"Hey!" Dexter sat up suddenly. "Are you saying my constructs are second-rate? Are you saying they barely last the night? Are you saying I can't put my stamina into my magic? I'm insulted, Skulduggery. I'm insulted and I demand satisfaction."
"He does have a skin now," Rover pointed out, and then jabbed a finger at Descry. "Hah. I win! I get to hold a Dead Men rodeo again! What, you thought that because I'm not a mind-reader I wouldn't get bored of only having you for the last century? I need some variety in my physical life, Descry. You've been clingy. You've been demanding. Finally I'm free to pursue whom I like, when I like!"
"just make sure your husband gets the first turn," Descry told him mildly, his eyes closed again and with that persistent quirk at the corner of his mouth, "or else you might be forced to take the couch. It's not a very big couch, Rover. You won't have the room to offer up as much fun for everyone as you'd like."
Then he opened his eyes and shook his head. "I have been with you for too long. You've infected me. I'm corrupted. I'm lost. I need help."
"All night long, Hopeless," Corrival said dryly, just as the redhead laughed.
"We've been a bad influence on you, too, our general."
"If you can't beat 'em." Corrival shrugged easily.
"Yes, well, for the record, I'm probably the only one here--angels aside--for whom you're not too old."
"I'll keep that in mind for when Ravel and Wreath start making me jealous."
"I think I object to that," Solomon murmured from outside the circle, barely audible. His face was turned away, though not enough that he couldn't see, and his eyes were slits. The sear of Skulduggery's anger wasn't a Scream, precisely, but it had more in common than Solomon had expected. He should have; that anger was the reason Skulduggery was tied, through Necromancy, to his skeleton. His anger was the sound of his own soul screaming.
Even through the wards, it was bright and shrieking at once, enough to make his head throb. For all that, he wasn't actually barred from watching. Merlin had one hand on his elbow, and Solomon could see the soothing coolness of his magic adding to Solomon's wards. He was grateful for it, because he himself could either add to the wards or watch what was happening--not both.
If he could ignore the irritant, it was fascinating. He could see ropes being woven between each of the individual souls, see the way they unconsciously reflected each other in thought and habit just because they'd known each other for that long. It was reminiscent of what he'd seen that day in Shudder's Hotel, except brought to the fore and woven into something with intent.
The bindings were growing to a point where they would have a weight all their own, but Solomon could see they weren't quite there yet. Not enough to metaphysically hold their own gravity--almost like it was its own soul.
The thought made a chill run down Solomon's spine.
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"He does have a skin now," Rover pointed out, and then jabbed a finger at Descry. "Hah. I win! I get to hold a Dead Men rodeo again! What, you thought that because I'm not a mind-reader I wouldn't get bored of only having you for the last century? I need some variety in my physical life, Descry. You've been clingy. You've been demanding. Finally I'm free to pursue whom I like, when I like!"
"just make sure your husband gets the first turn," Descry told him mildly, his eyes closed again and with that persistent quirk at the corner of his mouth, "or else you might be forced to take the couch. It's not a very big couch, Rover. You won't have the room to offer up as much fun for everyone as you'd like."
Then he opened his eyes and shook his head. "I have been with you for too long. You've infected me. I'm corrupted. I'm lost. I need help."
"All night long, Hopeless," Corrival said dryly, just as the redhead laughed.
"We've been a bad influence on you, too, our general."
"If you can't beat 'em." Corrival shrugged easily.
"Yes, well, for the record, I'm probably the only one here--angels aside--for whom you're not too old."
"I'll keep that in mind for when Ravel and Wreath start making me jealous."
"I think I object to that," Solomon murmured from outside the circle, barely audible. His face was turned away, though not enough that he couldn't see, and his eyes were slits. The sear of Skulduggery's anger wasn't a Scream, precisely, but it had more in common than Solomon had expected. He should have; that anger was the reason Skulduggery was tied, through Necromancy, to his skeleton. His anger was the sound of his own soul screaming.
Even through the wards, it was bright and shrieking at once, enough to make his head throb. For all that, he wasn't actually barred from watching. Merlin had one hand on his elbow, and Solomon could see the soothing coolness of his magic adding to Solomon's wards. He was grateful for it, because he himself could either add to the wards or watch what was happening--not both.
If he could ignore the irritant, it was fascinating. He could see ropes being woven between each of the individual souls, see the way they unconsciously reflected each other in thought and habit just because they'd known each other for that long. It was reminiscent of what he'd seen that day in Shudder's Hotel, except brought to the fore and woven into something with intent.
The bindings were growing to a point where they would have a weight all their own, but Solomon could see they weren't quite there yet. Not enough to metaphysically hold their own gravity--almost like it was its own soul.
The thought made a chill run down Solomon's spine.