Saracen's ability to 'just know' things had never extended to mental images. Over a century of observing his strange magic had taught Skulduggery at least that. So while Saracen had known more about the supposed angels than any of the other sorcerers scurrying around in a panic, he'd never known exactly what they looked like. And that was amusingly obvious in the way his face slackened when the animal shapes were dropped.

It was a spectacle even for those who had seen it before, because three Archangels glorified in a room together was one of the most beautiful things Skulduggery was sure he'd ever see. Gabe, with light that brought out the beauty in everything around him. Rafe, with light that brought out the best in everyone, overshadowing aches and pains and doubts. And finally, Michael, whose light burned brightly and steadily, guiding and illuminating all that would make this work - both physically and metaphysically.

It was hard not to put your faith in them. But Skulduggery remained glad that the comforting feel of wings around his shoulders disappeared right before the angels revealed themselves. While it was possible for Gabe to become embarrassed, Skulduggery wasn't sure exactly what did embarrass the Archangel, and he wouldn't have put it past Gabe not to think anything of giving the Dead Men new teasing material.

Of course, Descry would know. Skulduggery didn't have the same practice at reigning his mind in as the others did.

"Okay." Saracen's voice was dry. "I get what you see in them, Skul."

Erskine put up a hand. "I have a question. Is there anything we have to do, beyond standing here and... well, looking pretty? If you're not part of the spell, who casts it?"