Antiquing
The little voodoo shop off Rampart was packed full of aesthetically fascinating stuff. Corey couldn't resist. Besides, from what he knew of it, the religion itself -- if not necessarily some of the associated magical practices -- made a lot of sense to him. Pouring out the first sip of milk or wine, offering up shot glasses of rum... he could connect.
He picked up a book of voodoun iconography and dusted it off. Under it was another, dustier book, the leather cover all scarred. Corey picked that up, too, and opened it. Oooh, nice pictures! All sketchy and... bizarre. Not quite Escher or Geigeresque, but interesting. There were family trees the back sections, with hand notes. ...And then Corey spotted the name 'Nicholas Scratch of New Salem.'
Wasn't that Nick's father's name? His really disgusting babykiller-wannabe father?
"Celeste, how much for the freaky antique history-sketchbook?"
"What? Oh, that. I don't even know where that came from; it was Mom's. Let's just price it the same as the art books."
"Okay...I think I'll take it."
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