Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

THE KINGDOM :: 125
looked back at the keys dangling from the ignition and
forced himself to be calm, to think rationally. Check the
other doors, he told himself, and ran around the car, futilely
pulling at all the handles. No good—all were locked.
He considered breaking a window and wondered if Terry’s
warding would still be effective. He decided it was his best
option, given the circumstances, and cast around for a rock.
As on most city streets, rocks were in short supply. Fighting
panic, he looked around up and down the street and tried
not to think about what would happen if the sigilic backlash
caught up with him. If the demon Kat’s brother had
employed began to siphon off his own soul, he would be
powerless to do anything to stop it.
The urge to cry came over him, but he recognized it as a
manifestation of panic and closed his eyes, forcing himself to
do a couple seconds of zazen meditation right where he was
standing to focus and calm himself. Opening his eyes, he
thought, First things first, and placed the last of his fish gall
on the dying coal. Then, carrying it above his head like the
lamp of Diogenes, he marched down the street looking for a
large heavy object with which to smash a window.
Suddenly, he saw it. A twisted metal pole about the length
of his forearm sticking out of a block of cement that had
obviously been recently uprooted from the ground. Perhaps
part of a fence that had been knocked over by a car? he wondered,
and picked it up with resolve.
He marched back toward the car, but before he got there
he saw, to his great dismay, an obviously homeless man leaning
towards the roof of his car, helping himself to Mikael’s
lunch. “Goddammit!” Mikael spat, “Hey, you!” He yelled,
“Back off my lunch!”
The homeless guy looked straight at him, and noticing the
heavy pole and its obvious aggressive potential, backed off
from the car momentarily. But then the man smiled, reached
up, and grabbed the sandwich.