"No." The word was abrupt and tight and shaken, a refusal, a denial and yet not. An objection to what Ghastly was about to say. To the fact that he felt he had to say it. That he knew to say it at all.
Because he wasn't meant to know. Ghastly--he wasn't meant to know. Or suspect. Or anything. Nothing about Skulduggery, nothing about Vile, nothing about those bits and pieces no one else saw except Hopeless, that puzzle Dexter hadn't wanted and knew anyway just because Hopeless couldn't carry that secret all on his own.
He was pale. Pale and not shaking, because he was gripping the chair too tightly to be anything but a statue. The conversation on the other side of the shop was nothing but a dull buzz in his ears.
"There are times I wonder whether Lucifer didn't invent religion," Gabe was saying thoughtfully. Gabe. Gabriel. The Archangel with whom Skulduggery was in love. "It's hard to tell sometimes, with how he manages to use it to his own ends."
"No, don't say that." Breathe. He had to breathe. Dexter had to breathe and at the same time, he couldn't. His chest was closing in. "You're not meant to know that. You're not--it's not true, anyway. It was just Hopeless hearing things and making links and it isn't true. I mean--" He laughed, hysterically and desperately. "I mean there's not even any proof, right?"
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Because he wasn't meant to know. Ghastly--he wasn't meant to know. Or suspect. Or anything. Nothing about Skulduggery, nothing about Vile, nothing about those bits and pieces no one else saw except Hopeless, that puzzle Dexter hadn't wanted and knew anyway just because Hopeless couldn't carry that secret all on his own.
He was pale. Pale and not shaking, because he was gripping the chair too tightly to be anything but a statue. The conversation on the other side of the shop was nothing but a dull buzz in his ears.
"There are times I wonder whether Lucifer didn't invent religion," Gabe was saying thoughtfully. Gabe. Gabriel. The Archangel with whom Skulduggery was in love. "It's hard to tell sometimes, with how he manages to use it to his own ends."
"No, don't say that." Breathe. He had to breathe. Dexter had to breathe and at the same time, he couldn't. His chest was closing in. "You're not meant to know that. You're not--it's not true, anyway. It was just Hopeless hearing things and making links and it isn't true. I mean--" He laughed, hysterically and desperately. "I mean there's not even any proof, right?"