“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“But there’s more to it than that. I think… no, I don’t just think, I’m sure that she’s… possessed.”
Carmen raised her eyebrows. “Possessed?”
“By a demon named Azha.” I spoke the words as quietly as I could, not wanting anyone to hear me. Conversation buzzed and crackled around us. There were occasional bright pops of laughter.
Carmen was silent for a few seconds as she studied my face.
“You realize that possession, true possession, is a very rare thing? It’s not like television and the movies.”
“I know. I’ve been reading up on it. Trying to get my head around all of this. Here’s what I know: I’ve spoken to the demon. And I’m convinced that it’s not my mother. That she truly has a demon possessing her. It’s been going on for quite some time.” I took a breath, then let it out. “The demon told me it needs another host when my mother dies. It wants… I think it’s got its eyes on my little girl.”
Carmen said nothing, but her shock showed in her eyes. She lookedaround the room. Was she making sure we wouldn’t be overheard or looking for someone to come rescue her?
Louise had just brought out the cake, and people were moving in to ooh and ahh over it. The couple in the corner started to play a cheerful-sounding jig. A few people in the living room had started to dance. No one seemed to be paying attention to Carmen and me off in the corner.
“Please,” I said. “Everyone thinks I’ve gone crazy. But this is real. I’m sure of it. And I’m running out of time to act.”
Carmen shook her head. “I don’t like the worddemon, but if it’s true that your mother has an evil spirit attached to her in some way, that’s very serious. And very dangerous.”
I nodded. “I think it’s attached to an object. A stone. It needs the stone somehow. Needs it to stay close by. My mother… well, she was her normal self before she got this stone, back when I was a kid. Then, once it was in her possession, things started to change—shestarted to change. I didn’t realize it then, but I can see it now, and I found an old journal of hers where she describes feeling the demon take over. And the woman who had the stone before that—I believe she was possessed too. Then she died, and the stone went to my mother.”
A group of women stood talking in a circle just off to our left, and now they all laughed uproariously at something. Carmen looked over at them, then back at me. “Spirits can attach themselves to an object like that.”
“Happy Yule!” someone shouted. Glasses clinked together.
The man with the guitar began to sing: “’Tis the darkest night of the year…”
I leaned closer to Carmen. “But it’s also attached itself to her. It’s living inside her. Using her.”
“What you said about the demon needing the stone somehow is correct. The spirit may be inhabiting your mother now, but that’s not its true home. Think of it like a visit to a hotel. Staying there may be nice—you get some perks—but it’s not where you truly belong. Not where you go to be safe.”
“So how can I destroy it?”
Carmen shook her head. “You can’t. The best you can hope for is to bind it.”
I glanced up. More people were dancing now. And some were singing along, words I was only half paying attention to, about darkness, dying light.
Mark had finished his conversation with Abe and was making his way toward us, his eyes locked on me.
“Bind it?” My mouth was dry. I took a sip of my grog, but it was too warm and sweet.
“Find a way to get it out of your mother and keep it from entering anyone else.”
A woman beside us laughed uproariously.
“And how do I do that?” I asked.
Mark had nearly reached us. I could see the worry in his eyes as he watched his unstable wife talking urgently to a woman wearing a lit-up wreath on her head.
Hurry, I willed Carmen.Tell me quickly.
The singing in the living room reached a fevered pitch, the fiddle screaming.
“You get this rock and take it far away from your mother and your little girl. You do a binding spell. And you hide it away, bury it, drop it deep in the ocean, put it someplace where no one is ever going to find it.”
I thought of the scribbled, barely legible words in my mother’s journal:Spell for Binding.
