Myron Stray was not a man who liked to be bothered.
He used to have a hand in everything important occurring in the world of sorcerers, used to be one of the first people anyone would come to for information. He used to be a man respected. And then he'd made a stupid mistake, which - coupled with a piece of rotten luck - ruined not just his career, but his whole life.
So people didn't generally just come calling on him anymore. And when they did, it was usually for the wrong reasons. Myron had taken the habit of fleeing before most people had a chance to meet him face to face; and as such, he was usually out the back door a good few minutes before they knocked, if they even got that close without alerting him. The only thing that stopped him from bolting this time was a teenager appearing by the back door, and Teleporting an instant later.
Wary and tense, Myron crept over to the cracked living room window and glanced out. Skulduggery Pleasant's unmistakeable tall and hatstand-like form bent near the taxi window. Myron let out a slow breath and felt himself relax. Not because Skulduggery was a friend, particularly, but because Myron knew the detective wouldn't ever use his true name against him. Skulduggery had made a promise, and Skulduggery didn't go back on his promises.
Still. It was good to see him back, anyway. Even if Myron didn't want him specifically here, and certainly not with unfamiliar companions. The girl called Valkyrie Cain wasn't among them.
"Skulduggery." Myron gave the man a short nod as he opened the door. "You haven't darkened my door in an age."
"I've been away."
"I heard." Myron let his gaze linger on the Teleporter - last of his kind, or so the rumours said, and only a teenager to boot - and a man he knew absolutely nothing about. A common feeling nowadays, unfortunately. Barefoot, though, with black curly hair and clothes not really suitable for the chill in the afternoon air.
Myron made a halfhearted attempt not to let his look darken before he turned away. "Come on in."
~~
Father O'Reilly blinked. "You saw an angel?"
He was very, very careful not to let his face or his voice betray anything more than an intent to listen without judgement, but he wasn't certain he succeeded. He didn't mention that he knew exactly what Solomon meant; he still wasn't sure of what those two angels asking for the holy water meant, after all. He was only guessing at an injured angel, and it wasn't a suspicion he'd shared with anyone for fear of being wrong.
But then... Saint Gabriel? Father O'Reilly openly watched Solomon even when the man had finished speaking, struggling to understand. And to be able to answer, despite the uncertainty.
"Saint Gabriel," he started with barely a falter, "serves as a messenger to humans from God. While I imagine he can be a warrior, he isn't referred to as such. With that in mind, I understand why he would say smiting... isn't really his thing."
But if he'd appeared to Solomon, a man who apparently was brought up in a religious household and rebelled early, what did that mean? What was Solomon destined for?
"And yet," he answered Solomon's question in lieu of satisfying his own curiosity, "you find your faith in question. You have no proof of God, and that's what you're craving now. So yes, I'd say it's still possible to be faithful, if that's really what you're seeking." He paused, and then decided to risk it. "What else did Saint Gabriel say?"
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He used to have a hand in everything important occurring in the world of sorcerers, used to be one of the first people anyone would come to for information. He used to be a man respected. And then he'd made a stupid mistake, which - coupled with a piece of rotten luck - ruined not just his career, but his whole life.
So people didn't generally just come calling on him anymore. And when they did, it was usually for the wrong reasons. Myron had taken the habit of fleeing before most people had a chance to meet him face to face; and as such, he was usually out the back door a good few minutes before they knocked, if they even got that close without alerting him. The only thing that stopped him from bolting this time was a teenager appearing by the back door, and Teleporting an instant later.
Wary and tense, Myron crept over to the cracked living room window and glanced out. Skulduggery Pleasant's unmistakeable tall and hatstand-like form bent near the taxi window. Myron let out a slow breath and felt himself relax. Not because Skulduggery was a friend, particularly, but because Myron knew the detective wouldn't ever use his true name against him. Skulduggery had made a promise, and Skulduggery didn't go back on his promises.
Still. It was good to see him back, anyway. Even if Myron didn't want him specifically here, and certainly not with unfamiliar companions. The girl called Valkyrie Cain wasn't among them.
"Skulduggery." Myron gave the man a short nod as he opened the door. "You haven't darkened my door in an age."
"I've been away."
"I heard." Myron let his gaze linger on the Teleporter - last of his kind, or so the rumours said, and only a teenager to boot - and a man he knew absolutely nothing about. A common feeling nowadays, unfortunately. Barefoot, though, with black curly hair and clothes not really suitable for the chill in the afternoon air.
Myron made a halfhearted attempt not to let his look darken before he turned away. "Come on in."
~~
Father O'Reilly blinked. "You saw an angel?"
He was very, very careful not to let his face or his voice betray anything more than an intent to listen without judgement, but he wasn't certain he succeeded. He didn't mention that he knew exactly what Solomon meant; he still wasn't sure of what those two angels asking for the holy water meant, after all. He was only guessing at an injured angel, and it wasn't a suspicion he'd shared with anyone for fear of being wrong.
But then... Saint Gabriel? Father O'Reilly openly watched Solomon even when the man had finished speaking, struggling to understand. And to be able to answer, despite the uncertainty.
"Saint Gabriel," he started with barely a falter, "serves as a messenger to humans from God. While I imagine he can be a warrior, he isn't referred to as such. With that in mind, I understand why he would say smiting... isn't really his thing."
But if he'd appeared to Solomon, a man who apparently was brought up in a religious household and rebelled early, what did that mean? What was Solomon destined for?
"And yet," he answered Solomon's question in lieu of satisfying his own curiosity, "you find your faith in question. You have no proof of God, and that's what you're craving now. So yes, I'd say it's still possible to be faithful, if that's really what you're seeking." He paused, and then decided to risk it. "What else did Saint Gabriel say?"