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Actually, it did hurt a little


Brother Sevus sighed.


“Junie,” he said patiently.


“Junie!” he shouted.

Junie narrowed her eyes and glared at him as a proxy for those that had set a fire in the archive. Pointing at him with an accusatory finger she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Victoooooooor.”

“It was not Victor Mornington, Junie. Why would he set a fire in the archive? Why would he only burn pictures? It makes no sense at all. Nothing about it makes any sense.”

Junie flopped down into a chair and kicked the barrel that had been brought in to incinerate what seemed like a randomly chosen array of artifacts. A puff of dust rose from the rim.

“It isn’t fair, Sevus,” she pouted. “We’ve worked so hard in here.”

Brother Sevus walked over to the barrel and glanced in, giving it another resigned shake of his head. He pulled a flask from his pocket and handed it to her.

“We’ll recover,” he said. “Nothing critical was lost.” He caught her eye, smirked, and tapped the side of his head.

Still irked and wearing a scowl worthy of her cranky aunt, she took a swig from the flask and then replaced the cap.

“You realize there is only one group to bring in that could possibly make a difference here,” she said flatly.

Brother Sevus paused for a moment, trying to anticipate the answer. “No, Junie, we’re not going to call the militia. There are always problems when they–”

“Not the militia,” she cut in. Standing, she thrust the flask back into his grasp, took up her coat and walked toward the door.

“Then who?” he asked.

She turned to look at him as she wrapped her scarf. “The media.”

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