Skulduggery might have objected to letting Sanguine get control of the phone back, if it weren't Anton who was making the decision. Even apart from the smile on the hotel proprietor's face, Skulduggery knew Anton well enough to know when an otherwise bad move worked in their favour.
Judging by the uncertain look on Sanguine's face as he brought the phone up to his ear, so did he.
"What went wrong?" he said into it immediately, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. Skulduggery watched with interest as the Texan's face changed from confusion, to apprehension, to a sudden and violent fear. "What do you mean, they ate someone? Who'd they eat?"
Skulduggery's head tilted. Eating people was what zombies tended to do. And yet, the mere thought of it was sending Sanguine into a panic. Interesting.
"Oh, you idiot. Oh, you moron. My father told you. He said one thing above all else - do not let them taste human flesh and what did you do? What did you do? Exactly. You're a moron. You're lucky you're already dead."
Sanguine hung up, put his phone away, and looked at them. Still sprawled on the floor with blood on his face and now that expression of genuine worry, he looked rather pathetic. Now, however, was not the time to interrogate him any further. Sorry, Gabe, Skulduggery threw quickly into the ether.
"Slight change of plans," Sanguine told them. "I ain't goin' outside."
"And why is that?" Skulduggery asked.
Sanguine shook his head, probably more to clear it than because it was an answer. He rose slowly to his feet, keeping both hands held open in front of him. "You keep those zombies from eatin' people an' they're fine. They rot, an' they smell, an' they get dumber an' dumber as they go on, but they do what they're told. But you let 'em get one mouthful of flesh, from a livin' human, and they go native. The only thing on their minds right now is killin' an' eatin' a whole lot of people. Now obviously, that was the threat I was plannin' on usin' against you, but I kind of figured I'd be well out of the way before any of this flesh-eatin' actually took place."
So Sanguine was stuck with them. As satisfying as that was, their current prospects weren't looking too good.
Skulduggery turned to Anton, glancing once more out the window on the way. The curtain blocked his view, but he didn't really need another look to remember how many of the shambling - and now, bloodthirsty - zombies there had been out there. "How many guests do you have here right now?"
~~
Vandameer Craven gave the pair another ten seconds, counted out slowly in the silence of his car, and then he got out. Theoretically, he should probably have given them a lot longer, given that Solomon Wreath only entered the building less than ten minutes ago. But something had immediately caught his attention, and he still wasn't quite sure how to feel about it.
Solomon Wreath wasn't carrying his cane.
If anything had happened to it, the first place Wreath would have gone was the Temple. That was the first place any Necromancer should go, when they were powerless. Craven still believed any true Necromancer would spend most of their time in the Temple's depths; Solomon Wreath's improper freedom of movement gave him no end of irritation.
And look at this. Would you just look at... an apartment. A mortal apartment, in a part of the city that wasn't even properly frequented by sorcerers. How low Wreath had sunk. Craven only wished he'd known about this sooner; even if High Priest Tenebrae didn't see it quite the same way and punish Wreath for it, it would have given Craven prime material for poking fun at the Necromancer on his own time.
High Priest Tenebrae was worried about Wreath's sudden disappearance. Craven wouldn't have cared otherwise. So he'd taken it upon himself to follow the Cain girl, watch the apartment she disappeared into until Wreath arrived - without his cane - and that was where they both were now.
Judging by the window Valkyrie Cain had used, the apartment was on the second floor. There were only two apartments there, and only one with a window that faced the back of the building. Craven stood in front of it for a moment, and then put his ear to the wood and listened.
"So then what? You're not a Necromancer anymore? That's it?"
"Somehow, I doubt it will be that easy. I have no magic. I've just made an enemy of a world-wide religion which will think nothing of hunting me down--or won't, as soon as they find out what I've done. I advanced too high in the clerical circle for them to simply let me go. But, yes, in simple terms, I suppose it's accurate. I'm no longer a Necromancer."
For a moment, Craven was stunned. He hurriedly replayed the conversation in his mind, trying to determine if he misheard, or if any of the words were slightly distorted coming through the door. But there weren't, as far as he could tell. And Craven didn't mishear things.
The smile that slowly spread across his face was a smirk of self-satisfaction. He'd warned the High Priest, hadn't he? You couldn't let a Necromancer so high up in the clerical circle have so much free reign in the outside world and not expect repercussions. Maybe people would listen to him more after this.
The door was unlocked, but just barging through was hardly impressive enough. Craven gripped his amulet in his hand and brought the shadows in around him. He stepped into their swirling depths, stepped through the relatively short distance, and appeared quite suddenly on the other side of the door.
"Cleric Wreath," he greeted the man, not once losing the earlier smirk. "You didn't check back in yesterday. High Priest Tenebrae is getting worried."
He held a cane now, Craven noted, but it wouldn't be the cane. Wreath, by his own admission, had no magic, and his only companion was a fifteen-year-old girl. Killing him, as this would inevitably end in, would be so, so easy.
no subject
Judging by the uncertain look on Sanguine's face as he brought the phone up to his ear, so did he.
"What went wrong?" he said into it immediately, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. Skulduggery watched with interest as the Texan's face changed from confusion, to apprehension, to a sudden and violent fear. "What do you mean, they ate someone? Who'd they eat?"
Skulduggery's head tilted. Eating people was what zombies tended to do. And yet, the mere thought of it was sending Sanguine into a panic. Interesting.
"Oh, you idiot. Oh, you moron. My father told you. He said one thing above all else - do not let them taste human flesh and what did you do? What did you do? Exactly. You're a moron. You're lucky you're already dead."
Sanguine hung up, put his phone away, and looked at them. Still sprawled on the floor with blood on his face and now that expression of genuine worry, he looked rather pathetic. Now, however, was not the time to interrogate him any further. Sorry, Gabe, Skulduggery threw quickly into the ether.
"Slight change of plans," Sanguine told them. "I ain't goin' outside."
"And why is that?" Skulduggery asked.
Sanguine shook his head, probably more to clear it than because it was an answer. He rose slowly to his feet, keeping both hands held open in front of him. "You keep those zombies from eatin' people an' they're fine. They rot, an' they smell, an' they get dumber an' dumber as they go on, but they do what they're told. But you let 'em get one mouthful of flesh, from a livin' human, and they go native. The only thing on their minds right now is killin' an' eatin' a whole lot of people. Now obviously, that was the threat I was plannin' on usin' against you, but I kind of figured I'd be well out of the way before any of this flesh-eatin' actually took place."
So Sanguine was stuck with them. As satisfying as that was, their current prospects weren't looking too good.
Skulduggery turned to Anton, glancing once more out the window on the way. The curtain blocked his view, but he didn't really need another look to remember how many of the shambling - and now, bloodthirsty - zombies there had been out there. "How many guests do you have here right now?"
~~
Vandameer Craven gave the pair another ten seconds, counted out slowly in the silence of his car, and then he got out. Theoretically, he should probably have given them a lot longer, given that Solomon Wreath only entered the building less than ten minutes ago. But something had immediately caught his attention, and he still wasn't quite sure how to feel about it.
Solomon Wreath wasn't carrying his cane.
If anything had happened to it, the first place Wreath would have gone was the Temple. That was the first place any Necromancer should go, when they were powerless. Craven still believed any true Necromancer would spend most of their time in the Temple's depths; Solomon Wreath's improper freedom of movement gave him no end of irritation.
And look at this. Would you just look at... an apartment. A mortal apartment, in a part of the city that wasn't even properly frequented by sorcerers. How low Wreath had sunk. Craven only wished he'd known about this sooner; even if High Priest Tenebrae didn't see it quite the same way and punish Wreath for it, it would have given Craven prime material for poking fun at the Necromancer on his own time.
High Priest Tenebrae was worried about Wreath's sudden disappearance. Craven wouldn't have cared otherwise. So he'd taken it upon himself to follow the Cain girl, watch the apartment she disappeared into until Wreath arrived - without his cane - and that was where they both were now.
Judging by the window Valkyrie Cain had used, the apartment was on the second floor. There were only two apartments there, and only one with a window that faced the back of the building. Craven stood in front of it for a moment, and then put his ear to the wood and listened.
"So then what? You're not a Necromancer anymore? That's it?"
"Somehow, I doubt it will be that easy. I have no magic. I've just made an enemy of a world-wide religion which will think nothing of hunting me down--or won't, as soon as they find out what I've done. I advanced too high in the clerical circle for them to simply let me go. But, yes, in simple terms, I suppose it's accurate. I'm no longer a Necromancer."
For a moment, Craven was stunned. He hurriedly replayed the conversation in his mind, trying to determine if he misheard, or if any of the words were slightly distorted coming through the door. But there weren't, as far as he could tell. And Craven didn't mishear things.
The smile that slowly spread across his face was a smirk of self-satisfaction. He'd warned the High Priest, hadn't he? You couldn't let a Necromancer so high up in the clerical circle have so much free reign in the outside world and not expect repercussions. Maybe people would listen to him more after this.
The door was unlocked, but just barging through was hardly impressive enough. Craven gripped his amulet in his hand and brought the shadows in around him. He stepped into their swirling depths, stepped through the relatively short distance, and appeared quite suddenly on the other side of the door.
"Cleric Wreath," he greeted the man, not once losing the earlier smirk. "You didn't check back in yesterday. High Priest Tenebrae is getting worried."
He held a cane now, Craven noted, but it wouldn't be the cane. Wreath, by his own admission, had no magic, and his only companion was a fifteen-year-old girl. Killing him, as this would inevitably end in, would be so, so easy.