Behind the person who jostled the skeleton, Solomon stood frozen and staring. Most of the kedan had been giving him a wide berth all day; 'the shadow Foreigner' was well enough known by now that he had banked on being left alone while he tried to navigate the city blind. Aside from a few idiots who casts aspersions about his navigating shadows belonging to the vigilante going around, they had.

He hadn't meant to come here, but he'd been following ... something. It wasn't exactly a sense of power. It was more like power distilled to a point. If Skulduggery's undead presence was like a cold star, this one was a black hole.

It just wasn't until Solomon laid eyes on the ... thing that he realised he could lay eyes, that where he could only feel everything else in shades of hot life or cold crystalline death, the shape of this skeleton stood out to his eyes as a reverse silhouette. And so Solomon stared with naked terror combined with a kind of intense fascination as someone grunted and, from the rustle of fabric, brushed past the figure.

How, Solomon wondered, did they not drop dead where they walked, after touching that?

He reached out and blindly caught the sleeve of someone hurrying by. "Excuse me," he said, levelly in spite of his expression, and then wondered if he'd really spoken. His voice sounded practically reedy in comparison to the figure's, almost ... unreal. Everyone's voices sounded unreal, compared to that. "Can you describe the person about three feet in front of me, please?"

"Uh ..." said whoever he'd waylaid. "What?"