Possess

at the doll shop. This is what they meant.” She felt trapped. “I’m a traitor because I’m one of them. I’m a demon too.”
    “That’s not true.”
    Bridget jumped to her feet. “Isn’t it? If you’re right, then we come from the same source, those demons and me.”
    Father Santos yanked at his collar. “Well . . .”
    “So this thing I can do? This ability that you and Monsignor seem to think is so great? It’s a big hot mess for me. Do you get that?”
    “Bridget, let’s not jump to conclusions.”
    “Monsignor said that demons are evil. Pure evil. Like, they have no other goal than spreading that evil through our world. How am I not a part of that?”
    Father Santos sighed. “Honestly? I don’t know.” He leaned back in his chair and drew a hand over his brow. “But since you have the ability to banish evil from our world, it would make sense that you’re not a part of it.”
    Like any of this made sense.
    “Bridget, I know this is all very difficult, but you have to remember: You make your own choices, your own destiny. If you work against evil, against the powers of darkness in our world, it doesn’t matter much who your ancestors were.”
    Easy for him to say. She seriously doubted that Mr. and Mrs. Santos had a demonic great-grandfather in the family tree.
    “Speaking of which,” Father Santos said. He reached into his drawer and pulled out a Xeroxed piece of paper. “Maybe you can help me with this.”
    Bridget cast her eyes over the page. Handwriting, all caps, small and neat.
    “It’s what the dolls were chanting in the shop,” he said. “What I could catch of it before they started launching themselves at my head.”
    “It’s just gibberish.”
    “Demons rarely speak gibberish.”
    Bridget leaned forward and squinted at the words. “ ‘Potent dither trusts.’ Yeah, reads just like Shakespeare.”
    “Take it home. Read it over. Maybe something you heard will shed some light on this. I have a feeling it’s important.”
    “Sure.” Wasn’t it always?
    The bell rang and Bridget slowly rose to her feet, absently shoving the paper into her backpack. Once again, Father Santos was trying to get information out of her. Information she didn’t have. Whatever. None of it mattered. Watchers, demons, lost tribes, Father Santos’s demonic transcriptions. They could all take a flying leap as far as she was concerned.
    “Bridget?”
    “I said I’d look at it, okay?”
    “I’m s-sorry,” Father Santos stuttered.
    Yeah, Bridget thought as she trudged back to the school building. Everybody was sorry. Sorry was easy. Sorry was for suckers.

Eighteen
    B RIDGET SIFTED THROUGH A SALE rack of dresses. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” It was so not how she wanted to be spending her Saturday.
    “I can’t believe you waited until the last minute to pick out something to wear.” Hector held up a lime green strapless dress with a bedazzled bodice. “Too much?”
    Bridget snorted. “Not for you.”
    “Too bad I don’t have a date for Winter Formal.”
    Bridget grimaced. “Sorry about the concert. I forgot they were the same night.”
    “Doesn’t matter. You’re grounded until the end of time anyway.”
    “True.”
    “Except where Mr. Dreamy Hazel Eyes is concerned.”
    “Barf.”
    Hector sauntered to the other side of the rack and dramatically flipped hangers back and forth. “No worries. Besides, I already have a date.”
    Bridget’s jaw dropped. “What?”
    “Don’t look so surprised, beyotch.”
    “Let me guess, the barista from Grinds?”
    Hector smiled and looked coy. “Maybe.”
    “Awesome.” Bridget beamed from ear to ear. It was the first date Hector’d had since she’d known him. Maybe this would help him get over his hopeless crush on Brad. “I’m so happy for you.”
    “Wait till after the concert, then you can help me pick out engagement rings, okay?”
    “Fine.” Bridget moved to another rack. “Well, at least one of us will be having fun tonight.”
    “Oh, please, Bridge.”
    “What?”
    Hector brought his fists to his eyes and wiggled them back and forth like a crying baby. “Wah, wah, wah. I’m Bridget and I have to go to Winter Formal with the hottest guy in town. Poor me.”
    “He’s not the hottest guy in town,” Bridget said, turning her back on him. “And even if he was, he still bugs me.”
    “Sure he does.”
    She whirled on him. “He does!”
    Hector planted his hand on his chubby waist. “What you say: ‘I