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Jeepers, this is far too many books. Even though some are packed in boxes in the corners, ready to be moved, the shelves are groaning. Maybe they made him crazy. Maybe there's one with a picture of that device he used to- well, you know.

He keeps frowning at me. No matter what I do or say, the frown just gets deeper. What a creep. Just huffed to himself when I gave him some of my blood (MY blood, damn it!). Bet there are plenty of people out there who would pay a much higher price than a sneer for it. He didn't seem to care, but I think it's just a front. Sneaky bastard. He better not do anything funny with it. Though it shouldn't matter, in a few nights he'll be dead, or I will.

Glad the magpie's off to run some errands (or whatever, I didn't ask). He'd just laugh at me trying to be all intellectual. All serious and stuff, pretending I'm listening. I play the good student pretty well, freezing my face into a mask of curious interest. He doesn't notice that my eyes glaze over almost immediately. This is the third night I've sat here being lectured to and oh god I never want to go through this again. Maybe Mister Oscar won't be such an awful teacher. Or maybe I'm just done with this Thaumaturgy bullshit. If he'd actually say something useful, actually give some information, it might be tolerable. But he just spews his incomprehensible crap and uses a bunch of words I don't know all one after the other. Sigh. Every once in a while, between swearing at Oscar and lamenting something or other, he gives me an exercise to do, and always tells me I'm doing it wrong. Occasionally I get, "That wasn't quite as bad as the last time". It feels like I'm doing it right, but I dunno.

Every minute I waste listening to his ramblings is one minute that's going to make this whole operation sweeter.

Beginning to think I may need some more help with this. Johnny would freak out at the idea. Jeremy would think it's a big plot to kill him. Plus I don't think either of them would like Byron, he's just not their type. My magpie will come in handy if I'm in real danger, besides his kind don't like my (and Prester's) kind. Maybe some of the Tzimisce will help, if they're so keen to get rid of him? Faith will play along, but how the hell should I get her here? Tom might have some sort of underground ways. Will have to ask around. But not Oscar; I'm doing this on my own terms.

Rambling, books, frowns. Bastard.

At least with all these goddamn books, he'll burn quicker.