It was impossible to tell how long it was before Kenspeckle stirred. Impossible, because the room in which he awoke had no windows. There was a clock on the far wall, but the digits were too blurry to read; even still, Kenspeckle could tell from the spider-thin arms what the general time was. The question was which side of the day it was on.
For several beats Kenspeckle didn't move at all. He closed his eyes again, searching his memory. Sanguine. Scarab. Gabriel. The Remnant.
The thought of the Remnant made the sorcerer's gut clench. So, oddly, did the thought of Gabriel. Which was ridiculous. Kenspeckle was currently unpossessed, lying on a surprisingly comfortable sofa, and safe. And it would have been because of Gabriel.
"Idiot angel," he mumbled. Idiot, brave, self-sacrificing angel. He probably pulled a wing again, didn't he? Unless Pleasant and Renn really did get there in time. Could angels pull wing muscles by smiting something?
A question to ask when Kenspeckle found him. Firmly deciding he'd wallowed enough, Kenspeckle Grouse levered himself upright and went to find Gabriel to see how badly the angel had hurt himself this time.
~~~
In the same building, or at least the same complex, but almost a mile away from the professor, Anton Shudder was walking. If he had been in the same room, turning on himself, it would have been pacing, but since he was merely following the corridors of the safehouse it was a walk. Well. A stalk. Something intense, and focussed, and brisk.
Driven.
He needed to work off the energy. His mind was going around in circles. Could he have possibly misunderstood? He didn't know Gabe. Gabriel. Maybe he'd misunderstood.
But he knew Skulduggery. And Skulduggery had drawn the same conclusion, Anton had been able to tell. Therefore, Anton hadn't misunderstood Gabriel's intent.
Maybe he had misunderstood Skulduggery. After all ... No. There was no after all. Skulduggery had had people in love with him before. Anton hadn't known him when he first met his wife, but from the stories Ghastly had told the Dead Men, it was one of the very few times the detective had fumbled for words and clarity at all. Exactly as he had here, tonight.
Anton hadn't misunderstood. Whether Skulduggery himself knew it or not, he was in love. With a man. Or an Archangel. At the very least, someone from another dimension. Someone not his wife.
Anton Shudder turned a corner, his eyes focussed on the next, and kept walking.
~~~
This was Hell. Surely this was Hell. Or perhaps inexperience. Raphael wasn't sure. The only things of which he was sure was the pound in his body, the sensation that he was being slowly torn apart from within, Merlin's soul in his grasp and that bright, humming line between them and Gabriel.
They were getting closer. That, and the bright clear line, were the only things holding Rafe together at this point. He hadn't even known an angel could suffer this kind of pain. Not like this. He wasn't going to be able to heal himself; not until some of his strength returned. And that could take days. He wasn't looking forward to those days.
But he'd suffer them, gladly, if it meant knowing Gabriel was all right at the end of them.
'All right! He's the one who saved us instead of the other way around!' Merlin huffed. It was an empty thought, a quiet one, an afterthought made too loud. Rafe didn't even have the strength to laugh internally. He didn't have the strength to do much other than walk, step by step, his wings vibrating around him.
Quite suddenly, he hit a ... not a wall. A current. A churn of the barrier between where he was and where he was trying to get to. He stumbled under the force of it, and it didn't sweep him aside so much as open up beneath him, like a sudden brief waterfall in a river full of rapids.
They didn't fall. But there was a barrier, and then there wasn't, and Raphael could feel another surge coming--and others after them, so quick their passing was infinitesimal. But not for an Archangel.
Desperately he threw himself between them and his foot hit something solid. The Cacophony still echoed in his ears and being as his knees buckled and he went down. The Archangel hit the floor with the same sort of sound and weight as an elephant in a fainting fit, his wings askew, feathers ragged and unkempt. Merlin leaned away, deliberately tumbling out of the Archangel's grasp before Raphael could fall on him.
Then there was blissful, wondrous silence. Sort of. The Cacophony was still a buzz in the distance, fingernails on a chalkboard, intermittent like a very distant fan. There and not, there and not, there and not ...
"Rafe?" Merlin's voice was so thin and reedy as to be non-existent; Rafe almost felt it, more than heard it. He felt a hand on his shoulder and Merlin's voice, mental, physical or otherwise, came louder. 'Raphael, your cloak.'
He showed the Archangel where they were. A human-built complex. Sudden appearances in human-built complexes rarely went unnoticed. With a groan Raphael forced his eyes open. He tried to move; something exploded in the heart of him, something painful and twisted, and he gasped, stopped, waited for it to pass.
It didn't.
Okay then. Magic without moving it was.
Pulling his human cloak over him took a long time, so much longer than it should have. It was slow, like a rising tide, but eventually Raphael managed to lock it in, even as he lay sprawled on the hard corrugated floor. Merlin, he sensed, was examining their surroundings. The sorcerer probably had a headache, but it would be nothing to the one Raphael had, and other than that his voice would be worst off. Rafe hoped.
A few days' rest. Just a few days' rest and he could heal himself some.
In time Merlin came to sit by him, hand resting on his shoulder. When mortal guards came bursting through the door, neither of them did anything to resist as they were hauled up and led, or carried, from the basement of Hammer Lane Gaol.
no subject
For several beats Kenspeckle didn't move at all. He closed his eyes again, searching his memory. Sanguine. Scarab. Gabriel. The Remnant.
The thought of the Remnant made the sorcerer's gut clench. So, oddly, did the thought of Gabriel. Which was ridiculous. Kenspeckle was currently unpossessed, lying on a surprisingly comfortable sofa, and safe. And it would have been because of Gabriel.
"Idiot angel," he mumbled. Idiot, brave, self-sacrificing angel. He probably pulled a wing again, didn't he? Unless Pleasant and Renn really did get there in time. Could angels pull wing muscles by smiting something?
A question to ask when Kenspeckle found him. Firmly deciding he'd wallowed enough, Kenspeckle Grouse levered himself upright and went to find Gabriel to see how badly the angel had hurt himself this time.
~~~
In the same building, or at least the same complex, but almost a mile away from the professor, Anton Shudder was walking. If he had been in the same room, turning on himself, it would have been pacing, but since he was merely following the corridors of the safehouse it was a walk. Well. A stalk. Something intense, and focussed, and brisk.
Driven.
He needed to work off the energy. His mind was going around in circles. Could he have possibly misunderstood? He didn't know Gabe. Gabriel. Maybe he'd misunderstood.
But he knew Skulduggery. And Skulduggery had drawn the same conclusion, Anton had been able to tell. Therefore, Anton hadn't misunderstood Gabriel's intent.
Maybe he had misunderstood Skulduggery. After all ... No. There was no after all. Skulduggery had had people in love with him before. Anton hadn't known him when he first met his wife, but from the stories Ghastly had told the Dead Men, it was one of the very few times the detective had fumbled for words and clarity at all. Exactly as he had here, tonight.
Anton hadn't misunderstood. Whether Skulduggery himself knew it or not, he was in love. With a man. Or an Archangel. At the very least, someone from another dimension. Someone not his wife.
Anton Shudder turned a corner, his eyes focussed on the next, and kept walking.
~~~
This was Hell. Surely this was Hell. Or perhaps inexperience. Raphael wasn't sure. The only things of which he was sure was the pound in his body, the sensation that he was being slowly torn apart from within, Merlin's soul in his grasp and that bright, humming line between them and Gabriel.
They were getting closer. That, and the bright clear line, were the only things holding Rafe together at this point. He hadn't even known an angel could suffer this kind of pain. Not like this. He wasn't going to be able to heal himself; not until some of his strength returned. And that could take days. He wasn't looking forward to those days.
But he'd suffer them, gladly, if it meant knowing Gabriel was all right at the end of them.
'All right! He's the one who saved us instead of the other way around!' Merlin huffed. It was an empty thought, a quiet one, an afterthought made too loud. Rafe didn't even have the strength to laugh internally. He didn't have the strength to do much other than walk, step by step, his wings vibrating around him.
Quite suddenly, he hit a ... not a wall. A current. A churn of the barrier between where he was and where he was trying to get to. He stumbled under the force of it, and it didn't sweep him aside so much as open up beneath him, like a sudden brief waterfall in a river full of rapids.
They didn't fall. But there was a barrier, and then there wasn't, and Raphael could feel another surge coming--and others after them, so quick their passing was infinitesimal. But not for an Archangel.
Desperately he threw himself between them and his foot hit something solid. The Cacophony still echoed in his ears and being as his knees buckled and he went down. The Archangel hit the floor with the same sort of sound and weight as an elephant in a fainting fit, his wings askew, feathers ragged and unkempt. Merlin leaned away, deliberately tumbling out of the Archangel's grasp before Raphael could fall on him.
Then there was blissful, wondrous silence. Sort of. The Cacophony was still a buzz in the distance, fingernails on a chalkboard, intermittent like a very distant fan. There and not, there and not, there and not ...
"Rafe?" Merlin's voice was so thin and reedy as to be non-existent; Rafe almost felt it, more than heard it. He felt a hand on his shoulder and Merlin's voice, mental, physical or otherwise, came louder. 'Raphael, your cloak.'
He showed the Archangel where they were. A human-built complex. Sudden appearances in human-built complexes rarely went unnoticed. With a groan Raphael forced his eyes open. He tried to move; something exploded in the heart of him, something painful and twisted, and he gasped, stopped, waited for it to pass.
It didn't.
Okay then. Magic without moving it was.
Pulling his human cloak over him took a long time, so much longer than it should have. It was slow, like a rising tide, but eventually Raphael managed to lock it in, even as he lay sprawled on the hard corrugated floor. Merlin, he sensed, was examining their surroundings. The sorcerer probably had a headache, but it would be nothing to the one Raphael had, and other than that his voice would be worst off. Rafe hoped.
A few days' rest. Just a few days' rest and he could heal himself some.
In time Merlin came to sit by him, hand resting on his shoulder. When mortal guards came bursting through the door, neither of them did anything to resist as they were hauled up and led, or carried, from the basement of Hammer Lane Gaol.