Grim smiled and closed the newspaper. “Ragtag band of scrappy misfits,” he said with a chuckle, as he ate a bagel for breakfast.
He had spent the night with Scott, reassuring him that everything was fine now between him and Kenny. Mikael was right, as usual – the reason Grim was angry wasn’t because of Kenny having Scott. It was because Kenny fucked Scott, a hot, heavy, sex-driven moment of lust, not a loving, caring, time of mutual pleasure.
Grim envisioned Kenny throwing Scott up against the wall and having his way with him, and that’s what irritated Grim. Kenny admitted it was special but he was still going to fuck anyone he wanted – and that’s what Grim thought he saw it as: just another fuck, another conquest, another success. Grim wanted Kenny to feel what he feels toward Scott. Mal did. Knight did, probably.
Grim crumpled up the newspaper and threw it in the trash, not even caring about the recycling bin. He went into the library.
He got halfway down the stairs before a book’s spine cracked him in the head, sending him almost sprawling down the last few steps. The book fell onto the stairs and pages flipped on their own accord. Grim watched them flip back and forth, as if not sure where to end up, and then finally it stopped. Grim walked up to it.
It was the Lesser Key of Solomon, a book he had memorized years ago. It fell open on the very simple instructions on how to bind a demon.
“No,” Grim said, and shut the book. It flew open again, to the same page, flipping between that and how to summon a demon, both spells that he could do in his sleep.
“No,” Grim said louder, walking away from the book.
Another book came at him, but he ducked just in time. This book also fell open, another binding ritual. Books flew off the shelves, flying by him and to the floor, flipping open to binding spells and rituals. His own grimoire was full of them, and that landed at his feet. His own handwriting, his own words, a spell that he could mutter while Kenny was there, and thus bind a demon-spawn–
“No, damn you!” He turned and went back up the stairs, almost running, while the books folded themselves up and flew back to their places on the shelf – all except his grimoire on the floor. He looked back at it. It waved in a non-existent breeze, beckoning him. He turned around and shut the door to the library.