The familiar smell of the rectory—alphabet soup mixed with Murphy Oil Soap—overwhelmed me as we stepped inside, along with the memory of having passed through here with Trey just six months earlier. In a low voice, the priest told us, “Father Nowicki is already asleep, so please keep your voices lowered.”

We followed him to the kitchen, where he gestured toward the table indicating that we should sit down.

“Don’t you want to go downstairs?” I asked. “Maybe you don’t recognize us from the fall.”

“Oh, I recognize you,” Father Fahey told me, leaning against the back of the empty fourth chair at the table instead of sitting on it. “And you must be the Simmons girl. Ann’s granddaughter,” he said to Violet.

She nodded. “How’d you know?”

“You look so much like her—well, when she was young,” Father Fahey said.

Having had enough of the pleasantries, Trey said, “We’re not here to chat. We need you to help us perform an exorcism, and don’t even waste our time by telling us you don’t know how to do it. You told us you did last time we were here.”

Father Fahey looked at Violet with an amused expression on his face. “An exorcism? This girl isn’t possessed!”

It took me a moment to realize why he thought Violet was the one in need of an exorcism; when Trey and I had visited in the fall, the curse had still been on her.

“It’s not her,” I clarified. My temper shortened by tiredness, I rudely snapped, “Do you really think someone in need of an exorcism would just walk onto church property?”

Most likely to put me in my place, Father Fahey replied, “Well, it would depend on what said person was possessed by. Demons get a thrill out of parading around in churches and on hallowed ground.”

Trey shot me a look, and I noticed that his eyes were watery. Although it didn’t seem wise to tell him as much, Father Fahey was our last hope. If he refused to either help us perform an exorcism or instruct us on how to do it ourselves, I was as good as dead. And there was no telling what Mischa would do to Trey and Violet, or anyone else who’d ever try to put a stop to the spirits’ killing.

Knowing how critical this meeting was, Trey raised his voice at the priest. “This is serious, man. Do you get that?”

Violet laced her fingers together and set her hand atop the table. “Listen. We know that you helped my grandmother cast a spell seventeen years ago.”

“And that spell was corrupted,” Trey added. “Now people are dying. That’s your fault. Aren’t you afraid of going to hell?”

Father Fahey shook his head regretfully. “All I did was offer advice.” He looked at Violet before continuing, “Your grandmother was desperate. Who knows what she might have tried if I hadn’t given her a little hope?” He paused before continuing. “I’m sure all of you believe that prayer is ineffective. Young people tend to think of it as a silly hobby of old people.”