magic is based on. Names. Words. I don't know. I'll have to see when we get there."

He rose and held out his hands to each of them. "Shall we?"

~~~

Dad was certainly taking the questions seriously, too. He looked thoughtful, drumming his fingers on the side of his glass in an oddly musical rhythm. "I figure that line depends on the person," he said finally. "We all got lines in the sand. Maybe sometimes they ain't where they should be. But it's something a man's gotta find out on his own, where his lines oughta be. Sometimes that means they gotta be adjusted. Takes a big man to admit his lines might be in the wrong place."

He glanced at Ghastly with a keen light in his eye--keen but unpressuring, unchallenging. "Got one in mind?"