Page 139 of Devil Inside

“Is that something that interests you? Demons?”

“Chalk it up to morbid curiosity...”

“I hadn’t pegged you for a demon worshipper.”

“Maybe I just haven’t found the right demon.”

Does he know that it’s us? Does he see me? He must. “Let’s see what we have.”

We guide him through the shelves. The store is small. Its cluttered aisles twine together. Stacks of paperbacks sprout along the floor, like mildewed pillars. We want to lure Jordan as deep into the store as we can. Take him where there is no light. Devour him here.

The designated section on possession is bare. SUPERNATURAL/SPIRITUALITY has been scribbled on a yellowed notecard. The books themselves are laughable. They offer nothing. Quackery. Charlatans. These are not the books Jordan should be reading. Then again, there are very few treatises that truly tap into the truth. The awe. He doesn’t need to read these books. Not when he was a fountain of information standing right before him.

He has us. Can’t he see that? We would give him everything, if he were just to ask.

“Any you’d recommend?”

We run our fingertip over the row of spines, feeling their covers crinkle against our skin. Their titles roil something within us.DEMONS AND YOU. DEMONOLOGY FOR A NEW DAWN. POSSESSION—YOU PLUS ONE.Nothing but trash. What an utter waste of words.

“None of these, unfortunately.”

“That bad, huh?”

“There’s one book we think might be best suited,” we say.

“Oh?” He brightens. A spark of curiosity. “What’s that?”

“You won’t find it here. None of these books are worth their salt.”

“You sound like a demonic aficionado.”

“Perhaps I am.” We lean in, saying in a hushed tone, “Would that surprise you?”

“Nothing surprises me these days.”

“I can try...”

“What do you recommend?” Is he asking about a book? Or a surprise? We can’t read Jordan anymore. He confuses us.

“Follow me,” we say.

We guide him to the poetry section. It is a risk, leading him here. This deep into the store, where there are no prying eyes. The world beyond these books no longer exists.

It’s just us now. Nobody but us. We could take him, here and now.

What is stopping us? Why do we resist our own temptation?

Our desire?

Our finger slips across the crumbling spines of brittle editions. Their faded titles, gilded in flaking gold, sing to us. We are searching for a particular tome. It’s bound to be here. Every bookstore has a forgotten copy, fading away. It’s just a matter of searching—

Here.This is the book we’re looking for. We pull it slowly off the shelf. It slides with the slightest scuff, releasing a phantasmal gasp of dust from the shelves.

We offer him the book. He takes it, considers it.“Paradise Lost.”

“Have you read it?”

“Can’t say I have.”