“I’m off out,” Egerton called. “I’ve left a casserole in the oven.”
“Right, thanks,” Darren said, Egerton’s voice only vaguely registering. He stared at the blank computer screen, working out where to start. He heard Egerton patter down the hall, the front door open, then a murmur of voices.
“Of course it’s not a bother,” he heard Egerton say. “Go through to the study, he’s not busy.”
Darren scowled. Egerton had an annoying habit of allowing everyone and anyone in, even if Darren was stuck on next week’s sermon. And now it seemed that he had a visitor when he could really do with peace and quiet. He got up, ready to greet the newcomer and froze on the spot.
A demon strolled into the study, oozing evil that trickled over Darren’s skin like an oil slick. He smiled coldly at Darren. “You can’t really complain about me coming in here. I was invited in, after all. And you can’t really blame your servant. Not many would recognise me.”
“I recognise you,” Darren said. “That is, I know what you are, but I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure in person. Who are you?”
“Names aren’t important.” The demon gracefully lowered himself into the armchair next to the fire.
“Names are important,” Darren said, every nerve ending on alert. The demon was young, from the feel of it. He hadn’t learned to hide his nature from those with training, and his attempt at casual assurance was shaky. That made him a little unpredictable.
The demon laughed. “I know that you’re Darren King. I saw it on the letters in the hall. And I know that you’re an ordained minister.” The demon gently rubbed his hands together. “To think, here I am in a fancy study, come to tempt an ordained minister. My mother, curse her blackened heart, would be so proud. You can call me Scratch .”
“Would you like a drink, Scratch?” Darren said, his mind racing.
“So you can lace it with holy water? I don’t think so. But please get one for yourself.” The demon looked so very average as he lounged in the chair, with a medium build and pale brown hair cut averagely short. His face was pale, but not unnaturally so, and the eyes that met Darren’s gaze were an unremarkable hazel. Darren wasn’t fooled. Evil slid off him like swathes of mud from a riverbank.
Darren strode over to the drinks cabinet and pulled out a bottle and a glass. He stood by his desk and poured himself a drink. “What do you want?”
“What happened to the label?” Scratch asked.
“It wasn’t a good vintage.” Darren took a mouthful. “And what are you doing calling door to door? How desperate are you?”
Scratch stared at Darren, hunger in his eyes. “Not as desperate as you, vicar. I know how much ministers are paid—or rather, how little they are paid.”
“Tell me about it.” Darren waved a hand around his uncluttered study. “They don’t respect the work or learning, just what you can do. They don’t care about my study.” Darren waved a hand at the neatly stuffed bookcase. “All they’re interested in is what I can do for them and for how little. I get sent all over the place, you know, without warning. But the Dean never seems to leave his fancy office.”
“I know how you feel,” Scratch said. “Those with the power don’t run around. They have people for that. The old demons with thousands of souls in their clutches can swagger around, but us with only bare bones have to bow and scrape.” He sneered at Darren. “I’m sure that the Dean doesn’t have to scrabble around for loose change to get hold of research material. I’d bet money that he doesn’t have to struggle to get hold of rare books or access to remote archives. Of course, he’ll look the part, with tailored suits and gowns. And I’m sure that there are plenty in your parish who look down on a threadbare preacher.”
Darren thought about his local Dean, a woman with the sweetest heart and a wardrobe even worse than his. Scratch really hadn’t done his research. Darren looked down at his supermarket jeans. They were clean, not torn, and covered up his important bits, and that was all you could say about them. He looked at Scratch, leaning towards him. There was a gleam of desperation in the demon’s eyes. “I do get told I need to dress the part,” Darren said, waving his glass to keep Scratch's attention while inching away from him.
“I can give you all the money you need, vicar.” Scratch stood and spread his hands, approaching Darren with an attempt at a genial smile. “For a scholar like yourself, the real reward would be the chance to buy some of those obscure texts that come up so rarely and cost so much. You could travel to all the best research centres, and to those lesser known places.” Scratch leaned forward. “You’ll have a list, I know, of those out of the way places that only allow their records to be seen in person. You could travel the world to unearth those arcane secrets.” He waved a hand, conjuring a vision of piled banknotes, heaped casually on Darren’s desk, next to share certificates and a tottering tower of gold coins. “I could do this for you, vicar. For a consideration.” A contract appeared on the desk.
“Surely an ordained minister’s soul is more valuable than that of an ordinary citizen?” Darren askedd, taking a step back. The heap of money doubled.
“I can give you so much,” Scratch said. “Money, jewels, whatever you desire.” He advanced slowly towards Darren. “Have another drink, vicar, and think about it. All that money, all that power for you, just for you.” Scratch picked up the bottle and held it towards Darren. “Just think about it.”
Darren glanced at the contract, watching Scratch out of the corner of his eye. “I’m a minister. I’m not prepared to lose my soul to an overzealous door-to-door demon.” He took another strategic step back.
“Take a look.” Scratch took a step forward and looked down, appalled. “Oh sh—”
He disappeared.
Darren took another mouthful of grape juice and flicked back the rug. The design was there, etched on the floorboards, glowing faintly. He’d spent many hours praying over it, that it might defend his study and his mission, and it had been worth it. Young demons tended to get carried away at the thought of hoarding souls, especially one belonging to a vicar, but few remembered to check to see if the minister was also an exorcist.
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