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We haul ass back to Belmouth, the Mustang speeding down winding roads as the sun has begun to stretch to the horizon, painting the sky in golds and oranges—yet through the kaleidoscope of color, I cannot get the black figure out of my mind.

A true demon. Not an imp. And this is the third time I’ve seen him. Based on his horns alone, I’d say he’s of the upper echelon. Maybe even a—

No. I don’t let myself think about it. The idea of it is enough to end entire nations.

The convent , I tell myself. Focus on the convent. It’s the first real lead I’ve had since my songbird.

June hasn’t stopped shaking since we got back in the car, her knees once again red and raw from the mad dash we made back through the tunnel, the woods. Her fingers are clutched around my mask, taken off and discarded the moment we got to the car. But now she uses it as a crux, holding it for dear life. I place my hand on her thigh, squeezing to bring her back to me. She jolts and turns to me.

“You okay?”

She swallows, once again locking her eyes on the road before us. “Just . . . processing.”

After I park the car in the St. Mary’s parking lot, I send a text to Rowan.

Me: Find everything you can on that burned down convent and call me as soon as you find anything.

Immediately, he responds.

Rowan: On it. Call you tomorrow. Don’t do anything stupid.

I roll my eyes. My definition of stupid is very different from Rowan’s, and I fully believe every decision I’ve ever made would be deemed stupid in his eyes.

“Can . . .” June mumbles as I shove my phone back in my pocket. I turn to her, resting my arm on the back of the bench seat and the other on the wheel. “Can we sit in the sanctuary for a bit?”

I smile. “Of course.”

June heads inside the main door as I take all the shopping bags back to the cathedral’s apartment. As soon as I open the back door to enter, the small black fuzz ball dashes past my leg, escaping into the night. I know he’ll be back in a few hours, scratching at the wood and meowing. It’s what he’s done for three days now.

Putting the bags in the bedroom, I sigh, scratching out my hair. Another long fucking day here, and somehow even more confused.

I zip my hoodie up, and leave the apartment, walking through the hall to meet up with June, when Father Callum exits one of the doors in the hall. He turns to me, a smile lighting his lips.

“Ah, Father Marcelo. We missed you this morning.” The man stops, steepling his hands in front of him as the door to another small office is ajar behind him, revealing books and tomes typical in a cathedral.

“I had a few errands to run.”

He raises a hand. “All good.”

“Actually, Father, I wanted to speak with you.”

Callum raises his brows, then motions for me to follow him into the office he was just in. Instead of sitting at the desk, he sits at a small side table, pulling out a chair for himself and indicating for me to sit across from him.

“I’ve actually wanted to speak to you as well, Father Marcelo. I wanted an update on the search, if you’ve seen anything. I feel so sorry I haven’t had much time to help you or give you the full rundown.”

Sitting, I say, “It’s actually what I wanted to discuss as well.” I’m skeptical of Callum. A cult in his town—a cult he either didn’t tell me about by choice, or doesn’t know about. And considering this priest has been living here for at least twenty years, according to June, then only one of these options seems plausible.

“In honesty, Father, I don’t know what’s going on. Members of the parish are . . . different. This was a peaceful town with kind people. Now, I look at their faces and everyone is . . . warped.”

“How so?” I lean back in the chair. Men love to speak. They love to tell . So, I’ll let Callum speak, I’ll let him tell me what he knows—what he thinks he knows.

“Take the Foresters. I know you’ve become close with Junia—” he pauses, his eyebrows kneading together in the center as his eyes reach mine. “She hasn’t come in a few days. Do you know if she’s all right?”

I nod. “She is.”

He sighs, “Good. Her mother is a prime example of what I mean. She’s an . . . interesting woman. An interesting Catholic, if I’m being honest. She’s been coming to the church for years, and her choice of partners has always been questionable. She’s been through divorce, which the church does acknowledge, but Daren, her fiancé—I don’t like the way he looks at her. I don’t like the way he looks at June.”

Callum watches my face. “You’ve noticed, no?” he asks.

“I have.”

“Well—” he sighs again. “I have refrained from telling you. Maybe I’m not a great Catholic either. I am letting my pride get to me. I do not want the church to revoke my priesthood, and possibly more threatening, I do not want the church to think less of me.” He places his hands on the table, fiddling them back and forth. “But I have noticed the brewings of something strange in this town. And in that time, the demons have come.”

Feigning ignorance, I tilt my chin and raise an eyebrow. “What have you noticed, Father?”

“I believe there might be . . . rituals or something . A group—a group that came together to summon that demon.”

“A cult?”

He licks his lips and shrugs. “I don’t know what to call it, but perhaps. Last night, I was . . . out late.” He groans and blesses the lord before biting his lip. “I have more vices than just pride, Father. I also seem to worship false idols . . .”

Once again, I wait to let him explain.

“I like the bottle a little too much. At first it began with a . . . need to be close to God. I felt closer once I drank the blood of Christ. But wine is not my only poison now. Anyway, last night, I went to the store to buy more, and as I was walking back I saw a number of cars—Daren’s included. I think Daren is a part of it.” I find myself believing him. Not only is he telling me things that could get his priesthood revoked, but he also smells of stale alcohol, and his flesh has a strange sag to it that only comes with excessive alcohol use. Father Callum is just a sad man, married to the church, but trying his damned best in this fucked up world. He licks his lips again, and I can’t help but wonder if Callum is wishing he currently had another bottle with him. “And, worse,” he coughs, “I believe he is trying to use June for it.”

Now I am surprised. “How?”

Callum leans forward. “The demon has been apparent since Daren began living with the Foresters. In that time, Junia has become even more subdued. She comes to Mass limping more often than not. I’ve caught glimpses of scars on her legs. She retreats to her organ more and more often, and she is more timid—more jumpy—than ever before. As a child, Junia was so bright, so joyous, singing louder than all the other children in the choir.”

I imagine my little songbird, and I know that child is still within her—just hidden away, forced to retreat and hide behind an iron gate.

“Well,” I say. “She’s safe now.”

Callum looks up at me. “She’s with you?”

“Yes.”

Callum clenches his jaw, and I immediately feel my body tense, as he clears his throat and raises a brow. “Well, Father Marcelo, last night, I also saw your car.”

I can’t help but burst with a laugh. “You did indeed. I followed Daren.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Like you, Father, I am not a perfect Catholic. That man hurt June. I had half a mind to hurt him. That’s when I saw all the cars from your church. That’s when I followed them and saw them congregate. That’s when I saw the demons protecting their hideout in the woods.”

I keep the convent a secret. Whether he’s involved or not, he doesn’t need to know I’m aware of it yet.

Callum sighs in relief, his shoulders slumping. “I guess I should’ve known better.”

“What else can you tell me about that . . . congregation.”

“That’s all I know, really. I can give you the names of the men I saw yesterday.”

“That’ll be a good start.”

After Callum scurries around the room to grab paper and jot down the names, he sits and again goes over everything he knows. Which isn’t much. He’s seen shadows, and he thinks there is a group of men at the church that are meeting up.

I stand, thinking of June waiting all alone in the sanctuary, desperate to be by her side again, to sooth her worries.

As I start to walk to the door, excusing myself, Callum calls behind me. “Also, do you think you will be able to assist me in confessionals tomorrow before Mass? I had a few special requests for it today, but with the after-Mass festivities, I just couldn’t get to it.” He smiles. “Maybe it’ll even give you some insight into the parish. Maybe someone knows something I don’t.”

I’m still not totally convinced he’s innocent, but I can’t pin what Callum’s goal of being part of a cult would even be. He’s already a man in a high place, he confessed to sins he could’ve kept to the grave, and he seems to be genuinely concerned for his parish.

“Of course, Father.”