Now these things happened to them as an example, but they were written for our instruction, upon whom the end of the ages has come.
(I Corinthians 10.11)
When I got in that night, I decided I’d better call my parents to tell them about the car. It turns out that situations like this is what insurance is for. Who knew? Yes, everyone. But, for some reason, I’ve never been able to bring myself to consider any course of action that might possibly involve (a) paperwork or (b) official interaction with a person I don’t know.
But, while my financial situation wasn’t quite as dire as I’d feared, I still had to get a car. I didn’t feel like catching a ride with anyone—especially Mara—so I hoofed it a few blocks to the nearest used car lot. And that’s where I found it: 1992 Honda Civic, dull red, manual transmission.
Small? Check.
Trunk storage for longsword? Check.
Cheap? Double check.
I got the keys and started thinking. I wanted to find out (a) what the goblins were up to, (b) why they had a troll, and (c) who all of them were working for.
See, Team Moria isn’t exactly flooded with self-starters. Goblins and trolls don’t form partnerships. They’ve got one leader: someone who happens to be a little brighter and a little more depraved than all the others. Sometimes a lot more. I needed to discover the chain of command.
On the way back to the apartment, I passed under the fateful overpass. I drove slow. I peered. But nothing. I started thinking maybe it was just chance that I met them there. They might not even be based out of Southside.
Mara rang me as I was pulling into the complex.
“You get it?”
“Yeah.”
“And did you post that ad?”
“Yes.” I made sure she heard the sigh.
“Just think: Noah with a bunch of crazy roommates! Maybe you can start a band or paint each other’s toenails or—”
“Is there a reason you’re calling me, Mara?”
“Just checking in.”
“Why? Don’t you have more important things to be doing?” She didn’t respond. “I mean, I don’t mind the company sometimes, but I’m just not sure I deserve so much angelic attention.”
“I’m worried about you, Noah.”
“Here we go.”
“Noah, listen: I’ve been around since day 1, and I’ve seen a lot of people go through things like this—”
I threw the handbrake and sank into the seat. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”
“Maybe you don’t. Did I ever tell you about John Wicker?”
“Enlighten me.”
“He was in the first generation of Anointed,” Mara said. “He was like you. He was your age, your personality. His wife was the only thing that mattered to him; he adored her completely. He got married at 23, just like you. He was happy and had no idea something was wrong. But his wife couldn’t take it. She couldn’t handle her new husband being—what he was. She wasn’t a believer in the first place. She left him a year later and told everyone he’d cheated on her. She did it just like that—no warning, all of a sudden. He came home one night, and she was gone. He killed himself three months later.”
I didn’t say anything for a long time.
“You understand,” Mara said.
“I sure do.”
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