"Sanguine." Anton regarded Skulduggery carefully, noticing the lack of a promise there. "I don't particularly want to fight you, Skulduggery." Especially for the likes of Sanguine. "But I will, if you force me to."
There were some rules Anton laid down for himself which he would not undermine. That was the difference between him and Skulduggery--Skulduggery didn't seem to have rules. Or at least the places where he drew his lines were difficult to see. There were the usual ones, of course, the ones they all adhered to outside of a battle--but others ... Anton wasn't so sure if Skulduggery upheld them as staunchly as the rest.
The detective always had an almost disturbing ability to do what was needed. All of the Dead Men did--most of them--but Skulduggery had had the trait the most. That was why he had been a general of the resistance. He could make those choices. Not everyone could.
"Why is he here?" Anton asked instead. If Skulduggery had managed to follow Sanguine here, it was very likely the detective knew just what Sanguine was after. It was a neat ploy; Sanguine, and Scarab if they were working together (chances were good that they were) knew Anton's rules. And they knew that he would follow through.
Anton's irritation didn't show on his face, but it was there. He didn't like being used, especially not against a friend.
~~~
Don't do anything stupid. If he hadn't been so exhausted, Solomon would have laughed.
"That depends," he said with deceptive lightness, "on what you consider stupid." He still hadn't released his grip on his knife. The sorcerer stepped over to the bedroom, pushed the door flat against the wall and scanning the area before yanking the door closed and moving over to do the same to the study. "Did you come alone?"
He should have expected this. Naturally, they would use his student against him; none of them believed that Valkyrie was--
Solomon checked himself with a sharp inhale, stopping for a moment while investigating the study. Nor do you anymore, he reminded himself. It wasn't quite the truth. He did believe Valkyrie was the Death Bringer.
He just didn't believe in her as a saviour anymore.
Solomon pulled the door closed and couldn't help the way his gaze skirted around the girl as he moved toward the glass-topped coffee table. He hadn't properly looked her in the face since he'd walked in. Even now, barely two feet away, he knelt by the table and, without laying down the knife or even ceasing in his darting vigilance over the room and the window, reached under the table to find the latch for the hidden compartment underneath. Even Valkyrie, he kept angled toward, so that if she made any sudden movements he'd know it.
A Necromancer had magic as his weapon. A survivor had backups no one else knew about. Ones he could get to in a pinch, and suddenly. (The table's glass top was more fragile than it looked.)
no subject
There were some rules Anton laid down for himself which he would not undermine. That was the difference between him and Skulduggery--Skulduggery didn't seem to have rules. Or at least the places where he drew his lines were difficult to see. There were the usual ones, of course, the ones they all adhered to outside of a battle--but others ... Anton wasn't so sure if Skulduggery upheld them as staunchly as the rest.
The detective always had an almost disturbing ability to do what was needed. All of the Dead Men did--most of them--but Skulduggery had had the trait the most. That was why he had been a general of the resistance. He could make those choices. Not everyone could.
"Why is he here?" Anton asked instead. If Skulduggery had managed to follow Sanguine here, it was very likely the detective knew just what Sanguine was after. It was a neat ploy; Sanguine, and Scarab if they were working together (chances were good that they were) knew Anton's rules. And they knew that he would follow through.
Anton's irritation didn't show on his face, but it was there. He didn't like being used, especially not against a friend.
~~~
Don't do anything stupid. If he hadn't been so exhausted, Solomon would have laughed.
"That depends," he said with deceptive lightness, "on what you consider stupid." He still hadn't released his grip on his knife. The sorcerer stepped over to the bedroom, pushed the door flat against the wall and scanning the area before yanking the door closed and moving over to do the same to the study. "Did you come alone?"
He should have expected this. Naturally, they would use his student against him; none of them believed that Valkyrie was--
Solomon checked himself with a sharp inhale, stopping for a moment while investigating the study. Nor do you anymore, he reminded himself. It wasn't quite the truth. He did believe Valkyrie was the Death Bringer.
He just didn't believe in her as a saviour anymore.
Solomon pulled the door closed and couldn't help the way his gaze skirted around the girl as he moved toward the glass-topped coffee table. He hadn't properly looked her in the face since he'd walked in. Even now, barely two feet away, he knelt by the table and, without laying down the knife or even ceasing in his darting vigilance over the room and the window, reached under the table to find the latch for the hidden compartment underneath. Even Valkyrie, he kept angled toward, so that if she made any sudden movements he'd know it.
A Necromancer had magic as his weapon. A survivor had backups no one else knew about. Ones he could get to in a pinch, and suddenly. (The table's glass top was more fragile than it looked.)