Professor Lewis drew on her pipe and held the smoke for a considered moment, weighing Vernon with her eyes. When she spoke, it was in a cloud of smoke. "If demons are real, why on earth do you think I should know something about them?"

Vernon looked at the aged academician with disbelief. "You're the best-known scholar of demons and evil spirits in mythology. Breathing in the Demons of the Past sold more copies than Chicken Soup for the Soul. If anyone knows, it's you."

Lewis held the pipe to speak clearly. "Kid, those are folkloric and metaphoric demons, riding the cultural subconscious from our historic pasts into the morally stained future. Don't make shit up because you're sad and lonely."

"I'm not—!" Vernon reined in his anger. He put a hand on the professor's arm. "They're real, and I need your help." Pause. "I can make you help me." Lewis tried to pull her arm away, but Vernon's casual-appearing grip was iron-hard. "I ate one. It gave me powers."

"Perhaps I can help you." Lewis sounded unafraid, and she returned the pipe to her mouth before lazily backhanding Vernon across the room. "But they're much more potent when smoked."