The old priest saw her anxious gaze flicking upward toward the raging of the demon. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” she was asking in a voice that was insistent and faintly pleading. “It’s hot and fresh-made. Wouldn’t you like some?” Merrin saw the hands lightly clasping and unclasping; the deep caverns of her eyes. “Yes, I would,” he said warmly. “Thank you.” Something heavy had been gently brushed aside; told to wait. “If you’re sure it’s no trouble.”
