He unfurls a bloodstained scroll.

"Okay, we need salt."

Skylar raises an eyebrow, appraising the large, horned man that had been painted just beneath the reams of writing.

"Oh really?"

He gulps.

"Make that a lot of salt."

She laughs.

"Trust me, Lee, there isn't enough salt in the world to protect us from the hell you're trying to unleash."

"Don't be such a worrywart, Sky, this demon and I go way back. Besides, Andy Wertenbaker recommended him."

"Right."

She pauses.

"Was that before he disappeared, or after he came back, missing an arm?"

  He squeaks, hands shaking as he attempts to form a circle using the salt shaker. 

"Face it, Lee. We're screwed."

He sighs, turning to face her, his lips rolled into his mouth.

Skylar Thorne has never kicked a puppy, but if she did, that's what she imagines it would look like.

She frowns lightly, before reaching over to pat his arm.

"You know," she mutters, standing up to scoop a wet sponge out of the sink, "I've never liked blood."

She nudges the corpse's head to the side, scrubbing at the exposed tiles.

He grins, removing the lid of the shaker and unceremoniously dumping the salt into an unappealing heap.

"Then maybe you shouldn't kill for a living."