Seraphine started chanting again, louder this time. The candles flared. Wax ran down their sides in thick streams. The chalk circle glowed at the edges of my vision, faint and steady. The salt felt heavy around me, as if it carried weight instead of grains.
Josh hovered near the door. His hands were fists at his sides. He watched with wide eyes, jaw clenched.
I looked at him. I looked at Seraphine. I looked at Hellsing. They were all so close, yet none of them could reach me.
Bael shifted inside my skull. He pressed the memory of Hellsing’s body into my mind. His hands on my hips. His mouth on my skin. His breath in my ear. Every time he had held me down or pulled me close. Every sound he made when I touched him.
“You want him,” Bael said. You cling to him. “That is your weakness. That is where I dig in. Every time he touches you, fucks you, he opens the door wider. Every slide of his cock in your cunt is an invitation. Every shiver is a welcome.”
“That’s a lie,” I snapped.
“Is it? he asked.” He ran through the images again, slow. “You cried his name this morning as his cock split you apart. You dug your nails into his chest. You begged him to fuck you more. He claimed you and you belong to him. Which means now you belong to me.”
Tears burned my eyes, and they spilled over and slid down my cheeks. “That was you riding him, not me. You used me to practically abuse him!” I cred out.
“But you enjoyed it, didn’t you?” He sneered. “You enjoy being his whore.”
On the outside, my face twisted. My mouth smirked.
“Are you enjoying the show, Loverboy?” my voice asked. Bael steered every word. “You look so serious, Peter. Aren’t you going to tell me I’m saved?”
Hellsing’s eyes hardened. “You ain’t saved yet,” he said. “But you will be. I ain’t lettin’ him keep you. You hear me, Bael? You got your claws in the wrong woman.”
Seraphine threw a handful of dried herbs into the air. They burst apart over my head and fell around me. The smell was sharp, bitter, cutting through the incense.
She stepped closer, palms held out.
“Grace,” she called again, voice raised over the chant. “This thing inside you is nothing without you. It is feeding on your fear. It is feeding on your desire. Pull back from it. Remember who you are. Remember your own name.”
I remembered.
I remembered my mother’s voice saying my name for the first time. I remembered the first time I saw Hellsing. I remembered the night he walked into my life with that tired smile and that haunted stare. I remembered the heat between us. I remembered real laughter, not this twisted sound Bael dragged out of my throat.
I reached for those memories.
Bael crushed them in his fist.
He showed me something else. He showed me Hellsing bleeding on the floor of a bar. He showed me his chest split open, breath gone, eyes empty. He showed me standing over him with the bat in my hand, blood on the wood, a smile on my face.
“You could have done this already,” I whispered. Back at the bar. You could have killed him.
His laughter rolled through me.
“That is the point,” he said again. “I am not finished. I can hurt him more. I can hurt you more. Watching him watch you fall apart feeds me. His pain is a feast. His love for you is a chain around his throat, and I pull on it every time you look at him.”
Seraphine’s voice grew hoarse. She sweated under the wig, white contacts gleaming. Her hands shook, but she did not back away.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “Name yourself!”
My lips peeled back.
“Bael,” my mouth said. The sound was low. It vibrated through my tongue. “You already know me, witch. You failed to keep me out.”
Her eyes burned. “You are not welcome in this world,” she said. “You do not belong in this flesh.”
He laughed. “I belong wherever there is a door,” he answered through me. “This one opened wide just like the whore’s legs did. Your exorcist pushed it open. Your rituals scratched the frame. I walked in. She begged for power. She begged for answers. I gave her both.”
“I never begged you for anything!” I screamed inside.
