Her mom laughed and brushed a hand over each cheek. Then she grabbed Sammy from behind and pulled him to her in a tight embrace.

"Stop it, Mom. I'm not a baby."

"You'll always be my baby."

The doorbell saved Sammy from further embarrassment. He wiggled free of his mom's embrace and sprinted down the hall to answer the door. Bridget tripped after him, slow and a little awkward in her heels. She prayed she wouldn't fall on her ass in the middle of the St. Michael's gym and make herself the laughingstock of San Francisco high school lore for decades to come.

Matt stood in the entryway. She'd expected to find him in a boxy black suit with a foul-looking corsage in a Tupperware container. What she saw caught her off guard. Matt wore dark gray slacks and a matching five-button vest over a light gray shirt. It was a funky, retro look, topped off with a short-brimmed fedora in matching gray. No boxy jacket, and not a Tupperware container in sight.

"Hi," he said, removing his hat. "You look beautiful."

Bridget's eye went to the plum-colored tie around his neck that almost perfectly matched her dress. She was about to ask how he knew, but the answer hit her before the words escaped her mouth.

"Hector?"

Matt grinned.

"That traitor."

"I can be quite charming. When I need to."

They stood there on the landing and smiled at each other while her mom snapped random pictures behind them. Bridget tried to reconcile this funky version of Matt with the varsity jacket clad, overly protective, annoyingly perfect guy she knew.

"Come on, you two," her mom said, patience gone. "Stand together so I can get a good photo."

Bridget swallowed hard as Matt slid in next to her. He smelled really good, sort of musky and orange, and she couldn't help but close her eyes and take a deep whiff of it, letting the scent fill her nostrils. She wished she'd put perfume on. Or, um, had perfume to put on.

With her eyes still closed, Bridget felt Matt slip a tentative hand around her waist. Her eyes flew open, and Matt held his breath, waiting-she guessed-for a quick elbow in the ribs.

"Smile!" Bridget's mom said, and snapped off a half dozen photos.

After a second or two with no violent reaction, Matt's grip on her waist strengthened, and he pulled her into his body while her mom continued to snap away.

Bridget's heart raced, and she fought the urge to lean into him. What the hell was wrong with her?

"Ew," Sammy said, and wrinkled his nose.

"Go to your room, Sammy," her mom said. Instead he plopped down on the floor with a pencil and a folded piece of paper and started working on one of his puzzles.

"We should go," Matt said, heading for the door.

Panic set in. She was going to a dance, a lame-ass school dance. And other than Matt, she wasn't going to know anyone there.

"Bridget," he said when she hadn't moved an inch. "Are you ready?"

"Uh, yeah," Bridget pulled a sweater from the coat rack. Oh, dear God, I'm really going to do this? "I guess."

"Home by midnight," her mom said from the door as Bridget picked her way down the stairs in her ridiculous silver heels.

Bridget was just stepping into Matt's truck when Sammy came tearing down the stairs after her.

"I solved it, Bridge. I solved it."

Bridget was confused. "Solved what, Sammy?"

Sammy waved the piece of paper he'd been fiddling with upstairs. "Your puzzle. The one you left me in the bathroom."

Bridget plucked the paper from his outstretched hand. She immediately recognized Father Santos's handwriting and the nonsensical demonic phrases. "Oh, no."

"Sammy, get inside," their mom called from the doorway. "Now!"

Sammy did a little pirouette, he was so pleased with himself, then pranced up the stairs.

"Everything okay?" Matt asked as he put the truck in gear.

"Yeah, totally," Bridget lied. "Sorry about that."

"It's okay. I like that little dude." Matt smiled and backed out of the driveway. As they drove away, Bridget glanced down at the paper of anagrams still clasped in her hand. At the very bottom, in a deliberate all-caps scrawl, was Sammy's solution: DON'T TRUST THE PRIEST.

Twenty.

WHATEVER VAGUE HOPE BRIDGET HAD of concentrating on the St. Michael's Winter Formal disappeared in an instant. Don't trust the priest. Really? She went to a bloody Catholic school and was literally surrounded by priests every moment of every day. How in the hell was she supposed to know which one not to trust?

Rule Number Five: They lie. They lie. The demons at the doll shop were attempting to confuse her, fill her with questions and distrust. According to Monsignor Renault, that's what they did. You had to be strong. You had to ignore them.

"You okay?" Matt asked, glancing in her direction.

"Fine, yeah." Bridget shoved the scribbled bit of notepaper into her clutch. Perfectly totally fine except for the fact that I don't want to be here and I hate my life. Oh, wait . . .

"You seem kind of quiet."

Bridget snorted. "How long have you known me?"

"All right, calm down." Matt slowed for a light and flashed his winning, all-American smile. "That temper of yours is something else. I don't know whether I want to high-five you or slip you a Xanax."

Bridget pursed her lips. "Thanks."

"I just thought you might be nervous. About the dance."

What was she, twelve? Bridget was about to set him straight when she realized that it was probably safer for Matt to think she was nervous about the stupid dance rather than it was to explain what was really going on.

"Er, yeah. Yeah, I guess I am," she said.

"I'm sorry," Matt said quickly. "I know I kind of conned you into coming. I just thought you might-"

A loud buzz came from Bridget's bag. She pulled out her cell phone and saw she had a text. From Peter Kim.

Are you really going to Winter Formal?

"Anything important?" Matt asked.

"Nope." Just this stalker I seem to have picked up.

Another buzz.

You are, aren't you? Going with Matt Quinn?

"I just thought you might enjoy the dance. Have a little fun. Smile."

It was equal parts sweet and pathetic. "I smile, thank you very much."

"Yeah." Matt glanced in her direction. "But you should do it more. It's cute."

Did Matt Quinn just call her cute?

Buzz.

How could you, Bridge? How could you?

Peter was starting to creep her out. Bridget needed something to distract her.

"You won't get in trouble with your coach?" she said, hoping this would be a topic Matt could prattle on about. "Staying out so late?"

Matt's shoulders relaxed. "No. Practice isn't till noon tomorrow, and it's optional."

Buzz.

He's no good for you.

Buzz.

AND his dad practically killed your dad.

Buzz.

ANSWER ME, BRIDGET!.

Bridget shoved her phone into her bag. What the hell was wrong with everyone tonight?

"How long have you played baseball?" she asked mechanically.

"Since I moved in with my mom," Matt said. His voice sounded enthusiastic. Finally, something he wanted to talk about that wasn't the dance or her dad.

"Oh, yeah?"

"She needed something to keep me busy. Little League, pitching coaches, then Riordan."

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

"I've been scouted," he continued. "Couple of colleges plus the big leagues. Could be really good for me."

"That's awesome."

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Matt shrugged. "Maybe. If I stay healthy. I could blow out my arm tomorrow and it would all go away. You never know."

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

"I guess not."

Matt pulled into the parking lot at St. Michael's. Couples in sparkly dresses and ill-fitting suits trekked to the gym, and Bridget was suddenly horrified. She was at a school dance, something she'd sworn she'd never do. It was a sign of the Apocalypse.

Matt cut the engine, then laid a hand on Bridget's arm as she started to open her door. "Wait."

He slipped out of the driver's side and walked around to open her door. The perfect gentleman. As he made his way around, Bridget flipped open her phone to read the messages she'd ignored. All from Peter.

Why would you do this?

This is all your fault.

Bridge, just give me a chance.

I'd make you happier than he could.

I'll die without you.

Maybe you didn't go after all? Bridge?

Perfect. She'd managed to turn Peter Kim into a complete psychopath. The night just got better and better.

Matt pulled the door open and offered her his hand. "Ready?"

Bridget took an apprehensive glance at the couples lined up outside the gym, and part of her wanted to run screaming home, crawl under the covers, and hide.

She caught Matt's eye and he smiled. "You'll have fun. I promise."

Her phone buzzed, but this time she didn't even look at the text. She hit the mute button, shoved it in her purse, and took Matt's outstretched hand. "Okay, but if I don't, I'm going to kick your ass."

Bridget trotted beside Matt, who strode confidently across the parking lot, holding her hand firmly in his. His confidence was almost annoying, considering this wasn't even his school, but at the same time she felt a sense of protection in it. At the very least no one would hassle her as long as she was with Matt Quinn.