After St. Louis, I knew it was time to seat the cannibal tribe in the "past tense" section of living. I mean, you just don't kidnap someone's demon accountant. That's just frickin' rude.

Of course, now we're doing the chasing, like a couple of shotgun-toting girls hunting down our dates to the Sadie Hawkins' dance. Well, except that Noah's not a girl...and our dates are a cannibal tribe and yet another dickbag demon that wants to kill me. 

Oh, and the dance is death. Possibly of the eaten-alive, cannibal variety. At least, if the cannibals get me first. If it's the demon, there's a good chance it will involve a reenactment of the scene from that Indiana Jones movie when the guy rips the poor sap's heart right out of his chest. 

So, that's fun. 

Then, there's the constant acid reflux of having Noah along for the ride. Apparently, my handcart, hurtling toward hell, seats two. I'll do my best to keep him alive as we hunt necrowitches, pucas, bugbears, demons, and of course, Sister Smile and her tribe of cannibals.

Raise the whiskey and pass the ammunition.