My eyes drifted closed before snapping back open. I shook my head and stared down at the page, the black letters blurring. I’d slept well, my bed incredibly comfortable, and it was a long, hard snooze. None of that mattered in the face of The Life and Times of Atticus William de Loughrey. After about five pages of ten-point font, eight-and-a-half by eleven sheets of white paper with small margins, I was fighting a wave of sleepiness threatening to take me under.
When Atticus handed me the leather binder, I didn’t think much of it. The problem was that it read like a history textbook and had me fighting sleep in a few pages. I hated history in high school, avoided it as best I could in college. Remembering dates with events and who won what battle or who conquered what country only to give
