Skulduggery's disapproval radiated off him like a beacon, and although Gabriel didn't actively use his powers he still sent back an apologetic overtone. If Skul had a better idea he'd have objected in words, but he wasn't, so he didn't. If Sanguine kidnapped Gabe, they would know where Scarab was hiding.
"Pretty sure we're one of the exceptions," Gabe observed. "Figures you'd like to get up close 'n personal when you torture a guy. Still underwhelmed, Billy-Ray."
In fact, although Gabe didn't mean it to add to his unimpressed tone--though it did--right at that moment, the Archangel was a tad ... distracted. Not badly, but enough, because although he had been filtering his prayers he still listened to each of them in case it was something he would need to address directly. He rather felt inordinately lucky that that hadn't happened yet--until now.
"We thank Saint Gabriel for his intercession before You on Solomon Wreath's behalf, and to You for sending him to be here with us in Solomon's time of need. We request Gabriel's continuing wisdom and encouragement for Solomon's sake, in these next critical weeks, that Solomon might be granted the strength and support to overcome whatever consequences his previous condition might have wrought ..."
The Archangel's eyes widened and a grin bloomed across his face as if of its own accord. "Oh. Oh. Oh, I just remembered, Fletch, d'you mind--" Gabe turned sharply, not exactly on his heel, but as if, in his excitement and disdain of the Texan, he'd forgotten Sanguine was there. (He almost had.) "D'you mind shooting on over to fellow you got that equipment from last night, and lettin' him know that I'll be there as soon as I can manage? I mean ..." He shrugged a little helplessly. "I'd love to go over right now, but I've gotta prioritise at the moment, y'know? Explain things to him, ask him to hold down the fort. I reckon he'd understand."
The way he was facing, there was no way either Fletch or Skul would be able to miss the sudden radiant joy and excitement in the Archangel's eyes, no matter how he managed to keep his voice in character.
~~~
Ah yes. Prayer. Solomon honestly wasn't sure he wanted to be prayed for at all, but he didn't not want it either. Either way he felt too exhausted to argue, and although he held Father O'Reilly's hands loosely, he didn't object to the touch and shifted slightly so they were, at least, facing each other. Sort of.
"Not much," he admitted, though he wasn't sure how much of his lack of memory was due to time or exhaustion. At least, not until Father O'Reilly began speaking and the words rang something loose in Solomon.
"My Father in Heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come."
Solomon drew in a sharp breath, and even though Father O'Reilly's voice was nothing like his own father's, the memory of it and the sound seemed to intertwine in Solomon's mind. His father's had been deep, so earnest that it lost its cultured edge, but soft with reverence. O'Reilly's was lighter, soft in the same manner and yet ... personable. As if God was someone he knew as a friend, and not as some sort of Master.
"Your Will be done on Earth, as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread."
"Forgive us our trespasses," Solomom murmured, and his gaze went nowhere and everywhere, looking in the altar's direction and seeing nothing. "As we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation ..."
"We will deliver you from evil, Kian. We will."
"... but deliver us from evil. For yours is the kingdom, the power and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen."
The final word almost didn't come out at all, it was so soft, and afterward Solomon fell silent. He didn't know what to say, and didn't know if he could say it even if he wanted to. His chest and throat felt tight, and although there were no tears in his eyes in those moments Solomon felt adrift on a sea of emotions he had not acknowledged for a very long time.
Solomon sat, and listened, and when Father O'Reilly asked him if there was anything else the sorcerer only shook his head wordlessly. If there was, he couldn't possibly conceive what it might be.
no subject
"Pretty sure we're one of the exceptions," Gabe observed. "Figures you'd like to get up close 'n personal when you torture a guy. Still underwhelmed, Billy-Ray."
In fact, although Gabe didn't mean it to add to his unimpressed tone--though it did--right at that moment, the Archangel was a tad ... distracted. Not badly, but enough, because although he had been filtering his prayers he still listened to each of them in case it was something he would need to address directly. He rather felt inordinately lucky that that hadn't happened yet--until now.
"We thank Saint Gabriel for his intercession before You on Solomon Wreath's behalf, and to You for sending him to be here with us in Solomon's time of need. We request Gabriel's continuing wisdom and encouragement for Solomon's sake, in these next critical weeks, that Solomon might be granted the strength and support to overcome whatever consequences his previous condition might have wrought ..."
The Archangel's eyes widened and a grin bloomed across his face as if of its own accord. "Oh. Oh. Oh, I just remembered, Fletch, d'you mind--" Gabe turned sharply, not exactly on his heel, but as if, in his excitement and disdain of the Texan, he'd forgotten Sanguine was there. (He almost had.) "D'you mind shooting on over to fellow you got that equipment from last night, and lettin' him know that I'll be there as soon as I can manage? I mean ..." He shrugged a little helplessly. "I'd love to go over right now, but I've gotta prioritise at the moment, y'know? Explain things to him, ask him to hold down the fort. I reckon he'd understand."
The way he was facing, there was no way either Fletch or Skul would be able to miss the sudden radiant joy and excitement in the Archangel's eyes, no matter how he managed to keep his voice in character.
~~~
Ah yes. Prayer. Solomon honestly wasn't sure he wanted to be prayed for at all, but he didn't not want it either. Either way he felt too exhausted to argue, and although he held Father O'Reilly's hands loosely, he didn't object to the touch and shifted slightly so they were, at least, facing each other. Sort of.
"Not much," he admitted, though he wasn't sure how much of his lack of memory was due to time or exhaustion. At least, not until Father O'Reilly began speaking and the words rang something loose in Solomon.
"My Father in Heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come."
Solomon drew in a sharp breath, and even though Father O'Reilly's voice was nothing like his own father's, the memory of it and the sound seemed to intertwine in Solomon's mind. His father's had been deep, so earnest that it lost its cultured edge, but soft with reverence. O'Reilly's was lighter, soft in the same manner and yet ... personable. As if God was someone he knew as a friend, and not as some sort of Master.
"Your Will be done on Earth, as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread."
"Forgive us our trespasses," Solomom murmured, and his gaze went nowhere and everywhere, looking in the altar's direction and seeing nothing. "As we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation ..."
"We will deliver you from evil, Kian. We will."
"... but deliver us from evil. For yours is the kingdom, the power and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen."
The final word almost didn't come out at all, it was so soft, and afterward Solomon fell silent. He didn't know what to say, and didn't know if he could say it even if he wanted to. His chest and throat felt tight, and although there were no tears in his eyes in those moments Solomon felt adrift on a sea of emotions he had not acknowledged for a very long time.
Anger. Helplessness. Confusion. Shame. Uncertainty. Longing.
Hope.
Solomon sat, and listened, and when Father O'Reilly asked him if there was anything else the sorcerer only shook his head wordlessly. If there was, he couldn't possibly conceive what it might be.