Personal Demons Excerpt: To go, or not to go?

Mira's avoided going home for over a decade, but she can't hide from her past (and her family) forever.

 

Mira lifted the lid of her laptop and pressed the power button. Theancient device hummed to life. A small icon pulsed at the bottom ofthe desktop, indicating she had a new email. She opened the browserand found a message from Father Bembe, a priest she’d known as achild. She’d helped him with a demon that had targeted hiscongregation. Her hand dropped to her thigh. One of those lines, thevery first one in fact, was for a blue-eyed girl who’d killedeleven churchgoers before Mira put her down. She shuddered. That onestill gave her nightmares. Not the demon, or the eleven victims, butthe eyes of that little girl staring up at her as she drained herlife. The girl had been almost the same age Mira was when the demonfirst possessed her—a vision of what she might have become had herdemon followed the usual pattern.

Shecleared the lump from her throat and opened the email.

Mira,

Ihope this message finds you. I got this address from your abuela , though she says you don’t respond. I fear theproblem you helped me with before may be back. There is no one elseto ask. Please come.

Bembe

Mirastared at the handful of words on her screen. Her mouth had gone dry.It wasn’t impossible for a demon to pop up where she’d alreadytaken one out, but natural rifters—those not created throughnecromantic interference—were relatively rare. What were the odds asecond one would turn up not just in her hometown, but in herchildhood church?

<Lookslike we found our lead. That’s got to be some kind of record.>

Miralicked her lips and forced a laugh. “I thought you wanted to go toCalifornia.”

<Florida’sokay. At least there’s a beach.>

Miratook a shaky breath and exhaled. Florida. She hadn’t beenback there in years. She hadn’t intended ever to go back. Not afterwhat had happened the last time.

“Doyou really think he’s found another?”

Thedemon gave the mental equivalent of a shrug. <We could ask formore details, see if he’s jumping at shadows.>

Miraclosed the laptop then tipped her head back so her skull restedagainst the metal wall. She closed her eyes. Swirls of anxietytwisted like a thunderstorm inside her, threatening to break looseand drown her in a torrent of memories she’d done her best toforget. “Why did it have to be Florida?”

<Wedon’t have to go.>

“FatherBembe isn’t a fool. He saw what happened to the child we weeded outlast time, and he knows about my past. He wouldn’t have contactedme without good reason.”

Thereis no one else to ask. The words floated against the darkness ofher eyelids.

<Soyou want to go?>

“Ofcourse I don’t want to go,” Mira shouted at the ceiling. “Whatare the odds I can investigate a rifter in my old neighborhoodwithout stumbling across anyone I know? And if abuelafinds out. . . .” She shook her head, trying to rein in her rampantemotions.

<Soyou don’t want to go.>

Mirapressed her fingertips to her temples. “I can’t just ignore him.Even if it isn’t a rifter, he’s clearly in some kind of trouble.”

<Okay,how about you just tell me when you make up your mind.>

Shovingher laptop aside, Mira stood up and paced the tiny space, barely twosteps in either direction. She worried at her lower lip and thoughtof all the reasons she’d avoided visiting Florida for nearly adecade. Could she slip in and talk to Father Bembe without anyoneelse finding out? Did she have a choice? If there really was a rifterloose in her old neighborhood. . . . It was a vision of herabuela—her grandmother—becoming some rifter’s victim, like thepoor souls decomposing at the train yard, that finally decided her.

Shestopped her pacing and blew out a deep breath. “This is going tosuck.”

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