Grace's hand traced the sign of the cross—first over her own body, then over Madison's trembling form. The gesture seemed to leave invisible marks in the air, lingering like heat waves on asphalt.
"Amen," the women intoned in unison, their voices creating a discordant chord that hung in the stifling air of the bedroom.
Grace's eyes never left Madison as she read from the Bible. The words had a hypnotic quality, archaic and powerful. She removed the stole from around her neck, the fabric slipping through her fingers like water before settling onto Madison's body. Madison writhed beneath it, as if the mere contact burned her skin. Her struggles were weaker now, the fight gradually draining from her limbs.
"See the cross of the Lord; begone, you hostile powers!" Grace's voice had taken on a resonant quality, deeper than her normal speaking voice. "Lord, I appeal to your holy name, humbly begging that you graciously grant me help against this and every unclean spirit, now tormenting this creature of yours."
Grace reached for a small sage stick resting on the bedside table. She struck a match, the sulfur smell briefly overwhelming the musty scent of the room. The sage caught fire, small flames licking at the bundled herbs before Grace extinguished them with a sharp breath, leaving the sage to smolder. Tendrils of bluish smoke coiled upward, creating phantom shapes in the lamplight.
"I cast you out, unclean spirit—" Grace waved the sage over Madison in deliberate, sweeping motions. Ash drifted down like gray snow, settling on Madison's sweat-drenched nightgown. "—in the name of our Lord. Begone you demon, and stay far from this creature of God."
Grace's movements became more frantic, the sage bundle swinging back and forth like a censer. A cascade of ash descended upon Madison, starting at her feet and working its way up to her forehead, marking her with a patina of gray that stuck to her damp skin. "For it is He who commands you. He who flung you headlong from the heights of Heaven, into the depths of Hell."
Grace flicked the sage with particular vehemence, and a piece of the red-hot tip broke free from the bundle. It arced through the air—a miniature meteor—and landed squarely on Madison's forehead. The ember sizzled against her skin, the sound like bacon hitting a hot pan. Madison's body went rigid, her back arching off the bed as a wail tore from her throat, primal and raw.
Hope and Faith clung to each other, their embrace tightening as if they could somehow shield themselves from the horror unfolding before them. Faith's fingers dug into Hope's arm, leaving crescent-shaped marks in her skin.
"Hearken, therefore, and tremble in fear, Leviathan, you enemy of the faith, you foe of the human race, author of pain and sorrow."
Despite Madison's continued resistance, her movements had become sluggish, her strength ebbing. Her eyes, once wild with fury, now rolled in her head, unfocused and glassy.
Grace placed the sage stick down on a nearby candle, the herbs continuing to smolder and release their pungent aroma. She made the sign of the cross in the air, the motion sharp and authoritative. Then, with a deliberation that bordered on cruelty, she repeated the gesture directly on Madison's burnt forehead, pressing down with her thumb.
Madison's cry was weaker now, but no less heart-wrenching—the sound of something breaking, something vital and irreplaceable.
"Begone, then!" Grace's command echoed off the walls, reverberating through the house like a death knell.
Grace signed the cross in the air once more, her face flushed with exertion and zeal.
"Amen," the women said together, their voices creating a three-part harmony of conviction, doubt, and fear.
Grace's shoulders slumped slightly, the rigidity momentarily leaving her body. She turned to Faith, her eyes fever-bright in the dim room. "It's time. Go get it."
Hope's voice was small, barely audible over Madison's labored breathing. "You don't need to—"
"Shut up," Grace snapped, her momentary fatigue replaced by renewed fervor. She fixed her gaze on Faith. "Faith, go to your room and get it!"
Madison lay on the bed, her body occasionally twitching with aftershocks of pain. Snot bubbled from her nostril, mingling with the tears that streamed down her face. Her entire body trembled, not with rage or resistance now, but with naked fear. The burn on her forehead had already begun to blister, the skin red and angry around a small, perfect circle of charred flesh.
In that moment, she looked impossibly young and vulnerable—not a vessel for demonic possession, but a terrified child caught in a nightmare she couldn't wake from.
Madison's muffled pleas filtered through the partially open door and echoed through the hallway—desperate, animal sounds that bore little resemblance to human speech. Erik's hand tightened around the knife handle, his knuckles blanching white with pressure, but instead of bursting into the room, he took a step backward.
Another step. And another.
His retreat was silent, methodical, his body moving on instinct while his mind reeled with the fragments of what he'd witnessed. The knife hung heavy at his side, its presence both a comfort and an accusation. He backed into the shadows of the living room, where the darkness would conceal him.
The bedroom door creaked open wider. Erik pressed himself against the wall, allowing himself to become part of the house's architecture—just another shadow among many.
Faith emerged, her body silhouetted briefly in the doorway before she pulled it mostly closed behind her. She paused, leaning against the wall as if requiring its support to remain upright. Her chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow movements, and she pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead, a gesture of someone trying to physically push away unwanted thoughts.
After a moment, Faith pushed herself forward, moving unsteadily down the hallway toward her bedroom. Her gait was irregular, her body listing slightly to one side as if carrying an invisible weight. She resembled a drunk navigating the deck of a ship in high seas—deliberate in her movements but fundamentally unbalanced.
Madison's cries rose in volume briefly, then subsided to a low, constant keening that was somehow worse than screams would have been. The sound seemed to physically affect Faith; she stumbled, her hand reaching out to steady herself against the wall.
For a moment, she appeared ready to turn back, her body pivoting slightly toward Madison's room. Whatever resolve had propelled her forward wavered, like a compass needle oscillating between true and magnetic north. Then, as if responding to some unheard command, she squared her shoulders and continued toward her bedroom.
The sounds from Madison’s room burrowed under Erik’s skin, thin and needling. The knife sat cold and certain in his hand as he melted back into the shadows of the living room.
Chapter 34