I go limp again, letting my eyes fall shut as I crumple to the floor.

My father’s prayers have become a distant blur. Then I hear footsteps.

I keep my eyes shut.

My father’s voice rises with relief. “Father.”

Father Martins says nothing at first. He simply walks closer.

My heart begins beating faster.

Don’t move.

Don’t ruin this.

Latin exorcism prayers reverberate off the high ceiling.

It sounds terrifying, but it does nothing to me.

I let out another shrill scream, copying every ridiculous possession trick I’d read about in that book this morning.

Father Martins closes in. The heavy scent of frankincense fails to hide the sweet, sharp...