Page 183

Lakelyn covered her mouth, trying not to laugh, her shoulders shaking slightly.

Marcellus’s mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smile. “It was an honest one. I’m not going to label every unexplained sound or strange occurrence a haunting simply because I can’t immediately explain it. What I can tell you is that I felt nothing in this house that made me believe you or your family should be afraid.”

That was enough for Lakelyn… at least for now.

She thanked him several times, her voice grateful, and walked him to the front door. Her hand rested briefly on his arm, a gesture of genuine appreciation.

I followed him outside.

He probably already knew I would.

Once we reached his car and the front door closed behind us, cutting off the view from inside, Marcellus turned around.

His whole demeanor changed.

The mask dropped.

There was no more carefully controlled priest voice or him pretending he wasn’t talking to somebody.

Marcellus stared directly at me, his expression exhausted. “You nearly made me embarrass myself in there!”

“You handled it well.”

“You knocked over holy water.”

“You caught it.”

“That is not the point.”

“Everybody keep telling me that lately.”

His lips twitched despite himself, a reluctant smile trying to break through.

Then I stepped closer, my expression hardening. “But now that we alone, we need to talk.”

The small trace of humor disappeared.

His face went serious, guarded.

“You are to never tell anybody what you witnessed today… that being me.”

His expression sobered completely. “I have no intention of doing that.”

I watched him carefully, studying his face for any sign of deception. “You don’t tell your wife, your church, another priest, nobody.”

“I understand.”

“And if you decide you suddenly need somebody to pray over your experience or whatever the fuck y’all do, remember something.” I paused, letting the weight of my next words settle. “I know the real you.”

His throat moved… a hard swallow.

I didn’t have to explain much.

I had been the plug long enough to know more about Hallowridge than most people realized. I knew who used, who owed me, who spent weekends in hotel rooms with women they paid, then went home afterward and pretended none of it happened.

Marcellus Maxwell had lived a whole life before Father Maxwell existed.

I knew enough of it… actually, more than enough.