"Good," Merlin replied briskly, no longer with the American accent but something that was from, vaguely, everywhere. Most people would point to somewhere in the UK. He ignored the blonde girl's persistent blush, the brunette's persistent stifled giggling and the sidelong glances they were still receiving; instead the sorcerer thumbed two invisible sigils on each of the manacles with a twist and shucked them off as easily as if they were bracelets, holding them up distastefully. "Now that we've made that idiot's life surreal enough to make him think twice about asking questions."
He handed the manacles off to Rafe, who slung them over his shoulder with his own, already unlocked. The Archangel leaned back against the wall with a wince, closing his eyes for just a moment to make sure his internal energies were still cycling right after that walking. He hadn't appreciated that walk at all. "Gonna have t'specify," he drawled, but then sobered up. "Gabe's hurt bad, kiddo. He's used to flying under his own power. It's a bit like asking a pilot to give up control of the plane for the first time in his life." He cracked a smile, but his eyes were serious. "Good thing for me I don't have control issues."
"That's what he thinks," Merlin muttered without any heat at all, holding out his hand to the Archangel. Rafe pushed himself upright, careful but without the awkwardness Gabe had exhibited with every movement, took Merlin's hand and laid a gentle hand on Fletcher's shoulder.
A moment later they were gone. In spite of his words, it took more effort than Raphael cared to admit to keep his wings to himself. Fletcher was talented but unlearned, and after the Cacophony the Archangel found it difficult to submit to someone else's control of his destination. The swirl of his own healing energies within him kept the headache at bay. Given Gabe's injuries ... yes, Rafe could imagine the other Archangel would find the journey dizzying.
At the same time, Fletcher obviously knew this destination well, and that was enough. They had barely landed before Rafe had dropped the manacles and was already moving, Gabriel's soul like a bonfire of agony against his awareness even before he'd set foot down at all. It wasn't a flash, but it was definitely faster than was wise to move that he was at Gabriel's side. Behind him, Merlin cursed in Gaelic, and hard.
The younger Archangel's eyes opened; they were glazed with pain, hardly aware. His lips moved, but it was his soul that reached out with pleading gladness to speak Rafe's name.
"I'm here, little brother," Raphael whispered, pressing a kiss into Gabe's hair, wrapping his arms around Gabe and Skulduggery both without even questioning the man's presence there. Coaxingly he pulled some of that pain into himself, without trying to yank it away and dizzy Skulduggery as he had before. With a sob Gabriel shuddered and relaxed into Skulduggery's grasp, one trembling hand gripping Raphael's coat. His wings sagged without the tension of pain, but abruptly Raphael was glorified, his own--much larger--wings sliding under his brother's to hold them upright.
Some of the unformed feathers sparked, quivered, became solid or collapsed with a whisper. Gabriel's oily light didn't wash clean, but it became steadier, less swirling and translucent. Rafe's face tightened with pain, and when his own light cast across the room it dissolved any of Gabe's agony which had been left in the air. If anything, the opposite--the light he cast made the others feel better, stand taller, feel not as if they had more energy but as if the energy they had was more efficient. It wasn't as complete as it should have been; Raphael's focus was on Gabe. But it was there.
'Someone's already tried to heal him,' he broadcast to Merlin without trying to hide the words from the man holding Gabe. Merlin was already pacing the room, sharp eyes looking at the walls, but at that he turned on the group who'd brought them there.
"Who has been tending Gabe before now?" he asked. It wasn't a demand, or an order, but there was a definite urgency to the question. "We need them here. And who was it who built this place? We'll need them too."
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He handed the manacles off to Rafe, who slung them over his shoulder with his own, already unlocked. The Archangel leaned back against the wall with a wince, closing his eyes for just a moment to make sure his internal energies were still cycling right after that walking. He hadn't appreciated that walk at all. "Gonna have t'specify," he drawled, but then sobered up. "Gabe's hurt bad, kiddo. He's used to flying under his own power. It's a bit like asking a pilot to give up control of the plane for the first time in his life." He cracked a smile, but his eyes were serious. "Good thing for me I don't have control issues."
"That's what he thinks," Merlin muttered without any heat at all, holding out his hand to the Archangel. Rafe pushed himself upright, careful but without the awkwardness Gabe had exhibited with every movement, took Merlin's hand and laid a gentle hand on Fletcher's shoulder.
A moment later they were gone. In spite of his words, it took more effort than Raphael cared to admit to keep his wings to himself. Fletcher was talented but unlearned, and after the Cacophony the Archangel found it difficult to submit to someone else's control of his destination. The swirl of his own healing energies within him kept the headache at bay. Given Gabe's injuries ... yes, Rafe could imagine the other Archangel would find the journey dizzying.
At the same time, Fletcher obviously knew this destination well, and that was enough. They had barely landed before Rafe had dropped the manacles and was already moving, Gabriel's soul like a bonfire of agony against his awareness even before he'd set foot down at all. It wasn't a flash, but it was definitely faster than was wise to move that he was at Gabriel's side. Behind him, Merlin cursed in Gaelic, and hard.
The younger Archangel's eyes opened; they were glazed with pain, hardly aware. His lips moved, but it was his soul that reached out with pleading gladness to speak Rafe's name.
"I'm here, little brother," Raphael whispered, pressing a kiss into Gabe's hair, wrapping his arms around Gabe and Skulduggery both without even questioning the man's presence there. Coaxingly he pulled some of that pain into himself, without trying to yank it away and dizzy Skulduggery as he had before. With a sob Gabriel shuddered and relaxed into Skulduggery's grasp, one trembling hand gripping Raphael's coat. His wings sagged without the tension of pain, but abruptly Raphael was glorified, his own--much larger--wings sliding under his brother's to hold them upright.
Some of the unformed feathers sparked, quivered, became solid or collapsed with a whisper. Gabriel's oily light didn't wash clean, but it became steadier, less swirling and translucent. Rafe's face tightened with pain, and when his own light cast across the room it dissolved any of Gabe's agony which had been left in the air. If anything, the opposite--the light he cast made the others feel better, stand taller, feel not as if they had more energy but as if the energy they had was more efficient. It wasn't as complete as it should have been; Raphael's focus was on Gabe. But it was there.
'Someone's already tried to heal him,' he broadcast to Merlin without trying to hide the words from the man holding Gabe. Merlin was already pacing the room, sharp eyes looking at the walls, but at that he turned on the group who'd brought them there.
"Who has been tending Gabe before now?" he asked. It wasn't a demand, or an order, but there was a definite urgency to the question. "We need them here. And who was it who built this place? We'll need them too."