It was a considerable walk from The Conjury to the Brindle house, though I admit despite being worn out by it, at least the time it took and the energy expended wore down my anger enough that I was less likely to explode at the mere mention of my adventure.
And good thing, knowing what I was likely to face the moment I walked through the front door. That thought actually made things slightly worse as I stomped my way through the dark and quiet back streets of London, the ringing sound of my boots doing little to satisfy my need to harm something. It's probable I expelled magic energy as well, since even through the late hour I was unaccosted or even approached by some of the seedier residents I happened upon. Part of me wished for just such a dust up with a tyrant or two, but my logical s
