"Baking is an instinct, now?" Gabriel asked, amused, and snapped his fingers in disappointment with a sigh. "Damn, I could really have used some of that. It's not easy, knowing you're the only one to rely on for delicious baked goods and they never come out right."

His grin didn't falter, but it took on a rueful edge. He liked this guy. He did. Anselmo had a sense of humour that wasn't as cutting as Balthazar's. It was more like Gabriel's own, when he wasn't edging too close to things he didn't want to think about. The archangel wondered who he'd been, once, and what he'd let go to become the Caretaker's lackey. "There's a word for that," he said. "It's called 'self-service'." He shrugged. "Or masturbation, if you want to get technical."