Possess

behind the overturned desk, then zipped back to it. The door of the cupboard was open.
    Bridget picked her way through the mess. “If you had something important, wouldn’t you keep it locked up?”
    “Probably. Hey, maybe we should just talk to Father Santos.”
    She gave him a look of disbelief. “Don’t trust the priest, remember?”
    “Yeah, but someone obviously broke in here. Wouldn’t that mean Father Santos is on our side?”
    She examined the cupboard. One of the doors stood wide open, the other was still locked. Neither showed signs of having been forced.
    “Not necessarily,” she said. “Look, this cupboard was opened with a key.”
    Matt stumbled through the carnage and peered down at the door. “Okay, fine. Someone used a key. But if they knew what they were looking for, why destroy the room?”
    That situation had already crossed Bridget’s mind. “To make it look like someone broke in. Father Santos could easily have done this himself to make it seem like he’d been robbed.”
    “But why?”
    “To gain my trust, maybe?” It sort of made sense.
    “I guess.” Matt was clearly unconvinced. “What’s in here, anyway?”
    Bridget illuminated the contents of the cupboard. The wooden box was still there, unopened and unmolested; whoever had broken in clearly hadn’t been interested in the Skellig Manuscript. The only other object was a set of books on the middle shelf, six leather-encased volumes, one of which appeared to be missing.
    She clamped the end of the flashlight in her teeth and pulled the set of books out of the cupboard. The volumes weren’t huge, maybe two hundred pages each, but the set weighed a ton.
    “A widdle hewp,” Bridget said through the flashlight.
    Matt grabbed the books and eased them down on the side of the toppled desk. “See, I knew you’d need my help.”
    Bridget pulled the flashlight out of her mouth. “Oh, Matt, you’re so big and strong. My hero.”
    “Your hero, huh?” Matt hooked a finger through a belt loop on her jeans and pulled her to him. “I’m going to remind you of that one day.”
    Bridget’s heart fluttered as their bodies pressed lightly together. She had to fight the urge to reach her lips up to his. With a shake of her head, she turned back to the box on the table.
    There was a label on the side of it. “Les Grimoires des Rois L’Enfer,” Bridget read awkwardly. “Oh, please tell me you speak French.”
    “Sorry,” Matt said. “Spanish.”
    “Perfect. And I took Latin.”
    “Dead languages are so helpful. Any idea what it means?”
    A voice answered them from across the room. “The Grimoires of the Kings of Hell.”

Thirty-Three
    B RIDGET DROPPED HER FLASHLIGHT . At first she thought it was a demon answering her from the darkness of the room, but then she saw the figure—the human figure—silhouetted in the doorway. It reached a chubby hand to the wall and flicked on the lights.
    Father Santos’s jaw dropped. “What in the name of G-God did you do to my office?”
    Bridget looked sidelong at Matt. “It was like this when we got here, Father Santos. I swear.”
    “Are you s-sure?” Father Santos stepped into his office and closed the door behind him. He scratched his neck nervously as his eyes danced around the room.
    Bridget snorted. “Pretty sure.”
    “Hmm.” Father Santos bent down and began picking up books off the floor, examining their pages and spines, and stacking them on a nearby shelf.
    Matt turned to Bridget and inclined his head toward Father Santos. “What the hell?” he mouthed.
    “Um, Father Santos?” Bridget asked.
    Father Santos didn’t even look at her. “Yes, Bridget?”
    “Any idea who would want to break into your office?”
    “Besides you two?”
    “Look, Matt only came because I asked him to. I don’t want him to get in trouble.”
    “Actually, Father,” Matt said. “It was my idea. Bridget was just trying to help.”
    “What are you doing?” Bridget whispered.
    “Keeping you out of trouble,” Matt said between clenched teeth.
    Bridget set her jaw. “I don’t need your help.”
    “Really? It doesn’t seem that way.”
    “Um,” Father Santos said. He was staring at them now, as if he were watching a pair of chimpanzees at the zoo. “Can you two save the b-bickering for later? We have more important matters at hand.”
    Bridget clammed up. She was keenly aware of how calm and patient Father Santos had been. No anger, no indignation. He wasn’t calling the police