Page 69 of What Happens at Nightfall

Jess sat back on her haunches, regarding Adam over Ingrid’s prone body. Jess’s hair stuck out of her ponytail in sweaty wisps. Her blouse was streaked with sap and ash, giving the flowers on it a grubby, desperate look, blooming against all odds.

Something had thrown an urn at her.

Something had made frogs come out of Ingrid’s mouth.

Adam could try to rationalize it all he liked—sleight of hand, sleight of frog—but there came a point where even the most determined rationalist had had enough.

“We have demons,” Adam said. “We actually have demons.”

“A demon. Singular. I hope.” Jess looked at him in horror. “Are they like mice? Do you get infestations?”

Adam held up his hands. “Ask me about spongy moth caterpillars. Ask me about fire blight. Those, I know something about. But this— Do we need to call someone? Like an exorcist?”

“Yeah, because that always goes so well in the movies.” Jess scrutinized Ingrid’s slack features. “She seems uninhabited. For now.”

Uninhabited. The word made Adam’s skin feel itchy. “That thing he said—about sliding beneath our skin and turning our thoughts against us. I’ve been having thoughts that aren’t my own—and they haven’t been good ones. Well, mostly.”

Except that dream about Jess in the witch’s hat. That had been a very good one.

Hastily, Adam went on, “I think he’s been hanging out in my head. Or next to my head. Every time I’d go to call you, I’d start hearing this buzzing . . .”

“You were going to call me?” Jess’s head jerked up.

“I was, but—” Adam wasn’t sure which hurt worse, the hope or the skepticism.

Jess gave her head a quick shake, barriers firmly back in place. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But it does.” The air around them still reeked of fried frog. Adam’s shirt clung damply to his chest. But for the first time in days, he felt like his head was clear. Mostly. “I wanted to call you—I meant to call you! But . . .”

“But?”

Ingrid made a phlegmy coughing sound, thrashing on the ground.

Jess dove over her, supporting her head so she wouldn’t hurt herself. Adam belatedly scurried to help, putting an arm behind her back to help her sit up.

“Ugh, my mouth tastes like ass.”

“Toads,” Jess corrected. Her voice gave no indication at all of what she was thinking. It was carefully neutral. “It tastes like toads.”

“You vomited toads,” Adam explained helpfully. “Or possibly frogs.”

Ben had gone through a big Wild Kratts phase. Adam wasn’t entirely sure what the difference was between toads and frogs but he remembered there was one.

Ingrid’s face turned an alarming shade of green. “I—toads? Frogs?”

Jess shoved Adam. “A bucket! Get a bucket! Or a bag! Or anything!”

There was a large mixing bowl on the kitchen island with the dregs of some herb in the bottom. Adam grabbed it in the nick of time.

“Frogs. Came out. Of my mouth. I had frogs. In. My mouth.” Ingrid sat back hard. “There was a demon. In me.”

“I’ll go get you a glass of water,” said Adam, springing to his feet.

There were only a few cupboards in the tiny kitchen area. It wasn’t hard to find a glass. Ingrid had only four. The fridge was the old-fashioned kind, with no water spigot in front. Adam found an elderly Brita in the fridge.

He returned to find Jess rubbing Ingrid’s back and making soothing noises.

“I had wards! I mean, I think they were wards. I copied them from a book. Oh, thanks.” Ingrid grabbed the glass from Adam and drank thirstily. “I never imagined— I didn’t think— He wasn’t supposed to possess me! I’m a historian!”