Page 8 of Exorcise Me
“How did you know I was back?” I set my bag down, too emotionally drained for his sarcasm.
“I can sense you,” he said simply. “Your energy has a particular… signature.” He finally turned, and his mocking expression softened when he saw my face. “That bad, huh?”
I collapsed onto a kitchen chair. “It wasn’t bad. It was exactly as you said. No demon, no ghost, just a old house with bad pipes and poor insulation.”
“Yet you performed the exorcism anyway.” It wasn’t a question.
“It brought them comfort,” I said defensively.
Lucien turned back to the stove, giving whatever he was cooking a final stir before lowering the heat. “Comfort based on illusion isn’t comfort, Noah. It’s delusion.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” I snapped, the stress of the day finally boiling over. “What exactly is this—” I gestured around my apartment “—if not an illusion? You, playing house with me, pretending we’re just two roommates instead of—” I stopped, my throat tight.
“Instead of what?” Lucien’s voice was dangerously soft. “An exorcist and a demon? Natural enemies?” He turned fully, leaning against the counter. “Or two beings who might actually be becoming friends?”
Friends. Was that what we were? The word seemed simultaneously too much and not enough.
“I don’t know what we are,” I admitted, the fight draining out of me. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”
Lucien studied me for a long moment, then moved to the refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of wine—one I definitely hadn’t purchased—and poured two glasses.
“What you’re doing,” he said, placing a glass in front of me, “is growing. Questioning. Thinking for yourself instead of regurgitating doctrine.” He sat in the chair opposite mine. “It’s uncomfortable. Growth always is.”
I took a long drink of wine, letting the rich flavor wash over my tongue. “Father Finnegan says I’ve been ‘exposed to dark influences.’”
Lucien’s laugh was surprisingly genuine. “Well, he’s not entirely wrong about that.” He raised his glass in a mock toast. “Though I prefer to think of myself as a chaotic influence rather than a dark one.”
Despite everything, I found myself smiling. “You’re certainly chaotic. What did you do to my bathroom?”
“I organized it! Your skincare routine was abysmal. Those products should never be stored together.” He leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “And don’t pretend you don’t love that face scrub I added. Your skin is glowing.”
I touched my cheek self-consciously. I had been using the mysteriously appeared products, and my skin did feel better.
“You’re changing the subject,” I accused, though without heat.
“No, I’m changing the energy.” Lucien took a sip of his wine. “You came home carrying the weight of your doubt like it’s a sin. It’s not, Noah. Doubt is the beginning of wisdom.”
“Is that a demonic proverb?”
“It’s a human one, actually. Though we have a similar saying in my realm.” He swirled his wine thoughtfully. “Roughly translated: ‘Certainty is the refuge of fools and tyrants.’”
I considered this. “The seminary teaches that certainty in faith is strength.”
“Of course they do. Certainty doesn’t ask questions.” His amber eyes seemed to glow in the dimly lit kitchen. “But you’ve always had questions, haven’t you, Noah? Even before me.”
It was true. I’d always struggled with the absolutes of my training. The clear divisions between good and evil, saved and damned. The world had always seemed more complex to me than the seminary’s teachings allowed for.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Lucien said, graciously changing the subject again. “Go shower. You smell like incense and repression.”
I rolled my eyes but stood, grateful for the momentary reprieve from heavy conversation. “What are you making, anyway?”
“Coq au vin. With actual vegetables, not those sad frozen things you call food.”
“Show-off,” I muttered, but there was no bite to it.
His smile followed me as I headed to the bathroom, tension slowly unwinding from my shoulders.
Chapter 5
