She’d met, and then summarily murdered, nearly everything that had crossed her path: gods, demons, things that went bump in the night, and even aliens—and then Vincent, that smarmy asshole bastard, had to plant doubt in her mind: “They look like monsters to you?”

Now she could no longer pretend her life was normal, no matter how much Douglas tried otherwise. Discovering that she was the reincarnated vessel for some drug-addled death-cult’s Eldritch horror had changed everything.

Douglas noticed her sulking and offered her a cigarette: one of the few vices he allowed her, figuring she’d earned that much.