The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and terror filled his eyes. “I didn’t mean…I was just making a point that…”

Whatever he intended, it came too late to save him. He must have seen it in the ragpicker’s eyes because he tried to turn and flee. But he was an ordinary man and no more, while the ragpicker was exactly what the other had called him and much too quick to be denied. The demon seized the Seraphic’s wrists and locked his fingers about them. Skeal Eile’s face twisted in pain, and he struggled desperately to escape, flailing wildly and hauling back with all the strength he could muster to break the ragpicker’s grip. But strength of the sort the ragpicker possessed far surpassed that of the Seraphic, and the latter’s attempts were in vain.

Slowly, inexorably, the ragpicker dragged his prisoner close—so close that they were soon eye-to-eye with almost no distance between them.

“I fear you are losing control of yourself, Skeal Eile,” the ragpicker whispered. “I fear you are incapable of holding your tongue. You seem content to let your emotions rule your common sense, even when you should know better.”

“No, please!” The Seraphic was still fighting, but the fear in his eyes told his captor he was already beaten. “Let me go! I won’t say another word to anyone! I’ll leave! I’ll go away! Far away! You won’t ever see me again!” Tears began streaming down his hatchet face. “I’ll do anything you say! Anything!”

The ragpicker smiled. “All true. Every word of it, Seraphic. Even if not in the way you intended.”

Skeal Eile tried to scream, but the ragpicker’s bony hand flashed to his neck and pressed against a bundle of nerves and muscle buried beneath his skin. There was a sharp pain, and suddenly he could no longer speak. He resumed fighting, but it was a weaker, resigned effort. His spirit was broken, and he saw his own end.

“Hold steady, now,” the ragpicker whispered, eyes bright and predatory as he leaned close. “This will only take a moment.”

SKEAL EILE TRIED to fight against what was happening, but he was powerless against the creature that held him. He knew it was a demon he fought against, and he understood what that meant. He even understood in general terms the nature of his inevitable fate. He was going to die. He had crossed a line, and he was going to pay the price. At some point, he had lost his perspective completely by allowing this creature into his life, by embracing its cause as his own, by accepting it as an ally. Always so careful before, always making certain that he was the master and not the slave, this time he had forgotten himself.