“ I don’t do much of it myself,” he mused. “Not when what I need’s there for the taking.” James picked up a book from a stack most would ignore. It was used, part of a pile of unmarked items that needed to be dusted and put somewhere for safekeeping. “No one in their right mind would buy this.” He cracked it open and flipped the yellowed pages.
The book was a limited release of a fringe practitioner’s journal, full of descriptions of alleged visions, sketches of symbols, theories of things to come. Whether the author was a lunatic or a revolutionary was a subject of intense debate in the occult community.
His mouth twitched. “I think that means it’s for you.”
He extended it and waited to see what she would do. There was an air of restlessness, or maybe chaos, around her. James couldn’t tell who she was, if she talked a big game but would hesitate to walk it. She might turn her nose up, like she had not-quite-imperceptibly done at the crystals.