"The one with your profile on the label? You're so vain, Monsieur Joly," she says, straining to keep the mood light despite the heavy, unnerving, pungent burden in their arms. It helps when Joly is so eager to dip back into puns, which seem to be a coping mechanism and a compulsion both. A welcome one, as far as Venus is concerned.

They dump the corpse in the street about fifty yards from the shop, then make away from it, just far enough to keep from losing sight of it. For a few moments they watch, waiting to see if any other creatures come to feast upon its flesh, but nothing emerges from the fog. Venus takes this as a sign of good fortune and claps Joly on the back, dreading the nightmares she'll be having tonight.

"Let's go in. You can patch me up and we can set up camp. Come nightfall I'll start looking for our friends."