Jenna Black: The Devil Inside

“It was an unfortunate oversight,” Jenkins said in his best bureaucratese. It didn’t improve my attitude.

“And thanks for helping me out when you saw I was in trouble,” I snarled.

He lost his good-little-bureaucrat voice and suddenly sounded miserable. “I’m very sorry, Ms. Kingsley. I had to get the civilians out of the room.”

Yeah, and you just had to follow them out while you were at it.

I kept my mouth shut. Maybe because in my gut I thought he’d done the right thing. Only a moron would try to take on a demon one-on-one. Jenkins was a bureaucrat, not a foot soldier. He’d probably left the room to gather a small army of guards with their Tasers and rifles.

“We have asked Father Ben to come down and look at your aura,” Jenkins continued. “If you truly are not possessed, Ms. Kingsley, then I apologize for the inconvenience.”

I sighed. The last thing I wanted was to be a suspected demon host in an execution state and have my fate rest on a priest who might or might not be able to read my aura. Especially when priests universally believed demons were creatures from Hell, sent to plague mankind. I might not be overly fond of demons myself, but I didn’t believe they were the embodiment of evil, either.

“Tell Father Ben to stay home,” I said. “Please call Valerie March and ask her to come make a diagnosis.”

Val has been my best friend since high school. She’s a fellow exorcist, though we each came into the field with a very different agenda. Val’s noble cause was to root out the bad eggs among demons so the rest of them wouldn’t get such a bad rap. Me, I just wanted an excuse to kick some demon ass.

But Val is a damn good exorcist, one of the few I’d trust when my life was hanging in the balance. Unfortunately, she lives in Philadelphia, so it would be tomorrow before she could get here and spring me. But better an extra day in this lovely facility than a date with the oven.

“Father Ben can be here in a little over an hour,” Jenkins said. “Is this Valerie March a local?”

I shook my head. “No, but she’s a trained exorcist.”

“I assure you, Father Ben-”

“Call her, Mr. Jenkins. I’ll give you the number.”

There was such a long silence, I feared he’d decided to ignore my request. I had visions of some superstitious priest condemning me as a demon, of being Tasered into a quivering mass of Jell-O and then strapped to a brand-spankin’-new table. All I’d need was an apple in my mouth, and I’d be ready to cook. Because if they thought I’d been taken over by Lisa Walker’s demon, then they thought I, the most successful exorcist on record, couldn’t cast it out. Which would mean there was no point in trying another exorcism. Just get straight to the burning alive part.

I shivered and hugged myself.

“Very well, Ms. Kingsley. Give me the number.”

I was so relieved I almost collapsed. But I gave him the number. Now all I had to do was wait.

No one looking at Valerie March would believe she’d be friends with someone like me. We are almost polar opposites. I’m tall, big-boned — not fat — with red hair I like to keep cut short. I’ve been known to dress outlandishly, and my left ear is pierced in five different places. My right ear’s only pierced twice. I also have a small, tasteful tattoo of a sword on my lower back. It’s got a fancy hilt with a Celtic knot design, and the blade points directly to my butt crack. When I wear low-rise jeans, you can see the hilt.

I got it when I was fifteen. My only reason was that I’d admired a tattoo I’d seen on a woman on TV. I mentioned it to my parents, who naturally told me how uncouth it was for a woman to have a tattoo. They should have known better. I was at the tattoo parlor the next day. I was grounded for a full month, but I climbed out my window at least two or three times a week.

Val is a strictly-by-the-books kind of gal. The woman wouldn’t even jaywalk! She disapproves of at least two-thirds of my life decisions, but she loves me anyway. That’s true friendship.

By the time she reached the courthouse, I’d been in custody a little over twenty-four hours. They were not the best twenty-four hours of my life.

They kept me in that completely unfurnished room the whole time. I didn’t mind having to curl up to sleep on the tile floor. Well, yes, I minded, but I didn’t mind it as bad as the bathroom situation. As in, I didn’t have one.

I had to ask permission to take a pee. When I did, an army of six or seven guards would show up at the door, fingers on the triggers of their Tasers, as if the stun belt wasn’t deterrent enough. They came with me into the bathroom. Worse, I couldn’t even go into a stall for privacy. I had to do my business while they surrounded me, pointing their Tasers, just itching to shoot me.

Of course, if I was hosting a demon, letting me out of sight would have been a bad, bad idea. Any demon worth its salt can pull a toilet free from the floor. And believe me, if a demon hits you in the head with a toilet, you aren’t getting up afterward.

I held it as best I could, but I couldn’t hold it for more than twenty-four hours. I planned to harbor a grudge about this for the rest of my life.

When Val came into the containment room, the goon squad came with her, fanning out in a semicircle on both sides. I was sitting on the floor when they came in, my back against the wall. I’d have stood up to greet her, but I was pretty sure the guards would shoot me if I moved.

She was wearing the conservative business suit I’d refused to wear myself, and she radiated an aura of competence. Not a literal aura, mind you. Competence doesn’t show up in auras, or life would be a hell of a lot easier. Her blond hair was pulled back into a French braid, and she wore a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Off duty, she wore contacts, but the glasses made her look more serious and professional.

She smiled at me and shook her head.

“Morgan, you have the most chaotic life of anyone I’ve ever known,” she said.

I grinned at her, but still didn’t stand up. The guards had eased down a bit, but not enough that I’d trust them not to shoot.

“Tell me about it!” I replied. “Can you get me out of here, please?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Another guard entered the room, carrying Val’s suitcase. As I said, some exorcists have fancier rituals than others. Val is one of them. Not because she needs all the trappings, but because she thinks it impresses her clients. Who am I to argue?

Right now, though, I wished she’d go for something a little more understated. I wanted out. But she’s a by-the-books gal, so she was going to put on the whole show, though I suspected she knew right away that I wasn’t possessed. Demons have full access to our memories and can get quite good at pretending to be the person they’ve possessed, but it normally takes a little time and practice. When someone’s first taken, people who know them well can usually see it. Whether they know what they’re seeing or not is a whole other question.

I wanted to ask Val to hurry up — I needed to pee again, and I really wanted to do it without an audience — but I knew better. She was determined to give them the whole frickin’ show, and I was just going to have to wait. I pressed my thighs together and prayed I wouldn’t pee my pants before she got through.

Val’s ritual involved music, candles, and even a circle of power made out of salt. I could see the guards were impressed, their attention occasionally drifting away from me to watch her. If I’d really been a demon host, people would have died while they watched the show.

Finally, Val rose from her trance and declared me clean. Her ritual had been convincing enough that the guards immediately lowered their Tasers and I was able to make a dash to the bathroom.