Anton went still. That was not what he expected, and yet upon closer thought, not really surprising. What was surprising was that Sanguine would be willing to take that risk. People went out of their way to avoid Skulduggery Pleasant, but Skulduggery wasn't the only one of the Dead Men of whom they were afraid.
That was why they felt safe at the Midnight Hotel.
"Why?" he asked. "Sanguine would never be able to beat me in a fight. He knows that. Why take that risk? The key to that room is on my person at all times."
All this time the sorcerer was busy examining Skulduggery in a manner not quite discreet, but so matter-of-fact that it was either impossible or too easy to be unnerved by it (depending on whether one felt guilt about something or not). The detective looked just about the same. His intensity of purpose wasn't unusual, and he was most certainly wearing one of Ghastly's suits and slightly battered-looked hat (not surprising, given where he'd been).
"By the way," Anton added, "welcome back. I hope you came alone and not with guests. I don't think I could fit the whole world inside my hotel, even should it be up to resisting the Faceless Ones."
His gaze landed on the rosary around Skulduggery's wrist. It was the only thing which indicated the detective was even remotely changed, and it was a ... curiosity. Anton's brow furrowed in confusion.
~~~
"No. That isn't what I meant." It was oddly telling that he hadn't even considered that. Solomon smiled a little at what Pleasant would say if he heard Solomon was more afraid of the Temple than of him. The sorcerer pulled a small wooden box out of the drawer, unlocked it and flipped up the lid to reveal a colt. It wasn't the same kind as Skulduggery's; it was younger, a newer model, one that didn't require as much maintenance.
But it was powerful, and Solomon had used one of his contacts to enchant the weapon to hold more bullets than it strictly could. There were limits, of course, but it meant that if he got into trouble he would have a card up his sleeve. Several cards, because the gun wasn't all he intended to take.
Swiftly the sorcerer checked it was ready for use and began loading it, twice the bullets it could visually hold. At Valkyrie's question, he didn't halt or even slow his motions, but he did glance up to answer. His face was tight, pale, his eyes slightly bloodshot with fatigue, but there was a strange ... determination about his expression, under the fear. The sort that came with a difficult choice, but one which was somehow satisfying.
Solomon didn't get to reply. One of the reasons he avoided looking at Valkyrie was because every time he did his head swam with visions of that seeping black infection in her soul. Which was why his gaze automatically caught on her ring-finger.
And stayed there. Because her finger was bare.
The relief was so intense, so overwhelming that Solomon was shaken by it; he had to stop and lay the gun down in case his trembling hands set it off. He did so carefully and took a deep, slow breath, which he then exhaled.
"You're not wearing your ring," he said, and there was no way he could keep that relief from his voice. His face hadn't relaxed, exactly, but something in his eyes seemed lighter. Valkyrie wasn't wearing her ring. Oh, Solomon knew it wasn't because of anything he'd done, that if it was anyone's doing it would be Saint Gabriel's, but that didn't matter. She wasn't wearing her Necromantic ring.
That meant that, perhaps, what Solomon had done to her could still be undone.
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That was why they felt safe at the Midnight Hotel.
"Why?" he asked. "Sanguine would never be able to beat me in a fight. He knows that. Why take that risk? The key to that room is on my person at all times."
All this time the sorcerer was busy examining Skulduggery in a manner not quite discreet, but so matter-of-fact that it was either impossible or too easy to be unnerved by it (depending on whether one felt guilt about something or not). The detective looked just about the same. His intensity of purpose wasn't unusual, and he was most certainly wearing one of Ghastly's suits and slightly battered-looked hat (not surprising, given where he'd been).
"By the way," Anton added, "welcome back. I hope you came alone and not with guests. I don't think I could fit the whole world inside my hotel, even should it be up to resisting the Faceless Ones."
His gaze landed on the rosary around Skulduggery's wrist. It was the only thing which indicated the detective was even remotely changed, and it was a ... curiosity. Anton's brow furrowed in confusion.
~~~
"No. That isn't what I meant." It was oddly telling that he hadn't even considered that. Solomon smiled a little at what Pleasant would say if he heard Solomon was more afraid of the Temple than of him. The sorcerer pulled a small wooden box out of the drawer, unlocked it and flipped up the lid to reveal a colt. It wasn't the same kind as Skulduggery's; it was younger, a newer model, one that didn't require as much maintenance.
But it was powerful, and Solomon had used one of his contacts to enchant the weapon to hold more bullets than it strictly could. There were limits, of course, but it meant that if he got into trouble he would have a card up his sleeve. Several cards, because the gun wasn't all he intended to take.
Swiftly the sorcerer checked it was ready for use and began loading it, twice the bullets it could visually hold. At Valkyrie's question, he didn't halt or even slow his motions, but he did glance up to answer. His face was tight, pale, his eyes slightly bloodshot with fatigue, but there was a strange ... determination about his expression, under the fear. The sort that came with a difficult choice, but one which was somehow satisfying.
Solomon didn't get to reply. One of the reasons he avoided looking at Valkyrie was because every time he did his head swam with visions of that seeping black infection in her soul. Which was why his gaze automatically caught on her ring-finger.
And stayed there. Because her finger was bare.
The relief was so intense, so overwhelming that Solomon was shaken by it; he had to stop and lay the gun down in case his trembling hands set it off. He did so carefully and took a deep, slow breath, which he then exhaled.
"You're not wearing your ring," he said, and there was no way he could keep that relief from his voice. His face hadn't relaxed, exactly, but something in his eyes seemed lighter. Valkyrie wasn't wearing her ring. Oh, Solomon knew it wasn't because of anything he'd done, that if it was anyone's doing it would be Saint Gabriel's, but that didn't matter. She wasn't wearing her Necromantic ring.
That meant that, perhaps, what Solomon had done to her could still be undone.