Friday, December 20, 2013

Dead Rite chapter 163.01


The last call of the day was to a small maisonette on the outskirts of Wells, still within the parish boundary and close enough to hear the bells of the cathedral as they rang out for evening mass. Harold frowned and took out his mobile phone to check the time. “Five to six?” His voice was a high pitched squeak and he took care to lower it. “That's almost the day gone.”

“Let's be careful about who we summon, eh?” Sefskapoi made a gesture with his hands, a triangle formed with his thumbs and index fingers white the rest of his digits were splayed in all directions. Harold would have thought it a ward against evil if Sefskapoi hadn't been a demon himself.

“I'm not sure I follow.”

“Ah, natural leader, are you?” The demon sucked air through his teeth. “They all say that until there's a decision to be made and then we see what they're really made of.”

“Bones, blood and muscle, usually.” Jasfoup winked. “Though I've found the odd bit of spite and bile in there on occasion. Nothing that didn't go down with a bit of custard, though.”

Harold pouted. “I don't know what either of you are talking about.”

“Nor would you, if you'd summoned The Mighty Dagon.” Sefskapoi bent forward and lowered his voice. “An old harvest god, worshipped by the Babylonians at Ugarit along with a father god, El, and a brother god, Baal. You may have heard of them.”

“God and the devil?”

Jasfoup coughed. “A demon, actually. History is written by the winners.”

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