The request had more than one purpose. Gabe really did want Father O'Reilly to know that he had heard him, did want Solomon to know Gabe cared about what was happening to him. After what the sorcerer faced, the last thing Gabe wanted to risk was Solomon believing the Archangel wouldn't be there when he said he would be.
The other thing was that it got Fletcher away. Skul might have been able to shoot Billy-Ray, if the kidnapping was real, except Skul knew it was fake. Fletcher, on the other hand, wouldn't, and this ensured the Teleporter wouldn't provide a rescue Gabe didn't want, a fact he couldn't communicate.
That didn't mean Gabe could fully restrain the instinctive twitch, an aborted jerk away from Sanguine's touch. Just as well, for authenticity. For a moment the Archangel's gaze caught Skulduggery's, but then Gabe let himself be yanked over as if in surprise, and a moment later he was surrounded by dirt. That was okay. He could handle that; angels didn't get claustrophobic, and it wasn't a dissimilar sensation to some of the times Gabe had made himself one with matter.
Being clutched up against Sanguine's body, feeling the roiling darkness of his soul, on the other hand, Gabriel could do without. Without meaning to, but without trying to stop it, Gabriel shuddered, his body tense. One hand clutched Sanguine's arm, the other his shoulder, as if Gabe had automatically moved to shove the Texan away before realising how unwise that would be. (It wasn't an act.)
The Archangel let himself breathe, the air hot and thin and way too close. Pebbles and earth flowed around him, and he was forced to duck his chin against Sanguine's chest to keep them from knocking him over the head and obliging him to an act he wouldn't be able to maintain.
"What d'you think this is gonna accomplish, Billy Ray?" he asked, and his voice was muffled and dull, as tense as his body was.
All the while Billy-Ray Sanguine's soul rolled, cloying and thick like tacky blood, gleeful with a biting undercurrent that made Gabe feel sick to the stomach he didn't really have.
~~~
In spite of the turmoil inside him, Solomon hadn't quite actually believed there would be a response. Certainly not a response so immediate, even though it wasn't from Saint Gabriel in particular. With a startled twitch that yanked his hands from O'Reilly's and a flop in his stomach that was the nausea of a body run dry, the former Necromancer turned toward the Teleporter.
"Fletcher Renn," he said, and managed to keep his surprise out of his voice. Mostly. He didn't manage to keep the rest of the emotions, too thick and fast to register as anything but a tense undercurrent. "I could ask the same of you, except I imagine you're playing taxi for Pleasant again."
Which meant, of course, that he had been with Saint Gabriel, if Saint Gabriel were still with Pleasant. There was no reason to believe otherwise. Apparently, the skeleton detective was now the Archangel's ward.
That didn't answer how Renn knew that they had been praying, and abruptly Solomon realised how stiffly he was sitting. Not standing, because he knew he would have only gotten dizzy, but with his hands on his knees and ready for some sort of fight. And he felt irritated. Bad enough that he'd prayed for the first time in centuries and didn't know how he felt about it. Worse that this youth knew he had been.
Or did he?
"I'm here on business," he said without a flicker on his face. "Are you?" His lips quirked humourlessly. "Have you been pretending to be an angel, Renn? I wonder whose idea that was."
Pleasant's, of course, although Valkyrie would also have supported the farce. Somehow, even coming from his former student, it felt ... obscene. Sorcerers were nothing like angels. Nothing.
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The other thing was that it got Fletcher away. Skul might have been able to shoot Billy-Ray, if the kidnapping was real, except Skul knew it was fake. Fletcher, on the other hand, wouldn't, and this ensured the Teleporter wouldn't provide a rescue Gabe didn't want, a fact he couldn't communicate.
That didn't mean Gabe could fully restrain the instinctive twitch, an aborted jerk away from Sanguine's touch. Just as well, for authenticity. For a moment the Archangel's gaze caught Skulduggery's, but then Gabe let himself be yanked over as if in surprise, and a moment later he was surrounded by dirt. That was okay. He could handle that; angels didn't get claustrophobic, and it wasn't a dissimilar sensation to some of the times Gabe had made himself one with matter.
Being clutched up against Sanguine's body, feeling the roiling darkness of his soul, on the other hand, Gabriel could do without. Without meaning to, but without trying to stop it, Gabriel shuddered, his body tense. One hand clutched Sanguine's arm, the other his shoulder, as if Gabe had automatically moved to shove the Texan away before realising how unwise that would be. (It wasn't an act.)
The Archangel let himself breathe, the air hot and thin and way too close. Pebbles and earth flowed around him, and he was forced to duck his chin against Sanguine's chest to keep them from knocking him over the head and obliging him to an act he wouldn't be able to maintain.
"What d'you think this is gonna accomplish, Billy Ray?" he asked, and his voice was muffled and dull, as tense as his body was.
All the while Billy-Ray Sanguine's soul rolled, cloying and thick like tacky blood, gleeful with a biting undercurrent that made Gabe feel sick to the stomach he didn't really have.
~~~
In spite of the turmoil inside him, Solomon hadn't quite actually believed there would be a response. Certainly not a response so immediate, even though it wasn't from Saint Gabriel in particular. With a startled twitch that yanked his hands from O'Reilly's and a flop in his stomach that was the nausea of a body run dry, the former Necromancer turned toward the Teleporter.
"Fletcher Renn," he said, and managed to keep his surprise out of his voice. Mostly. He didn't manage to keep the rest of the emotions, too thick and fast to register as anything but a tense undercurrent. "I could ask the same of you, except I imagine you're playing taxi for Pleasant again."
Which meant, of course, that he had been with Saint Gabriel, if Saint Gabriel were still with Pleasant. There was no reason to believe otherwise. Apparently, the skeleton detective was now the Archangel's ward.
That didn't answer how Renn knew that they had been praying, and abruptly Solomon realised how stiffly he was sitting. Not standing, because he knew he would have only gotten dizzy, but with his hands on his knees and ready for some sort of fight. And he felt irritated. Bad enough that he'd prayed for the first time in centuries and didn't know how he felt about it. Worse that this youth knew he had been.
Or did he?
"I'm here on business," he said without a flicker on his face. "Are you?" His lips quirked humourlessly. "Have you been pretending to be an angel, Renn? I wonder whose idea that was."
Pleasant's, of course, although Valkyrie would also have supported the farce. Somehow, even coming from his former student, it felt ... obscene. Sorcerers were nothing like angels. Nothing.