"Of course she sprung it on you," Descry said. "You were trying to coordinate a battle effort. There's no better time to utterly destroy your husband than when he's trying to be serious and broody."

"Speaking from experience, Descry?" Anton asked deadpan, leaning up against the chari's arm.

"I met Liliya too, you know."

"I can't," Gabe refuted Ghastly's assertion. "I'm not a healer-angel. And I'm not sure if Rafe can do it if he's going to have a hangover as bad as Michael's was when we tested this hypothesis on him."

Rafe guffawed. "Aw, he was adorable. I think he'da given me the world if I only healed his aching ... well, being."

"And then he dumped you in the lake in revenge."

"That was just mean, that was."

"And when you came out you were wearing his socks."

"That was even worse!" Rafe gesticulated wildly. "He wears pink and purple socks with boots and flannels! What kind of self-respecting angel wears pink and purple socks with boots and flannels?"

Descry had covered his eyes and fallen back into the armchair in fits of laughter. Dexter and Anton looked Rafe up and down, taking in his long grey coat, ratty jeans and tie-dyed T-shirt. "I have no idea," Anton said, while Dexter nearly choked in a peanut. "What kind of self-respecting angel wears pink and purple socks with boots and flannels?"