iii

Finally, he’d taken the boy by the hand and led him down the hallway to the bathroom.

Candles had flickered in cardinal corners as vestments had been shed and they’d stood together beneath the shower’s cleansing waters.

Cleanliness is next to Godliness. Or so they say.

Then he’d taken a blade and dipped it in flame before carving a line in the boy’s tender flesh.

The boy had gasped and gritted his teeth, but the slice was superficial and none too deep.

And tiny pearls had soon bubbled to the surface of the thin red line.

He’d been still and silent as he’d stared at them. Then he’d leaned into the lesion and lapped at the life-giving liquid. Metallic. Molten. Sticky.

When he’d cleaned the wound, he’d raised his eyes to the donor and whispered, ‘Will you give me more?’

The boy had smiled as he’d replied, ‘Yes, I will give you more.’

Then he’d bidden the boy to the four-poster bed they would share for the duration of lockdown.