A handful of salt and a bottle of holy water
“Did he see us?”
“I don't know. Maybe- no. We’re good.”
Faziah peeped out of the suit of armor she was currently possessing and watched as the would-be exorcist trudged down the hall, shoulders slumped and bag in hand. When he turned the corner, she drifted out from the armor.
“Coast is clear,” she said, voice echoing softly in the darkness. “But we better hurry- he’s heading towards Jake- you know he hates having holy water spread around and if Tom lights him on fire one more time-“
Not that the poor exorcist- Tom- actually posed any threat, but Jake was old, crotchety, and a poltergeist.
“I know, I know. Come on, let’s see if we can head him off,” Dracha was a minor demon, capable of illusions, but not much else. He was a good sort, for a demon. He liked Tom too.
At first it had been funny, watching the incompetent exorcist try to banish the small ghost and ghouls- Faziah was a ghost, and had first encountered him when she was idly turning a lamp on and off because death was boring. His sad attempt to chase her out was stunningly unsuccessful, but his skill- or rather profound lack of it- had caught her attention.
Dracha found him when the exorcist- completely inadvertently- found a demonic crystal seal and promptly dropped it. Dracha was released, and discovered quite by accident that he had materialized at the foot of an exorcist.
A handful of salt- table salt, not the good stuff- and some holy water blessed by a not-particularly-devout priest were singerlarly ineffective at banishing a true demon. Dracha, planning to cause trouble elsewhere and also possessing a fine sense of drama, played it to the hilt, rolling about, screaming, and eventually fading into invisibility. Like Faziah, he stuck around Tom out of profound pity and vague, frequently malicious, curiosity.
A roar echoed down the hall, shaking the unlit torches and rattling the stones.
“Crap,” Dracha huffed, scratching between his horns. “Who was that?”
“Craven,” Faziah mumbled, hands now pressed over her face. “Come on, we had better go talk him down or he’s gonna eat our exorcist.”
Dracha trotted down the hall on clicking, clawed feet after Faziah. “How does he even find these guys?” He griped. “He’s got the sensitivity of a sock, the magical ability of a bar of soap, and the toolkit of a third-grader. And yet, somehow, he stumbles into more ancient tombs than five master sorcerers who are actually looking for them.”
“Luck,” Faziah told him with resignation. “Turn left here. The kind that looks after fools and small children."
A ghoul stepped out of the wall in front of her, half-rotted face twisted in pained humor. It stopped and starred at them with the distinct air of someone who got caught doing something they shouldn't.
A long moment of silence and he finally spoke. “I just felt so sorry for him,” it admitted shamefacedly, brushing what looked like dried parsley off its’ rotting jacket. “I think he just tried to banish me with turkey seasoning.”
Crossposted from www.reddit.com/u/leehadan