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It grated, but I conceded the point. “True.”
We were working off the grid of reality. Maybe we should just throw dice or flip a coin to predict what was coming next.
So really, what was a little exorcism slipped in as well?
“You’ll be messing with your soul.” Clumsy, but the only way I could put it.
He glanced at me sideways.
“You ever think your soul is what makes you, you?”
“Careful, darlin’, you’re acting like you care.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, I just don’t know anyone else with magic sperm.”
His lips twitched.
“But seriously, Val, how do we know if an exorcism, assuming it does anything, won’t eject you instead of the Nightmare King? This is not a normal possession.” I knew how laughable that sounded, but I pressed on. “Or say it works, gets rid him, how do we know you won’t die once he’s gone?” I didn’t have any memories of the immortals leaving any living body. Did that mean it couldn’t be done?
Val turned onto the road leading back to Fairfield. “We also don’t know if I can keep containing him.”
On that note, we drove a little way in silence.
Val shook his head. “You’re not inside the same head as him.”
I stared ahead through the dusty, insect-splattered windshield, but my words softened. “No, I’m not.”
I’d seen some of what the Nightmare King had done; it made it hard to argue.
I watched the trees rushing past, with the car door bumping at my shoulder, and tried desperately to find some clue in my memories. There had to be another way.
Had to.
The exorcist person Val tracked down on Reddit was down another side road, on the opposite compass heading from Fairfield on the way to the hospital. It was an old church, from the looks of it. The cross in a circle was still atop the gable, even if the building was now an eye-scorching purple.
Most people associated the color with royalty or magic, but it was also the color of mourning. I hoped in this case it signified nothing more than cheap paint.
Dream catchers with feathers and glittering stones spun beneath the ceiling of the porch. Three skinny mutts raced out, barking, to greet us as we approached the steps. The hand-painted sign there had about the same information as the sign at the front gate:
Fortunes told. Tarot card reading. Look into your future and maximize your goals. Evil spirits dispelled in serious cases. PayPal and credit cards accepted if our internets is working. Cash preferred. Salesmen will be fed to the chickens, after the dogs get you.
“Are you fucking sure?” I muttered.
“I’m currently undecided. Your job is to keep me safe from the chickens.”
“Har-de-har. Valor Lacroix and the chickens of doom.”
The woman opening the porch flyscreen door was little more than thirty and well tanned.
The cigarette in her mouth was tossed aside into a straggly bush growing alongside the house. “What can I do for you? Business, pleasure, something in between? Everything on the sign is available, but we take no responsibility for consequences.”
Quite the spiel. The dogs had quieted at least. One spotted, white mongrel had come up and nudged I for a pat. I’d obliged while listening.
Val cleared his throat. “I have an appointment, Miss Davis?”
“That’s me. Karyn Davis.” She thrust out her hand to shake then turned back into the house. “Come on in. You’re one of the few who asks to be exorcised. Don’t do much of that. I have to interview you thoroughly though before I proceed. Uh, miss?”
“Yes?”
