The Faceless Ones' pets could circle the mountains all they wanted. Gabriel was no longer there, and all they would find was the whisper of song in the air, a residue of music left behind and fading. It was concentrated around two points--the one through which the Archangel had entered and, softer and nearly lost already, where Gabriel had left the mountain.
The city courtyard was another matter. Gabriel didn't know much, if anything, about the Faceless Ones. Skulduggery had never really spoken about them. So when Gabriel stepped into the city he was very much unprepared for ... everything. For the ceaseless reverberations the Faceless Ones spoke, silent for most but more than audible for him. For their presence, seething and shifting like endless sands.
For the recognition.
Gabriel gasped and staggered. Even though angels weren't meant to be capable of getting headaches needle-like shafts of pain ground through his temples. Any other time, and the whispers would have been a nuisance, like fingernails on a chalkboard. Now, though, with his angelic body aching, the noise cut right through him. The noise, and other things.
For just a moment his wards wavered, and it took another before Gabriel could summon the concentration to stabilise them, tune them to make the whispers slide off them just as he had done for the turbulence between realities. He needed to speak aloud for it; his voice cracked and shook.
But then he was protected, and he swallowed, half-sobbed, one hand lifting to press its back against his mouth. He wished that water could soothe an angel's throat. Wished that he had asked in more detail what the Faceless Ones were. Wished, with sharp desire, that Michael were here with him now.
No. Stop thinking. Act, now, before they found him. Gabe cast out his senses for anything he could copy as a cloak. Despite what they sounded like now, it was almost certain the Faceless Ones had sensed his presence.
There weren't many living things left in the city; only the smallest ones, the overlooked ones, the insects. A split-second later Gabe pulled the shape of a dragonfly over himself, dipping just enough into its instincts so as to avoid detection. The shape made the whispers dull to a faint, ignorable hum, like electricity in the walls; the difference was a relief.
His wings glittered in the sunlight as he buzzed around the walls, just one more insignificant bug in a destroyed reality.
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The city courtyard was another matter. Gabriel didn't know much, if anything, about the Faceless Ones. Skulduggery had never really spoken about them. So when Gabriel stepped into the city he was very much unprepared for ... everything. For the ceaseless reverberations the Faceless Ones spoke, silent for most but more than audible for him. For their presence, seething and shifting like endless sands.
For the recognition.
Gabriel gasped and staggered. Even though angels weren't meant to be capable of getting headaches needle-like shafts of pain ground through his temples. Any other time, and the whispers would have been a nuisance, like fingernails on a chalkboard. Now, though, with his angelic body aching, the noise cut right through him. The noise, and other things.
For just a moment his wards wavered, and it took another before Gabriel could summon the concentration to stabilise them, tune them to make the whispers slide off them just as he had done for the turbulence between realities. He needed to speak aloud for it; his voice cracked and shook.
But then he was protected, and he swallowed, half-sobbed, one hand lifting to press its back against his mouth. He wished that water could soothe an angel's throat. Wished that he had asked in more detail what the Faceless Ones were. Wished, with sharp desire, that Michael were here with him now.
No. Stop thinking. Act, now, before they found him. Gabe cast out his senses for anything he could copy as a cloak. Despite what they sounded like now, it was almost certain the Faceless Ones had sensed his presence.
There weren't many living things left in the city; only the smallest ones, the overlooked ones, the insects. A split-second later Gabe pulled the shape of a dragonfly over himself, dipping just enough into its instincts so as to avoid detection. The shape made the whispers dull to a faint, ignorable hum, like electricity in the walls; the difference was a relief.
His wings glittered in the sunlight as he buzzed around the walls, just one more insignificant bug in a destroyed reality.