“We could go to a club,” Crowley suggested in a lazy sigh. He was lying on the couch, an arm and leg draped over the side.

Ever since he’d moved into the bookshop, he’d been complaining about the constant quiet and boredom. Of course, he could easily go out on his own. He was more than capable of finding something to do. But where was the fun in that? He’d moved in for a reason, hadn’t he?