Riley’s arms opened, and I collapsed to the floor, my lungs on fire as I sucked at the air, my head screaming with pain.

“Great Cthulhu,” Epistola whispered. “Dead Cthulhu. The time is nigh—the prophecies of old—for years have I labored for your glorious return—for years have I been your loyal slave—”

Silence welled through the theatre as they listened for an answer.

Riley angrily twisted away from the screen, running his hands through his black hair. “Slaves do not summon their masters,” he muttered, but his voice carried no further than the shop walls. “And humans do not presume to control me. I am the Great Priest. Where my feet fall, you are crushed like ants.”

Epistola and the cultists listened, but heard nothing.

A slow clap echoed through the shop.

I lifted my spinning head and cringed deeply. Neil sat in a beat-up La-Z-Boy in the corner, cradling a swirled blue pipe between two fingers as he watched us. White smoke curled through the glass tubing and formed the word ‘encore’ above his head.

“Bravo,” he said. “You just defied occult convention with the power of love. Excellent show.”

Riley spun on him. “You old fool. They have the Grimoire—where do you suppose they found that?”

Neil’s clap slowed to a stop and he regarded Riley, the storm clouds in his eyes veiling something darker, something that jolted through me like lightning on a clear day.

“I like you, kid,” he said. “But watch your tone with me.”

“Apologies,” Riley gritted. “Where did they get the Grimoire?”

Back on the screen, the cultists had begun to murmur dissent. Epistola flicked her fingers through the pages of the Grimoire, her eyes on fire with rage.

Neil puffed on his pipe and frowned. He leaned over the side of his chair to nudge the cat’s litter-box aside with the tip of his cane, and then seemed disappointed to find nothing beneath it but dusty floor and a dead cockroach. “Okay, so… there was a kid poking around in here this morning while I was busy in the back,” he shrugged. “I told you, you should have left it in the bus depot.”

Riley closed his eyes. “You stored an Eldritch Grimoire in a box of feces.”

“It seemed somehow appropriate. But hey, the danger’s passed.” Neil nodded to the screen. “You’ve resisted the summons through the sheer awesome power of love. Good job.” He tapped distractedly at his pipe. “Of course, suppose it didn’t hurt that she jumped the gun, performing a summoning ceremony before the Alignment reached full power…”

“Cthulhu has abandoned us!” One of the cultists shouted, and we turned to watch the screen again.

Epistola’s eyes snapped up to the speaker.

“Cthulhu has found our leader unworthy,” another agreed. “Perhaps it would please the Great Priest if we were to sacrifice her to his glory.”