Sacrament. Clive Barker

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       VII

      By the time Will opened his eyes the fire, which had been in its heyday when he arrived, was now in its embery dotage. But Jacob had laid his guest close to it, and there was still sufficient heat in its dwindling flame to drive the last of the chill from Will’s bones. He sat up, and realized he was wrapped in Jacob’s military coat, and naked beneath.

      ‘That was brave,’ somebody on the other side of the fire said.

      Will squinted to see the speaker better. It was Jacob, of course. He was lounging against the wall, staring through the flames at Will. He looked a little sick himself, Will thought, as though in sympathy with his own condition; but whereas Will’s illness had left him worn and weak, Steep glittered in his hurt: pale, gleaming skin, shiny curls pasted to the thick muscle of his neck. His coarse grey shirt was unbuttoned to his navel, his chest arrayed with a fan of dark hair which ran over the ridges of his belly to his belt. When he smiled, as he did now, his eyes and teeth glistened, as though made of the same implacable stuff.

      ‘You’re sick, and yet you found your way through this blizzard. That shows courage.’

      ‘I’m 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.’