“Speaking of messing around. What was up with the Ouija board?”
“Trying to ask the spirits some questions, natch. Isn’t that the whole purpose of a Ouija board?”
“You really shouldn’t play around with that thing,” I say. “It’s evil.”
Vanessa snorts. “Says the girl who’s reading up on exorcisms for fun.” She climbs off the air mattress and stretches into warrior pose, then moves smoothly into downward-facing dog.
“So what did you ask it?”
She glances up at me through a curtain of dark hair. “I wanted to know who I’m going to hook up with.”
I smile. She doesn’t need a Ouija board to tell her that—the answer is fairly obvious, even if she refuses to admit it.
“You want some breakfast?”
“Yes,” she says. “But can you go get it? Bring it in here?”
One of these days she’s going to have to get over her fear of Uncle Roy. “Vanessa, he knows you slept over,” I say. “You can’t avoid him all morning. You will have to leave my room at some point.”
“I’m not dressed,” she says, lying down on the floor and raising her legs in the air. Her cartoon sheep–covered pajamas slide down her calves. “I can’t talk to a priest in my pajamas.”
“I talk to him in mine all the time.”
“He makes me nervous,” she says. “He has this intense way of looking at me.… It’s like he can see inside my brain. And trust me, the last thing I want is for Father Roy to know what I’m thinking about. Because if he did, I’m pretty sure I’d have to spend the rest of my life in confession.”
I soften. I know that feeling all too well.
“All right, fine. What do you want? Pancakes? Oatmeal?”
She lowers her legs and extends her arms, splayed out like a starfish. “Do you have any Pop-Tarts?”
“I think I have a few left,” I say, throwing off the covers and getting out of bed. I keep an emergency stash of junk food in a shoebox at the back of my closet, hidden from Uncle Roy.
But apparently not hidden well enough, because when I pick it up, the box is suspiciously light. I remove the lid and peer inside, but instead of Pop-Tarts and chocolate bars, all that’s left is a package of red licorice.
Uncle Roy hates red licorice.
I toss the bag at Vanessa. “I’ll make us some oatmeal.”
* * *
An hour later, after Vanessa sneaks out of the house through my bedroom window, I head to the rectory. Uncle Roy’s sitting at his desk, working on his sermon. Or thinking about it anyway; he’s leaning back in his chair, chewing on the stem of his glasses.
I set an extra-large kale smoothie down in front of him. I’m still mad at him, but I’m set on trying to convince him to let me help.
His mouth purses, and he pushes the glass away. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”
“That’s probably because you filled up on Pop-Tarts,” I say, moving the glass back toward him.
He pretends not to hear me. But after a solid minute of staring at him, he concedes and takes a small sip of the smoothie. He grimaces but doesn’t spit it out. Progress!
I sit down at my desk across from him and start to rummage through all the junk in the top drawer, of which there is plenty. This desk used to belong to my mom. She was—is—exceedingly neat, and she’d be appalled if she saw the state it’s been reduced to: a million pens, candy bar wrappers, the pink rhinestone ear buds I’ve been looking for everywhere. And underneath all the detritus, stuck to the bottom of the drawer: a photo of us.
I gently pry the photo off the wood. I remember when this picture was taken—we were in Maine, the summer after my dad left. My mom and I are standing in front of the belly of a tall white lighthouse. The lighthouse is perched on a rocky cliff facing the stormy gray ocean. It was a blow-your-skirt-up windy kind of day, and the spray from the ocean misted my face as we leaned against the rough stone building. My mom had one arm firmly wrapped around my shoulders, while her other hand tried to corral her dark hair to keep it from blowing into her eyes.
If the current situation were reversed—if I were possessed—my mom would not rest until she had me back. She would do whatever it took to help me. She would never let Uncle Roy talk her out of it.
I prop the photo up against the pen holder on my desk. “I’ve been thinking…” I say.
“Mmhm.” He’s bent over his leather journal, his fountain pen moving smoothly across the page.
“You have to let me help you find my mom.”
Uncle Roy glances at me warily. “Shelby, we’ve been through this.”
“You’ve been through this,” I say. “I never said I agreed.”
He closes his eyes and rubs his temples, like I’ve just given him a pounding headache. “I don’t think you understand what’s at stake here,” he says. “I’ve tried to impress upon you just how dangerous it could be if you confront your mother. It could be dangerous for her and, even worse, dangerous for you. You are not equipped to deal with a demon of this nature—”
“You don’t think that I can do it.”
“I’m not sure that I can do it,” he says. “And I have a lifetime of experience.”
“But maybe if we were working together, maybe if she saw me—”
Uncle Roy holds up his hand. “Shelby. No. I will not put you in that kind of danger.”
Clearly we’re at an impasse. There’s nothing that I can say to convince him. When he digs his heels in about something, it’s impossible to change his mind.
I scowl at him. He wants me to stay out of the way and let him handle this, but he’s been handling it for five months and that’s gotten him exactly nowhere.
Well, if he’s not going to help me, then I’ll figure out a way to do it myself.
Chapter
16
THE SEATTLE GREAT WHEEL is a giant Ferris wheel that overlooks Elliott Bay and the downtown core, depending on which way you’re facing. I’ve never been on it—most of the people who ride it are tourists—but when Spencer texts me to ask if I want to meet him there, I tell him yes, even though I’m supposed to be training with Uncle Roy. Skipping my training session is a no-brainer, partly because I’m still mad at Uncle Roy but mostly because I really want to spend time with Spencer. Maybe this is our chance to make up for what didn’t happen at the party.
Spencer’s waiting for me on the boardwalk. My stomach starts to flutter. He’s all windblown dark-brown hair and blue eyes crinkling at the corners, broad shoulders, and ears that stick out just enough to save him from being too perfect. Just looking at him does crazy things to me, so I can’t even imagine what will happen if he kisses me. I might just spontaneously combust.
“Hey,” he says, smiling. “I’m glad you could make it. I know it’s pretty last-minute.”
“I’m glad you texted.” I smile back at him, and we stand there, just smiling at each other, until he finally reaches for my hand. My entire body lightens, and I feel as if I would float away like a balloon if he weren’t holding on to me.
We join the line to embark on the ride. Spencer tucks our joined hands into the pocket of his windbreaker, and it’s such a boyfriend move that my heart feels like it could burst. And then I remember: I still haven’t told him that I’m an exorcist. Even worse: I’m on a date when really I should be out looking for my mom. Guilt washes over me.
I push thoughts of my mom down deep. Having fun while she’s out there, God-knows-where, feels wrong, but I’m on the edge of losing my mind with worry. I’ve realized that until I can get Uncle Roy to agree to let me help him look for her, I’m stuck. And I might as well be stuck with Spencer, rather than wandering aimlessly around Seattle trying to find her.
As for the fact that I haven’t told Spencer I’m an exorcist yet … I guess there’s no better time than the present.
I feel nauseous. If he doesn’t understand, if he thinks I’m a total freak, then we’ll be over before we really even got started. He doesn’t st
rike me as judgmental, but still, I can’t predict how he’ll react.
I take a deep breath. Maybe I’m worrying for nothing. Maybe he won’t care.
“Spencer?”
He looks over at me and smiles, and … I lose my nerve again.
I’ll tell him before the end of this date.
Probably.
I crane my head back to try to see the top of the Great Wheel, but it’s impossible. From this angle, the glass gondolas seem to be rising smoothly into the heavens. “Exactly how high does this thing go?”
“One hundred and seventy-five feet,” Spencer says. His voice wavers slightly, and I glance over at him. Beads of sweat are starting to form on his forehead, even though it’s not that warm out.
“Have you been on it before?”
He shakes his head. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” he says. “I’m terrified of heights.”
“Um, so you want to go a million feet in the air because…?”
“My brother always says the best way to get over a fear is to face it head-on,” he says. His palms are sweaty, but I’m too busy being excited that Spencer wants me to be with him while he conquers his fear to be grossed out.
“I thought you could help distract me,” he says. His eyes drop to my lips, and my cheeks start to flush. I read in a magazine once that when someone stares at your mouth, it’s a surefire sign that they’re thinking about kissing you.
Spencer is thinking about kissing me! We’re going to kiss on the Great Wheel!
I am too nervous to say anything. We reach the front of the line. A girl in a black fleece jacket and navy baseball cap with the Great Wheel embroidered on it slides open the door.
Spencer swallows. For a minute I think he’s going to back out, that his fear of heights is about to get the best of him, but then he gently tugs me inside.
The gondola is made completely of glass. We sit on the leather bench seat, facing the water. There’s plenty of room, but we’re pressed tightly against each other. He lets go of my hand and slides his arm around my shoulder. We’re not even in the air yet, but my stomach is behaving as if we’re doing somersaults.
And then a man climbs in with us. I frown. I’d assumed we’d have the entire gondola to ourselves, so the fact that we have to share it is a real bummer. No way am I going to make out with Spencer in front of an audience. I know it’s not the man’s intention to be a third wheel, but he totally is, and I can’t help glaring at him.
He settles into the seat across from us. He’s wearing a gray suit with a burgundy tie, like he’s just left the office and decided to take a spin on the Great Wheel. As one does.
Spencer tenses beside me, so I turn my attention back to him. He’s blinking rapidly, and his breathing has slowed. I think he might be on the edge of a panic attack. I’m about to ask him if he wants to get off—I’m all for facing your fears, but this doesn’t seem like the best idea—when the girl slides the gondola door closed and locks us in.
And, barely one second later, the smell hits me. A terrible, unmistakable, rotten-egg smell.
I clap my hand over my nose and look at the man across from us in alarm. He’s in some kind of trance, staring without really seeing. Totally creepy. His pupils are totally blown out, too, so if I had any doubts that he’s possessed, his eyes have just confirmed it.
I feel a stab of fury. You’ve got to be kidding me. Of all the gondolas, he gets into mine? This is so unfair.
Spencer has disappeared so completely inside of himself that he doesn’t seem to have noticed the appalling smell. I don’t even know how that’s possible—it literally smells like we’re inside an anal cavity—but okay. Before I can tell him that we need to get off this thing right now, the gondola gracefully lifts us into the air.
Spencer’s face drains of all color. He’s clutching my fingers so tightly, I’m afraid he’s going to grind my bones to dust.
He’s already so freaked out, I can’t exactly tell him that we’re trapped on a Ferris wheel with a possessed person, especially when said possessed person is sitting two feet away and will likely overhear.
The Great Wheel moves smoothly upward, rising high over Elliott Bay. My mind is racing, trying to figure out how to handle this disaster. The best course of action is probably just to ignore this demon. He seems to be minding his own business, staring blankly out the window. This ride probably isn’t very long, and when we get to the bottom, I can call Uncle Roy and report this guy. Let him deal with the problem.
Done and done.
In the meantime, I’ll try and calm my nerves by pretending he doesn’t exist. I’ll just concentrate on Spencer.
“You doing okay?”
He doesn’t answer me. I put my hand on his knee to stop it from jiggling. His eyes are squeezed shut, which is probably a good thing because, as it turns out, one hundred and seventy-five feet is VERY HIGH. I’m beginning to feel queasy.
“Probably best to keep your eyes closed,” I tell him. For more than one reason, like I don’t want him to notice that there’s something really off about our travel companion.
The Wheel gets to the top and the gondola stops, gently rocking back and forth. It feels like we’re floating in midair. From this height, the boats bobbing in the choppy gray-blue water far below us are the size of bathtub toys.
Unfortunately, my plan to ignore the demon across from me is about to backfire, because he seems to have come out of his trance. His face has turned a dark shade of red, and he’s beginning to snort. Also, his butt is hovering a few inches off the seat, so that’s just great; now he’s levitating.
Crap. I’m going to have to deal with this.
Even though Spencer’s eyes are still screwed tightly shut, I don’t see how I’m going to be able to exorcise this guy without him catching on. He’s about to find out who I really am, and I can only hope that he’ll be able to deal with it.
Okay, think. I don’t have my supplies with me. However, Spencer is wearing a crucifix. I could use it to expel the demon. I mean, it’s probably not any different than the one I normally use, other than that mine is blessed by Uncle Roy.
I don’t want to tip the demon off, so I pretend to massage Spencer’s neck. His face relaxes a tiny bit, so I feel bad when I stop rubbing a few seconds later and unclasp his necklace. His brow furrows in confusion, but he doesn’t open his eyes.
The pendant is only about the size of my thumbnail, but it’s still a crucifix. I close my fingers around the cross and say a quick prayer in my head that I can actually pull this exorcism off and that Spencer won’t think I’m a total freak when he sees what’s about to happen.
The gondola starts to move again. The man is now hovering around the ceiling—I have to start the exorcism now. Otherwise I’m going to have a hard time explaining what’s going on to the Great Wheel staff when this thing is on the ground.
Okay. I can do this.
I hold the miniature crucifix out in front of me—it’s so tiny, I have to pinch my fingers together to keep from dropping it. “Deus, audi oratiónem meam; áuribus pércipe verba oris mei,” I say, trying my best to sound confident. “Nam supérbi insurréxerunt contra me, et violénti quæsierunt vitam meam.”
Spencer’s eyes snap open. I can’t look at him to see how he’s reacting to what I’m doing; I have to keep my focus on expelling this demon.
With a growl, the man drops back down into his seat. His entire body goes stiff, then begins to shake violently, as if he’s being electrocuted.
Good start! The incantation seems to be working.
The man’s face contorts, and he’s spitting and foaming at the mouth. And then—oh Lord—his head starts to revolve on his neck, bones cracking and popping, until it twists all the way around and his face is on the wrong side of his body.
I wince. I really hate it when they do that.
“Nam ex omni tribulatióne eripuit me, et inimícos meos confúsos vidit óculos meus!”
The man starts to emit this high-pitched no
ise, almost like a siren, which echoes off the glass walls. I wrack my brain, trying to remember if Uncle Roy ever mentioned this particular ear-splitting sound and what it could possibly mean. My eardrums feel like they’re about to burst.
We’ve gone another full rotation and are at the top of the Great Wheel again when the man finally collapses forward. His body is smoking, clouds of steam rising off of him. But fortunately his head is on the right way again, returned to its natural position.
Did I do it?
I lean cautiously toward him. He doesn’t move.
I think I did it.
But I can’t celebrate just yet—first I need to make sure that the demon is really gone. Except when I lean forward to give him a good poke with the tiny crucifix, the man bolts upright. He twists toward me and gives me the most gruesome smile, one that sends a snake of fear right up my spine.
“D-deus, audi or-oratiónem meam,” I say, stumbling over the incantation. The man just laughs and bares his teeth at me. My fingers are shaking so hard that I drop Spencer’s crucifix.
Spencer. I sneak a look at him. He has a strange expression on his face, like he can’t quite believe what’s happening right in front of him. He reaches for my hand and squeezes my fingers. A little color has returned to his cheeks.
I think he’s about to say something, but before he has the chance, the Great Wheel slows to a stop. The same girl who let us on the ride unlocks the door. As soon as she slides it open, the man jumps out and knocks her over. There are shouts of indignation from the crowd as he takes off running, but he’s too quick for anyone to stop him.
Every part of me is shaking as I climb out of the gondola. Spencer helps the girl up, then we walk in tense silence down the pier until my legs finally feel like they’re going to give out and I have to lean against the wooden railing.
“You’re a demon hunter,” Spencer says flatly.
Demon hunter?
“We generally go by exorcist, but yes,” I say, putting a hand to my chest to try to slow my breathing. I’m not sure if my nerves are from another failed exorcism or because Spencer finally knows my secret. “Although, to be honest, I don’t go hunting for them so much as they seem to fall right into my lap.”
When Life Gives You Demons Page 10