Thicker Than Water

After a moment or two, she crossed herself: four short, decisive jabs of her right hand, which she then clenched into a fist.

‘The abomination,’ she said.

‘I go by Rafi,’ Rafi answered bleakly.

Trudie nodded. ‘I know. You’re only the vessel. I’ve heard of you, of course. We have . . . briefing materials on you. At one time there was talk of killing you, but the prevailing opinion in the society was that Asmodeus would survive, and then he’d be free to choose another vessel. So we left you as you were.’

In the charged silence that followed»e teft this pronouncement, she looked from face to face.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘That was tactless, right? I’m sorry. I’ll shut up until I’m spoken to.’

‘We’re about to wake - the abomination,’ I told her. ‘And we want to make sure we can keep him contained. Not to mention putting him back to sleep again afterwards. Any ideas?’

‘Intravenous silver oxide,’ she said, without a moment’s hesitation.

I patted my coat pockets theatrically, searched a couple randomly and shrugged, coming up empty.

‘Well, you did insist I change out of my regular clothes,’ Trudie said, in a slightly truculent tone. ‘Wards, then. Lots of them. On the doors and on the walls and probably on his flesh, too.’

‘Wards keep him down if he starts from down,’ Imelda objected. ‘They’re not going to slow him much once he’s up and running. He’s too old and he’s too sly. Let you nail a thousand signs to him, he’s still going to find a way to slip in between them and come for you.’

‘A pentagram, then,’ Trudie said.

We all stared at her.

‘You can draw a pentagram?’ I demanded.

She seemed surprised at my surprise. ‘Of course.’ ‘With all the whistles and bells?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. Why not?’

‘You’ve had a slightly more catholic education than I would have expected,’ I said. ‘Small c.’

‘We use whatever methods work.’ Trudie’s tone was cold, as though I’d accused her of sleeping with the enemy. ‘We’re soldiers, Castor, not pastors or contemplatives. We’ve got a different brief.’

‘Evidently.

‘Black magic is how I got into this fucking mess in the first place,’ he said, with a touch of bitterness. ‘Don’t ask me for an opinion.’ He paused, swallowed, shrugged again. ‘I don’t want the kid to die any more than you do. If this is what it takes, then go for it. But if Asmodeus rips your throats out, try not to bleed on my Kerouacs.’

‘A magic circle it is, then. Let’s go.