Page 11 of Virgil's Demons

He patted my back and left me in New Orleans, to battle yet another demon. A seventeen-year-old kid who didn't even know where he stood. Most young seminarians left after seeing the chilling truth. This one, against my good judgment, decided to stay.

"I don't think this is a good idea, Father." The demon was playing on the boy's doubts.

Hellsing was young and hadn't built up walls yet. I made a note to teach him how to make those boundaries unbreakable.

"Stop calling me that. I'm no one's father, kid."

"You're the closest one I know, at this point."

He wasn't wrong. His father had gone up and left him when he was five and he grew up with an extremely religious single mother. His childhood was filled with crosses and empty promises, and now priesthood had seemed like a good idea. But as I grew to know Peter, I knew he had not one religious bone in his body. If anything, he was using this calling to escape.

Being a priest came with burdens and secrets, lies you told yourself to keep going, and self-punishments that drove you mad.

This kid was going to suffer, all because he wanted his mother to be proud. A true manipulative woman, Abigail Hellsing turned out to be. Shame would soon find her son when he realized this wasn't a life he could live. And I had a weird premonition that he'd be following in my footsteps in just a few years time, which made me mad and helpless, because I didn't know how to protect him.

But Hellsing had one thing going for him, he was a stubborn idiot, who didn't take no for an answer. And somehow the church had given me an apprentice. One they needed more than anything.

I did far more good outside the smock than in it. According to my religion, a few Hail Marys andOur Fatherswas enough to forgive a soul, including my own. If only I could forgive myself that easily.

"Hold the motherfucker down!" I yelled at Hellsing who now had the full weight of a knee fully pressed onto Mr. Robinson's chest. The man continued to flail and foam at the mouth as I flicked him with Holy Water.

Ancient trinkets and theories, but they worked nonetheless. Don't fix what ain't broken right.

"Come out and play you demonic shit!" I taunted it and Hellsing stared back at me.

"You think that's a good idea, Father?"

"I think you should keep your mouth shut," I flicked more holy water on both of them this time.

"Talk to me motherfucker, or are you just a coward who can't show his face."

The attempt wasn't to lure him out, I just wanted its damned name.

"Coward!" I yelled again, praying under my breath, and suddenly the room went very still. Hellsing looked down at the man who had stopped struggling and was now intent at staring at me.

I wasn't supposed to instigate these things. As an exorcist, I was supposed to subdue them. Unfortunately, I also had a short temper for bullshit, and demons were experts at playing that card.

The air around us grew thick, pressing down like a heavy weight. Mr. Robinson's eyes locked onto mine, unnervingly calm in contrast to his earlier thrashing. His pupils dilated, black spreading over the whites of his eyes, and I knew I had the bastard's attention now.

"Finally decided to show up, huh?" I sneered, tightening my grip on the crucifix. The metal was warm in my hand, humming with the prayers I'd muttered earlier. "Will you give me your name, or are we doing this the hard way?"

Hellsing grunted, struggling to keep Mr. Robinson pinned down as the man's body convulsed again. The sound that came from his mouth wasn't human—a guttural growl, low and wet, like something scraping from the pit of his stomach.

"We don't have all day," I said, flicking more holy water onto his forehead. The liquid sizzled on his skin, and a sharp hiss escaped his lips, but he still didn't break. Fine. If that's how it was going to be.

I pulled the rosary from my pocket, wrapping it around my hand as I pressed the crucifix against his chest, right over his heart. "By the power of Christ, I command you, demon, to leave this man and return to the shithole you crawled out of."

"That's not what the book says," Hellsing grunted, still struggling to hold the man down.

I shrugged. "Sometimes you improvise. I'm pretty sure they get the message."

The room pulsed, the temperature dropping by several degrees. I could see my breath in the cold air, feel the bite of frost at the edges of the room. It was the spirit's attempt to intimidate me, but I'd seen worse.

Mr. Robinson's head snapped to the side, his neck bending at an unnatural angle. His voice, deep and distorted, gurgled out, "You think your pitiful tricks scare me, priest?"

A grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. "You're out of luck, man. Cause I'm no priest and no, my pitiful tricks are just that, tricks. But I'm sure this will."

I tightened the rosary around my hand, drove the crucifix harder into his chest, and began reciting the rite. The words flowed from my lips, old and powerful, pulling from a place within me that I didn't fully understand but had learned to trust. The demon inside Robinson roared, thrashing with renewed violence. His veins bulged, turning black beneath his skin, and his body jerked against Hellsing's weight.

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