Applause rang out in the Dean's office of Rodriguez Academy. Constantine clapped and laughed, one hand resting on Bruce's shoulder as he laughed so hard he nearly slid under the sofa. Then he wiped away his tears and said to Bruce, "The more universes' worth of Bruces you learn about, the more bat plushies you'll need. Schiller, you'd better prepare a warehouse early."
"To make up for my misfortune?"
"Both your misfortunes." Zatanna shook her head. "Is there anything more coincidental in this world? A one-of-a-kind master psychologist meeting a one-of-a-kind Bruce Wayne who is terrible at psychology. You should put him in a display case for exhibition—the only Batman in all universes who would default on his homework."
"Definitely not the only one." Bruce shook his head in clear disagreement. He took a cigar from the box and clipped it with a cutter. "We'll always find another one who doesn't turn in homework. I thought this one would be it."
"You thought he would be worse at it than you." Schiller snorted, stubbed out his first burned-down cigar, took the second one from Bruce, and leaned forward so Bruce could light it for him. "That's why you brought him here."
"Sorry, my mistake."
"Even less sincere than bat plushies. Don't expect me to prepare a warehouse for them. They shed."
"Absolutely not."
"They do shed."
"God, are you sure we'll find the key if we dig through this mountain?" Barry panted as he collapsed into a small valley formed by the piles of books. Little Bruce and Harley were no better off. They were only halfway through and already exhausted.
The demons' tomes were all huge, heavy volumes. Those writers tempted by demons apparently regarded the length of their books as an important measure of how favored they were