Possess

it.
    Bridget slowly turned and found Mrs. Long sitting upright on the bed once more, eyes open, a black goo oozing from her mouth down her chin, staining the white cotton of her nightgown. The entities were inside her once again. Bridget could feel them.
    Monsignor Renault nodded to Bridget. “It’s time for you to try.”
    Try. Try to talk to them? Try and make them leave the old lady’s body? Try to lure them out? She didn’t know what to do.
    “Bridget,” Monsignor said. “Remember the Rules.”
    The Rules. Right. Do not show fear. Do not show pity. No pity. This wasn’t a person anymore. What had Monsignor called them? Demoniacs.
    The demoniac laughed again. “You send a child, a little girl, to the sacrifice? Priest, your savior forsakes you.”
    “You can do this, Bridget,” Monsignor said calmly. “Find out its name and you will control it. Do not listen to anything else.”
    Find out its name. Okay. That should be simple enough. “What’s your name?”
    “What’s your name?” the demoniac mocked. It clapped its hands and grinned at her. Five minutes into her first official exorcism, and Bridget already felt like a complete failure. What was she supposed to do next?
    Father Santos cleared his throat. “Um, maybe . . . maybe try touching her.”
    Bridget glanced at him. He had the notebook in his hand again. “Touching her?”
    “Like you did with the wall.”
    “Father Santos,” Monsignor snapped. “Let her do it herself. She needs to learn.”
    Right. The voices were transmitted through her touch. With a tentative hand, Bridget reached out and grabbed a skinny, blue-veined arm.
    Mrs. Long shrieked at Bridget’s touch. It was a cry of rage and pain. “No, no, no, no, no. Impossible!”
    The demoniac was scared of her ?
    “Get away!” it screamed. “Get away from us!”
    “What is your name?” Bridget repeated.
    But Bridget didn’t need the demons to speak their names. They formed in her head as if she were reading their minds.
    “Ramison,” she said.
    The demoniac twisted its arm, trying to free itself. “No! Why are you here? How are you here?”
    “How can she know that?” Father Santos asked. “That’s not possible.”
    Monsignor held up his hand. “Silence!”
    Bridget closed her eyes. “Tulock.” Another voice was screaming out. “And Bemerot. They are servants of—”
    “Do not tell him!” the demoniac howled. “He already knows, he already knows.”
    “Rule Number Five,” Monsignor said. “They lie.”
    There was a fourth presence; it felt weaker than the other three, and yet the others begged it for help. This demon was different. She couldn’t feel it, couldn’t hear the sound of its voice. It wasn’t in the room, but somehow Bridget could sense the demon’s rage, its hatred toward Mrs. Long and the priests. Toward her, though, she sensed confusion.
    Bridget smiled. It was intimidated by her. Cool.
    The riff of one of Bridget’s favorite songs ripped through the room. Her cell phone. Dammit. She’d forgotten to tell her mom she’d be late.
    The demons took advantage of her momentary lack of concentration. “Traitor!” they shrieked. “You will be punished for your treachery.”
    “Was that your cell phone?” Father Santos asked.
    “Sorry.” Her mom was going to be so pissed off.
    “Concentrate,” Monsignor said gently.
    “Oh, right.” Time to cut the crap. She needed to finish the banishment and get home before her mom grounded her for the rest of her natural life.
    “Who do you serve?” Bridget called out, doing her best impression of Monsignor Renault’s stern, commanding voice. She heard Father Santos snicker. “Tell me, or I swear to God I’ll . . .”
    Her voice trailed off. A tingling sensation emanated from Bridget’s fingertips, spreading out through her body in waves. Her lips buzzed, and as she ran her tongue over them, they tasted tangy, metallic. It was like she was drawing energy from the demoniac, sucking it into her body. Totally freaky, and yet it felt . . .
    . . . good?
    Focus, Bridge! Ignore the weird new feeling and concentrate on Mrs. Long. She tried to think back to her training sessions with Monsignor. He had told her what the demons feared most. Banishment.
    “Tell me,” she said. “Or I’ll banish you?”
    The demoniac froze.
    “That’s right,” Bridget said with a smile. She felt a surge of confidence, like she actually knew what she was doing. “I’ll banish you.”
    “Good girl,” Monsignor