Read Possess for Free Online Page B

desk and sank her forehead on top of them.
    “G-good afternoon, class,” a familiar voice said from the front of the room. “I’m your new history teacher.”
    Bridget’s head shot up, and she found herself staring at Father Santos.
    It wasn’t until the bell rang that Bridget realized a whole hour had slipped by.
    “B-Bridget,” Father Santos called from the whiteboard as students filed out of the room. “Um, Bridget Liu, can . . . can I see you for a moment?”
    “What the hell did you do?” Hector whispered. “Fall asleep?”
    “I’ll catch up with you after school,” she said, waving Hector off. She didn’t want any witnesses.
    “Bridget,” Father Santos began once the room was empty. “I was wondering if I might have a chat with you after school today.”
    “Sorry, can’t,” she said, relieved to have an excuse. “I’m grounded.”
    “Oh.” He paused for a moment and slipped a little-smoky-link finger between his collar and his neck. “Um, well, can you meet me in my office tomorrow morning before class? Around seven thirty? It’s—it’s important.”
    It always was with these priests.

Six
    E VERY T UESDAY B RIDGET HAD SIXTH period free. Her stint as the second accompanist for the St. Michael’s show choir satisfied her elective credit, and since the choir spent Tuesdays working on audition solos, Bridget was free to (a) sit in the back of the church and work on her homework, or (b) sit in the library and work on her homework.
    Exciting options. How about . . . neither?
    Bridget rapped softly on the door of Monsignor Renault’s office in the rectory and was answered with an immediate “Come in.”
    Bridget smiled to herself. He’d been waiting for her.
    She slipped into the office to find Monsignor scribbling away at his ornately carved desk. “Hello, Bridget.” He glanced up and gave her a quick nod. “I’m glad Mr. Vincent could spare you today.”
    “Me too.” Any excuse to get out of choir practice.
    With the tip of his pen he pointed for her to sit, then continued with his writing. Bridget eased into a brown leather chair and patiently waited for him to finish.
    Monsignor’s office was close and cramped, yet over the last few weeks Bridget had come to find it comforting. The dark green carpeting, the heavy reddish brown wood of his desk and bookcases, the Pietà paperweight, the small Tiffany lamp of purple, green, and orange stained glass. Even the heavy scent—a mix of furniture oil and candle wax—marked a place of refuge, a place where someone understood exactly what she was going through. Monsignor was the only one who did.
    Her eyes drifted to the portraits of the three archangels that adorned the walls. Traditional Catholic-y stuff, just what you’d expect to find in the office of a semiretired priest, but they were like familiar friends now, observing Bridget’s weekly sessions with her mentor. Raphael, beautiful and cherubic in flowing burgundy robes and matching wings, guiding the young Tobias through the desert. Gabriel the messenger, almost girlish with his strawberry blond locks, bringing the news of the Annunciation to the Virgin Mary. Michael with his sword, his foot on the neck of a cartoonish serpent as he vanquished Satan before the Fall. They seemed to be watching over her, the only witnesses to her weekly meetings with Monsignor, shepherding her into a strange, new world.
    Monsignor finished up, carefully closed the leather-bound journal in which he’d been writing, and slipped it into his desk drawer. Bridget heard a lock click into place, then Monsignor tucked the key into the pocket of his cassock and turned his attention to her.
    “Shall we discuss yesterday’s banishment?”
    He always used that word—“banishment”—instead of exorcism. Bridget kind of liked it. Banishment sounded less icky, less Linda Blair’s spinning head and green puke.
    “Please.”
    “You did very well with your first possession.”
    “Thanks.”
    “You