He moves then, putting his case down in front of her, and fishing inside, ultimately taking out a carefully folded handkerchief in a small wooden box.

"That is what he does. Killing you is not the power he craves - but the corruption of your souls, your degradation. Death is merely a grace note come the end of it, to him."

He pauses a moment, letting her inspect the clearly dry handkerchief.

"I'd like to see your wound, please, because we're of no use to each other if you bleed out in the middle of the road. This handkerchief is imbued with waters from the shrine of Rita of Cascia, latterly known as St. Rita. It will heal you."

He leaves unsaid the corollary to that - it has to be used by someone whose faith is very strong. But his is - it's hard not to, when you know with certainty that there is indeed a God. If nothing else, the night creatures busily trying to corrupt or undo creation are proof enough.

"She also has lesser-known associations," he added, moving towards her, "such as being a patron of seemingly lost causes."

Apt, he thinks.