Abbie was bone-tired when she pulled up outside Crane's cabin. She had spent hours at the courthouse, waiting to hear Judge Matthews' decision about Trudy. With no other living relatives, usual procedure dictated that the girl be put into the system. Given her own experience of foster care, she wanted to avoid that outcome at all costs. Rashly, it seemed in hindsight, she had made a passionate case for being awarded temporary custody.

She could scarcely believe her ears when the judge agreed to her petition. Once the immediate satisfaction had worn off, she went into a state of shock which quickly exploded into panic. She left Trudy in the enthusiastic care of station receptionist Mandy (seven months pregnant with her third child) and drove to the nearest mall. Abbie stormed through the clothing and bedding departments, grabbing anything pink and girly she could lay her hands on. While she was a little out of step with the tastes of modern tweens, she guessed that the frillier, the better.

By the time she approached Crane's door, she was really ready to fold with exhaustion. She was sure she would see Hello Kitties as soon as she closed her eyes that night. The last thing she wanted to do was provide a shoulder for a grief-stricken friend, but this was Crane, and Abbie had no other option.
'Crane?' She pushed the door open. When there was no answer, she felt a cold stab of fear. The week that had passed since Katrina's unceremonious departure had been a harrowing torment for Crane. Every day, she forced herself to stand witness to her partner's pain, all the while feeling like she was being pulled in six different directions. It was hard to provide comfort when all her thoughts were consumed by Trudy. If she really was a weapon as Jenny had said, then she needed all the protection that Abbie could provide.

'Leave me be.'

Abbie advanced into the cabin and saw a dishevelled Crane stretched out on the floor, a bottle of Best Barbadian rum lying empty at his feet.

'Oh, Crane,' she sighed. 'How long are you planning on keeping this up?'

'That depends.' He kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling. 'For how long does the pain subsist?'

Abbie wanted to cry at these words, so heart-breaking in their simplicity. Then her exhaustion, blended with her natural bloody-mindedness, sent her temper soaring. She knelt beside him and grabbed him sharply under the elbow, paying no heed to the slight hiss that came from him when she accidentally dug her nails in.

'I know you're in the seventh circle of hell right now, Crane. But you are a soldier in a war that we're losing – not because we have to, but because you've laid down your arms and surrendered. I do not accept that, Crane, not from you.'

Crane looked at her for the first time, a shard of realisation piercing his drunken stupor.

'There's a little girl out there who needs us. She's all alone in the world, and she has no idea what her role might be in this war. I see it as our job to help her find out.' She let go of his arm and stood up. 'When you're finished feeling sorry for yourself, let me know.'

She walked away from him, towards the door. 'Lieutenant?'

She turned to see Crane on his feet, shame-faced and slightly wobbly on his feet.

'Would you be so kind as to wait while I make myself presentable?'

For the first time in days, Abbie felt a small smile creep across her face.

Abbie poured coffee grounds into the machine and switched it on. Crane sat at her kitchen table, pale and sickly and clearly hating himself. He was sobering up, the ramifications of his behaviour over the past week starting to sink in.

'When the coffee's done brewing, start drinking. I'm going see how Trudy's getting on.' There was an undeniable tightness in her voice that she tried to check. She was tired and stressed, and she had an orphaned girl under her care. Crane needed to man up as far as she was concerned.

She saw his slumped shoulders and defeated demeanour and felt a pang of guilt. Katrina had been his guiding star in these unfamiliar times. The dream of being reunited had kept him going when grief and loss threatened to drag him under.

'It strikes me that I've never thanked you.'

Abbie looked back in surprise. She wondered if she had misheard him. 'For what?'

Crane gave a hollow laugh. 'For everything. Since the day we met, you have treated me with nothing but the utmost kindness, guiding me the unnavigable straits of this strange and unfamiliar world. And in return, I have repaid you with sarcasm and insolence. I am a poor friend indeed.'

Abbie thought back. While it was true that she had never heard him thank her, she had never paid it much mind. She had taken it as one of those unspoken things that he was too proud to say and she was too tactful to drag from him.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Sometimes, it was nice to hear the words spoken aloud, particularly when she knew how difficult it was for Crane to show any vulnerability.

'You don't have to thank me. Just be you, that's all.'

Crane regarded her directly for a moment. There was an unfamiliar look in his eyes – a humbled, haunted glance. Her words – though simple – seemed to impact him deeply. He was Ichabod Crane, not the shell of a man that he had inhabited for the past week. From now on, he would be the man she respected, and would endeavour never to disappoint her again.

Abbie gently tapped on the guest room door. After a moment she heard a small voice from within.

'Come in. I've hidden my stash.'

Abbie smiled in spite of herself. Cheeky little brat.

Though freshly bathed and dressed in her new pink pyjamas, Trudy looked so undernourished and pathetic that it made Abbie's heart ache. The girl was reading an old, battered paperback with a cover so torn and faded as to be illegible.

'What are you reading there?' Abbie asked as gently as possible.

'It's Heidi,' Trudy replied, a little embarrassed. She shrugged. 'I know it's kids' stuff but it's my favourite book. And it's the only thing I managed to take with me out of the house when…'

Abbie felt a spike of sympathy as she watched a faraway look creep over the girl's face. 'Look, Trudy. I know it's been the worst week of your life. All of this must seem terrifying, and lonely, and sad. I can't promise that's going to get better any time soon, but I promise that I'll do everything I can to protect you.'

Trudy kept her eyes trained on some loose threads on the corner of the duvet cover that she was worrying with her fingers. 'Mom said that bad things happen to good people all the time. Said we might not live very long.'

'Your mom said that?' 'She started saying a lot of strange things when we moved into the compound. End of Days stuff, that I would have a part to play in the coming war. Like I was some kind of chosen one, or something.'

Abbie was struck by the simplicity and lack of self-pity in the girl's words. It reminded her of her own unnatural maturity at that age. Kids in messed-up situations grow up fast, she reasoned.

'Look, if you need to talk about any of this…'

'I'm okay,' Trudy replied.

In an instant, Abbie sensed the girl's walls going up. She knew that the worst thing she could do at that moment was push her. If there was anyone who should know the ways of dysfunctional children, it was her.

'Well, you know where I am if you need anything.'

She retreated, feeling helpless and frustrated. When she entered the living room, she was surprised to see Jenny sitting on the couch beside Crane, drinking coffee.

'How's Trudy?' Jenny asked by way of greeting.

'I don't know,' Abbie replied in all honesty. 'She's fed, she's clean. I've told her I'm here if she needs to talk. Other than that, I don't know what I can do to help her.'

'She's gonna need more than that before this is over,' Jenny said cryptically.

'What are you talking about?' It was then that she noticed a thick, crumbling tome on the table in front of them.

'I was looking among Corbin's files, looking for references to healers. I couldn't shake what I saw on the night of the fire – how Trudy healed that kid. I found this – the account of David, a 6th Egyptian century monk and visionary. In it, he claims to have thwarted Moloch's attempt to abduct three hundred children in order to sacrifice them. Moloch believed their blood would allow him to walk the earth again. David found a magus who banished Moloch to a world-between-worlds that would be his prison. We know it as Purgatory.'

'I don't understand,' Abbie interjected. 'What has this got to do with Trudy?'

'David writes that the magus sacrificed his life to defeat Moloch, but before he died, he prophesied that Moloch would not stay imprisoned forever. He would raise an army of disciples, just as twisted and power-hungry as he. The only way to undo Moloch's hold over them is for one like him to cleanse them of their wickedness.'

'One like him?'

'The magus is described as a healer – one who can purge evil and raise the sick. Am I crazy or does that sound like someone we know?'

Abbie felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach. What Jenny was suggesting was using an orphaned and grieving girl as a weapon to take down Moloch. She thought of how the demon had poisoned her life ever since she was a little girl. Surely it was her first responsibility as a Witness to rid the world of his evil by whatever means?

She shuddered, unsure of herself. To whom did she owe her first allegiance? To the world at large or to the girl she had sworn to protect?

'Crane?' she pleaded. 'Do you think this is a good idea?'

His eyes were fixed on his hands, revealing nothing of his inward thoughts. 'I think that without my wife as an ally, we shall need every weapon at our disposal if we are to defeat Moloch and his minions.'

Somehow, Crane's simple argument broke down all resistance in her. No matter what happened, he had the uncanny ability to make everything clear to her.

'All right,' she said after a long silence. 'But we do this my way.'