Like where I stashed that damned bottle of red ink. I set my glass down on the table and scan the shelves. Ah, yes. Beside Laerdahl's Demonica Vobiscum, bloody useless thing. Not worth the paper and cardboard it's printed on, if you ask me. But every baby Watcher has to buy it. Just like every Watcher is given a bottle of red ink, with the Council seal on the top, when we set out to join our Slayer.

After all, it's not like we couldn't pop out to the nearest Staples and buy red ink, or a red pen, or a red cartridge for a printer nowadays. No, we have to accept the Council ink, because someone's umpty great-grandfather sold a bottle to someone else's umpty great-grandfather and now it's Tradition. I wanted to break the bottle when I broke my other Council ties, but something held me back. Superstition, I suppose. Like the natives used to be about photographs, when the sun never set on the British Empire.

read more...