to put this … not of this world.”
An even longer pause.
Grant stared at Paige across the kitchen island.
“I know this sounds weird,” Grant said. “I promise you it’s not a joke. I couldn’t be more serious or more in need of help.”
“Are you a member of St. James?” the priest asked.
“No, sir.”
“Is your sister?”
“No.”
“What exactly is it that you would like for me to do?”
“To be honest, I don’t have the first clue about where to begin with something like this. I was hoping you would.”
“Do you believe this is demonic activity you’re dealing with?”
“I don’t know. I think it might be.”
“We’re really not equipped for this in any of our Seattle parishes, but there is a priest trained in the rite of exorcism in Portland.”
“Could you put us in touch?”
“There’s a protocol for these types of matters. It’s just you and your sister?”
“Yes.”
“And do you suspect possession?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Do you believe this entity has control over you or your sister?”
Grant met eyes with Paige.
“I don’t know.”
“I would be happy to meet with both of you. I’m booked up today, but you could come by my office first thing Monday.”
“What’s this priest’s name? The one in Portland?”
“The better course of action would be to have you meet with me first. Then I could make a referral.”
Grant said, “That won’t work for us. I want you to take down our address. It’s Twenty-two Crocket Street in upper Queen Anne—the freestanding brownstone on the corner. Please communicate to this priest in Portland that we need to see him.”
“If this is a true emergency, I could come by myself after I leave the office tonight.”
“Are you equipped to handle something like this, Father?”
A brief pause and then: “Well, it’s not exactly a science, but I’m not the best suited for this type of thing, no.”
“Then don’t come here alone. Give the address to the other priest or don’t do anything.”
“I’ll see what can be done.”
“Thank you.”
Grant gave him his phone number and hung up.
The water was boiling on the stove.
He walked over and lifted the pot off the gas.
“That guy isn’t sending anybody,” Paige said.
“You’re probably right.”
Grant emptied the silk sock filled with fresh coffee grounds into the hot water. He stirred them in with a wooden spoon and topped the pot with its lid.
“You’re looking pale,” Paige said.
Grant nodded. He felt dizzy too, and his headache was becoming impossible to ignore.
“It was a long night. I just need some coffee,” he said.
“Coffee won’t fix this. Should I run through the list of symptoms? I know them pretty well.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’d have to be a pretty bad detective to actually believe that.”
She was right, but he wasn’t ready to give up on the hope that his headache and sour stomach were just the parting gifts from a terrible evening followed by an even worse night’s sleep.
“This is just the beginning. You have no idea how bad it’s about to get.”
Paige walked over to the pot and lifted the lid. Pungent curls of steam made a brief appearance before dissipating. She picked up the wooden spoon and gave the darkening liquid a few stirs.
“I’ve been where you’re at,” she said. “Wanting to hold off. Thinking I could control my own deterioration.”
“I’m not sending another person up there, Paige. If that’s what you’re getting at.”
“But when it was me hurting, that was—”
“Different, yes.” Grant leaned against the counter.
“Because it’s okay as long as I’m the one needing help?” she asked.
“Because my sister was dying.”
She let the spoon clatter to the counter and turned to face him.
“It wants someone else, Grant. Do you think I can’t feel it too? Do you think it won’t bring me to my knees all over again if we hold off? You saw how I looked last night. I’ll be just as
An even longer pause.
Grant stared at Paige across the kitchen island.
“I know this sounds weird,” Grant said. “I promise you it’s not a joke. I couldn’t be more serious or more in need of help.”
“Are you a member of St. James?” the priest asked.
“No, sir.”
“Is your sister?”
“No.”
“What exactly is it that you would like for me to do?”
“To be honest, I don’t have the first clue about where to begin with something like this. I was hoping you would.”
“Do you believe this is demonic activity you’re dealing with?”
“I don’t know. I think it might be.”
“We’re really not equipped for this in any of our Seattle parishes, but there is a priest trained in the rite of exorcism in Portland.”
“Could you put us in touch?”
“There’s a protocol for these types of matters. It’s just you and your sister?”
“Yes.”
“And do you suspect possession?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Do you believe this entity has control over you or your sister?”
Grant met eyes with Paige.
“I don’t know.”
“I would be happy to meet with both of you. I’m booked up today, but you could come by my office first thing Monday.”
“What’s this priest’s name? The one in Portland?”
“The better course of action would be to have you meet with me first. Then I could make a referral.”
Grant said, “That won’t work for us. I want you to take down our address. It’s Twenty-two Crocket Street in upper Queen Anne—the freestanding brownstone on the corner. Please communicate to this priest in Portland that we need to see him.”
“If this is a true emergency, I could come by myself after I leave the office tonight.”
“Are you equipped to handle something like this, Father?”
A brief pause and then: “Well, it’s not exactly a science, but I’m not the best suited for this type of thing, no.”
“Then don’t come here alone. Give the address to the other priest or don’t do anything.”
“I’ll see what can be done.”
“Thank you.”
Grant gave him his phone number and hung up.
The water was boiling on the stove.
He walked over and lifted the pot off the gas.
“That guy isn’t sending anybody,” Paige said.
“You’re probably right.”
Grant emptied the silk sock filled with fresh coffee grounds into the hot water. He stirred them in with a wooden spoon and topped the pot with its lid.
“You’re looking pale,” Paige said.
Grant nodded. He felt dizzy too, and his headache was becoming impossible to ignore.
“It was a long night. I just need some coffee,” he said.
“Coffee won’t fix this. Should I run through the list of symptoms? I know them pretty well.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’d have to be a pretty bad detective to actually believe that.”
She was right, but he wasn’t ready to give up on the hope that his headache and sour stomach were just the parting gifts from a terrible evening followed by an even worse night’s sleep.
“This is just the beginning. You have no idea how bad it’s about to get.”
Paige walked over to the pot and lifted the lid. Pungent curls of steam made a brief appearance before dissipating. She picked up the wooden spoon and gave the darkening liquid a few stirs.
“I’ve been where you’re at,” she said. “Wanting to hold off. Thinking I could control my own deterioration.”
“I’m not sending another person up there, Paige. If that’s what you’re getting at.”
“But when it was me hurting, that was—”
“Different, yes.” Grant leaned against the counter.
“Because it’s okay as long as I’m the one needing help?” she asked.
“Because my sister was dying.”
She let the spoon clatter to the counter and turned to face him.
“It wants someone else, Grant. Do you think I can’t feel it too? Do you think it won’t bring me to my knees all over again if we hold off? You saw how I looked last night. I’ll be just as
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