Maxwell and Cairax no-selling St George’s fire breath

“And that’s the way it is?”
“Yeah,” said Max. “That’s the way it is.”
“Then I don’t feel too bad about this.”
St. George exhaled hard, spraying fire down at the sorcerer. It was a good-sized cone, enough to cover the man from head to toe. The blast exploded over Max, and splashed out across the pavement. The flames lit up the street for a block in either direction. They burned for a few seconds and then sputtered out.
Cairax Murrain’s hand stretched out in front of the sorcerer. The fingers spread wide in front of Max’s face. A last few licks of fire danced on the knuckles and talons, like flies caught in a spiderweb. The demon closed its hand into a fist and the flames were crushed.
Max wasn’t even singed.
The demon snorted and pulled its impossibly long arm back. It strode halfway across the street and snatched up an ex through the barrier. It spun the dead thing in its claws, plucking off arms and legs and then the head.
“That was foolish,” said Max. “Even if Cairax wasn’t here, I’ve got two different fire wards on me.”

Excerpt From Ex-Communication, pg 513
Peter Clines
https://books.apple.com/us/book/ex-communication/id635706546