It had occurred to Skulduggery that Anton might still be at the Hibernian, but the thought spoken out loud still made him pause. Anton would not want to see him again. That much was an indisputable fact. That would be the very last thing Anton wanted, or indeed needed to recover. The mere sight of Skulduggery might be enough to tip the Gist-user over the edge again.
But Skulduggery wasn't going to leave Solomon stranded. Not this time, not now that Solomon had found the courage to do the impossible, and was damn near close to succeeding. With any luck, the two would be in separate rooms. Separate wards. Separate wings. With any luck, Anton would never even need to know Skulduggery dropped by. Professor Grouse might be curious about why two former Dead Men didn't want to be anywhere near each other, but he probably wouldn't ask. He made it a point that he didn't want to be involved in anything Skulduggery had so much as touched, beyond patching up the resulting injuries.
Skulduggery did want to thank Grouse, though. Chances were, so did Gabe.
"It wasn't exactly your fault." With a tentative curling of his living, skin-covered fingers to make sure no sand was stowed away between them, Skulduggery pulled open the driver's side door. "But, the Hibernian it is."
He hesitated. Sand in his clothes and, thanks to this new skin, sand everywhere else too - nothing lost as it poured through the hollow structure of his skeleton. This skin was more than an illusion, as Gabe had tried to explain. It wasn't real - Skulduggery still didn't need to eat, drink, or sleep - but with this skin, he could. And he had to say, those were activities he was looking forward to. Getting sand all over the inside of the Bentley, he was very much not.
With an audible intake of breath, Skulduggery slipped in, and tried to keep as still as possible behind the wheel. Now that he had an illusory heartbeat, that feat was more difficult than he remembered.
Once Gabe was buckled in, Skulduggery revved the engine and drove smoothly back out onto the main road. "Are you ever going to tell me why you seem to be picking up spare change everywhere you go?"
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But Skulduggery wasn't going to leave Solomon stranded. Not this time, not now that Solomon had found the courage to do the impossible, and was damn near close to succeeding. With any luck, the two would be in separate rooms. Separate wards. Separate wings. With any luck, Anton would never even need to know Skulduggery dropped by. Professor Grouse might be curious about why two former Dead Men didn't want to be anywhere near each other, but he probably wouldn't ask. He made it a point that he didn't want to be involved in anything Skulduggery had so much as touched, beyond patching up the resulting injuries.
Skulduggery did want to thank Grouse, though. Chances were, so did Gabe.
"It wasn't exactly your fault." With a tentative curling of his living, skin-covered fingers to make sure no sand was stowed away between them, Skulduggery pulled open the driver's side door. "But, the Hibernian it is."
He hesitated. Sand in his clothes and, thanks to this new skin, sand everywhere else too - nothing lost as it poured through the hollow structure of his skeleton. This skin was more than an illusion, as Gabe had tried to explain. It wasn't real - Skulduggery still didn't need to eat, drink, or sleep - but with this skin, he could. And he had to say, those were activities he was looking forward to. Getting sand all over the inside of the Bentley, he was very much not.
With an audible intake of breath, Skulduggery slipped in, and tried to keep as still as possible behind the wheel. Now that he had an illusory heartbeat, that feat was more difficult than he remembered.
Once Gabe was buckled in, Skulduggery revved the engine and drove smoothly back out onto the main road. "Are you ever going to tell me why you seem to be picking up spare change everywhere you go?"