It wasn't a current. It was a bubble, a suffocating bubble inside stone and magic, too close and too cold to register details. And that was without the soul beside him. Solomon gasped for air, his hands clenching, fingernails digging into his palms as he resisted the urge to struggle. It was difficult; his chest almost hurt with the pound of his heart, and the journey seemed to take forever. Forever with unseen earth all around him. Forever being clutched by a soul drenched in blood.
The deeply resonant presence of the rock parted and Solomon was flung out into empty space. He had no sense of up or down, nothing except the air and the familiar hum of the Sanctuary's walls. The sorcerer just barely managed to relax before he struck a desk, bit his tongue so as not to cry out, and tumbled in a heap to the floor.
Head ringing, his side and back throbbing hard where he'd hit the table, Solomon took a moment to find his breath before trying to push himself upright. He hissed at the pang in his ribs, but he was wearing his Ghastly suit; he'd be bruised but alright. One hand ran along the floor, trying to find the edge of the desk. Once found, he used it to pull himself to his feet, his knees trembling with shock and adrenaline.
"There are--times I wonder," he managed to say. He recognised that voice, by description if not anything else. Billy-Ray Sanguine, the Texan assassin. Solomon's skin was prickling wildly, and they were a good five feet away from each other.
Billy-Ray Sanguine's soul was a deep well filled with blood and limbs. Some of them had been in there for centuries. Just looking at him made Solomon want to throw up, so he didn't. Instead he fumbled for the desk's edges, taking one step and then another to put the piece of furniture between the two of them. His foot hit a chair; he kicked it closer in to keep it out of the way. The room around him settled, the ripples of Sanguine's magic still there but fading enough for Solomon to tell its basic dimensions. Any other furniture was going to be the problem.
"You weren't sent by the Temple." It wasn't a statement, and his words didn't keep him from feeling over the desk-surface in a vain attempt to find a weapon. There was nothing--the desk was unused. He rattled the drawers in lieu of opening them, but they were locked as well as empty. He was still in the Sanctuary; he just had to wait until Skulduggery figured out he wasn't in the bathroom. "Tenebrae is a fool, but he isn't stupid. He wouldn't risk making this kind of play so openly."
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The deeply resonant presence of the rock parted and Solomon was flung out into empty space. He had no sense of up or down, nothing except the air and the familiar hum of the Sanctuary's walls. The sorcerer just barely managed to relax before he struck a desk, bit his tongue so as not to cry out, and tumbled in a heap to the floor.
Head ringing, his side and back throbbing hard where he'd hit the table, Solomon took a moment to find his breath before trying to push himself upright. He hissed at the pang in his ribs, but he was wearing his Ghastly suit; he'd be bruised but alright. One hand ran along the floor, trying to find the edge of the desk. Once found, he used it to pull himself to his feet, his knees trembling with shock and adrenaline.
"There are--times I wonder," he managed to say. He recognised that voice, by description if not anything else. Billy-Ray Sanguine, the Texan assassin. Solomon's skin was prickling wildly, and they were a good five feet away from each other.
Billy-Ray Sanguine's soul was a deep well filled with blood and limbs. Some of them had been in there for centuries. Just looking at him made Solomon want to throw up, so he didn't. Instead he fumbled for the desk's edges, taking one step and then another to put the piece of furniture between the two of them. His foot hit a chair; he kicked it closer in to keep it out of the way. The room around him settled, the ripples of Sanguine's magic still there but fading enough for Solomon to tell its basic dimensions. Any other furniture was going to be the problem.
"You weren't sent by the Temple." It wasn't a statement, and his words didn't keep him from feeling over the desk-surface in a vain attempt to find a weapon. There was nothing--the desk was unused. He rattled the drawers in lieu of opening them, but they were locked as well as empty. He was still in the Sanctuary; he just had to wait until Skulduggery figured out he wasn't in the bathroom. "Tenebrae is a fool, but he isn't stupid. He wouldn't risk making this kind of play so openly."