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    Summary

    Vox knew something was up. It always ended up like this when his students started asking oh so innocent questions about niche occult lore, fucking undergraduates. They never fucking listen, and where does that leave them? Joining goddamn cults and trying to summon entities best left forgotten.
    ​
    Oh, and failing their fucking midterms. Worthless rich brats.
    ​
    And here’s Vox left cleaning up their messes instead of curled up with a glass of whiskey and the Legend of Sleepy Hollow to mark the season. This is certainly one way to spend Halloween. The only thing that brought him any solace was that at least Velvette was in the same boat. It was boring work, but Vox would take it when he could ward his house and office from the worst fucking creatures imaginable.

    Or Vox and Velvette stumble on the remains of a ritual gone wrong, and Alastor has come to collect the brides he was promised.

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