The living room, complete with wood paneling and old green-fabric couches, was covered in g*n magazines, metal and rock posters, and racks and racks of weapons. Most of them weren’t magical, but a few were on par with Fezzik.
In a far corner stood what looked like a liquor cabinet, but one door was cracked open to reveal boxes of ammunition. They gave off a faint magical signature. Interestingly, they were sealed, as if they had been shipped here rather than made in-house. Did the brothers get their weapons and ammo from someone else and then resell them?
“That’s what we’ll find out,” Kurt called back. “If you can tear yourself away from your work.”
As I followed him deep into the house, I peeked into a kitchen and dining room that had been converted into an office overflowing with boxe
