Possess Read Free

bit her lip, attempting to hide the abject terror rising up from her stomach to her throat like bad sushi.
    “What is Rule Number One?” Monsignor Renault asked softly.
    Bridget swore that man could read her mind. “Do not show fear.”
    “Do not show fear.” Monsignor pulled himself up to his full six-foot height, straightening his back and holding his head erect. Despite his age, his shoulders were square and broad, and he looked strong enough to take on a sumo wrestler. He wore his usual long black cassock piped with red, and a purple sash around his waist. A silver ring encircled the middle finger of his left hand, so thick it was more like a single brass knuckle than a piece of jewelry. Monsignor was old-school Catholic, a spectacle of ancient traditions and beliefs that fascinated Bridget and scared the crap out of her at the same time.
    And if he thought Bridget could handle this, then she was damn well going to try.
    “Father Santos,” Monsignor said. “Please prepare the room.”
    Father Santos opened a black bag and removed a purple stole, which he handed to his superior. Monsignor Renault kissed the cross on the back of the stole, then draped it over his neck. Next came two small crystal decanters—one of holy water, one of consecrated oil—then a covered bowl of salt, a tray of Eucharistic wafers, and several thick, white candles. After lighting the candles, the young priest took the salt and carefully sprinkled a stripe across the threshold of the bedroom, then deposited a small pile in each of the four corners.
    “Bridget,” Monsignor murmured without looking at her.
    She jumped. “Yes?”
    “Do you remember what we discussed?”
    Bridget’s mind fumbled for the Rules he had impressed upon her over the last few weeks. The warnings, the training, the explanation of things she wasn’t entirely sure existed. “I guess.”
    “You guess?” Monsignor turned to her slowly and repeated the question. “Do you remember what we discussed?”
    Bridget’s mouth went dry. “Yes, Monsignor.”
    “Excellent.” Monsignor raised the crucifix to his chest and stepped toward the figure on the bed. “Let us begin.”

Three
    M ONSIGNOR’S DEEP VOICE FILLED THE room. “I command you, unclean spirit, along with all your minions, to relinquish your hold on this servant of God.”
    Mrs. Long’s eyes flew open, and black, empty pupils scanned the room, resting briefly on each of its occupants before returning to Monsignor. They were not the soft eyes of an old lady, but hooded, like a snake appraising its prey. Her cracked lips contorted into a grin, and she arched her spine.
    “As a most humble minister of the Savior,” Monsignor continued, “I command you to obey me.”
    “Liar,” Mrs. Long hissed, her head weaving back and forth. “Liar, liar, liar.”
    Monsignor narrowed his eyes. “He has given me the power to tread upon the serpents and the scorpions, and to break the dominion of your master everywhere.”
    Mrs. Long sat up and bounced on the bed. “Liar, liar, liar. He’s a liar, liar. Thinks he can lie to us, but we know all about the lies, the lies.”
    Monsignor stood firm on the other side of the bed. He didn’t look scared at all, unlike Bridget, whose stomach writhed and churned with the remnants of her lunch. He gave Bridget a slight nod to reassure her that everything was under control.
    The woman pointed a long, crooked finger at him. “We know you. We know you.”
    “Depart, tempter,” Monsignor said. “Depart, seducer, full of lies and cunning.”
    “We know what you are.”
    “I am a servant of the Lord.”
    “Liar, liar.”
    Monsignor Renault placed his right hand on Mrs. Long’s forehead and held the cross directly before her eyes. “Behold the cross of the Lord. Begone, you hostile powers.”
    Mrs. Long curled her lip and hissed again.
    The hair on Bridget’s arms stood straight up. Last time there’d been no face to the evil. This was something for Monsignor and