It heard their conversation when they weren’t in the room. It knew what her aunt’s sofa looked like. It was aware of Vera’s dreams.

It was everywhere.

Maybe it really was inside her.

The foul stench of skunked meat grew stronger than the smell of smoke, spinning Vera’s already stunned brain. The beast broke out in a cackle.

Father Chuck made the sign of the cross. “Exorcizamus te—” But before he could finish the next word, the beast lifted its knee high and thrust its bare, curled foot so fast into Father Chuck’s chest, Vera hardly saw the movement until the priest was reeling across the room.

His body soared as if electrocuted, his aging back cracking against the drywall, a web of fractured lines spreading across the wall’s surface. He slumped in a heap by the closet, near the shrine.

Vera rushed toward him, medical procedures clicking through her brain. Then his spine contorted, chest heaving. He wailed, gripping at his rib cage. The muscles in his forearms strained beneath tufts of white hairs. Veins pulsed on his forehead. His eyes burst red with broken blood vessels. He groaned toward the heavens.

It’s going to kill him.

Vera pulled at his nearly two-hundred-pound frame, not waiting for a stretcher, a neck brace, or any other protocols. If he didn’t get out of this room soon, he was dead. Somehow, she hoisted him to his feet. He found his legs beneath him. She tossed his hairy arm around her shoulders and took his weight. Then she turned to the door, stumbling.

“You’ll die! All of you! My gift of death will be unleashed on the world. Embrace me now. Know what others have seen before you. Join your mother! Your father!”

Its threats were a fuzzy buzz in Vera’s ears. All of her senses focused on the rise and fall of Father Chuck’s chest. His legs could move, and his back could shift. But before her, Maxwell had turned to granite. Smoke swirled at his feet, his eyes hypnotized. No. Not you. Vera didn’t have time to gently return him to his senses, and she was not about to lose him. She barreled into him, crashing so hard, she practically threw Father Chuck’s body like a battering ram. The shock was enough to push Maxwell out of the doorway and into the hall. He thudded against a wall, smacking his head and breaking his hypnotic gaze.

He rubbed his eyes; then, without a word, he grabbed Father Chuck’s other arm and flung it over his shoulders.

Together they dragged the priest down the hall.

They heaved him out of the house.

They lugged him into the car.

Then, and only then, did Maxwell start to cry, his body shaking, tears silent.

Vera drove. And for the first time, she thought she finally understood what was happening.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Max

Max rolled down the rear window, the humid air smacking his face. They were rushing the priest to the hospital. Vera was afraid he was having a heart attack. Father Chuck disagreed. He wanted to return to the rectory. Or maybe to Vera’s house? Max wasn’t sure. Their words were traveling through a tin can, down a string, and into his brain, all garbled and jumbled by the time they got there.