Possess

wasn’t sure how she’d react when she saw Undermeyer again, and her calmness almost surprised her. “I can’t go in there?” she asked the nurse.
    “Hell no,” he said.
    “Even with the guards?”
    “Girlie, seriously. You’re not going in there. Even with the guards.”
    Bridget narrowed her eyes. Girlie? Really?
    “Can she talk to him?” Matt asked quickly.
    “Yep, and he can hear you. But this is as close as you get.”
    “Fine,” Bridget said, turning a cold eye on the nurse. “A little privacy, please?”
    The nurse looked disappointed. Clearly he’d wanted a firsthand account of their conversation. Too bad, so sad. He lumbered from the room, though Bridget guessed he probably had his ear to the door outside. Whatever. Not like he’d understand a word of what he’d hear.
    For a half second she thought about asking Matt to leave as well. The conversation she was about to have would probably scare the hell out of him. Still, there was something comforting in having him there, and after what he’d seen last night, he might as well get the whole freaky picture.
    Bridget closed her eyes and took a deep breath to center herself. She reached across her body and gripped the St. Benedict medal tightly in her hand. She needed her dad with her.
    It’s now or never, Bridget. She focused her mind on the man on the other side of the glass, just as Monsignor Renault had taught her. She went over the Rules one by one in her mind, reassuring herself that she was the one with the power here, with the means to banish. Vade retro satana.
    When she opened her eyes, she was all business.
    “Milton Undermeyer,” she said. Her voice sounded big and boomy, and she saw Matt start. “Milton Undermeyer, I was sent by Penemuel to speak to you. I know you are the messenger and I demand you give your message to me.”

Twenty-Five
    A T P ENEMUEL’S NAME , U NDERMEYER PUSHED his feet against the ground, launching his chair back several inches. The guards had their hands on him almost immediately, dragging him back to his chair.
    “Liar!” he screamed. His voice flooded the room through a loudspeaker. “Who are you? It’s a girl. Don’t trust her. Why not? She lies!”
    Several voices were all speaking through him at once, but Bridget noticed immediately that the room in which she stood felt pretty normal. No dizziness, no vertigo. The demons inside Milton Undermeyer were more like Penemuel and the entity who had given her the warning through Mrs. Long. She was beginning to learn the difference. Interesting.
    “I know what you are,” she said. “I need you to tell me what you know.”
    Undermeyer became more agitated. He tried to wiggle away from the guards’ grasp, and his feet stomped against the floor erratically. “Maybe we listen? Shut up, you. She isn’t the one we were sent for. We cannot trust her.”
    The one they were sent for. Bridget swallowed hard. That had to be her dad. “You came with a message for David Liu.”
    Undermeyer froze. His eyes grew wide, not with recognition but with fear.
    “Penemuel told me you had a message for David Liu.”
    “How does she know of this?” Undermeyer hissed.
    “David Liu was my father.”
    “Maybe, maybe, maybe,” he chanted, bouncing slightly in his chair. “Maybe, maybe not.”
    “I am,” she said, taking a step closer to the glass. “And I need to know what you were sent to tell him.”
    Undermeyer threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, frantic sound that came from both the speaker and up from the very floor at the same time.
    “Bridget,” Matt said. His voice shook. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
    “You have no power over us.” Undermeyer laughed. “The Emim have no power here.”
    The Emim? Father Santos had mentioned them: the Nephilim who remained loyal to the kings of Hell.
    “I am not the Emim,” she said, trying to sound like she knew what she was talking about.
    This time, Undermeyer’s laugh dissolved into a giggle. “She wouldn’t say she is, would she? Do they think we are fools? Not fools! We will not be fooled.”
    She needed to convince the demons inside Undermeyer that she was on their side. “Penemuel was here,” she said, grasping at straws.
    Undermeyer stopped giggling and muttered unintelligibly under his breath.
    “He told me to find you, that you’d been sent to my father with a message.”
    “Penemuel?” he said. “Penemuel follow us? Penemuel with us?”
    “Yes,” she said. This seemed to