>>I’m not saying you’re wrong, but that’s a lot of moving parts.
>Think about it. The desk clerk at the hotel gave you the coupon, pointing you toward Bridge’s Biscuits. Bridge’s Biscuits is a breakfast joint. They’re only open from eight to twelve five days a week. Limited hours means limited staff.
>>No matter when I went, she would have been there.
>Exactly.
>She sees you, swoops in, and spins a story about her dad owning this amazing property you could rent for a steal. With the killer using downstairs for body disposal, upstairs was likely kept empty. That left it ready for us to move in, and it put us right where they wanted us.
And if that hadn’t worked, they would have tried a different angle.
The possibilities for machinations were endless when you can be anyone to suit your narrative.
>>Dammit.
>>Why can’t anyone love me for me? Or at the very least my extensive wig collection?
>Text her. See if she responds. Then report back.
All my failures paraded behind my closed eyes while I waited with my phone in my hand.
>>Hey, I found that weird spell book of yours in my tent.
I did a double take before I noticed it was Aedan, and not Clay, touching base.
>>Did you leave it there? I must have missed it. Am I supposed to protect it while you’re gone?
That goddessdamned grimoire was up to its old tricks again.
I was an idiot for not destroying the book after the first glimpse of its contents.
No more excuses. No more bargaining. No more delays.
A black witch was sniffing around the shop, and it decided to pay Aedan, an employee, a visit?
Nope.
Not happening.
Arcane objects craved fulfillment of their purpose, and I was not letting it hitchhike to a new master.
>Pick up the book and toss it in the fire pit.
The outdoorsy Christmas gift from me wasn’t fancy, but it was sturdy, and it ran on propane.
>>Are you serious?
>As a heart attack.
>>Are you sure you don’t want to do it yourself when you get home?
Once the daemon cleared the rest of the space and declared it empty, he gave me back Asa.
>Burn it then dump the ashes in the creek.
The sticky front door jammed my shoulder when I shoved through it out onto the sidewalk.
>I would ask you to video chat with me while it roasts, but we’re following a lead. Film it for me?