Page 13 of Exorcise Me
“How old are you?” I asked, realizing I had no idea.
He considered the question while plating our breakfast. “Time works differently in my realm. But in human terms… around seven centuries, give or take a few decades.”
I nearly choked on my coffee. “Seven hundred years?”
“I moisturize,” he deadpanned, setting a plate of perfect french toast in front of me. “Eat before it gets cold.”
I took a bite automatically, then moaned at the explosion of flavors. Cinnamon, vanilla, something else I couldn’t identify—it was heavenly.
“Don’t make that sound unless you want breakfast to be delayed another hour,” Lucien warned, his eyes darkening as he took the stool beside me.
I blushed but couldn’t help teasing him a little. “Is my ‘stamina’ a problem for you?”
His laugh was genuine and warm. “Touché, exorcist.”
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the domesticity of the moment striking me as both bizarre and oddly right. A demon and an exorcist having breakfast together after a night (and morning) of mind-blowing sex. It sounded like the setup for a bad joke.
“You’re overthinking again,” Lucien observed, stealing a piece of french toast from my plate despite having his own.
“Hard not to.” I nudged his fork away from my food. “This isn’t exactly covered in the exorcism handbook.”
“I should hope not. Those illustrations would be quite scandalous.”
I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Be serious for a minute.”
“Must I?” But his expression sobered. “What do you want to know, Noah?”
I considered the question. What did I want to know? There were a thousand questions swirling in my mind, but one rose to the surface.
“Why me?” I asked quietly. “Of all the exorcists you could have… attached yourself to, why choose me?”
Lucien set down his fork, giving the question the serious consideration it deserved. “Because you hesitated,” he said finally.
“What?”
“That day at the Kensingtons’. When you were performing the exorcism ritual. There was a moment—just a fraction of a second—when you hesitated. I could see it in your eyes, this flash of doubt, of wondering if what you were doing was right.” His gaze was intent, searching. “Do you know how rare that is? Most exorcists are so certain, so absolute in their conviction. But you… you questioned. Just for a moment, but it was enough.”
I remembered that moment—the brief flicker of doubt when Lucien hadn’t reacted to my crucifix the way demons were supposed to. The split-second wondering if everything I’d been taught was wrong.
“That’s it?” I asked, not quite believing him. “You upended my life because I hesitated?”
His smile was gentle. “I upended your life because in that moment of hesitation, I saw something familiar—a soul caught between certainty and doubt, between what you’re told to believe and what you actually see.” He reached out, his fingers brushing mine. “I saw someone like me.”
The simple honesty of his words struck me silent. He continued, his voice softer.
“I’ve walked between worlds for centuries, Noah. Not fully belonging to the demon realm anymore, but obviously not human either. I’m… liminal. And so are you, in your own way. Too questioning for the rigid structures of your faith, too faithful to abandon it entirely.” His fingers entwined with mine. “We recognize our own kind.”
Something warm unfurled in my chest at his words. Understanding. Recognition. The sense that maybe, for the first time, someone saw me exactly as I was—doubts, contradictions, and all—and didn’t find me wanting.
My phone chose that moment to shatter the quiet intimacy, vibrating loudly on the counter where I’d left it.
Father Finnegan’s name flashed on the screen.
Reality crashed back like a bucket of ice water. I pulled my hand from Lucien’s, staring at the phone as if it might bite me.
“You should answer it,” Lucien said quietly, all trace of teasing gone from his voice. “He’ll only keep calling.”
I swallowed hard, then picked up the phone. “Hello?”
