“Might be useful against demons,” Jono mused. “Only if he believes in that god,” Patrick said. Wade snorted, a hint of smoke drifting out of his nose, the acridness impossible to ignore. “Hell no. Gods are just trouble.” Jono tugged on Patrick’s arm. “At least we’re raising him right.” Patrick rolled his eyes. “He’s nineteen. He could raise himself.” “Doubtful. He’d be living off Pop-Tarts and Hot Pockets if he tried.”
