Descry let out the kind of snort belonging to someone who was trying, and failing, restrain a reaction. When Corrival tried to lift the pillow to see if he was okay, the mind-reader pinned the pillow to his face, dissolving into muffled laughter.

"But Descry knows." Dexter reached back to poke his arm. "Come on, tell!"

"You know, it's been a while since I've seen that disguise," Gabe said thoughtfully.

"One of the best ones," Rafe agreed. "No one ever thinks twice. Unless, you know, they cheat by having some magic which gives them hints about bits and bobs."

Rover's eyes widened. "Wait. You mean--that time--? No." And he started laughing nearly as hard as Descry, leaning into Dexter's shoulder.

"What?" Dexter demanded, shaking him off so he slid down the floor and wound up with his face in Saracen's hip. "You're being mean and not telling us things. I object to this. I object a lot. We're not meant to have any secrets between us."

Descry was the one who got a hold of himself first, but only by virtue of the fact that he wanted to and Rover didn't, and he had exceptional control. He pulled the pillow down around his neck, taking deep, slow breaths. "Erskine still beats you out on timeline," he said, patting Saracen's head, "but he only met the Lord as a taxi-driver. You met Her as the matron of a strip-club. I think you win in terms of surreality."