And hell, wasn't he just left with the urge to kick him.

"Sorry about him," Deacon apologised. "His social skills are non-existent at times. He's reliable though. And he makes a surprisingly great cup of tea, if you're interested?"

"No."

That polite smile was flung back at him like a loaded gun. "Of course. Here, if you'd like to come with me, I can talk freely."

The counter was a small slab that doubled as a cabinet. It was glass, shelves layering beneath the till. He pulled a book out from beneath one of them, flipped the page and slid it across.

The pages were thick and heavy. They were...