"I'm still not sure if he's an arcana NOW," John said as he walked to the table from the bar. He'd brought two hearty bowls of stew, one piping hot and one cold. The stew was heady with scent as he popped one bowl over to fenn, specifically the cold one. It would better suit the fae's tastes. With any luck, there'd be a girl to come back with a little blanket for the boy. John himself had gotten some whiskey.

But those were concerns for five minutes from now. John dove into his bread and stew, looking up at Vincent, who stared a little in surprise.

"What? I said I'd be here."