The banjo - Gabe, Erskine mentally translated. He knew enough about Christianity to know which Archangels were supposed to be oldest. That made the flannel one Michael, right? An image of an Archangel made completely out of flannel crossed Erskine's mind, and he buried a snort of laughter behind one hand.

It was also the first time Erskine actually found himself unable to take the Devil seriously. At least, since that morning. He'd pretended, he'd joked, because it helped erase the feelings about Skulduggery and it made the whole idea sound a lot more surreal. But now? Now, Erskine was laughing because Micah was laughing, and the laugh was infectious, and he was currently imagining a man with devil horns and a forked tail dripping in paint, waving his pitchfork in fury.

The last bit was surprising. "You mean he chose to leave?" Erskine asked, remembering everything he'd ever heard about Lucifer being cast out of Heaven. A few moments later, the question struck him as a mite disrespectful, and he hastily backtracked. "I mean..."

Gabe. Gabe and baby angels. That was a cute image. "What else did Gabe do?" he asked instead, vaguely hoping for some sort of blackmail material. Or at the very least, for a way to make both the Archangel and the skeleton blush.