Page 14 of Exorcise Me
“Noah.” Father Finnegan’s voice was tight with concern. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. Is everything alright?”
I glanced at Lucien, who was watching me with unreadable eyes. “Yes, everything’s fine. I was just… sleeping in.”
“At noon?” Skepticism colored his tone. “That’s not like you.”
I checked the time with surprise. It was indeed past noon. Lucien and I had spent the entire morning in bed.
“I wasn’t feeling well,” I lied, guilt twisting my stomach. “What’s going on?”
“The Wellington case has been moved up. The family called this morning—the situation has escalated. I need you at the seminary in an hour for preparation.”
The Wellington case. The “serious” one he’d mentioned yesterday. My stomach clenched.
“I’ll be there,” I promised automatically.
“Good.” There was a pause. “Noah, are you sure you’re alright? You’ve seemed… different lately.”
I avoided Lucien’s gaze. “I’m fine. Just tired. I’ll see you soon.”
I hung up before he could question me further, setting the phone down like it was radioactive.
“The Wellington case?” Lucien asked, his voice carefully neutral.
“A suspected full demonic possession,” I said, pushing away my half-eaten breakfast. “Father Finnegan has been monitoring it for weeks. The victim is showing classic signs—speaking in tongues, supernatural strength, knowledge of things they couldn’t possibly know.”
“Or they’re having a psychotic episode and need medical attention, not religious intervention,” Lucien countered, his jaw tight.
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you.” He stood, taking our plates to the sink. The easy domesticity of earlier had vanished, replaced by a tension that crackled between us. “What will you do?”
“My job,” I said, but the words felt hollow. “I have to go.”
Lucien’s back was to me, his shoulders a rigid line. “Of course you do.”
I stood, moving to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Lucien—”
“Don’t.” He turned to face me, his expression carefully composed. “You’ve made your choice, Noah.”
“It’s not a choice between you and my calling,” I insisted.
“Isn’t it?” His eyes searched mine. “If there is a demon there—a real one, not just a human with mental illness—what will you do? Will you banish it back to a realm you now know isn’t the hell you were taught it was? Will you rip it from this world knowing it might just be lonely, or curious, or even in love with a human, as I am with—”
He stopped abruptly, looking away.
My heart stuttered. “As you are with what?”
Lucien shook his head, a bitter smile playing at his lips. “Nothing. Forget it.” He pushed past me. “You should get ready. Wouldn’t want to keep Father Finnegan waiting.”
I watched him disappear into the living room, confusion and frustration warring in my chest. Had he been about to say he was in love with me? The possibility sent a riot of emotions through me—fear, hope, exhilaration.
But there was no time to explore those feelings. Father Finnegan was waiting, and I had a job to do. A calling to honor. Even if that calling suddenly felt more like a burden than a purpose.
With a heavy heart, I headed to the shower, trying not to remember what had happened there just twelve hours earlier.
Chapter 8
The Wellington case was as serious as Father Finnegan had warned. The “victim”—a teenage girl named Sadie—displayed all the classic signs of what he called possession. Her parents watched in horror as she contorted on the bed, her body twisting in ways that shouldn’t have been physically possible, her voice breaking between sobs and guttural cries that scraped against the walls.
