Possess

the box and removed a plastic sleeve in which rested a collection of papers.
    Father Santos slid the worn, yellowed pages from the plastic cover, and Bridget saw that their edges were jagged and frayed, as if they had been torn from a book, and they were written in a highly ornate, embellished scroll in what appeared to be Latin.
    “Eighth century,” Father Santos said, tracing the intricate border work with a gloved finger. “All that remains of the Skellig Manuscript, transcribed by the Augustinian monks of County Kerry. The Vatican obtained these after they were smuggled out of Ireland during Cromwell’s invasion, and they have remained in the archives ever since.”
    “They just let you take this from the Vatican?” That didn’t sound like the Catholic Church she knew.
    Father Santos cleared his throat. “I, um, have special privileges.”
    “Right.” Of the five-fingered discount variety. Great: he was weird, schizophrenic, and a klepto.
    “As I was saying,” Father Santos said quickly. “The Skellig Manuscript tells a very unique version of how a group of angels fell from grace, a version that had never been told before, and never since.”
    Bridget arched an eyebrow. “Hello, Catholic school? I’ve heard this about a bazillion times.”
    “Do you want me to tell you about the Watchers or not?”
    “Fine.”
    “Good. Now there was the first fall, when Satan led a rebellion against God and was defeated by the Archangel Michael. That’s the one you learned about in school, no doubt. But there was another fall from grace, a second fall. The angel Semyaza led two hundred angels to Earth, where they had, um, relations with human women.”
    “Ew.”
    Father Santos laughed nervously. “Yes, well, Semyaza and his angels were banished for all eternity, where they became Satan’s kings of Hell.”
    Bridget had to stifle a yawn. Her head was starting to spin with all the biblical nerdery. “Okay, sure.” Why not?
    He smiled in understanding. “Don’t worry, this is where it gets interesting.”
    Bridget sure hoped so.
    “According to the apocryphal books of the Bible, Semyaza and his followers were known as the Watchers.”
    Bridget sat upright in her chair. That was not what she’d been expecting. “No way.”
    “Way. And their human mistresses bore a race of half angel–half human giants known as the Nephilim.”
    “But why would the demons in the doll shop accuse me of being a fallen angel? It doesn’t make any sense.”
    “I’m getting there. The Nephilim were evil, and they spread their corruption throughout the world of man. Eventually, God sent a great flood to rid the Earth of the Nephilim, but . . .” Father Santos carefully turned over the first loose page of the Skellig Manuscript and pointed to a line on the next page. “According to this, the Nephilim survived and remained loyal to their banished forefathers. To this day, they await the opportunity to summon the kings of Hell to Earth and take revenge upon God for their banishment.”
    Bridget was getting a little lost. “And that’s bad, right?”
    Father Santos cocked his head to one side. “Yes, that would be bad.”
    “Oh. Okay, got it.”
    “Here is where you come in.”
    Bridget grimaced. “If you tell me I’m in that book, I’m going to throw up on this desk right now.”
    “Heh.” Again Father Santos carefully flipped another page of the manuscript. “Some of the Watchers,” he continued, “showed repentance for their lust and wished to make amends to God. But an angel, once fallen from grace, cannot repent his sins. Instead, God took pity on their offspring. He separated the Nephilim into two groups: the Emim, descendants of the unrepentant fallen angels, and the Watchers, the children of the penitent angels tasked to succeed where their fathers had failed. God granted certain powers—the touch of God—to the Watchers, which allowed them to hold dominion over the Emim. It was their job to prevent the Emim from summoning their demon forefathers from Hell.”
    It all sounded so ridiculous. Bridget laughed out loud.
    Father Santos looked hurt. “What’s so funny?”
    “You’re trying to tell me that I’m part angel? Is that it?”
    Father Santos laced his chubby fingers together. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
    “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”
    “How do you figure?”
    “Look, that’s a cool story and all, but I don’t believe I’m the latest in a