In truth, I hadn’t realized how much I’d come to rely on Mordechai sending me on this errand or that, to research old houses or apartment buildings, to look up genealogies. Half the time I’d been pretty sure he’d just been coming up with stuff for me to do, but it didn’t matter. With him, I’d had a purpose, a plan. Now I was nothing.
But I sure was learning a lot about the work he did. That was good, right?
The demon inside me didn’t respond.
Claire found me at the library Tuesday evening, sliding into the chair across from me with her own stack of pharmaceutical journals.
“Pathways that connect heaven and earth => fault lines that can be corrupted.” I copied down dutifully, glancing up at her with a smile.
Ever since the Sharpie incident, she’d started texting me on the daily. Given that everyone else had abandoned me, I didn’t mind that so much. In a moment of weakness, I’d told her about Mordechai, how I’d helped him as an exorcist’s assistant, and eventually, about my research at the library. So I shouldn’t havebeen surprised when she showed up to join me here quietly reading her own research texts on pills or whatever, her little golden cross glinting in the overhead light.
I still was, though.
The internet in incognito search mode proved a willing teacher on all sorts of subjects, even some that were surprisingly dark to be delivered on a library’s server. I found myself buried in new information about demons—more disturbing things in a way—about how they were essentially part of the cosmic balance, a sort of “left-side” of power that was neither bad nor good, but simply necessary. I learned that iron could bind them, that names could, too, and that there was a hierarchy of command among these assholes, from first to seventh levels. I took notes like my life depended on it, because maybe it did. Right now, I was reading about how a particular class of spirit, the shedim, could appear human?—
“You know, I’ve been doing some thinking,” Claire said abruptly, smiling when I glanced up. “You should do this work professionally. Exorcism work. Like, as your job.”
“Mmhmm. I’m not actually an exorcist, Claire.”
“But you kind of are, right?” She pointed at my research pile. “You do the work. People pay you. That’s literally a job.”
“Right.”
“I’m serious.” And it was true; Claire had her serious face on, the one that usually preceded a lecture about drinking more water, going to therapy, or finishing college. In that order of importance.
Now she pointed at her own laptop, one not owned by the library. “I’ve been looking up stories online, and they all say the same kind of thing you told me about when you went to the Klein’s house. An exorcist goes in, confronts evil, hoovers it out, and leaves. The people have to recover and heal and all that, but you candothe hard part! You provide a real service that peoplewould definitely pay for. Max’s money isn’t going to last forever, you know. This is a way to make, seriously, a whole lot more.”
“I guess,” I grumbled. “But it’s not as easy as that. I’m not, like, a priest or a rabbi. That’s kind of part of the package.”
“So you’re a freelancer!” Claire declared, bouncing a little in her seat. “And your lack of religious affiliation means you can do the stuff a priest or a rabbi won’t do. You can specialize that way.”
I squinted at her. “Do you know how bad evil would have to be to make a rabbi or priest shy away?”
“I’mserious,” she said again, completely missing the fact that I was being serious too. Still, her excitement didn’t just unnerve me on a surface level. Deep in my gut, something slithered and coiled, whether in fear or excitement, I couldn’t tell. Not excitement, I didn’t think.
“Something you afraid of in there?”I thought, using my inside voice.“Or do you not think I’m strong enough?”
My demon didn’t answer. Instead, my phone beeped loudly, the unexpected sound following so quickly on my thoughts, I nearly jumped out of my own skin.
Claire flinched too. “Is that Max?” she squeaked as I grabbed for my phone, punching in my code because my face never worked to open it anymore.
“It’s gotta be Max,” I said as I stabbed open the app. “Who else would it be?”
Then I stopped as I squinted down. Blinked.
It wasn’t Max.
It was Officer Hernandez.
Need to talk about Rabbi Mordechai’s death. New information. You free?
The words blurred. I read them again.
New information.
About the cemetery, the night he’d died. The night I’d run.
Chapter
