We have nothing left. Orphans. Castaways." She turns to me. "Childless. That is what we are. The unwanted or the un-killed. We
are together only by the wrongs done to us. There is no-one else to worry about us, to fear for our safety, or to give us comfort.

We fight monsters and unholy creatures for a living here. Grotesque, evil, violent, dangerous; they’re certainly all these things. And yet, we somehow manage to go to sleep each night and wake up each morning. The terror wears off. What was horrific becomes mundane. We lose ourselves to a numbed normalcy after a while, a self-inflicted detachment. You forget how you got here, what it was like before. And then someone comes along, someone new, someone who sees it all with fresh eyes, and it snaps you out of your daily coma, reminding you of what you’ve forgotten. Of what you’ve become.

I know you think I should be home taking care of my family. That maybe I’d be distracted or I wouldn’t be as committed as the rest of you, but who’s more committed: the person with something to lose, or the people who’ve got nothing left?

The things I’ve seen," he continues easily, "have shown me that the only constant is change. Too much power in one place is a fool’s errand. Eventually, and inevitably, no matter how good the intentions, or how long the life, power always wins out, and everyone suffers for it. The only true path of rational existence is balance; a constant re-assessment of the burdens of power, if you will.

Do I strike you as a frivolous man, Kelly?"

I look at him, sitting there in another thousand dollar suit. Pompous? Yes. Self-centered? Yes. Careless? "No.

You want me to join your group of demon hunters," I can’t believe I just said that out loud, "because of a can of pepper spray and a boat load of luck? You’re insane.