Possess

I don’t know. All I’ve got is two priests who, according to a demon messenger, I’m not supposed to trust. It’s not like this thing came with an instruction manual. Page one—You’re the Good Guy! I mean, until a month ago I didn’t believe any of this was real.”
    Matt dropped his eyes. “Sorry.”
    “S’okay.” Bridget crammed some fries into her mouth and washed them down with a long sip of her soda. She was suddenly ravenous, like she hadn’t eaten in weeks.
    “So you’re one of them?” Matt asked.
    “One of who?”
    “One of them . A demon.”
    Bridget winced. She was instantly nauseous at the idea that she was part supernatural anything. “Do I look like a demon?” she asked by way of an evasion.
    “Yeah, like I know.” Matt finally picked up his untouched food. “What are they like? The demons, I mean?”
    Bridget hadn’t really thought about it before. “Kind of like nasty little kids. They like to scare you, slam doors, and show up as ominous shadows. They’re not really dangerous until they get their hooks into a human.”
    “Oh, yeah?”
    “Yeah. They can make you do things, give you extra strength, make you levitate. All kinds of crazy stuff.”
    “Like with Milton Undermeyer?”
    Bridget smiled. The boy was quick. “Yeah.”
    “And that can happen to just anyone?”
    “I don’t think so.” Bridget took a contemplative bite of french fry. What had Monsignor told her? “You have to invite them in somehow. Let them into your house and then once you engage with them, it’s game on.”
    Matt pondered Bridget’s words before he launched into his next question. “So, it sounds like real cases of possession are pretty rare, huh?”
    “I think so, yeah.”
    “Then how come you’ve had four of them in the last few weeks?”
    It was a good point, one that had been bothering Bridget. The Vatican seemed to agree with Matt and had sent Father Santos to investigate the swell in demonic activity in the area. But Monsignor seemed more excited by it than anything, because it gave him a chance to test Bridget’s abilities. Meanwhile, the more Bridget contemplated the eerie events of the last few weeks, the more she was determined to get to the bottom of things.
    They fell silent as they finished lunch, but after the waitress brought the check, Matt had one last question.
    “What did they tell you?”
    “Who?”
    “The demons inside Milton Undermeyer. You kept ordering them to tell you something.”
    “Oh, right.” He was in it up to his neck at this point, might as well finish the job. “They said that the Emim are attempting to summon a demon, Amaymon, who’s a king of Hell, and that they are using a priest to do so. I’m supposed to stop the priest.”
    “That narrows it down,” Matt snorted.
    “Yeah.”
    “Do you think it’s Father Santos or Monsignor?”
    Bridget bit her lip.
    “I hope not,” she said. “But the only thing I know for sure is that Milton Undermeyer did not kill my dad. Maybe if we find the real killer, it’ll lead to the priest?”
    “All right,” Matt said, scooting out of the booth. “Let’s go, then.”
    “Go where?”
    Matt took her hand as she climbed to her feet. “Let’s go find your priest.”

Twenty-Seven
    A MIDDLE-AGED OFFICER WITH A steel gray topknot and horn-rimmed glasses circa 1973 pushed the door open with her ample rump and deposited a heavy file box on the table.
    “Is that all?” Bridget asked.
    The officer leaned against the table to catch her breath. “Yes, that’s all , honey.”
    Bridget eyed the box. All the evidence from the Undermeyer case shoved into a single two-by-three-foot box.
    “Thanks, Agnes,” Matt said. Bridget saw him flash the officer his winning, toothy smile.
    Agnes melted. “Don’t mention it. Anything for you and your dad, Mattie.”
    “Does that work on everyone?” Bridget said after Agnes waddled from the room.
    “What?”
    Bridget did her best imitation of Matt’s smile and puppy-dog-eye combo. “Thanks, Agnes.”
    Matt drew his face close to hers. “Not on everyone.”
    Bridget turned her head and hoped Matt didn’t notice the faint pink blush rising from her chest to her neck. “Well, apparently it worked on Alexa Darlington.”
    Matt’s mood changed as soon as he heard Alexa’s name. His smile vanished, and he reached over to the box and took out a stack of CDs burned from the audio recordings of her dad’s sessions with Undermeyer. “I’ll start with