today I get to discreetly drop off a package of occult books at a train platform in an exchange with the butler of a man I've never met which should give you an idea firstly of the lengths your bookseller will go to for you and secondly how much of a caricature my life has become

currently racing through London carrying a full bag of entirely unrelated books in the hope I can reach the store, switch them and make the dropoff in time because this particular client is someone I have a sinking gut feeling it would be a bad idea to cross

if I vanish suddenly then I want you all to know that I regret nothing and also to burn everything in my desk without looking at it

delivery made

he was very handsome

alas duty calls elsewhere and I know better than to be lured into a dark magic cult by a pretty face, been there done that, got the pentagram