Wicker bemusedly watched Ms. Gray leave his restaurant. He was almost certain she was a demon. But there was perhaps some room to doubt. All that he felt from her was… suspicion. His instincts were good, but they were dull from his time in the city. Perhaps she was human. But it made him suspicious when she stated she’d been tested. Hardly anyone was tested regularly, and those that were usually worked for the Bureau. Or were demons themselves, testing a new method to get around the blood test.

But something bothered Wicker. It felt off to suspect a mage of considerable skill. He’d initially been a little cautious of the young woman. Her volume of magic was poor, terrible even, but the control over that magic was superb for her age. Someone like that would not have been easy to infect. It was still bothering him as he went upstairs to his home and cleaned up a little before going to bed.

When Wicker woke, it was still bothering him, which was annoying considering how little fazed him these days. Even his ritual of coffee and sunrise didn’t help. Coffee still in hand, he walked over to a bookshelf, and selected a well worn journal. Flipping through the pages and pages of hand written notes, he finally found the page on demons. Wicker found the section on reproduction and finished his coffee as he perused the dense writing. Finding nothing he did not already know, he eventually closed it with a sigh and re-shelved the journal. Evidently, the past would be of little use here. Wracking his brain he remembered what he knew about the demons. Unfortunately, he would have to visit an expert.

Wicker entered the apothecary down the street just after opening, wiping his feet on the self cleaning floor mat.

“Hello, how can I he- oh Erwin, good to see you, how are you?” Emile the witch asked, resuming her potion stocking when she recognized Wicker.

“Good, good. I’ve actually come across a small problem in my library.” Wicker said, stepping up to the glass case displaying rows of potions, a few glowing faintly in their little jars.

“Oh? Do tell.” Emile said, gently sorting the last of the potions.

“My section on demons has very little on their reproductive habits.” He said with a straight face, and Emile regarded him with a small smirk.

“Thinking of summoning a friend, are we?” She jested.

“No, I think I may have run across someone who has been infected and hasn’t turned yet.” Wicker said simply.

Emile’s eyes widened slightly before she replied quietly, “Are you sure?”

“No, that’s why I’m here.” Wicker said, somewhat amused. He remembered Emile being interested in demons, and was glad he had remembered correctly.

“Let me get my notes.” Emile said, running to the back of her shop. “And flip the sign!” She shouted back to him. He complied, and lowered the blinds as well as supplying about an hours worth of magic to the lights. When she returned she had a huge stack of books, far outstripping his own collection. He felt slightly jealous at some of the titles she had, as he’d been looking for some of them for quite a while now.

“Demonology for the Common Man? How did you get your hands on that?” Wicker said jealously.

“It was my grandfather’s. He worked at the university’s Department of Spirits.” Emile said with a smile, fully aware of the value of the original copy of the book. Wicker nodded, and Emile started to open books to various pages, finding the sections on reproduction. After half an hour of reading and discussing, Wicker started to have a pretty good idea of what Ms. Gray was. Seeing Wicker thinking, Emile snapped her fingers, getting his attention. “Spill it, Erwin.”

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“So, from what we’ve gathered, this person who is infected is either entirely human and I’m paranoid, or she’s been injected with so little venom it is undetectable by anything other than a full blood test.” Wicker said quietly.

Emile pursed her lips, leaning against the display counter. “Erwin, the amount of venom control needed for that little venom is… astronomical.”

“Can venom be stored before it is used? Like snake venom?” Wicker asked, looking at her.

“It can, but it degrades in about a week, maybe a little more.” Emile replied, still frowning. “But the venom grows in potency the longer it goes between uses by the demon.”

“So demon venom is like wine? Finer the older?” Wicker asked, and Emile nodded.

“Yeah, and like how wine goes bad after its opened, so too does the venom.” She finished.

“So storing is out.” Wicker sighed.

“Yep. Honestly, the oldest demon mentioned in this book is over eight thousand years old, and what that thing could do sounds similar.” Emile said sounding a little excited.

“So… several thousand years old at the least.” Wicker said, not sharing her enthusiasm.

“Its likely. It might even be pre-Calamity. Plenty of stuff is still kicking around from then.” Emile said, still entranced by the thought of an ancient demon trapezing around Toronto, a supposedly safe city. Wicker nodded, then closed the book in front of him.

“Well thank you, Emile, you’ve been a great help as always.” He said with a smile.

“No problem at all, it was fun. You still serving that duck breast?” Emile asked, and Wicker shook his head.

“Wyvern this week. Less fat, just as crispy. On the house, for the help.” He said, and Emile walked him to the door.

Emile opened the blinds as he left, saying “If you see them again, let me know!”

“I will!” He shouted over his shoulder, and walked back down the street to his place. It had been a productive morning, but he needed to get ready for his guests tonight. And he would be damned if a several millennia old demon was going to stop him from making a delicious meal for his customers.

Hours later, Wicker finished wiping down the last table with a dirty rag before he closed all the blinds and swept the place in a well practiced method. Wicker knew it would be faster to clean with magic, but it was so unfulfilling to him. It simply seemed too minuscule a use for magic. Sure, he could use it, but imbuing magic into lots of small things constantly left little if something happened that actually required it. Perhaps it was paranoia, but he acknowledged that it was a habit he had gained through experience. Better to keep it.

Wicker’s thoughts wandered, and as per usual the past day or so, his mind returned to Ms. Gray, the likely infected human still out there, in the streets of Toronto. And her parent, likely a demon of considerable strength. Wicker went upstairs to his bookshelf, regarding his pitifully small section on demons.

“I’m really out of my depth, aren’t I.” Wicker whispered to himself, his books looming over him in the dim bedroom. The personal library was a collection the local universities would likely kill to get their hands on. That being said, most people on Easy Street had similar collections of rare and eccentric literature in different areas. Emile certainly had the most extensive collection, to be sure. Wicker’s was less than a third the size, and Emile’s actually made money because she consulted them regularly for her work. Only, Wicker’s collection was a little unique, even among the curious collection of weirdos he called friends. His was the only one that was entirely authored by one person.