Sacrament. Clive Barker

not sick,’ Will insisted. ‘I mean…I was a little, but I feel fine now…’

      ‘You look fine.’

      ‘I am. I’m ready to go any time you want to.’

      ‘Go where?’

      ‘Wherever you want,’ Will said. ‘I don’t care. I’m not afraid of the cold.’

      ‘Oh this isn’t cold,’ Jacob said. ‘Not like some winters we’ve endured, the bitch and me.’ He glanced back towards the Courtroom, and through the smoke Will thought he saw a contemptuous look cross Jacob’s face. A heartbeat later, his gaze came Will’s way once more, and there was a new intensity in it. ‘I think maybe you were sent to me, Will, by some kind god or other, to be my companion. You see, I won’t be travelling with Mrs McGee after tonight. We’ve decided to part company.’

      ‘Have you…travelled with her for long?’

      Jacob leaned forward from his squatting position and, picking up a stick, poked at the fire. There was still fuel concealed in the embers, and it caught as he raked them over. ‘More than I care to remember,’ he said.

      ‘So why are you stopping now?’

      By the light of the spluttering flames (whatever had been cremated here, it had been fatty) Will saw Jacob grimace. ‘Because I hate her,’ he replied. ‘And she hates me. I would have killed her tonight, if I’d been quicker. And then we’d have had us a fire, wouldn’t we? We could have warmed half of Yorkshire.’