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“But he’s from England.” Jakob of Thorn ushered him over the threshold. “They’re all devils there.”
“Manners might seem like magic in this company,” grunted the vampire. “The two are not so far apart as some would prefer to believe. Rather like good and evil, in that regard.”
He had never had much patience for religion. What was it, really, but superstition with money?
“If there’s a secret…” mused Vigga, who’d either forgotten she still had her legs wide open or didn’t care, “it’s to never be shy about asking the question, and never fear what the answer will be, and waste no tears over the refusals, and clutch with both hands at any flicker of warmth that can be clawed from the uncaring darkness of existence.” Alex slowly nodded. “Only that, eh?”
The Saviour had definitely tended against killing, and she heard priests talk about murder like it was really the worst, but when she finally read the scriptures herself, she found God couldn’t go a page without smiting the shit out of someone.
