“Sam, these Latin incantations are giving me flashbacks to reading aloud in class.” You grumble as you stare at the inky black writing in another language, an ancient language.

A dead language. Should stay dead, but oh no not when you’re a hunter, fighting the undead. Hunting was supposed to be pew-pew guns blazing. Not studying like you’re back in Spanish class praying to a God that isn’t listening that you may pass the exam despite having not understood a single word said in that classroom.

To help you in your hunting, in the technical aspects at least, Sam has offered to help you study Latin. To memorize spells or exorcism chants. It could save his, or more importantly your ass someday. So he insisted.

You had made the mistake of agreeing.

“I loved reading out loud in school.” He says, like the little nerd he is. leaning back in the old wooden chair with the corner of his lips tugging up, “Got to show off my skills. Put those illiterate kids to shame.” He quips with a gloating smile.

Of course he did.

He went to Stanford, didn’t he? He pushes the book back in front of you and taps the page expectantly. “C’mon. Say it with me now—Anima est…”