"Deductive reasoning," Solomon said with a shrug. "It was either a bar or someone else's bed, and I can smell the liquor on your breath." All true, because Ravel didn't really try to hide his activities and Solomon hadn't quite realised that was what he was smelling until he'd worked through it logically, simply because he wasn't used to being able to perceive such faint scents. Then he ruined the mundanity by tilting his head. "That and you have autumn leaves."

Automatically he reached forward as if to touch them, then realised what he was doing and curled his fingers again, pulling his hand back. "You didn't have them last night. It looks like fatigue."

Then he laughed, amused and ironic in one. "Does anyone allow Archangels to do anything, save the obvious?"

One drink wasn't going to be enough. Solomon could feel the weight of all the events yesterday starting to creep up on him again, here in the Grand Mage's office where he was now one of Ireland's leaders, talking about Archangels pranking while analysing Erskine Ravel's soul.

"You're allowed to go out drinking, Erskine," Deuce said, amused, as Solomon gulped down another mouthful of the whiskey. "Go easy on that, Wreath, or you'll be four sheets to the wind on one glass."

"At this point," Solomon mumbled, "it might be preferable."