"Like she'd listen to me," Marcus snorts, and tries to wrestle her down so that as much of her is submerged while her face is still just above the water, red hair coiling like tangles of deepwater seaweed in the bath. Of course she's right. Demons are always a little bit right, even when they're lying. That's why they're so hard to resist. Everyone's a sinner: there's a way into everyone's spirit.

But Marcus can resist the draw. Yes, he wants to save Joan because he's always balancing those he's saved against those he's damned. Tip the balance enough and maybe it'll be okay. And he wants to save her because she's too much like him when he was younger, and maybe if someone had looked out for him, he wouldn't be cursed with this desperate need to look out for others. But it isn't just that. There's a drive in her, ferocious and pure in its simplicity, at least, which is still a kind of purity. She's all banged up, dented out of shape, and Marcus sees God in her like he tries to see Him in everybody, without all that much trying. He likes the God he sees in her.

He leans over and snarls, out of breath, "The voice of the Lord is over the waters; the God of glory thunders, the Lord thunders over the mighty waters." She's shaking in his hands. He crosses her brow. "Come on. Leave her."