1 Novel. 170 Authors. “And what did you do in The Black Merkin?” thundered Skankhammer. “I etched out diagrams.” “I see.” Of course he didn’t see. How could he? “My governess was a Magus,” she explained. “Consequently, I do not handle the everyday very well, and my table manners are appalling, and—” “Good heavens! You aren’t about to tell me you don’t follow the typical career path of a curator? You poor, benighted girl. What can you do?” “I can, as Crowley will tell you, break a chicken’s neck—or speak so that the bowels of the earth open up.” “Then talk, by all means, Miss Ashmouth. It is, after all, the only safe thing one—or two, rather—can do upon hearing the news of the apocalypse.” www.badromancer.co.uk | www.andpublishing.org
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