Solomon had paled. Skulduggery's skin was a boon from Asti, yet it was the only thing working now, when all other magic had been neutralised? "Asti removed the addiction from my Necromancy," he said quietly, which logically speaking should have been rendered useless now that he could no longer use his magic. Should. That didn't necessarily mean it had. "A moment."

He leaned back against the counter and closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If the boon was still accessible in any fashion, in any fashion that allowed him to touch his magic ...

There were no deathly senses to extend, nothing explicit, but Solomon didn't need to feel it happening to know how to do it. He reached out nevertheless, felt nothing, felt a moment's hope--and then abruptly nothing turned to something as suddenly as if a switch had been flipped. A bubble of power around him bloomed out and took someone nearby and he froze, mentally and physically, because the bubble felt as though he was confined to a tiny box. He couldn't access his magic. He couldn't do anything with that soul ... except, apparently, take it.

Gently he withdrew, hoping--almost praying--that he hadn't actually taken it, that he'd just touched it, and because he hadn't tried to move it at all the soul would settle back where it was meant to be.