Call Paddy old-fashioned, but he'd really rather have kept the church exactly the way it was. Magic was all well and good, but churches should really be solid, in a way the dirt-bike wasn't. Churches were meant to last. To Paddy's knowledge, Dexter's conjurations were long-lived, but only temporary.

"So that's what he used to look like?" Sean examined the photo again with a fresh eye, brow creased. "What happened to him? Did he die, or was he just cursed and his flesh rotted away?"

Paddy might have been a little more worried about Sean's vivid imaginings, far too vivid for a thirteen-year-old boy, if his attention wasn't almost immediately caught by Solomon's words. "You can read minds now?" he asked without thinking.