"I wouldn't call it reading," Descry admitted, resting his chin on Anton's shoulder and regarding Skulduggery with a lazy sort of humour. "But I have more of a sense of him than I used to." He shrugged. "It's not soul-reading. It's more about the echo his thoughts leave on the metaphysical fabric of things."

"Are you trying to make our brains explode?" Dexter demanded.

"Who said I was trying?"

"Here." Anton led Descry over to an armchair and pushed him down into it. "I'm not a leaning-pole."

"Only because it might make Rover jealous," Descry murmured with a smile, but obeyed the directive by sinking down into the cushions.

"That, and I think you were about to fall over in spite of my help. I thought you would have better control against being overwhelmed by now."

"He just figured it was about time you had someone falling at your feet," Dexter mumbled, cracking open a peanut and tossing it into his mouth. "When was the last time Skulduggery got drunk, Descry?"

"Skulduggery's bachelor party," Descry said promptly. "Ghastly wanted him to get drunk when they found out Liliya was pregnant, but Skulduggery spent the night winding himself up about being an awful father instead."