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Father Santos to tackle. Not her.
    “Begone, slave. Return to your master.”
    With a roar, Mrs. Long’s hands shot forward, striking Monsignor Renault full in the chest. He flew across the room and crashed into the far wall, where he hung suspended, pinned to the wall by an unseen force. Bridget screamed.
    “You know nothing of the Master,” Mrs. Long said. Or at least Bridget thought it was Mrs. Long. The voice had changed. It was deep, raspy, undeniably male, and it was accompanied by a growl that originated from deep within her body.
    Suddenly Monsignor was released, and he crumpled to the floor. Bridget started toward him, but he held up a hand. “I am fine, Bridget. This corrupted spirit and its master cannot harm me.”
    Mrs. Long ran a parched tongue over her lips. “He has power you only wish to achieve.”
    Monsignor pushed himself to his feet; he did not look the least bit shaken. “Father Santos, the oil.”
    The younger priest retrieved the holy sacramentals and removed the stopper from a decanter. Monsignor dipped his thumb in the consecrated oil and made the sign of the cross over Mrs. Long’s throat.
    “No, no, no, no, no,” Mrs. Long cried, writhing on the bed.
    “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti,” Monsignor bellowed. He moved his thumb to her forehead. “In nomine Patris. Et Filii.”
    “Traitor!” the woman shrieked.
    “Et Spiritus Sancti.”
    “Noooo—” Her scream choked off as Monsignor pressed his thumb into Mrs. Long’s forehead. The old woman’s whole abdomen rose off the bed, and then she flopped back onto the mattress, eyes closed, body limp.
    All was still in the room.
    Awesome.
    “Is that it?” Bridget asked hopefully.
    Monsignor shushed her. “What is Rule Number Four?”
    “Do not let your guard down,” Bridget repeated diligently. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Father Santos scribbling more notes.
    What was he doing? Focus, Bridge. She had to keep her mind on the afflicted person, just as Monsignor had taught her. She had to remember the Rules.
    Rule Number One: Do not show fear.
    Rule Number Two: Do not show pity.
    Rule Number Three: Do not engage.
    Rule Number Four: Do not let your guard down.
    Rule Number Five: They lie.
    She closed her eyes and repeated them over and over again like a mantra. Her breath stilled; the pounding of her heart lessened.
    That’s when she heard it. Not voices this time, but grunts. Animal grunts. Like a herd of pigs running loose inside the house.
    Without thinking, she placed her hand on the wall to steady herself.
    The noises exploded in her head. A deafening roar, a mix of snarls and screams at once human and beastlike. She could feel the wall throbbing beneath her palm as if the beings inside were going to burst through the plaster.
    “Bridget, are you all right?” Monsignor’s voice cracked.
    Her breaths came shallow and ragged as the noises pounded through her ears. “Yeah, I—I think so.”
    “What is it?” Father Santos asked. “What do you hear?”
    “I . . .” Crap, what didn’t she hear? She closed her eyes. “Grunts.”
    “Grunts?”
    “Animal grunts. And screams. They’re . . . I don’t think they’re human.”
    “They are gathering their power,” Monsignor said. He tightened his grip on the cross. “Be ready.”
    Bridget had no clue what “ready” meant. Ready for what?
    Her answer came immediately. The foundations of the house rocked. Bridget lost her balance and staggered a few steps until Monsignor’s strong hand gripped her arm, steadying her. Mrs. Long grunted and snarled, then Bridget watched in horror as the old lady’s body went rigid—feet flexed, arms plastered to her sides—and began to rise off the bed.
    “Jesus!” Bridget said, forgetting who was in the room.
    “Concentrate,” Monsignor said. “Do not let them distract you.”
    Yeah, sure. Concentrate with an old lady levitating a foot away? Easy.
    The screams and growls filled the room. Father Santos