Leon had attached himself to me in Chicago like a fat, brat-and-beer-filled tick; I was amazed that someone whose blood was clearly half pork grease had made it to age seventy-five.
Aiden followed my gaze. Leon, that one there counts half for me. So that’s six and a half. Then he pivoted around, heading toward another daimon who had a Guard pinned on the floor.Leon shrugged. That...
(n.) A lion.