Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

THE KINGDOM :: 33
“It looks like a really sick man knocked out on morphine.”
“It does, doesn’t it? Don’t let it fool you, though. Inside
this body is a very conscious, very dangerous being. It may
try to hide for a while—to pretend it’s just a very sick man
knocked out on morphine. But this actually helps us. The
demon can’t pretend it’s anything else but an unconscious
old guy. If we get any response at all, we’ll know it’s the
demon talking, not Mr. Dane, here.”
Richard spooned incense onto the smoking charcoal. Terry
quickly set wards for protection, and then erected a crucifix
in a stand on the tray table in front of the possessed, where
it would be clearly visible should he open his eyes.
Richard said a silent prayer for protection. As the smoke
of incense wafted through the room, Richard took out a
portable aspergill and began to sprinkle holy water over
himself and Terry. He threw a few sprinkles in Mikael’s
direction, and then sprinkled the old man.
A violent stirring began. It started with a shudder that ran
the length of the body, beginning at the feet and ending with
a brief convulsion of the shoulders and head. Then the old
man began to shake all over, with shivers that did not subside.
Richard rubbed his thumb across the cotton in his oil
stock, wetting it with holy chrism. The moment he touched
the old man’s forehead with this thumb, and before he could
make the sign of the cross, the eyes snapped open and the
sagging face bunched itself up into a taut mask of rage.
“That was quick,” Terry noted.
“Well, what have we here?...” it began, slithering its words
like a serpent, “Two magicians...” he cast his eyes to the far
side of the room and sized up Mikael quickly, “...and a
witch? Masquerading as priests. We’re on the same team,
you know, you and me. Just what do you expect to do here?”