Solomon's heartbeat rang in his ears and he shot to his feet, his vision straining between a dark fog and a shattered beams of light. Without his even thinking it, his fist had clenched on some of that light and he felt its warmth, its power.
Dexter exclaimed and grabbed his wrist in the same moment that Ghastly's soul arrived at the door, and between the two Solomon managed not to do anything unduly foolish. Even so, Anton Shudder said quietly, "Elder Wreath, I feel I should remind you that there is no fighting in my Hotel. Should you begin something, I will be the one to finish it."
Solomon took a deep, slow breath, and forced his fingers to relax, forced himself to let go of his magic. The thing was that Ravel wasn't wholly wrong. After what he did, after the life he lived, Solomon almost didn't have the right to be so angry. But he was. God help him, he was.
"You have no idea what I've thought of him," he managed after a moment, his voice shaking. "I grieved for him. Don't you dare tell me about change, Ravel. Not after what I've been through."
Dexter's hands on his arm hadn't moved. It helped more than Solomon cared to admit, but he still jerked away and turned, half intending to leave and half intending to do he knew not what. Two steps away he kicked a chair and didn't stumble, but stopped short, because he was helpless and how dare Ravel throw that back in his face because he couldn't deal with his friend having been evil.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that Ravel could be so angry at Skulduggery Pleasant, and with good reason, and then the next instant turn around and defend him when Solomon was saying nothing that he hadn't been thinking himself.
"Skulduggery told us that Lucifer's on his way," he heard Dexter say quietly to Ghastly. "He should've said it earlier."
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Solomon's heartbeat rang in his ears and he shot to his feet, his vision straining between a dark fog and a shattered beams of light. Without his even thinking it, his fist had clenched on some of that light and he felt its warmth, its power.
Dexter exclaimed and grabbed his wrist in the same moment that Ghastly's soul arrived at the door, and between the two Solomon managed not to do anything unduly foolish. Even so, Anton Shudder said quietly, "Elder Wreath, I feel I should remind you that there is no fighting in my Hotel. Should you begin something, I will be the one to finish it."
Solomon took a deep, slow breath, and forced his fingers to relax, forced himself to let go of his magic. The thing was that Ravel wasn't wholly wrong. After what he did, after the life he lived, Solomon almost didn't have the right to be so angry. But he was. God help him, he was.
"You have no idea what I've thought of him," he managed after a moment, his voice shaking. "I grieved for him. Don't you dare tell me about change, Ravel. Not after what I've been through."
Dexter's hands on his arm hadn't moved. It helped more than Solomon cared to admit, but he still jerked away and turned, half intending to leave and half intending to do he knew not what. Two steps away he kicked a chair and didn't stumble, but stopped short, because he was helpless and how dare Ravel throw that back in his face because he couldn't deal with his friend having been evil.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that Ravel could be so angry at Skulduggery Pleasant, and with good reason, and then the next instant turn around and defend him when Solomon was saying nothing that he hadn't been thinking himself.
"Skulduggery told us that Lucifer's on his way," he heard Dexter say quietly to Ghastly. "He should've said it earlier."