Solomon had swung his legs off the couch, sliding a foot out until his toe prodded Erskine's side. The other Elder's soul rippled, his leaves rustling with uncertainty. "It's the part you don't remember that worries me."

Now he had a problem. He needed the bathroom, quite badly in fact, but considering the general state of everyone in the room, Michael aside, there was no way he was going to be able to navigate the debris. That, and he didn't have a clue what Corrival's living-room looked like to begin with. He looked up. "An angel came bearing good news the day Gabe rescued me from the Temple," he said absently, and tilted his head. "I don't suppose my minion is in any condition to act as a guide?"

The only answer he got was a grunt from under where Rover had flopped on top of Dexter.

"Here." Corrival shoved Rafe off his lap. "Have a guide-dog." With a yelp the dog hit the floor, rose, and shook himself, throwing a betrayed expression at the Grand Mage. Then he trotted over to Solomon and nuzzled his hand. Solomon patted him once between the ears and then stood. The Labrador was tall enough that even standing, Solomon's fingers could just barely brush the top of his head. It wouldn't have been enough, except that he could feel the doggish weight against his thigh and the metaphysical presence of the wing across his shoulders. Between the two, Raphael was able to guide him quite expertly between the unseen bodies and furniture.

Gabe's head poked out from under the blanket, shaking his head and body and tilting his head in a remarkably Skulduggery-like fashion. He looked up at Skulduggery, purred, kneaded the detective's leg and then leapt up onto his shoulders. With a bat of the blanket, Gabe settled down across the detective's shoulders like a thick furry scarf, nuzzling the side of his head through the blanket.

"Go on then," Corrival said to Michael with a sigh. "While we've got the cavity-inducing affection to offset the bad news. Break it to us."