“So you want to kill me?” James stepped past a crowded bookshelf, pivoting to face her as he wove a path through the inventory. “First time someone’s said it to my face.”
James didn’t put much stock in a “big show” apocalypse foretold about in books; the gods were too busy clamoring for human favor to let them off the ride. They’d let people spin their way across the solar system on this rock until it was an uninhabitable wasteland. But if he was wrong, if it had been written in the stars that a woman with brown hair and blue eyes was going to visit his father’s shop to kick it off, it was preordained. Nothing could stop it. Everyone had a part to play.
He scrubbed at the week-old beard on his jaw. “We don’t carry an instruction manual, but… If you want to end the world, I can suggest a few demons to worship. They love a host with initiative.”