Sarah turned her back on him, still poking his head out of the bunk. There were dozens of books scattered all over the place, enough that it would probably be difficult for him to sleep. They were all real paper, and had bright, artistic illustrations on them. She could read their covers, though what she read there didn’t make a whole lot of sense. What the heck was ‘Creative Thaumatology,’ and why did this guy need so many books about it?