Free How to Make Friends with Demons by Graham Joyce Page B

scuffed paintwork and patches of damp, is any more or less effective.

    I watched through the window, rather uncomfortably, as Antonia, with her arms spread wide, explained her four-step routine. There were half a dozen men and women in the group, and also in a circle, behind their chairs, stood their respective demons.

    Each member of the group had at least one demon; though one woman had three, clustered behind her chair. The demons were listening intently to what Antonia was saying.

    A word on demons, as I don't expect everyone to know exactly what I'm talking about here. Demons do not have leathery wings. Neither do they have horns, cloven hooves, monkey heads or any of the usual representations from religious mythology. They can easily slip into or retreat from the human form of their hosts. But when they have externalized themselves—as they all had in this instance—they become passive, muted, even slothful, though this can disguise the danger they represent. They only have use for us to quicken their own intentions.

    They are all squat, somewhat shorter than human beings, and are always slow-moving. Their substance is elusive to describe, being comprised of something akin to loose soot. People who are sensitive to demons will often refer to them as a kind of shadow, but unlike a shadow they are three-dimensional, detached and assert full integrity. Goodridge in his Categorical Evidence refers to their substance as solid black vapour . Fraser, right from the beginning, called it swart-cast .

    Believe me, it is no joke. The first time you encounter this substance in the form of these beings, you feel like your skin is being flayed. The terror is such that the fluid of your eyes seems to freeze at the sight of them.

    One of the demons became sensitive to my presence behind the door. It turned slowly, cast a disinterested gaze over me and returned its attention to Antonia. Their faces are somewhat indistinct: it's as if a lesser god had made a prototype being, without the full detail of Creation. But although their faces are blurred, they are individualised, unique, and their facial expressions readable. Right at that moment they all looked as though they were listening for a flaw in her argument, a fault in her position, a moment of psychic exhaustion, a chink. They fear Antonia. They cannot approach her. For them, an indomitable light burns around her, and for that reason she fascinates them.

    Perhaps the most mystifying thing about demons when externalised is their passivity. They always seem to be waiting for something. Waiting for something to happen.

    In the same way that the demon sensed my presence at the door, Antonia did, too. She looked over her shoulder, smiled at me and held up three fingers to indicate she just needed a few minutes to wrap up the proceedings. She returned to her summing up, and then the entire group got up from their chairs to embrace each other in turn. I believe they call it giving support. But as one did so I noticed her chair threaten to topple backwards, until one of the demons attending behind reached out a hand—a limb, a paw, a hoof, I don't know what—to steady it. Though the demons each took a step back away from Antonia as she approached to hug their respective hosts.

    It was remarkable to watch.

    Antonia came out of the room, beaming at me, letting the door close on the group, who were in no hurry to abandon the warm interior for the cold streets outside. Antonia kissed me on the cheek and grabbed my hand, leading me into her office—a tiny cupboard with a phone and a computer workstation. She put an electrical kettle on to boil and dropped teabags into a pair of mugs.

    "I know," she said, still beaming.

    "How could you possibly know?"

    "It's all over your face, William!"

    "No it's not," I protested. "I've got my poker face on."

    "He whose face gives no light shall never become a star."

    "Why are you always throwing William Blake at me?"

    Antonia leaned over