"I left all my black robes at the Temple," Solomon said deadpan, "along with my long-johns. That, or Craven stole them; I never did look at them once I pushed them to the back of my closet."
"God forbid you ever have to wear long-johns again," Descry said innocently. "Or even once." Solomon's eyes flickered toward him in a flash of combined humour and disconcert. "Yes," Descry said to the ex-Necromancer's unspoken thought of Now I see how people find me frustrating. "Yes, you do."
Solomon's mouth quirked. "You're a man to become irritating fast, Hopeless."
"Funny. I could have said the same about you, Wreath." Descry grinned at him and for a moment--he wasn't sure if it was their thoughts or their souls, or some undefinable combination of the two--for a moment their beings coincided with a thrum unheard by anyone except the angels. Reading Solomon Wreath's thoughts was a study in something Descry had never had opportunity to experience. He could see himself in Solomon's thoughts, not through the filter of those thoughts but his true being.
Which probably explained the low-grade hum in his temples, actually. Briefly he wished he knew how to ward himself, and wondered if it was possible.
Solomon's quirk grew deeper and more rueful. "If I may beg your indulgence for a moment, Merlin, my wards need renewing."
'Hey.' Rafe lifted his head with a whine, his ears woebegone. 'I been replaced. I object. D'you not trust me, Sol?'
"Of course not," Solomon said blandly.
Merlin laughed. "Of course. You and I have very little to do with the spell from here on, save as observers, but you're going to need that distance, I'm sure. Over here, by the altar."
From the flit of his thought, Solomon would rather not be nearer to the altar than he had to, and Descry glanced up at the effigy. He could understand why the ex-Necromancer would be reticent, given what he saw. He wasn't quite in a mental position to understand just what it was he saw. Nevertheless, Solomon rose and found his way over, stepping easily in-between the lines of the circle on the floor, lit up like thin leys to his Sight. Merlin met him at the step.
Descry turned back to the black cat sitting straddling Skulduggery's neck, his paws resting on the skeleton's head like an inquisitive rabbit perched up on a log. An adorable, somewhat more predatory rabbit.
"How do we do this?" Rover demanded.
'It's simple.' Gabe yawned. 'Sort-of.' He jumped lightly down from Skulduggery's shoulder, by design or by accident making the detective's hat slide down over his face, and shook himself before bounding into the circle. 'Skulduggery will be at the heart. The rest of you will be arrayed around him. Since Michael's here, the three of us can buttress the spell on the outer edges.'
He halted in the middle of the circle, sat, and pointed an imperious paw down at the markings. 'Here, please, Skulduggery.'
The spell was similar to the one Tanith and Ghastly, Erskine and Fletcher, would have seen when they helped heal Gabe himself. The remaining eight Dead Men were arrayed at equal distances, their circles more like half-moons and connected to each other with flowing sigils. It was the positions that were important. Corrival at twelve o'clock, Descry at six. Ghastly and Anton at three and nine. Rover and Dexter opposite each other at two and seven, and Erskine and Saracen at eleven and five. Gabe bounded between each circle, motioning everyone into their places with all the gaiety of a cat in command.
no subject
"God forbid you ever have to wear long-johns again," Descry said innocently. "Or even once." Solomon's eyes flickered toward him in a flash of combined humour and disconcert. "Yes," Descry said to the ex-Necromancer's unspoken thought of Now I see how people find me frustrating. "Yes, you do."
Solomon's mouth quirked. "You're a man to become irritating fast, Hopeless."
"Funny. I could have said the same about you, Wreath." Descry grinned at him and for a moment--he wasn't sure if it was their thoughts or their souls, or some undefinable combination of the two--for a moment their beings coincided with a thrum unheard by anyone except the angels. Reading Solomon Wreath's thoughts was a study in something Descry had never had opportunity to experience. He could see himself in Solomon's thoughts, not through the filter of those thoughts but his true being.
Which probably explained the low-grade hum in his temples, actually. Briefly he wished he knew how to ward himself, and wondered if it was possible.
Solomon's quirk grew deeper and more rueful. "If I may beg your indulgence for a moment, Merlin, my wards need renewing."
'Hey.' Rafe lifted his head with a whine, his ears woebegone. 'I been replaced. I object. D'you not trust me, Sol?'
"Of course not," Solomon said blandly.
Merlin laughed. "Of course. You and I have very little to do with the spell from here on, save as observers, but you're going to need that distance, I'm sure. Over here, by the altar."
From the flit of his thought, Solomon would rather not be nearer to the altar than he had to, and Descry glanced up at the effigy. He could understand why the ex-Necromancer would be reticent, given what he saw. He wasn't quite in a mental position to understand just what it was he saw. Nevertheless, Solomon rose and found his way over, stepping easily in-between the lines of the circle on the floor, lit up like thin leys to his Sight. Merlin met him at the step.
Descry turned back to the black cat sitting straddling Skulduggery's neck, his paws resting on the skeleton's head like an inquisitive rabbit perched up on a log. An adorable, somewhat more predatory rabbit.
"How do we do this?" Rover demanded.
'It's simple.' Gabe yawned. 'Sort-of.' He jumped lightly down from Skulduggery's shoulder, by design or by accident making the detective's hat slide down over his face, and shook himself before bounding into the circle. 'Skulduggery will be at the heart. The rest of you will be arrayed around him. Since Michael's here, the three of us can buttress the spell on the outer edges.'
He halted in the middle of the circle, sat, and pointed an imperious paw down at the markings. 'Here, please, Skulduggery.'
The spell was similar to the one Tanith and Ghastly, Erskine and Fletcher, would have seen when they helped heal Gabe himself. The remaining eight Dead Men were arrayed at equal distances, their circles more like half-moons and connected to each other with flowing sigils. It was the positions that were important. Corrival at twelve o'clock, Descry at six. Ghastly and Anton at three and nine. Rover and Dexter opposite each other at two and seven, and Erskine and Saracen at eleven and five. Gabe bounded between each circle, motioning everyone into their places with all the gaiety of a cat in command.