It was a testament to the surreality of Solomon's current life that the ex-Necromancer simply accepted her words at face value. In fact, Solomon would later think that the most chilling thing was that the news about Saint Gabriel made his chest clench. He wasn't sure why. It wasn't as if there was anything Solomon could do, even if he was inclined toward that sort of thing.
But it did. It did, because Saint Gabriel had been kind to him after discovering he planned to murder three billion people. Because Saint Gabriel had offered him a choice, at a time when Solomon hadn't even known he needed one. Because Saint Gabriel had let him see what he needed to make that choice, and let him make it. Because he had looked upon Solomon with pride once he did.
"He's this way," Solomon said with hardly a pause, turning to lead the girl and her friends back toward the examination room. He pushed open the door again, his step this time more urgent than before. "Professor."
"Do not say what I think you're about to say, Wreath!" Kenspeckle barked, his attention still on Anton Shudder and the soaked bandages he was just finishing wrapped around his chest. He picked up a glass and thrust it at the Adept. "Drink that."
"Saint Gabriel has been injured by a Desolation Engine," Wreath said, watching the professor carefully and therefore not missing the way the professor's expression froze and went blank. "Saint Raphael has arrived, apparently, but he requires your assistance."
"Drink, I said," Kenspeckle snapped to Shudder when the Adept gave indication that he was paying too much attention to the conversation to do so, glancing up at Ravel with a pale face and something significant in his eyes. Solomon knew they were thinking the same thing he was. If Saint Gabriel was so injured, how was Skulduggery reacting? The man was protective of the Archangel, more so than he had been of nearly anyone Solomon had met.
Shudder drank without taking his eyes off Ravel, and set the cup down without looking. He said nothing.
"Professor."
"I'm coming," Kenspeckle snapped, and he turned away with a jerk, reaching out to snatch up equipment at a pace Solomon almost couldn't follow. He knew why. Kenspeckle, two days ago, had confessed to being the man who'd built the Desolation Engine to begin with. It was for that reason that Solomon inclined his head, and stepped back to the wall, and waited for him to be done.
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But it did. It did, because Saint Gabriel had been kind to him after discovering he planned to murder three billion people. Because Saint Gabriel had offered him a choice, at a time when Solomon hadn't even known he needed one. Because Saint Gabriel had let him see what he needed to make that choice, and let him make it. Because he had looked upon Solomon with pride once he did.
"He's this way," Solomon said with hardly a pause, turning to lead the girl and her friends back toward the examination room. He pushed open the door again, his step this time more urgent than before. "Professor."
"Do not say what I think you're about to say, Wreath!" Kenspeckle barked, his attention still on Anton Shudder and the soaked bandages he was just finishing wrapped around his chest. He picked up a glass and thrust it at the Adept. "Drink that."
"Saint Gabriel has been injured by a Desolation Engine," Wreath said, watching the professor carefully and therefore not missing the way the professor's expression froze and went blank. "Saint Raphael has arrived, apparently, but he requires your assistance."
"Drink, I said," Kenspeckle snapped to Shudder when the Adept gave indication that he was paying too much attention to the conversation to do so, glancing up at Ravel with a pale face and something significant in his eyes. Solomon knew they were thinking the same thing he was. If Saint Gabriel was so injured, how was Skulduggery reacting? The man was protective of the Archangel, more so than he had been of nearly anyone Solomon had met.
Shudder drank without taking his eyes off Ravel, and set the cup down without looking. He said nothing.
"Professor."
"I'm coming," Kenspeckle snapped, and he turned away with a jerk, reaching out to snatch up equipment at a pace Solomon almost couldn't follow. He knew why. Kenspeckle, two days ago, had confessed to being the man who'd built the Desolation Engine to begin with. It was for that reason that Solomon inclined his head, and stepped back to the wall, and waited for him to be done.