Jo stands when I enter, dumping a book off her lap. I know without looking that it’s a grimoire she was studying and not something she was reading for fun, by simple fact that she never does anything for fun. Chi, who has apparently made it his mission to absorb as much modern technology as he possibly can before we’re dragged back down to our usual standards, is in the corner pecking at a sophisticated stereo like a trained bird hoping for a treat to pop out. He turns at the sound of Jo’s book hitting the floor. “Did he speak?” Jo. “Did he survive?” Chi, of course. “Yes,” I answer them both at once. “He was still . . . but he managed to get the words out.” “Convenient,” Jo says with a matter-of-fact nod. “He was basically pre-tortured.” “They kept at it until he couldn’t speak anymore.” I shake the memory away.
