Possess

“Angels.”
    “Angels?”
    His fingertips grazed the top of her hand as he pulled away. “Angels. Mr. Moppet brought them to save us.”
    Mr. Moppet. “Yeah.” Bridget smiled. “Yeah, he did.”

Thirty-Eight
    B RIDGET MARCHED RIGHT UP TO the Darlingtons’ Sea Cliff mansion and rang the doorbell. A maid answered and Bridget asked for Alexa, saying she was a friend from school. Instead of inviting her in to wait, the maid asked her to stand outside, then closed the door in Bridget’s face while she went to fetch Alexa. Yeah, that was about right.
    It took a full five minutes for the door to reopen. Despite the fact that it was nine o’clock on a Sunday morning, Alexa’s hair was perfectly curled, her makeup expertly applied.
    When she saw Bridget, her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”
    “Listen up, Alexa, because I’m only going to say this once. I know what you are, you and your dad. And more importantly, I know what I am.”
    “I don’t have to listen to this.” Alexa started to close the door, but Bridget wedged her boot inside the frame.
    “The Watchers were given dominion over the Emim,” Bridget said, quoting Father Santos. “So you’d both better watch your step, get it?”
    From the darkness on the other side of the door, Bridget could see Alexa’s eyes glow bright green. “Is that all?” Her voice sounded like she was barely controlling her rage.
    A sly smile crept up Bridget’s cheeks. “For now.” She pulled her boot out of the door. “See you at school.”
    Bridget trotted down the front steps as Alexa slammed the door behind her. The Crown Vic’s motor was still running as she opened the passenger door and got inside.
    “H-how did it go?” Father Santos asked.
    “Awesome.”
    “And you’re positive the Darlingtons are Emim?”
    “Yep,” Bridget said. “I saw them in the church the night I defeated Amaymon, and I’m pretty sure Mr. Darlington lured Sammy out of the house. Plus Alexa can hear the same voices I do.” Those glowing green eyes. Mr. Darlington’s presence in her father’s office, which seemed to send Undermeyer into a paroxysm of fear. Their reluctance to touch Bridget. It all made sense.
    “Just remember, the Emim are extremely dangerous. They may not be able to harm you physically, but the Emim have spent centuries influencing men to destroy the Watchers. Now that they know you’re on to them, they’ll be even . . . even more devious next time.”
    Bridget shrugged. She felt invincible, the high from defeating Amaymon still coursing through her. “Then we’ll have to be a step ahead of them. That’s what you’re for, right? You and the Order of St. Michael?”
    Father Santos put the car in gear but kept his foot on the brake as he turned to look at her. “There’s much you still have to learn, about your abilities and about your enemies. Are you up for it?”
    “Do I have a choice?”
    “Not really.”
    She knew that would be the answer, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t afraid anymore. This was her dad’s legacy, and she was going to see it through.
    “When do we start?” Bridget asked.
    Father Santos eased the car away from the curb. “This afternoon?”
    “Better make it tomorrow,” Bridget said. She pulled out her cell phone and texted Matt. “There’s something I need to finish first.”
    Matt parked in a visitor’s spot and cut the engine. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”
    Bridget shook her head. “I need to do this on my own.”
    “Okay.”
    The stitches above his left eye were partially covered by a butterfly bandage, and his arm hung from a sling around his neck. At least it wasn’t his pitching arm, but he’d still be out of commission for several weeks leading up to baseball season. That was the cost of trying to help her. She wasn’t going to let anything like that happen again.
    “Did you tell your mom where we were going?”
    Bridget nodded. “She understands, but she still didn’t want to come with me.”
    “Do you blame her?”
    “Nope.” Her mom would never be able to separate her husband’s death from Milton Undermeyer, even if he had been innocent all along. But that was okay. She didn’t need her mom witnessing what she was about to do.
    “And Sammy’s okay?” Matt asked for the fourth time.
    “He’s fine,” she said. “Doesn’t remember a thing.”
    Matt scratched his forehead above his stitches. “I don’t remember much myself.”
    “I know.”