overheard.
Monsignor’s eyes were fixed on the door to the gym. “You’re not usually late for class, are you?”
“Yeah, I was just—” Had he forgotten about her meeting? She decided not to bring it up. The last thing she wanted at the moment was to rehash her unsettling conversation with Father Santos. “I’m just running late today.”
“Hmm,” he said, still gazing over her head.
Bridget was officially so late for class that even her lax homeroom teacher would have to write her up. She cleared her throat and pulled her cell phone out of her backpack to pointedly check the time. “What’s up?”
“Yes,” he said with a shake of his head. “Yes. We have another, eh, situation.”
“Another one?” Three cases of demonic possession in a month? That had to be a record, right? “Isn’t that kind of weird?”
His eyes shone. “Yes!”
“Oh.”
Monsignor clapped her on the shoulder. His hand trembled, and there was a hint of a smile about his mouth. He looked like Sammy on his first trip to the Academy of Sciences.
“We are so lucky to have another opportunity for you.”
Lucky wasn’t the word that came to mind. “Um, yay?”
“We’ll need to get over there as soon as possible. After school today?”
That was going to be a problem. “I can’t. I’m grounded.”
“Grounded?” Disappointment swept across his face.
“Yeah. I’m really sorry. You’ll have to go without me.”
Monsignor threw up his hands. “I cannot go without you. It would be pointless.”
Bridget’s eyes flitted down to her phone again. Fifteen minutes late, and Monsignor just stood there, rubbing his chin in thought while Bridget pictured detentions piling up on top of her grounding. This week was a horror show.
“I’ll talk to your mother.”
Bridget’s eyes grew wide. “My mom?”
“Yes, I’ll call her after school. She teaches at St. Cecilia’s, correct?”
“Um, yeah, but she’s not going to—”
“Perfect. Then we’ll go tomorrow.”
Obviously Monsignor Renault had never dealt with Annie Liu, First Grade Teacher. She wasn’t exactly a pushover. “What if she says no?”
“She won’t.” He patted her head just like her father used to, then turned and walked away with quick, long strides as if he suddenly had someplace very important to be. “Meet me in the rectory parking lot after school tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder.
“No?” she said halfheartedly. But the word fell on an empty hallway. Monsignor Renault was gone.
Twelve
J UST WHEN B RIDGET WAS SURE her day couldn’t get any worse, she found Sammy and Matt Quinn sitting on the front steps of her house after school.
“Really?” Bridget made no attempt to hide her exasperation. “Are you following me everywhere I go now?”
“Calm down,” Matt said, pushing himself to his feet. “Just bringing Sammy home.”
Bridget eyed her brother, who was working on a word puzzle at the top of the stairs. “Is everything okay?”
“He’s fine. He didn’t want to practice today. Kept going on about coming home to see the cat.”
“Perfect.”
“Yeah, your mom seemed to have the same reaction. What’s wrong with the cat?”
Other than that he’s dead and apparently haunting my bedroom closet? “Nothing,” Bridget said, starting up the stairs. “We don’t have a cat.”
“Bridge!” Sammy squealed, clambering to his feet. “Is it time to see Mr. Moppet now? Is it?”
Matt laughed. “You sure about that?”
“Er . . .” Bridget changed the subject. “Thanks for bringing Sammy home.”
“No problem.” Matt followed her up the steps.
“Don’t you have practice to go to or something?”
“Not till four.”
Kill me. He was expecting her to invite him in, wasn’t he? She fumbled with her latchkey. “Um, I’d invite you in, but—”
“Your mom said it was fine if I hung out for a little while.”
Gee, thanks, Mom. “Oh. Great.”
Sammy pushed passed her as soon as she opened the door and
Monsignor’s eyes were fixed on the door to the gym. “You’re not usually late for class, are you?”
“Yeah, I was just—” Had he forgotten about her meeting? She decided not to bring it up. The last thing she wanted at the moment was to rehash her unsettling conversation with Father Santos. “I’m just running late today.”
“Hmm,” he said, still gazing over her head.
Bridget was officially so late for class that even her lax homeroom teacher would have to write her up. She cleared her throat and pulled her cell phone out of her backpack to pointedly check the time. “What’s up?”
“Yes,” he said with a shake of his head. “Yes. We have another, eh, situation.”
“Another one?” Three cases of demonic possession in a month? That had to be a record, right? “Isn’t that kind of weird?”
His eyes shone. “Yes!”
“Oh.”
Monsignor clapped her on the shoulder. His hand trembled, and there was a hint of a smile about his mouth. He looked like Sammy on his first trip to the Academy of Sciences.
“We are so lucky to have another opportunity for you.”
Lucky wasn’t the word that came to mind. “Um, yay?”
“We’ll need to get over there as soon as possible. After school today?”
That was going to be a problem. “I can’t. I’m grounded.”
“Grounded?” Disappointment swept across his face.
“Yeah. I’m really sorry. You’ll have to go without me.”
Monsignor threw up his hands. “I cannot go without you. It would be pointless.”
Bridget’s eyes flitted down to her phone again. Fifteen minutes late, and Monsignor just stood there, rubbing his chin in thought while Bridget pictured detentions piling up on top of her grounding. This week was a horror show.
“I’ll talk to your mother.”
Bridget’s eyes grew wide. “My mom?”
“Yes, I’ll call her after school. She teaches at St. Cecilia’s, correct?”
“Um, yeah, but she’s not going to—”
“Perfect. Then we’ll go tomorrow.”
Obviously Monsignor Renault had never dealt with Annie Liu, First Grade Teacher. She wasn’t exactly a pushover. “What if she says no?”
“She won’t.” He patted her head just like her father used to, then turned and walked away with quick, long strides as if he suddenly had someplace very important to be. “Meet me in the rectory parking lot after school tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder.
“No?” she said halfheartedly. But the word fell on an empty hallway. Monsignor Renault was gone.
Twelve
J UST WHEN B RIDGET WAS SURE her day couldn’t get any worse, she found Sammy and Matt Quinn sitting on the front steps of her house after school.
“Really?” Bridget made no attempt to hide her exasperation. “Are you following me everywhere I go now?”
“Calm down,” Matt said, pushing himself to his feet. “Just bringing Sammy home.”
Bridget eyed her brother, who was working on a word puzzle at the top of the stairs. “Is everything okay?”
“He’s fine. He didn’t want to practice today. Kept going on about coming home to see the cat.”
“Perfect.”
“Yeah, your mom seemed to have the same reaction. What’s wrong with the cat?”
Other than that he’s dead and apparently haunting my bedroom closet? “Nothing,” Bridget said, starting up the stairs. “We don’t have a cat.”
“Bridge!” Sammy squealed, clambering to his feet. “Is it time to see Mr. Moppet now? Is it?”
Matt laughed. “You sure about that?”
“Er . . .” Bridget changed the subject. “Thanks for bringing Sammy home.”
“No problem.” Matt followed her up the steps.
“Don’t you have practice to go to or something?”
“Not till four.”
Kill me. He was expecting her to invite him in, wasn’t he? She fumbled with her latchkey. “Um, I’d invite you in, but—”
“Your mom said it was fine if I hung out for a little while.”
Gee, thanks, Mom. “Oh. Great.”
Sammy pushed passed her as soon as she opened the door and
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