Page 75 of Demon and the Raven

“But you think whatever is screwing with everyone’s sleep is⁠—”

“And there it is,” he told me. “Because it’s not everyone, is it?”

“No.”

“It’s not me, Abbott Leung, Rabbi Katz, Amanda Sterling or her family, whom I saw early this morning at the farmers’ market. Troy and Rita are well and as kind as they always are, as is Delia. Lorne’s brother, his daughter, both fine, sleeping well. I can name another thirty people easily that I’ve chatted with about this in the last couple of days.”

“You’ve been checking up on a lot of folks,” I stated.

“I’m a priest, Xander. It’s part of the gig.”

I smiled at him.

“But again, Charles and Allie on their farm at the end of your street, along with their boys, all fine.”

It made sense, as the wards on Corvus protected my neighbors’ properties and kept whatever sleeping plague the demon had brought with it to Osprey away from their doors.

Lynette had something in the house with her that was scaring her and keeping her awake at night. She too had been suffering from nightmares. JJ had bad dreams as well when they tried to sleep at their friend’s house.

“People who can’t rest will eventually go mad,” Father Dennis pronounced. “We need to get to the bottom of whatever this is.”

“Well, guess what, Father, you are talking to the two people most prepared to not only take you seriously, but whom you can help as well.”

He glanced at me, then back to Lorne. “You lost me.”

“Father,” Lorne began, “tell me what you know about killing demons.”

Poor Father Dennis. He wasn’t quite prepared for that.

Because we had time before meeting with the paranormal investigators, I had Lorne drive us out to the now famous Phoenix Farm, home of the Cult of the Phoenix. As a tourist attraction, it was closed for the night, and I wanted to look around at the site of the sealed rift. Probably, as the nymphs had searched for Nott’s killer and found no trace, I wouldn’t either. But as a witch, I had other means of looking for traces.

It had taken Father Dennis a bit to recover from Lorne’s request, and when he did, after the sputtering, as we drove, there were questions.

“How do you mean kill? Do you mean exorcise?”

“I don’t know.”

He cleared his throat. “I’ve never been to an exorcism myself, and the ones I’ve heard about did more harm than good to the person supposedly possessed.”

“Supposedly?” Lorne asked.

“Yes, well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? Possession can mimic mental illness. It takes ages to determine if one is actually suffering from possession. And these days, the afflicted, as we call them, have far better protections than in the past.”

“But they’re still performed, aren’t they?” I asked him.

“Yes. There is still a Rite of Solemn Exorcism, but the training to conduct one is rigorous and can only be carried out by those licensed by their bishop.”

“Are you licensed?”

“Heavens no,” he answered, shaking his head. “And honestly, I’m not certain I believe in such a thing. When I was a new priest, I prayed on this subject and consulted others, but over the years I’ve found that the few times a situation was thought to be a possession, it turned out not to be. A mix of therapy and medication helped the person recover or manage their condition.”

“So you don’t believe in demons?”

“Demons as entities sent from hell to ruin mankind?”

“Yes.”

“No,” he replied flatly. “I believe we all need to protect ourselves from the evil of the world, but I don’t believe in fallen angels who are now demons running around the countryside on murderous rampages.”