Reverend Samuel and Pervert Patterson stood each side of the table near my feet, facing the inverted cross.
"Come to us, Mother Of Death. Feed upon virgin flesh!"
Patterson joined in with the chanting. Their hands raised and their heads bowed as they repeated it over and over again.
The heat was unbearable now, like opening an oven door it scorched my skin and dried and scraped my mouth and throat. My eyes, too, dried, so that even blinking felt painful, like there were grains of searing sand under my eyelids.
The blade in Reverend Samuel's hand glowed and smouldered.