For the first time Solomon was aware how eerie it was to have someone who could read his soul, or possibly his mind, so easily. All those unasked questions, and Michael answered them anyway. The fact that they were in danger was not encouraging, and Solomon should probably ask for clarification on that.

Instead he raised an eyebrow. "You mean the Archangel Raphael can conjure two televisions and a host of game consoles, and his older and, by all accounts, far more powerful brother can't even conjure a camera? I find that difficult to believe."

"I find it difficult to believe how loud you're talking," Corrival groaned. His head rolled against the back of the chair and landed on one hand. His voice was hoarse and quiet. "Bloody Hell. I'm too old to be going on binges like that, and that's the second in two weeks." His eyes slitted open. "Who the Hell're you?"

"Not Hell," Descry murmured without either opening his eyes or otherwise moving from where Saracen was cuddled up to his side. "Try the other direction."

Corrival closed his eyes again and exhaled a sigh. "Not another angel. How many's that now?"

"Four, I'd hazard," Solomon said, making no effort whatsoever to soften his voice, "depending on whether you count one being fallen as an angel. Corrival, do you have a camera? Or in lieu of an actual camera, a phone?"

"No." It took a moment for the estimate to sink in, and this time Corrival managed to open his eyes blearily. "Four?"