A human figure stood close by, watching has approach as he crossed the inlaid marble slabs. If Harold had not had the Sight, he would have taken the figure for a somewhat weedy school prefect, out to take his revenge on the world for a period of school yard bullying about his pronounced ears or early onset acne. With his Sight, however, the man was far more sinister, his features made up of the oily shadows of Legionnaire rebels, twisting and creating bodily mass and new features.
“Let her go.” His voice rang out against the cathedral air, causing a sympathetic vibrato in the golden chandeliers overhead. His breath condensed in the cold air.
“Ah, Mr. Waterman, we meet at last. Jasfoup has told me all about you.”
“Nothing bad I hope?” Harold glanced at Gillian, glad he'd left Lucy with Jasfoup and Dill. He didn't want his daughter hurt if there was any unpleasantness and he was almost certain there would be unpleasantness. He could see it on the old demon's eyes. Gillian seemed to be unharmed, at least. “You have the advantage of me, I think.”
“Allow me to fill you in.” The man bubbled and foamed and looked to be filled with more tentacles than a hentai film festival. He gave a short, German-style bow. “Manoach, at your service.”
“I've heard a lot about you.” Harold declined to hold out his hand. “The man who was beset by demons in Mark.”
“It was just north of Galilee, actually.” The man smiled, showing teeth that long ago replaced enamel with illusion. “Just my little joke.”
“Everyone remembers Iesus. No one ever remembers the name of the man possessed.”
“I suppose not.” Harold inclined his head a millimetre. “I doubt anyone cared.”