for a year, it wasn’t long, I think I knew I’d go back eventually. To keep my brain from rotting I tried to teach myself Latin; I can still translate basic things like prayers and headstones so I guess it worked, after a fashion. When I went back after that year, he walked me right up to the door, I don’t think I would have gone in otherwise. I wore his leather jacket for luck, my hair was a black snarl all the way down my back and I was ready to fight anyone, just in case.

My secret: I’ve never been in a fight, not a fair one anyway.

When I graduated at the end of the year he gave me a book about plants, because I liked them, and on every other page he’d slipped a hundred dollar bill. For books, he said — I think, I mean I think I remember.

I’m nine thousand years older as of two weeks ago, my hair is still a black snarl and I’m still ready to fight anyone, anytime.

I have my own hundreds, now.