him. Hopefully the smell alone would be enough to rose Grace out of her stupor and tempt her to eat.
Cooking the skewers more thoroughly than usual in case of disease, he set them on the plates to cool. He took the last rat, sliced the meat off it and put it in the small pot with some more of his dwindling supply of water, using it to make a broth. Finally, everything was ready and he returned to Grace’s bedroom. He propped her up on some pillows and fed her some of the soup. Her eyes still didn’t open but she seemed to open her mouth and swallow by reflex. Sam took this as a positive sign — at least she was eating.
While he fed her, he ate two of the skewers of rat meat. As he suspected, they were delicious; although he didn’t eat very often these days, he still got some basic enjoyment out of it. He chewed slowly, savoring the experience and taste as he spoon-fed Grace the last of the broth When they had both finished, he slid the meat off the remaining two skewers and hand-fed them to Grace. Somehow, she was still able to chew and he got the meat of at least one of the skewers into her before she pinched her mouth shut, refusing to eat anymore.
Gradually, over the next few days, Grace appeared to improve. Her skin color changed from the unhealthy pallor to a warmer glow. Her wounds were beginning to heal as well. Sometimes, when she slept, she’d scream. During those times, Sam would sit with her, Grace squeezing his hand so tightly that even he would grimace in pain, mopping the sweat off her brow as she thrashed about. She still hadn’t opened her eyes or uttered one coherent word…
Thankfully, no demons made an appearance which would have made their position untenable. It occurred to Sam to burn down the church. At first he thought it was pointless given that he’d have to thoroughly bless and wet the area with Holy water. How was he meant to do that with his pathetic amount of water? Then he got lucky. Exploring one of the other houses in the small town, he found an old well, deep in the cellar. The water was stagnant, but it was still water. A few drops of iodine or boiling it would make it safe for Grace to drink. He could also use it to make Holy water. He wasn’t a priest but he was sure that, under the circumstances, God would make an exception.
At first, he dismissed the idea. It was too risky burning down the church. The fire had the potential to spread and he wasn’t in a position to move fast enough with Grace in tow. Also, if the entire town burnt down, where was he meant to nurse her? Not only that, but he was extremely wary of Holy water. He wasn’t even sure if he could make it or not but he certainly knew the effect it had on him. It was like acid. If he was using buckets of it, he was bound to splash some of it on himself at some point. While not fatal in small quantities, it was certainly extremely painful.
But then the demons came. It was only a pack of Lemure but Sam didn’t take the threat lightly. He dispatched them with ruthless efficiency. Their appearance served as a catalyst for action. The demons knew that they were there now and the following night would bring them in greater numbers.
The next day, at dusk, he prepared carefully. He found a hardware store and emptied its shelves completely of buckets. He took several down to the well in the cellar, filling them with the stagnant water. He dampened down the house where Grace rested, dousing the walls with as much water as he could. Next, he set up a series of buckets near the church — to put out any fires that sprung up accidentally. He carried more buckets over to the church and set them down in front of it, gazing at them thoughtfully. His plan was to fill them with holy water but he’d have to bless them first, obviously.
If he was being honest, Sam wasn’t even sure that his plan would succeed. Wasn’t the water meant to come from a spring or at least a more pure source than a stagnant well? But then again, he remembered Big Tom saying that a wandering priest had done the same thing in his town and surely the water he used can’t have been much different?
He didn’t really know the proper words either, words that would bless or sanctify the water. He’d witnessed Father Rainey doing it back in Jacob’s Ladder, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember. He’d have to improvise.
“Gracious Lord, bless this water. Not for my sake — for Grace’s. She may not be your most loyal servant but she has made sacrifices for your cause. It was Grace who gave me the chance to confront my brother — the Antichrist. And isn’t that my mission, given to me by your Archangel Gabriel herself? To defeat my brother. To save the innocent. Grace may not be completely innocent, but she’s all I’ve got at the moment. Besides, I could do with a little help here. I don’t ask you for help very often, but I’m asking now. Just a bit.”
Sam knew it wasn’t much of a prayer but it was all he was up to at the moment. At first, he sensed and felt nothing and then slowly, he detected a change. He raised his head. Yes, something was different. Something in the air. He knew the water had altered then, could feel the goodness — the holiness radiating out from it. He’d turned plain old well water into a weapon for good. Something about it made him uneasy though. Perhaps it was his demonic side, instinctively willing him to stay away from it, knowing that it had the power to harm and potentially destroy him, especially in such quantities.
Gritting his teeth, resigned to check it, he gingerly dipped just the tiniest tip of one finger into the bucket. Immediately, he felt a searing pain and snatched his finger back even as the water in the bucket began to boil angrily. Right then. It was definitely blessed. He examined his finger. It was badly blistered; he sucked it, hoping to ease the pain.
Satisfied that everything was going to plan so far, he carried several armloads of branches and set a bonfire in the middle of the church. A part of him felt ill at ease. He was about to burn down a church, which didn’t seem right. There was nothing for it though. It had been desecrated and was now used for evil purposes. He was sure God would understand. Hadn’t he allowed Sam to create Holy water? Wasn’t that a sign that he had His unspoken approval to do what he was about to? He shrugged helplessly. It was what it was. If lightning struck him, or if he fell out of favor with the Lord, his life would hardly change on a purely physical level. It couldn’t get much worse.
He lit the fire. It went up surprisingly quickly, the flames licking eagerly at the wood on the fire and spreading rapidly onto the floor and then the walls. Sam was forced to retreat outside much sooner than he’d supposed.
Soon enough, the whole building was ablaze. Sam waited anxiously while it continued to burn, racing after any flying embers with a bucket of water, drowning it before it could set fire to something else. Smaller fires inevitably started and by nightfall, Sam was exhausted, covered in soot, his clothes singed. Fortunately he was all but immune to fire. The church collapsed but still continued to burn.
Despite the fact that the fire hadn’t completely burnt out, Sam knew he couldn’t delay any further. He could sense the demons about to come through the gate. Removing his swords, his clothes and his boots and carrying a bucket in each hand, he swiftly moved into the burning wreck, conscious that he must look ridiculous. A naked fireman.
Muttering blessings, he scattered the water over every part of the burning building he could get to. Most of it evaporated with an angry hiss but he hoped it would still work. It seemed to. The feeling that demons were about to break through lost its immediacy as their presence began to fade again. Inevitably, he spilled the water on his naked flesh; wherever the droplets touched him, they raised ugly blisters. Soon, almost his whole body was covered. He ignored it stoically, knowing he had to do this for Grace. He owed her.
He worked for hours, ignoring his exhaustion, keeping going until no water remained. By that time, the fire was out, the church had been reduced to charred remains.
Staggering slightly, he remembered to pick up his swords before wobbling back towards the house he shared with Grace. When he got there, he collapsed on the floor next to her bed and remembered no more.
He awoke from a thankfully dreamless sleep to find that Grace had opened her eyes. It was morning. He stood next to her bed, fussing over her injuries. She was looking at him strangely and for a moment he wondered why and then, with a start, remembered. He was naked and covered with still-healing blisters. Embarrassed, he streaked out, found his singed clothing and dressed painfully and as swiftly as he could, wincing whenever the cloth touched a particularly sore spot. When he returned, Grace was sitting up all by herself.
“Do you often nurse people in the nude?” she asked in a weak whisper.
Sam looked down, trying to conceal the blush that was spreading over his face. “Only on Tuesdays,” he muttered, clutching desperately for something funny to say.
“Is it Tuesday?” she asked, the vaguest hint of a smile on her face.
“Beats me,” he said, still not looking at her.
He fed her again, his spirits soaring. Not only had he cleansed the church, but Grace was getting better. This was a sign that he was doing the right thing. It had to be.
The next few days passed uneventfully. Grace’s health gradually improved although she rarely spoke and
