Morgan paused for a second, as he caught a glimpse of some other place, in Dean's mind. Humans, a place teeming with them. Free humans. He shook it off, filed it away for later thought, and moved on to Dean's question.
"We can get nasty storms here, but not like this," Morgan said, shaking his head. "My guess is it's magic, which makes me wonder who benefits from a snowstorm in the summer. Unless a local witch has started a plowing business, which would seem a bit obvious."
Morgan gave a small laugh, and opened up the fridge. He was pretty sure they wouldn't need this food, which was good, since he mostly served bar food. More than three days in a row of mozzarella sticks, and he would be off of them for a year. He grabbed an empty bag, loaded it with food, and passed it to the slave.
"I don't keep any beer upstairs. If you want to grab a twelve to take with you, you're welcome to it."