Page 7 of Exorcise Me
His dismissive tone stung more than it should have. “This is what I do, Lucien. It’s my purpose.”
He stepped closer, into my personal space as he so often did. “Is it? Or is it what you were told your purpose should be?”
We’d had this conversation before, circling around it during late-night talks that stretched until the early hours. Lucien questioning, me defending, both of us pushing at the edges of beliefs I’d held my entire life.
“I need to go,” I said, stepping back. “Father Finnegan is expecting me.”
“And we can’t disappoint Father Finnegan, can we?” There was an edge to Lucien’s voice I hadn’t heard before. Something ancient and bitter. “Go then. Banish whatever poor spirit is trapped in that house’s walls. I’m sure your mentor will be very proud.”
I grabbed my exorcism bag—a worn leather satchel containing holy water, blessed salt, my prayer book, and other tools of the trade. “I don’t need your permission.”
“Clearly not.” Lucien turned away, his shoulders a tense line. “I’ll have dinner ready when you return. Something comforting for the conquering hero.”
The sarcasm was thick enough to cut. I hesitated at the door, feeling like I should say something else, but no words came.
With a frustrated sigh, I left.
Chapter 4
The exorcism was, as Lucien had predicted, largely unnecessary. The old Victorian had serious plumbing issues that caused the pipes to knock and groan. The “ghostly apparition” the teenage daughter had seen was easily explained by headlights from the street casting shadows through the curtains. The cold spots were due to poor insulation.
But I performed the blessing anyway, sprinkling holy water in each room, reciting prayers that now felt strangely hollow on my tongue. The family seemed comforted, and that was what mattered, I told myself.
Father Finnegan observed my work with his usual stoic expression, offering a nod of approval when we finished.
“Well done, Noah,” he said as we walked to our cars. “Though you seem distracted today.”
I tensed. “Just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.”
That much was true, though I couldn’t tell him it was because I lay awake each night, hyperaware of the demon lounging on my couch just beyond my bedroom door.
“Hmm.” Father Finnegan studied me, his weathered face creased with concern. “You’ve been missed at morning prayers this week.”
Guilt twisted in my stomach. I’d been skipping the daily 6 AM prayer sessions at the seminary, telling myself it wasbecause Lucien kept me up late with his endless questions and debates. The truth was more complicated.
“I’ve been doing private devotions at home,” I lied, the words leaving a bitter taste.
“I see.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Noah, remember what I taught you about maintaining spiritual barriers. This work we do—it exposes us to dark influences. Without proper protection, even the strongest among us can be led astray.”
If only you knew how astray I’ve already gone,I thought, picturing Lucien in my apartment, probably rearranging my spice rack again while singing along to whatever pop music he’d discovered this week.
“I’ll be more diligent,” I promised, the lie coming easier this time.
Father Finnegan clasped my shoulder. “Good. We have a more serious case coming up next week. I’ll need you at your best.”
I nodded, trying to ignore the dread pooling in my stomach. “Of course.”
We parted ways, and I drove home in silence, my thoughts a chaotic mess. What was I doing? Harboring a demon, lying to my mentor, questioning everything I’d been taught to believe…
By the time I reached my apartment, I’d worked myself into a proper crisis of faith. I fumbled with my keys, dropping them twice before managing to unlock the door.
The smell hit me first—something rich and savory that made my mouth water instantly. Then music—soft jazz playing from the small Bluetooth speaker I rarely used. And finally, the sight of Lucien in my kitchen, his back to me as he stirred something on the stove.
He’d rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt, revealing forearms corded with lean muscle. His hair was slightly mussed, as though he’d been running his hands through it. He washumming along to the music, swaying slightly, completely at ease in my space.
Something in my chest tightened painfully.
“How was the ghost hunt?” he asked without turning around. “Did you save the poor humans from their faulty plumbing?”
