Page 1 of Exorcise Me
Prologue
I was supposed to be good at my job. Three years at the Seminary of Divine Protection, another two apprenticing under Father Finnegan, and countless hours memorizing Latin incantations that made my tongue twist—all of it was meant to prepare me for moments exactly like this.
Instead, I was sweating through my button-up shirt in a stranger’s living room, clutching my worn leather-bound prayer book while facing the most infuriating demon I’d ever encountered.
“Are you quite finished?” the demon asked, examining his perfectly manicured nails with an expression of profound boredom. “Because that pronunciation was atrocious. It’s ‘exORcizo,’ not ‘exorCIzo.’ You’re commanding me to leave, not ordering a fancy coffee.”
I took a deep breath, trying to center myself the way Father Finnegan had taught me. The middle-aged couple who had called me—the Kensingtons—cowered behind their floral-print couch, eyes wide with terror. Mr. Kensington’s combover had come undone in the chaos, and Mrs. Kensington clutched her porcelain cat figurine like it might save her soul.
“Look,” I said, straightening my posture and raising my silver crucifix. “In the name of all that is holy—”
“Yes, yes, all that is holy, sacred, blessed, and sanctified,” the demon interrupted, rolling his unnaturally amber eyes. “You’re being redundant, sweetheart.”
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. Not from embarrassment—definitely not—but from righteous indignation. At least that’s what I told myself.
“My name is Noah Callahan,” I said firmly, “not ‘sweetheart,’ and you will depart this realm immediately.”
That’s when the demon really looked at me for the first time. He’d been lounging in the Kensingtons’ reading chair like it was a throne, all long limbs and casual arrogance. But now he leaned forward, those amber eyes locking onto mine with sudden, unsettling interest.
Holy shit, he’s gorgeous,my traitorous brain supplied before I could stop it.
He was tall—taller than me by several inches—with broad shoulders wrapped in what appeared to be an obscenely expensive black silk shirt, open at the collar to reveal a slice of perfect chest. His face seemed designed to make Renaissance painters weep: sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw with just a hint of stubble, and lips curved in a perpetual smirk. His hair was black as midnight and artfully tousled, as though he’d just rolled out of someone’s bed.
My bed, specifically, according to my suddenly overactive imagination.
“Noah Callahan,” he said, my name rolling off his tongue like he was tasting something exotic. “Charmed. I’m Lucien.”
“Demons don’t have names,” I replied automatically, reciting from the handbook.
His laugh was rich and warm, completely unlike the hollow cackle demons were supposed to have. “Oh, we most certainly do. We just don’t give them to humans who might use themagainst us.” He stood in one fluid motion and took a step toward me. “But I’m feeling generous today.”
I raised the crucifix higher. “Stay back!”
Lucien didn’t even flinch. Instead, he leaned forward until his face was inches from the silver cross. “It only works if I believe in it, Noah.” He winked, actually winked at me, then turned to the Kensingtons with a disarming smile. “Lovely home you have. Though that wallpaper is a crime against good taste that even I find excessive.”
Mrs. Kensington made a small, strangled sound.
I flipped frantically through my prayer book. “Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino—”
“Your Latin is painful,” Lucien sighed. He plucked the book from my hands, ignoring my protest. “Also, this particular exorcism ritual requires olive oil blessed by a bishop, which you don’t have. I can smell the stuff from the corner store on you.”
How did he know that?I had indeed stopped at a convenience store when I realized I’d forgotten my holy oil. Father Finnegan would have been disappointed.
“Give that back!” I demanded, reaching for the book.
Lucien held it above his head, using his unfair height advantage. “I don’t think I will. In fact…” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “I don’t think I’m leaving at all.”
“You have to,” I insisted. “That’s how this works. I command you—”
“You’re not commanding anything in those wrinkled khakis, Noah Callahan.” His gaze traveled down my body in a way that made my skin prickle with something that definitely wasn’t interest. “Though they do hug your ass rather nicely.”
Mrs. Kensington gasped. Mr. Kensington looked like he might faint.
“This demon is particularly vulgar,” I announced to the room at large, as if that explained my reddening face. “It’s a common intimidation tactic.”
“Is it working?” Lucien asked, leaning closer.
Before I could respond, he suddenly tossed my book back to me and clapped his hands once, loudly. “Decision made! I’m bored here. These people are tedious, that cat figurine is judging me, and there’s not enough alcohol in this house to make the wallpaper tolerable.”
