Possess

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 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