Well, sure, nobody ever thinks they're the monster.
(Except Veronica. And she is generally correct.)
The girls crouched on the floor of a narrow aisle. “That oughta make him examine his life choices for a while,” Veronica whispered. “Hey, did anything about that seem weird to you?”
“Did anything—“ Maeve stuttered in disbelief. “Yes all of it Veronica!”
“No, I mean it,” the red gargoyle insisted. “I’m out here night after night for like twelve years and not even a whiff of mage. You’re out here for an hour and half and Trenchcoat here just shows up? Come on.”
“Veronica, why does that matter?” Maeve asked wearily.
“I’d really like to know!” Veronica whispered. Raising her voice, she called “Hey Trenchcoat! How did you find us?”
“Magic! Obviously,” came the sneering reply from elsewhere in the store. “And I will again!”
“See? Now we’re dialoguing,” Veronica whispered to Maeve. “Could you go away please?” she shouted.
In a different aisle, the mage rubbed the back of his head painfully. A blue-white flame emanated from his upturned free hand as he searched. “I absolutely will,” he called back. “After I unmake you, devil, I am willing to return the believer unharmed to her sanctuary. I am not the monster here.”
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