Almost 34K words! Huzzah. 56.5%, too. Every little bit helps.
Lucas looked down at the club. “Nasty piece of work,” he said, his hands carefully behind his back. “And what is this along the edge, glass?”
“Yeah. Don’t touch it. It’s sharp as hell, and smells a little like it, too.”
“Does it?” Lucas focused on the club. “Okay, yeah, now I can smell it, too. If I was a mage—”
“Which you’re not.”
“—which I’m not, I’d be saying that this thing has some kind of weird-ass charge on it. A nasty one, too.”
“Necromantic? Demonic?” I’m not an expert on flavors of magic, and I hadn’t seen my go-to guy on that subject for almost a year. I hadn’t gotten a letter from him in the past three months, either.
“Necromancy isn’t so bad, depending on what you use it for. And it smells wrong for demons. I’m mostly just getting blood off of this.” Lucas looked sick. “Not fresh blood, sort of like… the idea of blood, or maybe even the memory of it.”