Page 14 of Exorcise Me (Hotter than Hell)

The Seminary of Divine Protection looked exactly as it always had—a sprawling Gothic revival building of gray stone and stained glass, set back from the street behind wrought iron gates.

I’d spent five years of my life here, learning exegesis and theology alongside the more practical aspects of exorcism.

As I walked up the familiar path to the main entrance, memories washed over me—late-night study sessions in the library, heated theological debates in the courtyard, quiet moments of doubt in the small chapel. This place had shaped me, for better or worse.

Father Finnegan was waiting in the foyer, his lined face somber. “Noah,” he said, nodding once in greeting. “The Council is assembled in the Chapter Room.”

No warm welcome, no inquiry about my well-being. The formality stung more than I expected.

“Thank you for arranging this,” I said, keeping my voice neutral as we walked through the hushed corridors. “I appreciate the opportunity to address any concerns.”

Father Finnegan glanced at me, something like sadness flashing across his face. “I tried to reach you privately many times, Noah. This could have been handled differently.”

Guilt pricked at me. He wasn’t wrong—I’d avoided his calls, chosen isolation over conversation. “I needed time,” I said simply.

“And now we all must deal with the consequences of that time,” he replied cryptically as we reached the heavy oak doors of the Chapter Room.

The Council—five senior exorcists, all men over sixty, all wearing expressions of grave concern—sat at a long table at the far end of the room. A single chair faced them, reminiscent of an interrogation setup. Father Finnegan guided me to it, then took his place at the end of the Council table.

“Noah Callahan,” intoned Father Oxley, the eldest and most traditional of the group. “You have been summoned to address serious concerns regarding your conduct as an exorcist and your commitment to your sacred calling. How do you respond?”

I sat straight in the uncomfortable chair, channeling some of Lucien’s easy confidence. “I’m here to listen and to speak honestly about my experiences.”

Father Oxley’s bushy eyebrows rose slightly at this calm response. Perhaps he’d expected defensiveness or denial.

“Very well,” he said, shuffling some papers before him. “The first matter concerns your abandonment of protocol during the Wellington case. Father Finnegan reports that you actively obstructed the exorcism ritual and insisted the afflicted girl receive medical attention instead.”

“That’s correct,” I confirmed. “The girl was suffering from epileptic seizures, not demonic possession. The hospital confirmed this diagnosis.”

“That is not for you to determine,” Father Oxley said sharply. “The protocol exists for a reason. Even if the girl had a medical condition, the blessing would have done no harm.”

I leaned forward. “With respect, Father, forcibly restraining a person experiencing a seizure can cause physical harm. The ritual was actively dangerous in that situation.”

Murmurs ran through the Council members. Father Finnegan’s expression remained carefully neutral, though I thought I detected a hint of pride in his eyes.

“The second concern,” continued Father Oxley, clearly eager to move on, “is your extended absence from duties and training. You have missed seventeen days of morning prayer, declined three assignment requests, and failed to submit your required reading reflections.”

These were factual charges I couldn’t deny. “I have been engaged in independent study,” I said carefully. “Researching deeper into demonology and the historical understanding of demonic entities.”

“Independent study not approved by your mentor or this Council,” Father Yarrow clarified from the center of the table. He was generally the most reasonable of the group, which made his disapproval harder to bear.

“Yes,” I admitted. “I found the seminary materials… limited in certain respects.”

This caused more than murmurs—outright exclamations of surprise and disapproval echoed in the high-ceilinged room.

“Limited?” Father Oxley repeated, his face flushing. “The collected wisdom of centuries of exorcists, limited?”

“Incomplete,” I amended, choosing my words carefully. “The seminary presents a singular view of demonic entities as universally malevolent. My research suggests a more nuanced reality.”

The room fell silent, all eyes fixed on me with various degrees of shock and concern.

“And what sources have led you to this… nuanced view?” Father Finnegan finally asked, his tone carefully neutral.

This was the moment of truth. I could dissemble, mention only the academic texts I’d consulted. Or I could be honest.

Lucien’s words echoed in my mind: Tell them what you believe to be true. I trust your judgment.

I took a deep breath. “Academic sources, historical accounts predating the Church’s standardized demonology, and… personal experience.”

“Personal experience?” Father Yarrow leaned forward, his interest clearly piqued. “You’ve encountered entities that don’t match our understanding?”

“Yes,” I said simply.

Father Finnegan’s gaze sharpened. “Would this personal experience have a name, Noah? Perhaps… Lucien?”

The direct question sent a jolt through me. I’d known this was coming, but facing it in this formal setting, under the scrutinizing eyes of men who had taught me everything I knew about my calling, was more intimidating than I’d anticipated.

“Yes,” I admitted, my voice steady despite my racing heart. “I’ve been in contact with a demon who calls himself Lucien.”

The reaction was immediate—Father Oxley crossed himself, Father Yarrow’s eyes widened, and the other Council members exchanged alarmed glances. Only Father Finnegan remained composed, watching me with an unreadable expression.

“Contact,” Father Finnegan repeated. “An interesting choice of word. Would ‘harboring’ be more accurate? Or perhaps ‘consorting with’?”

Heat crept up my neck, but I refused to be shamed.

“I have been in a relationship with him,” I clarified, the words feeling both terrifying and liberating to speak aloud in this place.

“And in that relationship, I’ve learned that much of what we teach about demons is simplistic at best, and prejudiced at worst.”

“Prejudiced?” Father Oxley nearly shouted, rising halfway from his seat. “These are creatures of darkness, tempters and corruptors—”

“Some are,” I interrupted, surprising myself with my boldness. “Just as some humans are cruel and destructive. But to condemn an entire class of beings based on the actions of some is the definition of prejudice, is it not?”

“You have been corrupted,” Father Oxley declared, fully standing now. “This demon has twisted your mind, poisoned your faith—”

“Lucien has done nothing but show me kindness, patience, and love,” I countered, my own voice rising. “He has challenged me to think more deeply, to question more thoroughly, to seek truth more diligently than any teacher in this seminary ever encouraged me to do.”

“Love?” Father Finnegan interjected, his voice cutting through the tension. “You believe this demon loves you?”

I met his gaze directly. “Yes. And I love him.”

The confession hung in the air like a thunderclap. Father Oxley collapsed back into his seat, crossing himself again. Father Yarrow studied me with a combination of fascination and concern. The other Council members whispered among themselves, their expressions ranging from disgust to pity.

Father Finnegan simply looked sad. “Noah,” he said quietly.

“You must see how this appears to us. A promising young exorcist, one with questions, yes, but dedicated to his calling, suddenly abandons his duties and declares love for the very type of entity he was trained to combat. From our perspective, this can only be the result of manipulation and corruption.”

His reasonable tone was almost harder to face than Father Oxley’s outrage. I leaned forward, trying to make them understand.

“I know how it looks,” I acknowledged. “If our positions were reversed, I might think the same. But I ask you to consider another possibility—that our understanding of demons has been limited by fear and ancient prejudice. That perhaps, just as humans can choose between good and evil actions, so too can demons.”

“A convenient theology for one who has given himself to a demon,” Father Oxley muttered.

I ignored the jab, keeping my focus on Father Finnegan, the one person who might actually hear me. “You taught me to seek truth above all else,” I reminded him. “To question, to dig deeper, to not accept simple answers to complex questions. That’s all I’m doing now.”

Something flickered in his eyes—recognition, perhaps even a hint of pride, quickly suppressed. “And if this ‘truth’ you’re seeking leads you away from your calling? From the Church? From God Himself?”

It was the question I’d been asking myself for weeks. I considered my answer carefully.

“My calling was never to the Church as an institution,” I said slowly.

“It was to help people facing darkness they don’t understand.

To stand between the vulnerable and forces that might harm them.

” I straightened in my chair. “That calling hasn’t changed.

If anything, it’s grown stronger as my understanding has deepened. ”

Father Yarrow leaned forward. “And this demon—Lucien—supports this calling?”

The question surprised me with its lack of judgment. “He does,” I confirmed. “He’s helped me understand which cases involve actual malevolent entities and which are medical or psychological in nature. He’s made me a better exorcist, not a worse one.”

“A demon helping an exorcist,” Father Yarrow mused, his academic curiosity clearly engaged despite his reservations. “It’s unprecedented.”

“It’s heresy,” Father Oxley declared. “This Council cannot condone such a perversion of our sacred calling.”

Father Finnegan held up a hand, silencing further debate. “Noah, we need to discuss this matter privately. Please wait in the antechamber.”

I nodded, rising from my chair. As I walked toward the side door he indicated, Father Finnegan caught my eye.

“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “I believe you believe what you’re saying. Whether that belief is your own or planted by this entity… that’s what we must determine.”

It wasn’t the wholesale condemnation I’d feared, but neither was it acceptance. I nodded once more, then stepped into the small antechamber to await their decision.