That... was not a branch of magic Myron could identify at first glance. Sensitive was the obvious Adept possibility, but it wasn't the right one. Gabe couldn't be a Sensitive, because Myron had seen Sensitives having visions, and even the best ones didn't get them that suddenly or that clearly. Besides, Sensitives tended to announce themselves long before it became a point of contention. Any sort of mind reading discipline usually required contact, or at least proximity. And beyond that, Myron didn't have a clue.
Despite himself, Myron found that he was feeling something he hadn't felt in a while - curiosity.
He knew who Kenspeckle was, as well. Which made the way Skulduggery reacted all the more intriguing, because the two of them certainly didn't get along either. And yet Skulduggery wasted no time. With a silent nod at Myron, he put a hand each on Gabe's and the boy's shoulders. "Fletcher, if you don't mind?"
"We're in the middle of an emergency again," Fletcher snapped. "Seriously, stop asking me if I mind."
The last word was cut off as the trio disappeared into thin air. Myron caught himself staring at the empty space they'd left behind with a modicum of what felt an awful lot like regret. He shook it off with a grunt, and turned away to grab another can of beer.
~~
"Condemned?" Father O'Reilly's mouth and throat were dry, but he pressed on regardless. "That doesn't sound like what Saint Gabriel was trying to say."
And that was the lifeline, really. That was what slowly reminded Father O'Reilly no one was past the point of help, particularly when they asked for it. Or got as close to asking for it as Solomon had been able to get, which was still impressive for a man of such obvious pride. Admitting you were wrong took a kind of strength not many people had, and it was the first step on the road to righting that wrong. The most important step.
Of course, while Father O'Reilly had firmly believed that for many years now, he'd also never really expected... any of this. Not a single damn moment of it. And he found himself in the unique position of being unable to help because of a lack of knowledge, rather than a lack of charity. Although, if Father O'Reilly was being perfectly honest, the latter was also a bit of an issue at the moment.
It was when it was hardest to stop and help, however, that it had to be done. And so Father O'Reilly took the journey back to the pew step by step, and carefully took his seat again next to Solomon, unconsciously avoiding the Necromancer's gaze.
"You chose this?" he asked after taking a moment to pull himself back together, driven on by a sort of morbid curiosity. "You implied you used to believe in angels. What changed?"
no subject
Despite himself, Myron found that he was feeling something he hadn't felt in a while - curiosity.
He knew who Kenspeckle was, as well. Which made the way Skulduggery reacted all the more intriguing, because the two of them certainly didn't get along either. And yet Skulduggery wasted no time. With a silent nod at Myron, he put a hand each on Gabe's and the boy's shoulders. "Fletcher, if you don't mind?"
"We're in the middle of an emergency again," Fletcher snapped. "Seriously, stop asking me if I mind."
The last word was cut off as the trio disappeared into thin air. Myron caught himself staring at the empty space they'd left behind with a modicum of what felt an awful lot like regret. He shook it off with a grunt, and turned away to grab another can of beer.
~~
"Condemned?" Father O'Reilly's mouth and throat were dry, but he pressed on regardless. "That doesn't sound like what Saint Gabriel was trying to say."
And that was the lifeline, really. That was what slowly reminded Father O'Reilly no one was past the point of help, particularly when they asked for it. Or got as close to asking for it as Solomon had been able to get, which was still impressive for a man of such obvious pride. Admitting you were wrong took a kind of strength not many people had, and it was the first step on the road to righting that wrong. The most important step.
Of course, while Father O'Reilly had firmly believed that for many years now, he'd also never really expected... any of this. Not a single damn moment of it. And he found himself in the unique position of being unable to help because of a lack of knowledge, rather than a lack of charity. Although, if Father O'Reilly was being perfectly honest, the latter was also a bit of an issue at the moment.
It was when it was hardest to stop and help, however, that it had to be done. And so Father O'Reilly took the journey back to the pew step by step, and carefully took his seat again next to Solomon, unconsciously avoiding the Necromancer's gaze.
"You chose this?" he asked after taking a moment to pull himself back together, driven on by a sort of morbid curiosity. "You implied you used to believe in angels. What changed?"