Possess

“History?”
    “Hmph. Divine grace,” Father Santos continued, ignoring her. “It’s not just God’s favor, it’s the spark of life itself. And God has not offered his grace to man directly since the time of Adam.”
    “That’s cool and all,” Bridget said, stifling a yawn. She was so ready to blow this taco stand. “But I don’t see what it has to do with me.”
    “Well, that’s not a talent most people have, Bridget. Not even an experienced exorcist like Monsignor Renault can communicate with the entities unless they are in possession of a human, and even then, well, they tend to be unreliable.”
    “Rule Number Five,” Bridget said.
    “Rule Number Five?”
    “They lie.”
    “Yes, they do. It is their nature to do so. To lie and to take possession of our souls by any means possible. And you, Bridget. You are a great weapon against them.”
    Bridget got to her feet. “Look, I’m sure you’re an expert and all, but Monsignor would have told me about all this if it was true.”
    Father Santos cleared his throat. “Really?”
    Bridget’s face grew hot. She didn’t need to justify Monsignor’s actions to Father Santos. She swung her backpack over her shoulder and headed for the door. “I’m out
of here.”
    She didn’t make it halfway across the tiny office before Father Santos grabbed her right hand and spun her around with such force that her backpack whipped off her shoulder and slammed into a bookcase.
    “What is this?” Father Santos said. His beady black eyes were trained on her wrist.
    “Let me go.” Bridget yanked her arm away, but Father Santos held firm with a strength that surprised her. He drew her arm close to his face.
    “Where did you get this?”
    What the hell was he doing? Bridget tried to pull away again, but Father Santos only tightened his grip. She could feel her fingers going numb from the pressure. Suddenly, Bridget was painfully aware that (a) no one knew where she was and (b) the only person around the rectory at that hour was the little old church lady working in the kitchen, who probably wouldn’t hear her screams.
    “Let me go or . . . I’ll scream.”
    “V R S N S M V,” Father Santos said, reading the letters that circled the square cross charm. “Do you know what this is?” His eyes darted back and forth between it and her face; his upper lip glistened with perspiration. He almost looked as if he was frightened. “Do you?”
    “No.”
    “Don’t lie to me.”
    Bridget was officially freaked out. This wasn’t the Father Santos she’d seen so far. His stutter was gone. His absentminded-professor persona had vanished. And as he held her there in his office, his face hardened with suspicion and fear, Monsignor’s warning against the new priest from the Vatican raced through her mind. Be careful .
    “Well?” Father Santos said, giving her arm a shake.
    “It was a gift,” Bridget said. “From my dad.”
    Instantly Father Santos released her. “Your dad?”
    Bridget rubbed her wrist, easing circulation back into her fingers. “Yeah, it was a First Communion gift from my dad, okay? What the hell is wrong with you?”
    “Oh. I—I see.” The old Father Santos had returned. He dropped his eyes to the floor and shuffled his feet. “I—I—I’m sorry about that.”
    Sorry? Bridget snatched her backpack off the ground and bolted for the door. “Stay away from me.”
    Father Santos trotted after her. “Bridget, wait. I—I—I need t-to explain.”
    She hauled the door open and stepped into the hallway. “Explain why you practically ripped my arm out of my socket? No, thanks.”
    “That’s a little d-dramatic, don’t you think?”
    “Whatever.” She turned and headed toward the stairs. She couldn’t wait to get as far away from Father Santos as possible.
    “Wait, please!”
    Bridget ignored him and flew around the railing and down the stairs. She was already at the front door when he called her name from the upstairs balcony.
    “What?” She was going to be so late for class.
    “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . to upset you.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “But I have something that might, er, make it up to you.” Father Santos held up his hand, asking her to wait, then dashed back into his office.
    Bridget folded her arms across her chest. Make it up to her? Oh, this should be good.
    Father Santos waddled down the stairs and held up a small white envelope, which he placed in Bridget’s hand. “This might help.”
    “Help