Bridget narrowed her eyes. Girlie? Really?

"Can she talk to him?" Matt asked quickly.

"Yep, and he can hear you. But this is as close as you get."

"Fine," Bridget said, turning a cold eye on the nurse. "A little privacy, please?"

The nurse looked disappointed. Clearly he'd wanted a firsthand account of their conversation. Too bad, so sad. He lumbered from the room, though Bridget guessed he probably had his ear to the door outside. Whatever. Not like he'd understand a word of what he'd hear.

For a half second she thought about asking Matt to leave as well. The conversation she was about to have would probably scare the hell out of him. Still, there was something comforting in having him there, and after what he'd seen last night, he might as well get the whole freaky picture.

Bridget closed her eyes and took a deep breath to center herself. She reached across her body and gripped the St. Benedict medal tightly in her hand. She needed her dad with her.

It's now or never, Bridget. She focused her mind on the man on the other side of the glass, just as Monsignor Renault had taught her. She went over the Rules one by one in her mind, reassuring herself that she was the one with the power here, with the means to banish. Vade retro satana.

When she opened her eyes, she was all business.

"Milton Undermeyer," she said. Her voice sounded big and boomy, and she saw Matt start. "Milton Undermeyer, I was sent by Penemuel to speak to you. I know you are the messenger and I demand you give your message to me."

Twenty-Five.

AT PENEMUEL'S NAME, UNDERMEYER PUSHED his feet against the ground, launching his chair back several inches. The guards had their hands on him almost immediately, dragging him back to his chair.

"Liar!" he screamed. His voice flooded the room through a loudspeaker. "Who are you? It's a girl. Don't trust her. Why not? She lies!"

Several voices were all speaking through him at once, but Bridget noticed immediately that the room in which she stood felt pretty normal. No dizziness, no vertigo. The demons inside Milton Undermeyer were more like Penemuel and the entity who had given her the warning through Mrs. Long. She was beginning to learn the difference. Interesting.

"I know what you are," she said. "I need you to tell me what you know."

Undermeyer became more agitated. He tried to wiggle away from the guards' grasp, and his feet stomped against the floor erratically. "Maybe we listen? Shut up, you. She isn't the one we were sent for. We cannot trust her."

The one they were sent for. Bridget swallowed hard. That had to be her dad. "You came with a message for David Liu."

Undermeyer froze. His eyes grew wide, not with recognition but with fear.

"Penemuel told me you had a message for David Liu."

"How does she know of this?" Undermeyer hissed.

"David Liu was my father."

"Maybe, maybe, maybe," he chanted, bouncing slightly in his chair. "Maybe, maybe not."

"I am," she said, taking a step closer to the glass. "And I need to know what you were sent to tell him."

Undermeyer threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, frantic sound that came from both the speaker and up from the very floor at the same time.

"Bridget," Matt said. His voice shook. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"You have no power over us." Undermeyer laughed. "The Emim have no power here."

The Emim? Father Santos had mentioned them: the Nephilim who remained loyal to the kings of Hell.

"I am not the Emim," she said, trying to sound like she knew what she was talking about.

This time, Undermeyer's laugh dissolved into a giggle. "She wouldn't say she is, would she? Do they think we are fools? Not fools! We will not be fooled."

She needed to convince the demons inside Undermeyer that she was on their side. "Penemuel was here," she said, grasping at straws.

Undermeyer stopped giggling and muttered unintelligibly under his breath.

"He told me to find you, that you'd been sent to my father with a message."

"Penemuel?" he said. "Penemuel follow us? Penemuel with us?"

"Yes," she said. This seemed to be working.

"Then . . ." Undermeyer launched to his feet. "THEN SHOW PENEMUEL TO US!"

"I-I can't. He's gone."

"Gone," Undermeyer mocked as the guards slapped him back into his chair. "Gone, gone, gone."

What had Penemuel said right at the end? "His penance was done," Bridget said, quoting the demon's words. "He was released."

There was a moment of agonizing silence while Undermeyer's eyes darted around the room. His lips didn't move, but she could hear the voices in his head as clearly as if they were speaking through him still. "Released? Penemuel released? Can we trust? Do we dare? We cannot be released until we deliver the message. We cannot. We cannot."

Released. Penemuel had sounded joyous when he said that word. Maybe these demons were the same?

"I can release you," she lied. Was it like banishing? She had no clue, but it seemed to be working. "I released Penemuel after he told me to find you. I know how."

Undermeyer's face went slack with longing, like a man dying of thirst when he catches a glimpse of an oasis. "You?"

"Yes."

The voices started again, babbling rapidly in the same language Bridget couldn't understand, arguing among themselves, trying to come to a decision.

"Please," she said.

"Bridget, who are you talking to?" Matt asked. He was freaked out, only hearing one side of this conversation.

But she couldn't stop to explain. She was so close.

"Yes," the voices said in unison. "Yes."

Undermeyer closed his eyes; his body stilled. Then the voices filled the room again.

"We did not kill David Liu, David Liu of the Nephilim, David Liu, the Watcher."

Somehow she knew this was coming. "If you didn't, then who did?"

"Emim. Emim. An agent of the Emim." The voice broke into gibberish, harsh and biting. Then the voices stilled. "We have a message."

A message. That was their purpose, their penance, their price for release from the legions of Hell. But she wasn't going to let them off that easy. There was something she needed to know first.

"If Undermeyer didn't kill my dad, then who did?"

"Bridget!" Matt grabbed her arm. "What the hell are you talking about?"

She shook him off, focusing on the demon voices. It was just more gibberish, heated and loud.

"I promise I can release you," she said. "Only I need to know this first."

"Find the tapes," a voice said.

"Tapes?" Her dad kept tape recordings of all his sessions, but according to the police they were all accounted for in evidence. "We have the tapes."

"More," said a voice.

"Hidden," said another.

"Don't tell her!" a third hissed.

"The truth," said the first. "The Watcher demands it."

More. Hidden. "There are missing tapes from Undermeyer's sessions?" Bridget asked.

But the demons' patience had run out. They had a message to deliver, and they were done being distracted from it by Bridget's question.

"We have a message for David Liu of the Nephilim, David Liu the Watcher," they said, back to their script. "The Emim are rising, called forth from their exile by the King of the West, the wielder of the silver ring, the prince of Hell. Amaymon calls his servants to arms!"

Undermeyer shivered in his chair and slumped forward. The interview was draining him.

"Hurry!" a voice said before launching into unison again. "The priest is their minion, he serves the Emim. You must stop the conjuring. If Amaymon takes form in this world, all will be lost."

"Why are you telling me this?" Bridget said. Even if they felt different to her, these were demons, after all. Why would they warn her about one of their own?

"To warn David Liu, to warn David Liu, to warn a Watcher of the threat."

"Bridget . . ." Matt's hand was on her shoulder. "What is-"

"It is our penance. Amaymon wishes power, to control the other kings of Hell. Must not let him. Must not let him. Must not let him. Must not let him."

"Okay!" Bridget yelled to cut off the chant. "How?"

"Stop the priest. The Emim cannot summon Amaymon without him. They need the priest. The priest wields the sword."

"The priest is working for the Emim?"

"Yes."

The priest? Yeah, that narrowed it down. "Which priest?"

But that was it. The demons had reached the end of their message.

"We tell David Liu, we tell the Watcher. Our penance is done."

"Release us!" Undermeyer screamed. He launched himself out of the chair. "We are done. Release us!"

"Um, okay," Bridget said. What was she supposed to do now? "I release you?"

The guards were on him in a second. The first grabbed him in a choke hold from behind, while the second removed a syringe from his pocket and approached Undermeyer from the front. But demoniacs weren't subdued that easily, a fact Bridget had witnessed firsthand.

Undermeyer leaned back, pulling both feet off the floor, and landed a ferocious kick to the chest of the approaching guard. Then he threw his body forward, rolling the other guard over his back. Dazed from the speed of the attack, the guard couldn't recover fast enough. Undermeyer kneed him in the jaw with a crack so loud Bridget could hear it through the staticky speakers.

Undermeyer threw himself against the double-paned window. "Release us! Release us!" Again and again, as if he was trying to puncture the glass with his skull. Gashes appeared on his head, blood poured down his face. "Release us! Release us!"

Bridget flattened her hand against the glass. She could feel their desperation, their longing to be released. But how? What did she need to do?

She remembered the doll possessed by Penemuel, its hand stuck through the glass trying to reach her. Reach her! That's what happened. She had touched the doll. That was the release.

"I need to get in there."

"What?" Matt grabbed her arm.

"Let me go!" Bridget shook him loose and yanked open the door. The nurse loitering outside didn't have time to react before she pulled open the door of Undermeyer's room.

"What the hell are you doing?" the nurse roared.

At the sound of the door opening, Undermeyer stopped throwing himself against the window. "Yes," he hissed.

He lurched toward her, but the guard who still lay on the ground nearby had regained consciousness. He lunged at Undermeyer's feet and tripped him.

"Please!" Undermeyer begged.

Bridget tried to reach him, but a dozen hands were on her at once.

"What the hell?" a guard yelled. He had an arm around her waist.

"Stop!" Bridget screamed. "Let me go!" She had to release the demons trapped inside Milton Undermeyer. That was their pact, the deal they had made to deliver the message to her father. She had to fulfill it.