FIFTEEN

THEY WERE EVERYWHERE. Women and girls and several men and boys, all in thin tattered dresses. They walked sideways on the walls, upside down across the ceiling, and at random slanted angles midair. But no matter their direction, their soaking-wet hair stayed pasted to their cheeks and shoulders and backs. They uttered angry chants, passing through material objects as if the room were empty.

They left footprints everywhere—dark-red stains. The same sickening color dripped from the hem of their soaked gowns, puddling all over the floor.

Out the windows, I saw Custos and his soldiers. Their heavenly light poured in, clashing with the infestation of evil, yet not driving it away. Custos peered in through a window straight at me and gave a subtle nod, as if signaling me to take action. All at once, the prowlers faced me, then rushed at me without having to take actual steps. Their glaring eyes appeared human, yet their pupils were small as pinpoints.

The door slammed behind me as they pressed in just beyond my aura. All of them. They cursed me, commanding me to suffer and go insane and give up and die. Sure enough, black snakes came slithering from mouths and out from under dresses, as thick as water hoses. As long as broomsticks. But the serpents couldn’t breach my light or crawl on me, thank God.

I knew what to do. I’d just done it this morning at the jail and seen it work. I pointed at the witchy Creepers. “In Christ’s name, I command you to give up your deception and go!”

That shut them up—but there was no metamorphosis into Creeper form.

A petite girl directly in front of me chuckled. She looked about thirteen. “He doesn’t know.”

They all laughed at me hysterically. Like the bats had in my nightmare.

“I don’t know what?”

I realized I’d just made a wrong move. Asking Creepers questions gives them an unnatural advantage, like a lion rolling over and exposing his belly to a pack of hyenas. So, I immediately repeated the command for them to stop their deception and go.

“Say it over and over, Owen. It won’t work.”

I knew that voice.

“We’re as human as you. We just have superior power.”

Here she came, gliding through the paranormal crowd until she stood in front of me. Veronica, dressed and drenched like the rest.

“You’re an imposter,” I said, declaring the truth.

She pressed her index finger into my chest, and I felt it, like her hand had substance. “You’re the imposter, charging in here like some man of faith.”

They all snickered.

“You have no faith, Owen. No spiritual knowledge. No depth or understanding of the Source. No real conviction.” She inched forward, as close as she could get to my aura. “Poor baby,” she said. “You don’t even have parents.”

That young girl mocked me with a sarcastic pout.

“All lies,” I said.

Veronica’s face was a breath away from mine, though she wasn’t breathing. “Your mother never loved you or bothered being there for you. And your father . . .” She shook her head. “He never wanted you.”

I knew it was useless to defend myself against her false accusations, and yet I gave in. “My father didn’t know he had a son. He would have wanted me.”

“Oh, but he did know. Full well.” She tilted her head to the side and whispered in my ear. “You’re unwanted, Owen. An orphan. Totally alone in this world. You always have been, and you always will be. It’s what you deserve.”

Her words sliced through me like a samurai sword. That’s what evil does—pinpoints our soul’s deepest wound, then brutalizes it with lies.

I didn’t have to take this. The kingdom of darkness is aggressive—I had to be also.

I read the first card in my hand. “Christ disarmed the spiritual rulers and authorities. He shamed them publicly by his victory over them on the cross.”

The whole nest of them launched into a rage, yelling and releasing more snakes and flailing their arms like they were falling.

I read another card, turning the verse into a personal declaration this time, shouting it. “No weapon turned against me will succeed. God will silence every voice raised up to accuse me.”

Veronica growled in my face, flaring her gums like a wild beast as the cluster disbanded, covering their ears and rushing to the far end of the room.

One by one, I read through the Scriptures. By the time I’d finished, every dripping figure was on the floor, convulsing like the Word of God was attacking their nervous system.

At last, I watched out the windows as the Watchmen rose above the building. The blinding radiance lifted, and the anguished mob went rushing out, flinging themselves out the same west-side wall through which they’d entered. With my face pressed against a window, I watched them race to the pond, then run into the water and sink out of sight.

“Yes!” I threw my fists in the air, reveling in having done something right this time. Something that totally worked.

Every last one of them was gone from the room, along with the slithering snakes. The red puddles and footprints were gone too—every trace of them. Custos and his battalion moved on as well, their work done here.

I marched downstairs to my room and collapsed on my bed, smiling, feeling like I’d just downed an extra-large double-shot of espresso. I could hardly wait until sunup. I’d call Elle and tell her exactly how to purge her home of the nighttime hauntings—demons impersonating people, likely appearing identical to the witches loosing them on us.

I sat up in bed, with no intention of sleeping. “That phony form of Veronica said some mean things, Daisy.” Yeah, I talked to my dog sometimes. “But none of it was true.”

I spotted the plastic box my mom had given me and figured now was as good a time as any to dig through it. She’d saved a few of my honor roll certificates, some report cards from random school years, a plastic baggie with two of my baby teeth. Gross.

There was also a small stack of photos. A few of Mom and me at the lakeside carnival where she used to take me when I was little. Me blowing out candles at the kitchen table when I turned thirteen. No, fourteen—the year we moved three times.

There was one of me at bat at a Little League game. I played one season of baseball in the fifth grade since the boy next door played, and his mom offered to let me ride with them. My mom hardly showed up at my games, so I knew the neighbor lady had likely taken the picture.

I stared at my munchkin face in the photo, recalling how my coach would crush his paper cup and hurl it at the ground every time I struck out—which was a lot, because I’d never swung a bat before joining the team.

Then I saw something strange, in the right-hand corner of the picture.

Wait . . .

I rushed to my lamp and held the photo next to the bulb. I rubbed my eyes and blinked. “That can’t be right.”

Even wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, there was no denying who was in the stands, watching me play ball nearly ten years ago.

What was my father doing there?