“Headology–the tough-love art of helping people make themselves even more awesome than they already are,” the girl read from the heavy tome defenestrated from God’s ivory tower. “How would you like to be even more awesome than you already are, Mr. John?” She circled the man at the stake. “Do you believe in reincarnatin?” asked the girl. She was much to little to be asking such questions, but then… “You die, and then, Shazam! You’re back… in the bat of a lash,” she continue, pausing only briefly to pull a pack of cigarettes from her knee socks. “Do you fancy yourself a resilient sort, Mr. John?” She lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. “You really can’t get any more resilient than reincarnation now can you?” she puffed. “I mean, reincarnation is, like the height of resilience, don’t you think, Mr. John?” It didn’t sound very much like a question to the elderly gentleman from Oxford. And she only waited for a moment for him not to answer. One, two more pulls from the cigarette then she tossed it on the kindle at this feet. Only seconds later he felt the first burn of the fire at his feet. Gizzard and Gelid hopped around the fire, the former waving the ancient codex, the latter a catheter. His catheter? The thought was nothing more than that. Mr. John’s legs were already melting.