Possess

fuckup.”
    “Partial,” Matt said with a sly grin. “Partial fuckup. But seriously, I’m in.”
    “You sure?”
    “Totally.”
    Bridget couldn’t help but feel relieved. She would have busted into Father Santos’s office alone if she had to, but the idea of having Matt with her made the whole endeavor significantly less terrifying.
    A soft beep came from Matt’s pocket, and he dug down for his cell phone. “I’ve got practice in thirty. What time should I pick you up?”
    Bridget wasn’t sure what kind of cloak-and-dagger insanity she’d need to pull to get out of the house, but she’d think of something. “Eleven. Park down the street, though. I’ll have to sneak out.”
    “Okay.” He bent down and kissed her swiftly. “I’ll see you then.”

Thirty-Two
    M ATT CROUCHED IN THE SHADOWS , fiddling with the lock to the back door of St. Michael’s Rectory. The air glowed a dull blue-gray as the beam from Bridget’s flashlight dissipated into the thick, low-lying fog. She shivered and tucked her free hand into the pocket of her jacket.
    “I thought you’d be better at this.”
    “Why?”
    Bridget shrugged. “’Cause your dad’s a cop.”
    “Right,” Matt said, shifting his body so he wasn’t blocking the light. “Why wouldn’t he teach me Breaking and Entering 101?”
    Bridget stifled a yawn. “Might be helpful now.”
    “Patience, grasshopper.” Matt inserted a second metal prong into the lock. “I know a few tricks.”
    Bridget heard a soft click, and Matt raised his eyebrows in an unspoken “I told you so” before twisting the handle. The door swung open.
    “Slick, MacGyver,” Bridget whispered, patting him on the head. “Remind me to give you a cookie.”
    Matt’s face was serious. “You know where to go?”
    Bridget nodded. He was right: enough with the crap, time to get what they came for.
    They stepped into the rectory, and Matt pulled the door shut behind them, throwing the room into darkness. Bridget panned her flashlight: cupboards, butcher block table, stove. They were in the kitchen.
    There was an open door on the far side of the room, and Bridget motioned for Matt to follow her. From the carpeted hallway, Bridget knew exactly where they were. Father Santos’s office was on the second floor, third door from the end of the hall, just above the kitchen.
    They crept up the staircase. Bridget tested her weight on each step before fully committing. The priests, including Father Santos and Monsignor Renault, would be asleep on the top floor and hopefully wouldn’t hear the odd squeak or creak from the old rectory, but how the hell would she explain herself if the lights suddenly came on?
    Her hand trembled so violently the flashlight beam shook. She wasn’t so much concerned about herself as she was about Matt. What if this little stunt got him suspended? Ruined his pitching career? Made him hate her forever?
    Bridget paused at the door of Father Santos’s office. Hopefully, Matt wouldn’t have to repeat his perp skills in busting a lock. She held her breath and turned the doorknob.
    The door opened easily, noiselessly. Bridget and Matt dashed inside and eased the door closed.
    “I’m not exactly sure what we’re looking for,” Bridget whispered. “But Father Santos probably has his books arranged—”
    Bridget froze as the beams of their flashlights illuminated the office. It looked like an earthquake had hit. Books were pulled down from every shelf, strewn about the small room haphazardly. The chairs were overturned and Father Santos’s desk had been toppled over, the contents of his drawers spilled onto the floor.
    “Oh my God,” Bridget said.
    “Someone got here before us,” Matt said. “Someone else had the same idea.”
    “That’s impossible.”
    “No, it’s not. What did Undermeyer tell you? The Emim are trying to raise some demon king, right?”
    “Amaymon, thanks for listening.”
    Matt shone his light right in her face. “Hey, you threw a lot of info at me that day.”
    “You mean yesterday?”
    “Oh, yeah.” Matt swung his beam back into the upturned office. “Still, my point is, maybe the Emim or the priest working with them are looking for the same thing we are?”
    “Maybe.”
    Bridget scanned the chaos of Father Santos’s office. Every bookcase had been emptied onto the floor, creating a minefield of splayed books. Even if she knew what to look for, it would be impossible to find anything. Her beam moved past the cupboard