Prince, Abraham[2000,12,25][M14][En,He,Ar,La]
[Blond, Blue, Pale][5'5",80lbs][DB-][Protestantism]
[Otherkin, Half Demon]
“Behold my fellows, our greatness. Born of many gifts, but focused into one goal. Furtherment of our passion. Passion for life and its greatness. Passion for the world we build. Passion for our craft. As I take this authority as The Merlin, know that I swear on my magic to have every act be done in the name of glory, passion, and love.”
-The Fifth Merlin, 1616, Acceptance Speech of the position of Merlin of the Grand Council
Sunday Teachings
I scooped the last bit of oatmeal out of the bowl. It was plain with nothing extra on it. No sugar, no fruit, no spices. It didn’t matter. The most common thing said about me was my narrow frame. As if I have gone my whole life starved. There was a reason for this though. That being that I have been starved my whole life. Not due to some abuse or principle I held. My starvation was not the result of any conscious act, but rather unconscious neglect mostly on my own part. I simply forgot to eat most of the time. A slip made easy by a trio of factors.
The first that I didn’t feel hunger. My stomach never rumbled or ached for food. It simply sat still waiting to do its work when given. As such my only reminder of my need for sustenance was the wave of fatigue that would weigh me down if I went too long with out it.
The second was my lack of taste. I could not enjoy the meals I ate no matter how fine or lovely made. Although, and perhaps luckily, I could taste foul flavors. Food rot and poisons were just as horrible on my tongue as on others. Dirt and the such were also on my palette. In fact, to say I could not taste was completely false. I simply couldn’t taste food. Specifically food. This also extended to my sense of smell, though that was known by others much less often.
The third factor to my everlasting fast was my dedication to my studies of the arcane granted to me by my infernal blood. My father was a devil, a ruler of demon kind, and he had me conceived for the purpose of bringing the end of everything. I am an anti Christ. One of many attempts to undo Christendom. Born of a mortal parent and a damned creature to usher in Armageddon, but just as The Messiah willing gave his life to save humanity The Armilus must willing give their life to damn humanity. Which was just a lot of work. I preferred my own studies, which I would often spend days upon days on with little rest. My summer break spent in near solitude researching and experimenting with this amazing force called magic.
So it was, I sparingly ate, and having a full meal was a rarity worth note. This resulted in me being nearly bone thin, but that didn’t affect the power I wielded. I’ve spent years learning and crafting my magic with the only breaks being school, church, and sleep.
I finished my meal and drank some water. I fully experience thirst and the sweetness of cool water. I’ll also say that I also experience the entirety of matters dealt with in bathrooms. If you wanted to know.
I started setting the dishes in the sink and prepared to wash them later when the front door opened. My sister Lucy came into the kitchen mid yawn, “Oh boy, I am tired. Well hey there little brother. You still up?”
“No. I am already up. Go change.” I answered.
“Huh? Why?”
“It’s Sunday and church is in an hour.” I had little patience for my sister. Half sister technically. We shared the same father.
“Alright, alright. Don’t flip out.” She yawned and went up the stairs returning in a church appropriate attire, if only barely. The thin blouse was cut past her chest, and undergarments were an annoyance to her. “All ready to go.”
“You’re not smelling like a whorehouse, are you?” I asked as I finished my dressing up. A tie. Bright red. Like the Blood of Christ.
“If I do,” She smelled herself a few times, “It’s an expensive one.”
I sighed, “That’ll have to do. Come on.”
I padded my breast pocket to double check that my spell book was there. The tome weight near nine pounds, but paranoia was as common to magic users as song was to birds. A natural, and instinctual, trait that is often looked over in everyday life. Which was fine by us.
The Protestant Church of Thirty First street was a hand built site only a few miles away. So we walked the distance. I used to leave later to be in time for mass to start, but now I left earlier for the now common detour of crossing paths with Jerry.
“Morning Abraham.” My team leader said as he round a corner. Before he even saw me.
“Morning Jerry.” we stepped off to the side. Jerry was dressed in his own Sunday best, and behind him his mother wore a fine but simple sundress.
“Hey Misses Jay!” Lucy sang out waving.
“Lucy.” Ms Jarvis greeted back, “I hope that’s not work clothes.”
Lucy huffed at that, “No, I can’t wear my work clothes with Abe here.”
“Abraham.” I snapped back. “Do not shorten my name, Lucille.”
“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and I took the opportunity.
“Jerry, did you have more to say?”
“Yes, I was wanting to ask if I could come over this evening.”
“To what reason?”
“To learn more about magic.”
“On the sabbath?” I asked. Jerry was a devout Christian like me. He respected the holy day of rest and worship.
“Yes. If you’re willing?”
I nodded to that. “Alright then. Come by this evening.”
He nodded and we broke apart to continue our ways.
“Well well well,” Lucy cooed, “I thought you didn’t do work on Sunday.”
“I don’t.”
“But you’re going to teach that Jerry kid about magic.”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that work.”
“No.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“Because magic is a life passion for me. Sharing honest knowledge would not be laborious in any fashion.”
She tsked, “Sounds like a loophole to me.”
I could only sigh at that. My sister had always been a pain. Ever since I was made to live with her after my mother rejected me. I didn’t blame my mother. Being the spawn bearer to a devil was not fun, and she had managed to keep me until I was baptized making me immune to the influence of my infernal blood. My sister had also been Christianized at birth also freeing her, but she didn’t walk the path of the devout. I had to drag her to church. Sometimes literally.
Service was mostly routine. The congregation was mostly mundane. Only seven people were demihumans. Me, Lucy, Father John the preacher, and a fairy kin family of four. Everyone else was just a soul seeking salvation. Even Father John was only a demihuman by a technicality of divine communion. It wasn’t a surprise. Protestantism was the least popular denomination for demihumans as a core tenant was that no mortal had power above their own reach, of which salvation was beyond any touch. This was true for all, but Catholicism didn’t advertise that as much.
After service, I returned home while Lucy went off on her own. I needed to do some shopping. Both to resupply my magic arsenal and general groceries. I was a lite eater, but Lucy was not. If I didn’t keep up with her bottomless stomach then she would become even more reckless with our limited stipend.
I sat down and went through lists, adding a few more things for Jerry’s visit. After confirming the budget I headed out. My first stop was Hannah’s Garden, an apothecary ran by another half sister of mine.
Hannah Brimhall was another Antichrist that chose to live a life of peace, though only after being thoroughly defeated by a holy man she rivaled with for a decade. Some walk the path of grace, others get kicked down it like a tin can. Her apothecary was a major stop for many studying magic. It was a walled off lot filled with rows of various flower and flora. I spotted Hannah as I walked in and she waved me over.
“Good Morning, Abraham,” She croaked the words. She was well in her second century of life and looked the part. Magic could elongate life and youth, but only so much.
“Good Morning, Hannah.” I bowed my head in respect and pulled out my list, “I’m needing quite the spread today?”
“Today?” She asked sincerely.
“Yes, I’m giving a lesson on magic to a friend. A classmate.”
“On the Sabbath?”
“Yes. My magic may be from my hellish blood, but my practice is an expression of my faith.”
“Oh, it’s like a sermon then.” She smiled.
I thought about that before nodding, “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Well, let’s get you set up Father Prince.” She laughed at her own joke, “Lily darling, can you come help us.”
“What? I thought no work on Sunday was a big rule.” Lily Brimhall moaned as she stepped out of the small building used for the actual business. She was the same age as Hannah though it was difficult to tell. Her body was that of a late twenties woman at most, but those in the know could see the years in the grooves of her horns and how her skin was a deeper, richer shade of red than the younger of her kind. As a pure blooded demon, Lily wasn’t technically a demihuman but was still entitled to all the rights granted to us. Something the two women appreciated over their seven decades of marriage.
“Young Abraham here is preparing for a special evening.” Hannah explained as Lily leaned her tall frame over a kiss.
“Oh, with a girl?” Lily asked coyly.
“A boy,” I answered her.
“Oh?” She sang with a smirk.
“No.” I said sharply
“Oh.” She deflated at that. “Well then, if it’s for little Hammy, then-”
“Abraham.” I snapped at her, “My name is Abraham. Respect it, or don’t speak it.”
The two blinked at me before Lily recovered, “Sorry. Abraham. I’ll start gathering on the other side of the lot.”
She reached out for the list and I handed it over. As she walked out of earshot I sighed and addressed Hannah, “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be.” Hannah smiled and patted my arm, “I’m about the same way. It was one of the first things we had a real fight over. I rather be called Old Hag than some formed nickname. It’s our father’s blood in us. Demanding respect.”
“Is it?” I asked, “Because Lucille never cares about respect.”
“Give her time.” Hannah started going down the rows examining each section for the best selection, “I wasn’t always the kind old bitty you know now. Once upon a time, I was a real hellraiser. Me and Lily were a duo of terror and dread. We spent the decades of war and chaos making things as terrible as possible. Yet, that undamnable man faced us at every turn. And in the end, he managed to turn both of us away from the path of evil. Even when so far as to officiate our marriage.”
Hannah had stopped moving and was bobbing a flower blossom in her hand. “I didn’t know that. About your rival being the one to wed you two.”
“That part doesn’t come up as much. It was a secret ceremony.”
“Were there objections?”
“Our fathers, hers and the one you and I share, both objected to having it be under the authority of Heaven, but they could both suck it.” She closed her eyes and sighed, “His name was Andrew Carpenter. He died fighting during the Horde Invasion.”
I watched her for a moment as she mourned. Finally speaking up I said, “Noble.”
“Yes.” Hannah turned to me, “A noble soul can make a lot possible. Be patient with Lucille.”
“I will,” I said and with that she returned to her chipper mood.
“Good, now where were we?” We returned to gathering various materials. After a while, Lily returned with an excellent range and we headed into the office to complete the transaction.
Before I left I turned to Lily, “I’m sorry. About before.”
She tsked, “Forget about it. You aren’t the first moody brat to get on my case. Of course, I ended up marrying the one that was.”
“Is that so?” Hannah scowled as Lily giggled, “You got some nerve saying that in front of me.”
“Oh come now Honey, you’re not a moody brat anymore.” Lily leaned on the counter and stared lovingly at her wife, “Now you’re a moody hag.”
Hannah whacked her with a broom that only sent Lily into a tittering giggle.
I said my goodbyes and left. I still had to get rations for the week. Which sent me a bit further to a general market ran by an elderly black man. He sat out in front of the store in a rocking chair, as his grandkid minded the store.
“Well howdy there. Been awhile since I seen you.” Oscar said as he saw me.
“I’ve been rather busy since school started, sir,” I said.
“Sounds about right, but be sure to come by now and then. I was about to worry you fell down into dust.”
“I’m a bit tougher than that, sir.”
“Well, you don’t look it. You already ain’t much more than a skeleton.”
I huffed. My thin appearance was always something that others noted. Most people don’t realize just how enjoyable eating was and how miserable starvation was.
“Say boy, I ever tell you about my time in service?” Oscar said adjusting the baseball cap he wore. On it were two silver stars over his name, Oscar Cookmen. “I served through the Horde Invasion. Went in as a Corporal. Came out four years later as a Major General. Of course, they demoted me back down to some kind of Sergeant, but I didn’t mind that. I left the army after that.”
“Did you have a reason?”
“Yes, my reason was,” Oscar leaned in and looked me dead in the eye, “Fuck’em.” He leaned back, “And that’s all the reason I needed. After four years of hell, I didn’t even tell nobody. Just walked off base and went to my mama’s. Army rings me up one day telling me I need to report in or be trialed for AWOL. I said shoot me and hung up. Month later I get a package in the mail. A medal and this hat.”
“Nice to hear a happy ending,” I said.
“I guess.” Oscar stared off into the distance, “You know, I remember the end of The Conflict. I was five at the time. Radio man said the fighting was over and Mama just started crying. I didn’t know about tears of joy, so I was mighty confused until Mama explained that it was a good thing. I was really confused the next day when we learned Grandpa blew his skull off.”
“Suicide?”
“Yep. Spent his whole life in hell. Guess he decided to move there.” Oscar nodded, “Probably could have visited him, but I was busy.”
“War is a demanding career.”
“Sure is. I was in West Africa when they showed. I spoke some of the local languages there. Helped talk stuff out when I could. Then boom. Hell, all over. We started shooting at each other thinking betrayal. Captain got a call and I over heard. Space invaders. Could not believe it, but I saw them myself flying over. I stepped out in the open, hands up, and I shouted in the local tongue Sky Ocean Attack. Because I had no idea how to say Outer Space. So I said Sky Ocean. Sky Ocean Warriors. Sky Ocean bring War. It worked.”
Oscar pursed his lips, “Four years later everything was different. Like the whole world was finally tired of everything. Before you couldn’t walk over yonder without a dozen eyes watching you and about twice as many guns following. After, nobody cared. Everybody was too busy counting stars.”
“Grandpa,” A young woman stepped out front, “You know that boy too polite to interrupt you. Don’t talk him to death.”
Oscar spun around and shouted back, “Ain’t nobody going to die out here but me. Now get back as you was.”
The young woman huffed and called to me, “If you need anything.”
She went back and Oscar straighten up, “I don’t want to keep you all day.”
“I don’t mind.” I said, “Honestly, I don’t mind telling people off for wasting my time, but I do have a schedule to keep.”
He nodded and I returned the nod and went in the store. The young woman, Oscar’s granddaughter, was working the register. “Abraham was it? We were missing you these last few weeks.”
“School.” I said as explanation.
“Right, one of them demihuman schools?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“What was it that makes you a demihuman again?”
I hesitated. There were some demitypes that were less tolerated than others, and hell spawn wasn’t often loved, but to lie was a sin. “I’m a magic user.”
“Really? What kind of magic?”
“All magic is the same.” I explained, “But I specialize in matrix construction. Magic circles. The kind you bind demons in.”
“Wow, I’ll remember that if we get any trouble like that.”
I nodded and grabbed my groceries. Bidding farewell to Oscar I headed home. As I entered I was greeted by the roar of Lucille snoring on the couch. Sprawled and barely decent I kicked her ankle waking her. She spun about and rubbed her eyes “I thought today was about resting.”
“There’s a difference between resting and lazing,” I said.
“Come on. I work hard you know.”
“Being a consultant on call isn’t much work.”
She huffed, “Use to be. Work was aplenty back during the mutant uprising.”
“The Mutant Revolution? The one during the nineties?” I questioned her. I actually didn’t know Lucille’s age. I had heard she was in her thirties, but that had been a few years ago, and she didn’t show any sign of aging. Much like Lily Brimhall.
“Oh yeah. The Mutant Uprising was a wild time. I’ve heard hundreds of stories.” She said neither confirming or denying her own involvement. “Freelance work flowed like a river.”
“You mean mercenary work?” I asked.
“Oh yeah. After The Unfounding of Pittsburgh, every metropolitan was flowing with blood.” Lucille stretched and stood, “I remember one story down south in Georgia. A protest over a new law turned into a three day brawl. The president had to call the United Nations to aid in containment.”
“Only containment?” I knew about the Mutant Revolution that had taken up most of the nineties. An incredibly violent time caused by the oppression of mutant demihumans breaking under the weight of the newly invented drug Buffout.
“Well that’s all they could do back then was contain. Let the Brotherhood fight it out with the local forces. Mundane police and other gangs. National governments were scared to act directly. Fear of causing an international issue. Not even the Department would act unless needed, and they actively tried to not be needed.”
“How so?”
“By preemptively kicking ass mostly. They would go in somewhere for whatever reason they could, usually under the IRS’s authority, and break every bone they came across. After that their reputation was enough to get big boys to settle down. They could just stand around and do nothing.”
I had known some of this. Mostly how the Department of Demi-Humans grew to be feared and respected during these times.
“In fact, a lot of the rules around brawling were established by them. Monologues and beatdowns. It was also the time superheroes and villains started really catching on. Like mainstream. Weird times all around.”
“You talk like you were involved.”
“Of course not. The Uprising was a worldwide thing across eight years.” She headed upstairs, “I’m going to bed, if that’s okay.”
I said nothing. I had known Lucille for nearly ten years and the only thing I knew about her was that we were fathered by the same devil. I hated her so much. Not just as a sibling, but more so. She was everything I hated and more, but she was family. We cared about each other. She puts up with my nonstop preaching after all.
I headed into my laboratory. A space of magical research that took up the whole of the basement. It was filled with books and beakers and everything a mad scientist would stock alongside the odds and ends of a master chef. Onions and garlic laid around beakers with arcane designs displayed next to them. In the center of it all was a circle with a pentagram made of copper.
I prepared for my lesson. Taking the dozens of books lying around and shelving them. The loose ingredients scattered about were gathered in a bin, and many mixtures I had set were neutralized and set aside. When I set the last solution aside the doorbell rang.
I went up and answered to find Jerry.
“I just finished cleaning up,” I said.
“Glad I have such good timing.” He said. I just nodded and invited him in. We headed straight to my lab.
“What do you know about magic?” I asked first off.
“That you and Runesir use it frequently and it’s incredibly versatile.” Jerry answered, “I’ve overheard Runesir call you a hell spawn in a less than kind tone.”
“I am a hell spawn.”
“But so is Adrian.”
“Adrian is only a half demon. I am born of a devil.”
“How different is that?” Jerry asked. Not how it was different. Just how much different it was.
“My father is an active force of evil.” I explained, “Me and my siblings are made to be an opposite to the Messiah.”
“An Antichrist.” Jerry said offhanded, “Does that make you more powerful than just half demons.”
“No, not inherently. It’s simply that devils aren’t able to leave the underworld. Ever.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m spawned from hell specifically. Demons can exist throughout the realms. It’s not a scale. It’s a category. One that means little.”
“I see. So why does Runesir hate you so?”
“Because he’s envious.”
“Why? He outmatches you in every field.”
“No. He doesn’t. He can beat me only out of training in combative magic. I’m both more flexible and stronger in raw power. I could easily outlast him if he didn’t down me in the first few moves.”
“Really? Does he not have the endurance for a prolonged battle?”
“Endurance has nothing to do with it. It’s all about raw mana.”
“Mana?”
I pulled a book and opened it handing it over, “Yes, mana is the measurable energy that powers magic. Like fire or electricity. In scientific terms, we act upon it and it acts upon the world, but doing that action makes it disperse around and away from us making it harder to use. Out of reach in a way. But we can store extra mana within us. This is called a mana well, and I have a large capacity compared to Runesir.”
Jerry looked over the book, “But Runesir still wins.”
It wasn’t a question, but I expanded on it, “Yes. Because Runesir is more practiced in battle magics, though he claims it to be his skills. He has a small but well-formed list of spells he can cast as a reflex.”
“He’s quicker on the draw. Doesn’t matter how big the gun is if he shoots first.”
“Exactly.”
Jerry looked down to the floor, “Why pentagrams?”
“Variety of use.” I pulled another book and opened to a listing of circle designs. “The most basic is the three point circle, but there’s not much you can do with it. The four is better and often the minimum needed. The most common is actually the six point circle, often cited as the Star of David. Incredibly powerful and still easy to use. The higher you go the more power you can weave into a spell, but the harder it is to use. The five point is middle grounds for power and complexity.”
“Jack of all trades?”
“Yes and no. It can be used for nearly any working, but it has specialties and limits. Its real advantage is that it needs only one spell caster to make it. The six point needs more working, but it’s the real go to for long term workings.”
“Five star for short term, six for long term.” Jerry said, “What kind of works would be short or long.”
“Again, it’s a bit more than that, but the easiest way to think about it is offense or defense. A Star of Power is used for attacking or summoning. A Star of David is used for defending or sealing.”
Jerry nodded, “Interesting. That’s why the Star of David was used by Jewish warriors?”
“Yes. Knowledge given to them by Heaven.”
Jerry nodded, “Do Christians have their own magic?”
“Magic is magic. There is no difference between Jewish magic or Christian magic, or even Demon magic for that matter.”
Jerry nodded, “I see, so you and Runesir are the same?”
“He would likely disagree, but yes. Anything one could do the other could do.”
Jerry nodded, “What about Jessica Black?”
“She’s a special case.”
“How so?”
“Jessica uses preset spells made by another force. I, and Runesir, make our own castings. Even if they are copies of previous spell casters.”
Jerry nodded, “So, Jessica uses premade spells, but you just copy others?”
I sighed, “Not quite. I can copy others, but I can also build original workings. Even if they turn into copies themselves.”
“What does that mean?” Jerry was taken aback.
“It’s not too difficult to understand. It’s like magic has a language of its own. Magic words and sigils form over time from casters wearing them into the flow of magic. This is how mundane ritual magic is possible.”
“What? Ritual magic is real?”
“Yes, very, but it’s tricky. It’s far less common nowadays, but it use to be that mundanes would study enough magic to be able to fake real magic by setting and performing the working of magic in a way that made them work automatically.”
“So Samuel could learn rituals and become a spellcaster himself?”
“In theory, but like I said it’s far less common today. The most important part of a magic working is power.”
“As in?”
“Mana. You need a fuel source. For magic users we can use our own mana, but for mundanes they need to find a way to pipe in energy, and that’s easier said than done.”
“How so?”
“Magic is like any form of energy. It flows through the path of least resistance. That’s why it takes actual willpower to aim it. You have to will the path of least resistance with willpower. But if you’re just laying down a ritual, then you need to find and place it where the least resistance for mana is to fuel the spell.”
“And that’s rare?”
“Yes, because almost anything can put up resistance. A thin linen cloth can block it the way it blocks light and wind. Not much, but possibly enough. So it needs to be in the open, and therefore vulnerable. Anyone could break the working, physically in person, or magically at a range. Mundane rituals need to be in secret while also meaning the needs of the working. Easier to pay a spellcaster to help. Even if it’s just buying mana crystals to fuel your magic.”
“Mana crystals?”
“Rocks with a mana well inside. You can set them to work in all kinds of ways. The way I know is to just have them leak mana over time, but the ways are endless.”
Jerry nodded, “Okay, I see. Change of topic, witch and wizard, what’s the difference?”
“Doctors and architects. Most classifications of spellcasters are just job descriptions. Wizards are magic architects, but also a catch-all term. Witches are spell casters of the medical field, good and bad.”
“There’s bad medicine?”
“Warping a body into a monster counts as medical working. But so does growing drug plants, but that’s also a form of druid craft.”
“Shaman?”
“Shaman is just a catch-all for the natives, but most Shaman are druids and wizards, but not witches because they’re very against mixing auras directly.”
Jerry nodded, “So you can be more than one?”
“Yes, again, just like how you can be a doctor and an architect.”
“Okay, alchemist?”
“Magic chemist.”
“Mystic?”
“Magic priest. Often leads religious gatherings.”
“Mage?”
“One who is a magic user, but not a spellcaster. Counter to sorcerers who are spellcasters, but not magic users.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Spellcasting is shaping magic. Magic using is just, well, using magic. Adrian is technically a mage since he can’t shape his mana into a spell. Most mages rely on using items made by others, or just by being bigger and stronger.”
“What about sorcerers?”
“Often ritual leaders. Moving magic around. But without their own source of mana they are limited.”
Jerry fanned through the book, “Any other terms I should know?”
“Plenty. An endless amount. Especially if you start counting names and titles.”
“Are names an important thing to consider?”
“Yes. Incredibly so. Names have a power like no other.”
“Like what?”
“Like the power to have power. Names are needed to have any kind of real power to begin with.”
“What about targeting? I’ve heard you can influence power directly through a thing’s name.”
“Yes.”
“So isn’t that a major disadvantage.”
“No. Names are needed to have any kind of real power to begin with,” I repeated, “A nameless thing might be hard to target, but it could never gain any real power to act with.”
“I see.” Jerry flipped a few more pages, “Is there anything else technical, or could we move on to some practical lessons.”
I couldn’t think of anything, and so we moved on to a practical lesson on the workings of magic. I showed Jerry how spellcastings often started and a basic outline of elemental forms. I went over proper technique and showed the difference between a loose casting where the magic itself had to pick up the slack and a full casting where the wizard did everything right allowing the spell to take its full form. Word uses and sigil placement. Ritual magic powered by a real wizard and free-form casting without tools or resources.
I don’t know how long we spent going over all the magical knowledge I was willing to share, but the sun had been long set when we returned to the surface. I walked Jerry to the door, “I hope I answered all your questions.”
“No,” He answered, “but I know how secretive wizards are. Even Jessica Black has a natural instinct to keep secrets.”
“Yes, secrets are an important part of the culture.” I said, “We guard them well.”
“Indeed, which is why I wouldn’t bother to pry.” He said in his knowing tone before opening the door and walking out, “See you tomorrow Abraham.”
I closed the door behind him and thought back. We had never gotten on the subject of secrets. The bits of information wizards guarded closely. Yet Jerry seemed to have known about them well enough. That was odd, but benign. Jerry was an odd person to begin with. Overthinking wouldn’t help. So I didn’t, and instead simply headed upstairs to prepare for bed. A comfort I very much appreciated.
