When I get into my room, Vanessa is trying to open the window. It’s chilly out, but maybe the cold air will settle her stomach. She seems to be having trouble getting the window open, so I set the bucket on my desk and walk over to help her.
She collapses onto my bed. Moo lets out a yowl and darts out from underneath my duvet. I reach down to pick my cat up, but she’s frozen, her ears pinned against her head. The hair on her back is raised in a stiff white ridge, and her green eyes are laser-focused on Vanessa. She starts to hiss.
Moo never hisses at anyone—certainly never Vanessa. She loves Vanessa.
A bad feeling settles over me. Animals can sense a supernatural presence—it’s one of the first things that Uncle Roy taught me when I started training. I think it’s part of the reason why he let me keep Moo, even though he’s “allergic.”
When I look at Vanessa, she’s staring into space with the same blank look on her face that she had during lunch this afternoon. I pick Moo up just as Vanessa leans forward and hisses back at her. My cat squirms in my arms, desperate to get away, and Vanessa laughs this weird, witchy cackle that makes the hair on my neck stand up. It freaks Moo out so bad that she scratches me in her panic to get away. She jumps out of my arms and bolts out the door.
“Ow!” A line of scratches appear on my forearm.
Vanessa is practically asphyxiating with laughter, like my cat scratching the hell out of me is the funniest thing she’s ever seen. Then her face instantly straightens, all the emotion wiped away. She’s still as a statute.
I don’t want to leave her alone, but my arm is bleeding. I grab an old T-shirt and press it against my skin while mentally running through my “so you think you might be dealing with a demon” checklist:
1. Smells like sulfur. I can’t smell anything but alcohol. That doesn’t mean Vanessa doesn’t smell like sulfur—it just means that the alcohol could be masking it.
2. Talking in a strange voice. So far she hasn’t said a word—which is very unlike her—so I can’t determine if her voice has changed.
3. Demon eyes. This is the most foolproof sign of demonic possession, but I don’t know if Vanessa has shark eyes or not because she’s wearing sunglasses. And the only way I’m going to know for sure is if I take them off of her.
I swallow and say a quick prayer. Vanessa doesn’t object or slap my hand away when I remove her sunglasses, like she might have under normal circumstances. She just lets me slide them off.
And when I see her eyes—her blown-out pupils—I know for certain that this situation is NOT GOOD. Not good at all.
Okay, think.
The first thing I need to do is call Uncle Roy. Uncle Roy will fix this.
I grab my cell phone, but Vanessa suddenly jerks to life, like she’s just been rebooted. Her mouth twists into a ghastly smile, and it changes her face so much that she doesn’t even look like herself anymore. Her forehead and cheeks start to bubble, like water is boiling under her skin, which is supergross.
So it turns out that waiting for Uncle Roy to get home isn’t going to be an option. I’m going to have to do something right now, even though I feel completely out of my element.
“Vanessa, I’m so glad you came by because I need some help with my physics homework.” I smile at her—everything’s fine, nothing to worry about. “Just let me grab my textbook.…” My hands are shaking as I dig in my bag. My handcuffs aren’t going to be of any use—there’s nothing to handcuff her to in my room—so hopefully my cross and a good squirt of holy water will be enough to subdue her until Uncle Roy eventually gets here. My fingers close around the spray bottle just as she ascends to the ceiling, legs crossed.
I hold the bejeweled spray bottle in one hand and my cross in the other. I stand underneath her, just far enough away that she won’t be able to grab me. Vanessa flips upside down so she’s sitting on the ceiling. Her skirt flips, too, hanging down to her chest, so thank god she’s wearing boxer shorts underneath. Her long dark hair sways like seaweed. “You think you can get rid of me so easily?” Her voice is deep, growly—much how I imagine a wolf would sound, if it could speak—and her eyes are now two burning red coals.
I haven’t forgotten that everything always goes sideways whenever I try to exorcise someone, and I’m not totally sure I can help Vanessa, but I have to do something.
I hold up my spray bottle. “Deus, audi oratiónem meam; áuribus pércipe verba oris mei,” I say. I spray her, but I’m so nervous that my aim is off. Vanessa dodges the water and scuttles across my ceiling like a cockroach.
“Nam supérbi insurréxerunt contra me, et violénti quæsierunt vitam meam.” I aim again, and this time a jet of holy water arcs through the air and hits her square on the shoulder. She screams as the water soaks through her T-shirt. She drops to the ground, inches from me, and I don’t think I’m overstating anything when I say that she is furious.
I am pee-my-pants terrified, but I hear Uncle Roy’s voice in my head reminding me to stay calm. Don’t panic. You can do this.
You can do this.
You have to.
“Nam supérbi insurréxerunt contra me, et violénti quæsierunt vitam meam,” I say, but my voice wobbles. Vanessa cocks her head to the side, studying me. And then, quick as lightning, her hand shoots out. But instead of her fingers closing around my throat, her hand slams into an invisible wall. For a moment, we stare at each other, like neither of us can believe what just happened. Then she tries to grab me again.
Same result.
I touch the protection rune Spencer made me.
Huh. I guess it really works.…
Vanessa screams in frustration at not being able to choke me to death. Then she starts to twist around the room, destroying everything in her path. In a matter of seconds, she completely trashes my room—ripping the posters off my walls, tearing my duvet so the feathers come out, overturning my wastebasket. For the grand finale, she jumps on top of my desk, then leaps into the air and back down onto the wooden top. It splinters underneath her feet, as easily as if she’d just snapped a branch.
And now I’m angry. I know it’s not Vanessa’s fault—she is possessed, after all—but that desk was a gift from my mom. She is so going to pay for that after she’s healed.
“Ecce, Deus ádjuvat me, óminus susténtat vitam meam,” I say. The prayer doesn’t seem to be slowing her down. She grabs my biology textbook and rips it in two like it’s no big deal, then tosses the pages into the air.
I continue to chant, and she continues to ruin everything she comes in contact with. I spray her a few more times with the holy water, but I really don’t seem to be getting anywhere, so I’m super-relieved when Uncle Roy finally gets home. He obviously hears the commotion, because he runs into my room. In one glance, he takes in the situation and draws his cross from his pocket.
Now she’s going to get it.
“Shelby, stand back,” Uncle Roy says, but the words are barely out of his mouth before Vanessa comes at him. She smacks him aside as easily as if she were swatting a fly. Uncle Roy sails through the air, and his head knocks against the wall with a sickening thud. He slumps forward, out cold.
Oh. Shit.
I rush over to him. Vanessa doesn’t attempt to come at me again; she just tears the curtains hanging from the rod above my door right off and charges down the hall. A few seconds later, I hear glass smashing, something heavy being turned over, and then the back door banging against the wall.
And she’s gone.
Chapter
23
UNCLE ROY isn’t waking up. I slap his cheeks to try and rouse him. “Wake up wake up wake up wake up! Please wake up!”
Nothing.
I slap a little harder.
Still nothing.
Okay, don’t panic. He’s breathing—I can see that his chest is rising and falling beneath his sweater—but he’s superpale.
I reach for my spray bottle and squirt him square in the face. He sputters, gradually coming t
o, but his eyes aren’t focusing.
That can’t be good.
I reach for what’s left of my pillow and put it under his head, then I spread my shredded duvet cover over his legs. I read somewhere that people in shock should be covered with a blanket, although I have no idea why, nor do I have any idea if he is actually in shock.
But I sure am.
Uncle Roy is old, but he’s always seemed so strong to me. Invincible. I never expected him to be knocked down in the first round. And by Vanessa, of all people!
I pull out my cell phone and dial 9-1-1. As I’m giving the emergency-response lady our address, Uncle Roy’s eyes flutter shut again. I shake him and yell “Don’t fall asleep!” in his ear, because what if he has a concussion?
He groans. “I’m not deaf, Shelby.” He struggles to sit up, but I gently push him back down. He could have broken something, and I don’t want him to do further damage to himself by trying to get up.
“The ambulance is on its way.”
“There’s really no need. I’m fine,” he says, but his arm is bent at a weird angle. He sinks back down with an exasperated sigh, clutching his elbow. “You have to go after Vanessa.”
“What’s the point? I tried to exorcise her. It didn’t work. Again,” I say. “Besides, I’m not leaving you here alone.”
“Shelby, there’s no time to argue. You can do this,” he says. “You have to help that poor girl.”
“I can’t help her! Have you forgotten that I’ve never been able to help anyone, ever?”
He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “You can do it. I know you can. I believe you can.”
My eyes unexpectedly sting with tears. I’m not so sure that I can do it despite what he says, but I don’t want to disappoint him. I’d like to linger in this Hallmark moment for a while longer, but he flaps his good hand impatiently at me to get going.
“What are you going to tell the paramedics?” My room looks like a hurricane passed through it. How is he going to explain this mess?
“I’ll think of something,” he says. “Now go on.”
I stuff my holy water back into my messenger bag but keep my crucifix out. Wincing, Uncle Roy slides his hand into his pocket and pulls out his worn black Bible.
“For extra protection,” he says, gesturing for me to take it. “And, Shelby, don’t forget to—”
“Use the handcuffs,” I say, sticking the Bible into my bag. “I know.” I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and take off after my friend.
* * *
I’m standing on the front porch, surveying our yard. Vanessa is nowhere to be seen. She could be long gone—she’s a marathon runner—but as I stare at the cemetery, I get goose bumps. I think she might be in there.
My legs are shaking as I walk across the grass. I pass through the wrought-iron gate, which is floating crookedly on its hinges. I’m not more than a few feet into the graveyard when I notice that a couple of the gravestones have been knocked over. Now, these gravestones are made of marble and weigh approximately a thousand pounds each. You can barely move them with a backhoe, never mind yank them out of the ground yourself. Unless you’re a demon with superhuman strength.
I’m on the right track.
My messenger bag bangs against my thighs as I make my way down the twisting path between the graves. I’ve got a tight hold on my cross because my palms are so sweaty that I’m afraid I’ll drop it. Vanessa could be hiding anywhere here—or nowhere here. I’m half-expecting her to jump out from behind a gravestone and half-convinced that she’s long gone and I will never see her again.
I hear sirens approaching. Good, the ambulance is close.
I stop in front of a small mausoleum, which was built in the early nineteenth century. It’s been awhile since I’ve been in the graveyard—I make it a point not to come through here if I can help it, because graveyard—but I know that the marble angel guarding the door definitely had wings the last time I saw her. And sure enough, when I glance down, I find what remains of her wings, shattered into a million pieces.
The stone door of the mausoleum is slightly ajar, so all signs point to Vanessa being inside. I have only ever been in there once—with her, years ago. She dared me to go in with her, but we lasted less than ten seconds before the realization dawned that we were basically in a house of the dead. Much screaming ensued, and we swore we would never venture anywhere near this crypt ever again.
But here I am. About to go inside.
Every instinct is telling me to run, far and fast, but I can’t turn back. Not when I know Vanessa needs my help.
So I take a deep breath and, heart beating wildly, push open the door.
The room is so dark that it’s like walking into a coal mine. I pull my phone out of my pocket and turn on the flashlight app. I hold it up, letting the beam of light crisscross the space until it finds Vanessa. She’s standing in the corner with her back to me. Staring at the wall. She doesn’t move.
While I’m relieved to have found her, there is something so profoundly eerie and Blair Witch Project–esque about her stillness. It freaks me out more than when she was tearing up my room.
Maybe I can whisper the incantation from here. I mean, who’s to say I have to speak the words loudly for them to be effective? Maybe whispering works just as well. I could hit her with it before she even knows I’m in the room.
I start to say the incantation under my breath so quietly that the sound doesn’t even reach my own ears.
I have witnessed enough exorcisms to know that demons do not go gently into that good night—you have to drag them to it. Vanessa hasn’t moved—she’s still facing the wall—so I’m pretty sure that means silently chanting isn’t going to work. I’m going to have to say it louder, but before I do that, I’m going to need to restrain her.
I walk toward the large, white marble coffin that sits on a dais in the center of the room. I try not to think about what’s inside the coffin as I carefully set my bag on top. I shine the light over the marble, and sure enough, there’s a brass handle on the side that I can handcuff her to. Iron would be better, but brass can be used to drain some of her superhuman strength in a pinch.
My plan is to sneak up behind her and slap the handcuffs on, blind her with holy water, and then drag her over to the coffin and chain her to it. Once I have her secured, I’ll start the incantation.
It should work. I mean, it hasn’t ever worked before, but I’m going to try to not let that affect my confidence.
I fish my handcuffs and spray bottle out of my bag, juggling them along with my crucifix and phone as I walk around the side of the coffin. I’m right behind Vanessa when, thanks to my sweaty palms, I lose my grip. My stomach clenches as my phone drops to the cement floor with a clatter. Plunging us into total darkness.
This is not good.
I drop to my knees, scouring the ground. I have to find my phone.
“Shelby?” Vanessa’s voice is right near my ear, which makes my heart stop. “What’s happening to me?” She sounds small and scared, and for a second I wonder whether the whispered incantation really worked. But then I feel Spencer’s rune heating up my neck. The way the stone is warming up right now makes me think that this is a trick—that whoever is speaking to me right now is not Vanessa.
My fingers finally close around my phone. Somehow it’s still working. I turn the flashlight back on and shine the beam directly into her glowing red demon eyes. She doesn’t even blink.
“You think you’re going to squat inside my best friend,” I say, snapping one of the handcuffs on Vanessa’s wrist.
Not today, Satan. Not today.
She laughs. “You think these stupid little handcuffs are going to hold me?”
“Oh, I know they will,” I say, yanking her toward the coffin. “They’re made of steel and blessed by a priest. There’s no way out.” I snap the other end of the handcuffs on to the brass handle of the coffin. “Now, let’s send you back to hell where you belong.”
Vanes
sa tugs on her arm so hard, the coffin shifts. Okay, so she still has plenty of superhuman strength. I guess brass isn’t as effective as iron.
I’d better do this quickly.
I hold up my crucifix. “Deus, in nómine tuo salvum me fac, et virtúte tua age causam meam. Deus, audi oratiónem meam; áuribus pércipe verba oris mei.”
Vanessa throws her head back and howls—an ear-splitting, inhuman sound that echoes through the chamber.
“Nam ex omni tribulatióne eripuit me, et inimícos meos confúsos vidit óculos meus!”
She continues to yank on the coffin. I’m worried that she’ll pull it right over and whatever—whoever—is inside will be joining our party. But then her body starts to buck and she begins frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog.
Her entire body stiffens, then suddenly relaxes. Vanessa’s eyes roll back into her head, and she slumps to the ground, totally limp.
I poke her gently in the leg with the end of my crucifix. She doesn’t scream in pain, but just to be sure the demon’s really gone, I take the lid off the spray bottle and dump the rest of the holy water on her head, completely drenching her. There’s no hissing, no burning. Nothing but rivulets of water running down her face.
I sag down beside her, my legs weak. I have no idea how I’ll explain what just happened to her when she comes to or my role in all of this. I just hope she takes the news better than Spencer did.
Chapter
24
I’VE CLEANED up my room as best I can. My sheets and pillow are too far gone to save, and my desk is definitely beyond repair. I had to throw out my biology textbook and a pair of jeans that Vanessa managed to rip right through the crotch. There are claw marks in my mattress, but she didn’t flip it over, so my mom’s file, which is hidden underneath the bed with Rituale Romanum, are both still in one piece.
I haul the garbage bag filled with my ruined stuff into the kitchen and drop it near the back door. Uncle Roy is standing at the counter, trying to make toast. His right arm is in a sling—Vanessa fractured his elbow and gave him a good-size goose egg on the back of his head. He’s like a bird with a broken wing, and watching him struggle to spread butter on his toast is the saddest thing ever. It’s so sad, in fact, that I’m not even going to grill him about where the butter came from. I’m just grateful that he wasn’t hurt worse; I don’t think I could have handled it if he were more seriously injured.
When Life Gives You Demons Page 14