Defiant Diva (Singers in Love Book 3)

by Irene Vartanoff

  Dex said, “Nasty. Still not demonic.”

  “The demon absolutely reveled in my actions. It spoke to me, telling me to be bad.”

  “Hearing voices is the classic sign of schizophrenia.” He frowned. “Are you serious? You hear a voice?” At my nod, he said, “And you didn’t see a doctor?”

  “No, because the demon’s commands made me happy.” I set my knife and fork down. “The Nat Opera finally had been shown that I was not to be abused.”

  He shook his head. “That’s illogical. You probably traumatized that singer.”

  “The demon did it. Not me.”

  “Come on, Daylia, you know that’s not true.” For once, his expression showed impatience. “Why are you so sure some outside entity rules you? To absolve yourself of guilt for your actions?”

  “If that’s what you think of me, why do you stick around?” My voice rose. “Oh, that’s right. Because you want to have sex with me. Men. You disgust me.” I picked up my purse from next to me on the banquette, and started to move around the table so I could leave.

  Dex said, in a low voice, “I’m onto you, Daylia. You’re deliberately trying to pick a fight with me because you’re afraid of what the doctor will say.”

  I stopped trying to leave. Was my sudden anger a cover for fear? I refused to show fear, ever. I moved back to my place at the table. “I am not afraid of anyone or anything.”

  “Have some lunch,” Dex said. “Your appointment isn’t for an hour.”

  I told him a lot more about the demon and my efforts to find an exorcist. He clearly disapproved of that idea, but at least he didn’t act as if I was crazy, either.

  Dex canceled his afternoon appointments. When he delivered me to the doctor’s office, he insisted he would still be there when I came out. “Be brave,” he said, and dropped a kiss on my cheek when my name was called.

  A half-hour later, after seeing the doctor, I returned to the waiting room, unable to keep my extreme distress from my expression. Dex strode up to me and took the receipt from my trembling hand. He handed it to the office clerk. I clearly was unable to. I was in a state of shock. He put an arm around me and led me out of the office, ignoring as I did the clerk’s demand that I make another appointment. I could hardly put one foot in front of the other, but I craved privacy. I could not say anything in front of the people in the waiting room.

  The hall outside was deserted. “What is it?” he asked, urgently. “What’s the matter?”

  “I—” I didn’t want to say the words, but I owed it to Dex to tell him. I leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths.

  “Tell me.”

  “The doctor said I have diabetes.” I thrust out my other hand, which held a batch of colorful brochures with pictures of smiling people. The words poured out. “She gave me all these. She wants to put me on drugs, make me stick myself all day, lose five percent of my body weight, and eat more frequent meals.”

  Dex’s expression lightened. “I was afraid it was something much worse.”

  I shook my head. “I had two aunties who died of diabetes, but first, their legs got chopped off.” I shuddered. “One leg at a time. This is horrible, horrible.”

  I wrapped my arms around myself, closed my eyes, and took more deep breaths. I bowed my head. Then I straightened my spine, lifted my head, and opened my eyes. “I will fight this.”

  Dex smiled at me encouragingly. “Of course you will.”

  “You don’t understand,” I said. “I don’t agree with the doctor. I won’t rearrange my whole life based on one little test. A test that was probably a—a false positive, or whatever they call it.”

  “Did you ask for a second test? Or get the name of another doctor, one who specializes in diabetes?”

  I shuddered again at the mere word. Suddenly I had a nasty taste in my mouth. My whole body felt tainted by that doctor’s mistaken diagnosis, as if I could not trust my own physical being. “I refused.”

  Dex cocked his head. “You need time to think it over?”

  I made a face and threw the brochures on a padded bench positioned by the elevator bank. “I intend to forget this ever happened.”

  Dex stood back a little, taking me in. “You just told me it’s a life-threatening disease with a terrifying end game scenario. Don’t you want to be sure you don’t have it?”

  “I am sure.” After my emphatic statement, I tightened my lips in defiance.

  He stared at me, then picked up the brochures with the smiling people on the covers. “I’ll recycle the paper.”

  Conversation was sparse on the drive to my condo. I did not want to discuss my attitude toward doctors with Dex. He clearly would like to give me an argument. After I did not respond to his questions, he stopped asking and instead began reading the brochures he still held. He laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  He looked over at me. “These don’t contain many facts. They’re written to persuade people to get treatment and specific medications.”

  “That is why I wanted to dump them.”

  “Such obvious advertising is only likely to convince very naïve, ill-informed people.” He added, with irony in his voice, “Unlike you.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could, Dex said, “No matter what you’re feeling right now. Dismay, anger, denial,” he underlined that word, “you’re an intelligent woman. You’ll think this through and do what’s best for you.”

  I stared at him. How did he know that? Why was he so certain? I said, “I’m feeling quite contrary at this moment.”

  “You’ll snap out of it.” He smiled, as if he had confidence in me.

  The car drew to a stop at my condo. “We’re here,” he said. “Invite me up?”

  How did he slip that in so smoothly? Dex was always a step ahead of me. “You’re—you’re steering me,” I said, flabbergasted that he would pick this moment, when I’d been through so much emotion today.

  “It’s a negotiating tactic. Let the other guy think he’s won his point, and then go for the one you really want.” Dex leaned close to me, his eyes teasing. “Beautiful Daylia, you are what I want. Say yes? We could spend quality time together. Finish what we started last night.”

  I shook my head, more in disbelief than to refuse him. “Either you’re completely insensitive and indifferent to how upset I am right now, or you’ve picked a very strange way of attempting to cheer me up.” I held up a hand to ward him off. “Don’t spoil my illusions by telling me which it is. I can’t think about sex right now.”

  He laughed. “No need to think. Just feel.” He smiled wickedly as he touched his hand to mine very lightly. “It’s therapeutic.”

  I felt the electric arc down to my toes. My head was spinning from the debacle at the opera house and the events of today and now he had upped the ante. It would be so easy to say yes, to forget all the troubles of the day and luxuriate in our physical need for each other.

  I had never taken the easy road in life. No reason to start now. Anyway, his smile told me he wasn’t serious. Of course if I invited him up, he’d leap at the opportunity. But he’d made his move to distract me and lighten my mood.

  It had worked, too. Suddenly, I felt in control again. I could play his game and win. I put my lips on his cheek, feeling his flesh jump a little at the caress. I gloried in the power I had over him. I whispered, “When I do say yes, I want to be thinking only of you. Not doctors, nor demons, nor even operas.” I moved the tip of my tongue on his earlobe and then bit down on the soft flesh slightly. “Just you, Dex.”

  I moved away. His eyes were closed.

  “Soon,” I said.

  I gathered my things and left the car alone, despite my body’s yearning. I wanted to pull him along with me, take him up to my condo, and let lust blank out the horrible events of the day. It was an unworthy thought. I would not indulge myself.

  Safely in my condo a few minutes later, I thought about how crazy Dex made me. I’d never been so aggressive with a
man in my life. Biting his ear? What was I thinking?

  I knew the answer. I wanted him. But how could we be together with all the threats hanging over me right now? Diabetes, added to the demon, added to the mess with Régine at the Potomac Arts Center.

  Dex knew I didn’t want to think about having diabetes, about having to check my sugar levels all day long and take medications that would very likely interfere with my voice—because of course any drug interfered with something, so why not what I cared about the most?

  Dex had stuffed the brochures into the side pocket of my large purse. Reluctantly, I read them. He was right. They were all written to persuade recalcitrant patients to do something about the disease. Did I really have diabetes? I needed a second opinion.

  I called Gayle. Telling her the bald facts of my day made what a wreck it had been much more obvious.

  “They kicked you out of the Potomac Arts Center? Did they fire you?” she asked.

  “Dex promised me he wouldn’t let them.”

  “That’s convenient. Have you two done it yet?”

  “What? Don’t be crude. I’ve only known Dex for two weeks.”

  “When you mention him, your voice changes. You’re stuck on him,” she said.

  “So what if I am? I’m never going to be impulsive about a man again. Ever. You know why.”

  “They’re not all crazy stalkers. Dex Morgan has a good reputation around this town.”

  I did not tell her about the doctor’s wrong diagnosis after all. I didn’t want Gayle to nag me about getting a second opinion. After I clicked off, I felt guilty. I should have told Gayle everything. She had an analytical brain. My own seemed half-fried by the pressure of the demon, the rehearsals, and my passionate attraction to Dex.

  Dex. He’d promised to get my suspension revoked, but urged me to see another doctor or get treatment. Meanwhile, since I was persona non grata at the Potomac Arts Center, I took advantage of the break to set up an appointment with Hannah Lochte again for tomorrow, in case she could help push my agenda with Marcus O’Flaherty.

  In the therapist’s office the next morning, I answered another battery of screening questions. I even told Hannah Lochte about the demon’s first manifestation at the Nat opera house.

  She ignored the unfairness to which I had been treated, instead pursuing another angle. “Was that the only singer you treated badly in the past year, or were there others?”

  I recounted several other incidents, but admitted the first and the two recent run-ins were with Abbie Fisher.

  “Do you have a grudge against Abbie Fisher?”

  I shrugged. “She’s a blonde, and always has it easier than I do.”

  Hannah’s expression subtly suggested that she doubted me. “I’ve actually seen a photo of her. Isn’t she…rather rotund?”

  Tactful, but not truthful. “She used to be enormously fat. Now she weighs less, but she’ll probably gain it all back. Most people do.”

  The therapist tilted her head. “So does she truly have an advantage over you? After all, your figure is well within the normal range, and that merits social approval. I’m sure you’re aware that heavy women are often treated poorly in our culture.”

  I thought about it for a moment. “I expect I focus exclusively on her blondeness.”

  The therapist smiled at little. “You’re not the only American woman who has negative feelings about blondes.”

  I did not smile back at her. This situation went beyond mere rivalry with other women.

  Hannah said, “I’m curious. Why do you assign an outside agent—a demon—the responsibility for your behavior after what sounds like a pretty rotten experience? Why not simply say that you had reached the limit of your tolerance, and you blew up?”

  “Because I did not intend to throw another singer’s clothes into the hall. I did not sing Amneris last week at the Philadelphia Main Line Opera planning to mess with Abbie’s lines. The evil creature inside me told to me to. No, he insisted that I do it.”

  “The demon is a he?”

  I shrugged. “Perhaps demons have no gender. I don’t know. What I do know is that an evil-minded force takes control of my actions.”

  “What you call the demon avenges you for wrongs you’ve suffered, is that true?”

  “Possibly, but such petty issues are unimportant.” She likely did not know anything about the realities that undergirded an artist’s life, the ceaseless competition, the difficulty of navigating different power structures from one opera house to another, and more. It never ended. “The trajectory of my career is far more important than a slight here or there. The demon’s actions threaten my future. I need an exorcism, quickly.”

  I explained about having seen a doctor this week for a full physical. Reluctantly, I mentioned the results of the diabetes test.

  Hannah was intrigued. “Diabetes could explain everything you’ve gone through in the past year. The disease causes dramatic mood swings. Did you know that?”

  She continued, “Both people with low blood sugar and high blood sugar can have intense rages over trivial matters. Plus there is a long list of uncomfortable physical symptoms, including spectacular breakdowns and odd behavior. Does any of that sound familiar?” She found a site on her computer and read me the complete list.

  I had suffered most of them, but I was certain I did not have diabetes. “It was the demon. The doctor is wrong. The test gave a false positive.”

  Hannah looked away from her screen and focused directly on me. “You might want to think about why you’re so sure. Although test results can be mistaken, a diabetes test is very simple and unequivocal. Either the sugar is in your system in the wrong amount at the wrong time, or not.”

  At my continued refusal, we agreed to disagree. Hannah promised she would forward her conclusions to Marcus, to speed my opportunity for an exorcism.

  I was shocked when I received a call from his office that very afternoon, urging me to come over right away. When I arrived, his attitude was one of suppressed excitement, unlike his usual cool demeanor. “I have interesting news,” he said. “The bishop has granted us permission to do an exorcism.”

  I almost collapsed into a chair. My legs wouldn’t support me a moment longer. “At last.”

  The exorcism was to take place as soon as possible. Tomorrow. Marcus asked if I could clear the entire day. “We don’t know what the physical or mental repercussions might be. You’re a strong woman, but the opponent is wily and determined. Also, we must arrange for witnesses. You can choose friends or relatives, or I can round up people from the church whose discretion can be relied upon.”

  Marcus set a time the next morning. I called Gayle, and then Louis. They both agreed to be my witnesses. I didn’t call Dex, because I knew he took the idea of exorcism very lightly.

  Marcus said he’d have a church witness as well. “We don’t do exorcisms often, so someone must report to the cardinal as well as the bishop.”

  That night, I thanked God on my knees for helping me to this point, and begged for His blessing on the work we would do tomorrow to save me from the demon.

  Dex called, wanting to see me. He and I had exchanged texts all day, but now he said he wanted to be sure I was all right. Could he come over, or would I meet him somewhere?

  Chapter 13

  I put Dex off, claiming exhaustion, although it wasn’t easy. I wanted to share everything with him, but his disbelief in exorcism would interfere with the clarity of mind I needed. His tone of voice indicated he wasn’t happy that I was shutting him out. I did not tell him why. I returned to my prayers.

  After several hours of continuous prayer, I was almost too excited to sleep, but I forced myself to prepare as best as I could for the rigors ahead by eating a light dinner and going to bed early.

  I rose at dawn the next morning and began praying again. I did not eat breakfast. Fasting helped with prayers and was recommended before an exorcism.

  I prayed all the way over in the taxi. At nine a.m
. on a Saturday morning, traffic wasn’t snarled, so I arrived a half hour early at the small chapel where the exorcism would happen. The chapel was on a corner of the ground floor of the building that housed Marcus’s office, and had its own entrance. The young priest who was his assistant let me in and left me to my prayers.

  The chapel was overdecorated, ornate, a replica of some medieval building in Europe, no doubt. I noticed the embedded smell of incense, foreign but recognizable. I’d been in cathedrals where that smell was in the wood of the pews. This chapel had an altar but no pews. I knelt a respectful distance from it, and began my prayers again.

  Gayle arrived, then Louis. We nodded at each other, but I stayed on my knees and continued to pray. Finally, Marcus O’Flaherty strode in, wearing the embroidered vestments of a Catholic priest. Gold and white, with linen and lace. He wore a large, bejeweled cross on his chest. Not what I was used to in my own church, but it gave him more authority. I needed all the authority he could muster to cast out the demon.

  Marcus was different today. Gone was the academic who sparred with me—and with the demon. Today he was revealed in his impressive true identity, a priest, a consecrated man who had dedicated his life to God. Today he would save me by casting out the demon that threatened to destroy me. Behind him was another priest, also in an embroidered robe, a much older man.

  Marcus took his position in front of the altar, facing us, while the other priest stood next to him and a little behind. Marcus made the sign of the cross, and began, “We are gathered here today to perform the Rite of Major Exorcism, to remove the demonic possession of our sister in Christ, Vidaylia Johnson Fedora. Let us pray.”

  We prayed to remove the devil’s dominion from my body and spirit. We each took turns praying aloud, sometimes stumbling on the unfamiliar words. Marcus uttered prayers in Latin and then in English. I repeated his words as required, and stood or kneeled as he directed.

  The room grew warmer. We prayed to expel the demon from my body and spirit. Marcus leaned in at one point and blew on me, calling on the demon to depart. Perspiration leaped from my pores. We continued to pray, repeating the solemn incantations, demanding that the demon leave me. Beads of sweat turned into rivulets. My body was intensely hot. My loose garments, a conservative dress and light jacket, choked me. The demon within me struggled. My voice turned into a growl. Prayers rose around me, the voices drowning out the demon’s vituperation.