Erskine was fumbling, and hard. So hard that he forgot that Anton didn't, couldn't, drink, something he hadn't forgotten since that day centuries ago when Erskine and Dexter had almost been responsible for Anton's Gist destroying a whole tavern and everyone in it. It was so unlike him, and spoke so much that something had happened, that Anton turned to stare. "I don't have anything alcoholic in the Hotel," he said finally. "It encourages my residents to be stupid. I don't enjoy fighting people who are too drunk to back off."

Milk, then. Cider was possibly a bit too bubbly, alcoholic or not. Anton went into the kitchen and poured some glasses, adding another when Dexter said, "Ghastly's going to come too."

If it weren't for Wreath's addition Anton might have thought they were here about Vile. Then again, maybe that wasn't so much of an impossibility. Wreath had known Skulduggery once too, and he most certainly knew Vile, and if he was no longer a Necromancer Anton almost had to wonder what he must be thinking.

He brought the milk back on a tray and put it down on the coffeetable, and took a seat himself. "Why are you here?" he repeated.