Ess waited at the kerb with Scarth held in her arms. Oz had tried to carry him, but there was something about Scarth that made it impossible for Oz to even touch him. His hands just glided an inch or two from Scarth's body, as though there was an invisible force field that Oz was completely unaware of it. In the end, Ess carried him down from the flat.

An ancient mini pulled into the side of the road and Oz extracted himself from the driver's side like a pack-a-mac; you knew that the raincoat had been contained within the small pocket, but you were at a loss to explain how it all fitted. Oz opened the passenger door and pushed the seat forward.

"Put him on the back seat, my angel. Though I can think of far better uses for the back seat. Still, that will have to wait until after our mission, eh?"

Ess was too worried to respond, but duly lay Scarth across the back seat of the car. She pushed the seat back and sat in. Oz folded himself into the driver's seat via a complicated set of movements and an imaginative litany of curses.

"One day, when my genius is recognised, I shall buy a vehicle more suited to my standing and frame," he said, starting the engine. "A Scorpion tank, perhaps. Now, my little cherub, I am going to regret this, but I have a task for you. You are going to be chief navigator and map-reader. Believe me, if there was a way for me not to rely on a woman's map-reading skills, I would take it."

"Shut up, Oz," said Ess, quietly. "I'm not in the mood. Just tell me what you want to do."

"It strikes me, gentle flower, that we have a signal detector that you are uniquely gifted to use. Do you know how the Germans tracked down Resistance transmitters during the war? The radio operators would have small mobile transmitters that they would move around, so the Germans had directional antennas they'd drive around and triangulate the signals. We're going to do something like that. If distance makes Scarth ill, proximity should make him better. With a bit of luck, we should be able to triangulate Paul's location.

"So your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to keep track of Scarth's condition and our position on the map. I can't guarantee anything, but it's the closest thing to a plan I can think of."

Ess gave a wan smile and patted Oz on his knee. "It's a plan, Oz, which is more than I had. I appreciate this, really I do. You think this will work?"

Oz eased out of the side road into a main street, cursing the other drivers as he turned right. "We shall see, my precious. Now, keep track of where we're going on the A to Z. We're heading north towards Chelsea Bridge. That's up the map, if you're holding it the right way round. And your children!" he screamed at a bus driver as he accelerated hard into its path.



It was dark, but somehow Paul knew he was in a vast space. There were things out there, just beyond his vision. Nasty things that wanted to hurt him in inventive ways.

"You are safe." Paul couldn't tell where the voice was coming from. It was a voice in the dark; of the dark. It was a voice that had never been heard in the daylight.

"What do you want?" asked Paul. His voice seemed weak and inconsequential.

"I want what you want, but before I can deliver that you must call me by name."

"Who are you?"

"I cannot tell you."

"Well, that's a bloody stupid arrangement, then."

"Look for your enemy's enemy, and I will be there."

"Look, enough of the Zen crap! Who are you? Show yourself," shouted Paul.

Something shot out of the darkness and covered his face. Paul struggled to breathe. He tried to pull it off but he was paralysed. With one huge effort he finally managed to fling his arm up, and the action woke him.

Paul opened his eyes to see the frightened face of - what was her name again? - Sister Mary? She sat back sharply with rabbit-wide eyes. Paul assumed the titles of 'sister' and 'brother' were honoury. He didn't think his abductors were actual monks and nuns, though there was a certain off-duty nun look to Sister Mary. She wore no make-up or jewellery, her blouse was buttoned to the neck and her skirt covered her knees even when sitting. It must have mortified her to buy those love-cuffs.

Paul looked at his wrist. The handcuffs and chain still secured his right hand to the wall.

"Shit! Damn, damn, damn! What the fuck do you people want from me?" he asked. He felt even worse than he had that morning, faced with a hangover and a greasy cooked breakfast.

"Come away, Sister," said Brother Jude. Mary dropped a face flannel into a small bowl in her other hand and retreated backwards to the far wall, eyes fixed on Paul. "This is a classic symptom of demon possession. I'm afraid you will have to hear many more blasphemies and expletives from the demon before we can expel it. It is a sign of its fear and weakness."

"Or, quite possibly, it's a sign of someone who's been kidnapped and chained to wall. You ever think of that, Einstein?" Paul was in no mood to negotiate his release. His head pounded and his stomach churned. "Who the hell are you, anyway? What the fuck is going on?"

"Curse away, Paul. It won't change a thing. Some words have power. The holy name of God, the truths revealed in His holy book, the prayers of the penitent. These all have power. Blaspheming and cursing are powerless before them. We're not your enemy, Paul."

Are you my enemy's enemy? "You've got a bloody strange way of showing it, then," said Paul aloud, brandishing his cuffed wrist.

Jude shrugged, as though the chain was a trivial detail. "It's true, nonetheless. Brother Michael here spent months infiltrating that devil cult. To save you, he threw it all away. Sister Mary washed the puke off your face, even though you could have woken and attacked her at any moment. I am going to spend every waking moment of my time with you, to defeat this demon and bring you into the arms of the Lord, regardless of my other pastoral duties. We love you, Paul, in Jesus' name, and we will evict this demon in order to save you."

"Best of luck with that." Paul was feeling, if not exactly better, then not quite as bad. He gently raised himself and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He gripped the mattress until his head stopped spinning and he could trust himself to open his mouth without anything other than words spilling out. Sister Mary, he couldn't help noticing, shrank back till she was up against the grubby cellar wall.

"So, who are you, now that we're family and I can feel the love. Jehovah Witnesses?" Paul searched his memory for other extremist sects. "Methodists? What?"

"We don't align ourselves with the established churches. They have lost their way, and are more concerned with tax avoidance and political correctness. Jesus was a simple teacher concerned with practical works. When was the last time a bishop healed the sick or fed the poor? I know about the corruption that has eaten away at the church. I was once a member of the Anglican church, wasting my God-given time and talents on endless committee meetings about how to raise money for the organ renovation. All the while, people were homeless and hungry on the streets outside. We have returned to the practical church described in the second chapter of Acts, channelling the Spirit into action."

The words tumbled so easily from his mouth, with no hesitation or pause, that Paul suspected Jude performed this same speech several times a day to anyone that would listen. And Paul was a captive audience.

"Oh, great. The Provisional arm of the C of E. I've been kidnapped by the Paramilitary soldiers of Christ."

"You think I've not been mocked before, Paul?" Jude smiled, the sort of smile that was designed to let you know just how noble the smiler was being. "I know ours is an unpopular message. The true message always is. Look at the reaction Jesus had. But you at least were looking for an answer, according to Brother Michael. You want to be rid of your demon. Trust me, Paul, we will do that for you. No demon can resist a true believer's faith."

"I've tried it." A vision of Father Mike's trainer disappearing down Scarth's throat rose into his memory. "It didn't take. I don't think this will either. No offence. Listen, do you think I can have a drink of water? Just to take the taste away. You can make it holy water if you want."

Brother Jude shook his head. "I'm sorry Paul. Your body is a temple to God, and you have allowed it to be desecrated by Satan. We will cast it out by the authority of His name, but the more comfortable your demon feels in it, the harder it will be on you when he does leave. It will be uncomfortable at first, of course it will, but in the long term it will make it easier. No food or drink till you're safe, Paul. It will pain me as much as you, believe me."

Paul groaned and clutched his stomach as it once more cramped. "Want a bet?"