Morgan Kingsley likes being an independent stubborn social
misfit. She is well meaning to the innocent, but her
insensitive style of bonding leaves less to be desired. She
is a professional exorcist who expels demons from unwilling
human hosts that have illegally possessed them.
Morgan is good at her job and accepts an assignment in
Topeka where, in the performance of her job, the unthinkable
happens. A demon touches her flesh during an exorcism, but
instead of transferring and taking possession of Morgan as
is their typical behavior, it withdraws. Near as she
figures, thereʼs only one reason why a demon would reject a
host. Sheʼs already possessed.
How? It is not just the last thing she would allow, rather
sheʼd never, ever let herself be taken over like that: a
prisoner and spectator to a life she no longer lives but
that a demon controls. And thatʼs just it. She doesnʼt feel
any different except for a few sleepless nights. Because of
this new development, her sleep walking manifests into
another symptom. Her subconscious is writing her notes and
leaving them where sheʼll find them. Now if that doesnʼt
just creep her out!
Sheʼs got to find out if it is true (like duh!), how it
happened, why itʼs not your typical possession, and get rid
of the demon. An exorcism is required. She isnʼt blind to
the side effects. They can vary from a mild headache, to
fried brain, to death. Not pleasant. No matter what, this is
an illegal inhabitant and the decision will be taken out of
her hands if the wrong people find out.
Thereʼs only one person she can talk to, the one person
sheʼll trust that sheʼll come out of this in one piece. Her
best friend from high school and a fellow exorcist: Valerie
March. Except it doesnʼt go as well as expected and instead
of coming to her rescue as her friend, well, to say the
least her reaction makes it into the top ten disasters of
Morganʼs life.
The beings who implanted her demon have other ideas. The
demon and host must die in a fire. Now sheʼs being accused
of murder, but before she can be properly sent to trial, her
house is set on fire. From there her troubles become a tidal
wave of biblical misfortune.
In Jenna Black's, THE DEVIL INSIDE, Morgan Kingsleyʼs goal
is to get rid of the demon thatʼs invaded her body and
return to a resemblance of a normal life. Although the
requisite sex scenes are here (yahoo!), enough for every
taste and persuasion that sometimes made me uncomfortable,
Black writes with a sensitivity that a woman has to respect.
I am disappointed, though. I wanted Morgan to have a happily
ever after. It wonʼt be in this book. Maybe in the sequel.
Read the book to see why Iʼm rooting that Brian will win the
day and Morgan will have her happy ending. And wait until
you find out who the demon is!
Exorcism isn’t a job, it’s a calling—and a
curse. Just ask Morgan Kingsley, a woman who has a stronger
aura than any Demon. Or so she thought. Now, in a pair of
black leather pants and a kick-ass tattoo, Morgan is heading
back to Philadelphia after a nasty little exorcism—and her
life is about to be turned upside down…by the Demon that’s
gotten inside her.
Not just any Demon. Six foot five
inches of dark, delicious temptation, this one is to die
for—that is, if he doesn’t get Morgan killed first. Because
while some humans vilify Demons and others idolize them,
Morgan’s Demon is leading a war of succession no human has
ever imagined. For a woman trying to live a life, and hold
on to the almost-perfect man, being possessed by a gorgeous
rebel Demon will mean a wild ride of uninhibited thrills,
shocking surprises, and pure, unadulterated terror. . . .
Excerpt
Chapter One
Topeka, Kansas. Demon capital of the world. Not!
Demons, the illegal ones at least, tend to like the biggest
cities. More anonymity. More prey. But every once in a
while, one would pop up in the most unlikely place. Like
Topeka.
I flew into Kansas City, Missouri, then had to rent a car
for the ninety-minute drive to Topeka. I live in the
suburbs, but I’m a city girl at heart. Driving ninety
minutes on toll roads out in the middle of nowhere is my
idea of hell. But wait, it gets worse--no one bothered to
tell Kansas it was spring, so it was snowing.
I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve driven in
the snow. If I hadn’t known they might burn an eleven-year-
old girl to death if I didn’t show up, I’d have ridden out
the storm in Kansas City.
The speed limit was seventy, but I drove about thirty-five,
squinting out the windshield, hoping there weren’t any cows
grazing on the interstate under cover of the blizzard.
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a blizzard by mid-west standards,
but it’s all a matter of perspective.
Kansas is one of ten states--including my home state,
Pennsylvania--that allow the execution of humans hosting
illegal demons. I called from the airport to let them know
I’d be late. I almost choked when I noticed the area code
for Topeka was 666. Gotta love the irony. Luckily, they
weren’t anxious to put a cute little girl to flame, despite
the fact that she was allegedly possessed by a demon who’d
murdered at least three people, so they agreed to wait for
me.
The demon containment center-cum-execution chamber was in
the basement of the courthouse and had more guards than
most maximum security prisons. Why the idiots used legions
of armed guards was beyond me. What were they going to do,
shoot the host to death if a demon escaped? Yeah, that
might solve the immediate problem and leave the demon
without a body to inhabit, but if it found another host,
you can bet revenge would be high on its to-do list. The
only way to kill a demon is to exorcize it or burn its host
alive. Lovely, huh?
I’d read little Lisa Walker’s case on the plane. She and
her parents had been visiting New York. They’d gone to a
Broadway show, and when they were leaving, Lisa got knocked
down by some thug who was running from the cops. Probably
they thought it was exciting, because hey, things like that
just don’t happen in Topeka.
It wasn’t until they’d gotten home that they’d noticed
anything wrong. She didn’t do a Linda Blair and spit pea
soup, but she definitely wasn’t herself. It was the little
things that gave it away--a suddenly more sophisticated
vocabulary, a hint of attitude, the occasional expression
in her eyes that was too old for her age. They’d called in
a priest, and he’d immediately declared her possessed.
Me, I’d have been skeptical. Demons usually prefer strong,
adult bodies to inhabit, not delicate eleven-year-old
girls. And no matter what they claim, priests aren’t
qualified to declare a person possessed. Yes, some of them
are sensitives, and can see auras, but it’s not a job
requirement like it is for an exorcist.
So if I didn’t think the kid was possessed, why had I flown
all the way out here to bum-fuck Kansas to perform an
exorcism? Because the court had ordered it, and the parents
had approved it--and if the kid really was possessed,
they’d barbecue her if an exorcist couldn’t cast the demon
out. The parents had demanded the best, and they could
afford me, so here I was, freezing my tailfeathers off in
Corn City USA.
I had to clear two checkpoints before I even got close to
the containment center. I’m sure I’d have made it through
faster if I’d dressed the part, but if I’d wanted to wear
suits, I’d have gone to business school. My uniform was a
pair of tight low-rise jeans with a clingy sweater and a
pair of kick-ass pointy-toed boots.
The director of the Topeka Containment Unit was one Frank
Jenkins. He was a short, pudgy guy who looked harmless at
first glance. He came out from behind a steel-barred door,
smiling until he got a good look at me. Then, the smile
faded from the outside in until it morphed into a frown of
disapproval. The frown didn’t look anywhere near as
harmless.
I put on my best hail-fellow-well-met smile and held out my
hand. “Morgan Kingsley,” I said, sounding almost
perky. “You must be Mr. Jenkins.”
He shook my hand and nodded, but he didn’t look happy about
it.
“I suppose you came straight to the courthouse without
stopping by your hotel,” Jenkins said, the frown still
firmly in place.
That was true, though I wouldn’t have changed clothes even
if I had checked in. “I thought it would be best for
everyone involved if we got this over with,” I said. Which
was also true. I couldn’t imagine what the parents must be
going through. Not to mention Lisa, trapped inside a body
she could no longer control, a helpless passenger while the
demon rampaged.
The theory was that the thug in New York had been hosting
an illegal demon who was on the run, wanted for three
murders. When he bumped into Lisa, the demon thought it had
found the perfect escape. Just hitchhike out of New York in
an adorable little girl’s body and hope to find a more
suitable host later. The police had caught the fleeing thug
eventually, only to find his brain fried.
“Well, let’s get to it,” Jenkins said, still frowning at
me. At five foot nine, I was about three inches taller than
him. I got the feeling he didn’t like that much. Actually,
I got the feeling he didn’t like much of anything about me.
Maybe I was a little too big-city for him.
Without another word, he led me through the steel doors
into the heart of the containment center.
Why, you might ask, would a small-time burg like Topeka,
which hadn’t had more than one or two illegal demons in the
last five years, need its own containment center? Because
Kansas didn’t take well to demons, legal or otherwise.
Enough of their citizens believed in the Biblical view of
demons as minions of Satan to keep execution legal, and
they wanted to be prepared in the event they had a chance
to rid the world of one more evil.
What did this mean to me? It meant that while the personnel
had all been trained for the job, they had little or no
practical experience. And I saw evidence of that every step
of the way as we made our way to the execution chamber.
“Mr. Jenkins,” I said when we stopped outside the chamber
for him to key in the passcode, “why are your people not
wearing gloves when you have a known illegal demon in
custody?” An incorporeal demon needs an invitation to
possess a human body, but one that already has a host can
transfer from one to another through skin-to-skin contact.
No one within a hundred yards of an illegal demon should be
showing more skin than absolutely necessary.
Jenkins glared at me, liking me even less. “I can assure
you, Ms. Kingsley, the demon is contained.”
I bit my tongue to stop myself from reminding him of
several incidents of “contained” demons escaping and
wreaking havoc. He didn’t strike me as being open to
constructive criticism.
The door mechanism made a few clicking and ratcheting
sounds, then Jenkins swung it open. It gave a sigh when it
opened, as if the room behind it had been vacuum sealed,
I’d thought the containment center staff not wearing gloves
was unprofessional. Brother, I hadn’t known what
unprofessional was until I stepped into that room.
Lisa Walker was strapped onto a sliding steel table. At one
end of the table were a pair of heavy metal doors that led
into the oven. She was positioned so that her feet faced
the doors. So that she could stare with her wide little-
girl eyes at the oven that would burn her alive if I failed
to exorcize the demon.
Tears had matted her eyelashes and the fine yellow hair
that framed her face. Her whole body was shaking with
terror, and pity stabbed through me so hard I had to fight
not to put a hand to my chest. I reminded myself that I
could very well be looking at a demon giving an Oscar-
worthy performance, but the pity didn’t go away.
If the child wasn’t possessed, she might never recover from
this trauma. If she was possessed, then this was a new low
for demon-kind.
But Lisa Walker’s pitiful little frame wasn’t what
horrified me the most. No, what horrified me most was that
her parents sat huddled together on a bench at the other
end of the room. Mrs. Walker’s eyes were swollen with
tears, and Mr. Walker’s face was pale and tense.
I whirled on Jenkins. “You’re letting the parents watch?
Are you nuts?”
Exorcisms are never a pretty sight. There’s usually a lot
of screaming and cursing. From the demon, not from me. And
about seventy-five to eighty percent of demon hosts end up
dead or catatonic when the demon is cast out. So far, no
one has come up with a reliable method of predicting which
hosts would survive intact.
“She’s their daughter,” Jenkins said, drawing himself up to
his full, not very impressive height. “If you fail, they’ll
have to sign the consent form.”
I looked at Lisa Walker and a very unpleasant lump formed
in my throat. I hate demons with a passion. And I don’t
like the legal ones much better than the illegal ones. But
even I wasn’t sure I could sign the order to burn an eleven-
year-old girl alive to destroy the demon. Especially not if
the girl was my daughter!
“You could have had them sign the consent beforehand,” I
muttered, disliking Jenkins now as much as he disliked me.
“They’d want to say goodbye.”
I glanced over at the parents, who hadn’t said word one to
me. They couldn’t even bear to look at me. Can’t say I
blamed them. I wished I’d worn a conservative business suit
after all. I don’t think my jeans and sweater gave them
great confidence in my competence.
But the worst thing I could do now was make them wait and
worry any longer, so I settled my shoulder bag on the floor
and slipped out of my full-length leather coat. I glanced
around for somewhere to put it, but there wasn’t anywhere,
and Jenkins didn’t offer to take it for me. He was being
juvenile, but then, I’d insulted his facility more than
once. I’d probably have been juvenile in his shoes, too.
I laid my coat carefully on the floor, which was spotless
white tile anyway, then unzipped my bag. A muffled sob from
Mrs. Walker made my shoulders hunch. There were only three
times in my career when I’d faced a demon I couldn’t cast
out. But none of those three had been in execution states,
and none had been inhabiting adorable little girls. If I
failed, this was going to suck on so many levels . . .
The execution chamber was so spare and sterile there was
nowhere to put my candles except on the floor. I could have
asked Jenkins to get me a couple of tables, but it didn’t
matter where the candles were, and I was betting all of us
wanted to get on with it.
Every exorcist has a ritual he or she performs to get into
the trance state. Some are really elaborate, with chants
and special clothing and incense--the works. Mine is
disarmingly simple. I place vanilla scented candles all
around the room, then turn off all the lights. Then I stand
over the demon-possessed body with my hands about six
inches above it and just close my eyes.
Usually, I’m already starting to slip into the trance after
my first deep breath. Today, I was having a harder time.
Jenkins had taken to fidgeting with his ID badge. The noise
was slight, but annoying. And I could hear Mrs. Walker’s
persistent sniffles. I imagined the table sliding into the
oven with little Lisa Walker on it. I imagined hearing her
screams.
I took another deep, vanilla-scented breath and reminded
myself that, in these enlightened times, they’d anesthetize
her before sliding her into the oven--there would be no
screams. But that didn’t make the image any more bearable.
The pressure was like nothing I’d ever felt before, and
something akin to panic stirred.
Then, Lisa Walker spoke.
“What’s happening?” she asked in a quivering little-girl
voice. “Mommy?”
It broke what little concentration I had, and my eyes
popped open. I met the gaze of a pair of red-rimmed eyes of
cornflower blue. So innocent-looking. But her words and her
voice were so patently pathetic, so manipulative, that they
gave me pause. So I watched closely, and something stirred
behind those eyes. Something not so innocent. And I knew
that they were right, that there was a demon inside this
little girl. A demon who had no qualms about using the body
of a child like a disposable plastic cup. When it found a
more suitable host, it would slither out of her body, not
caring that it might leave her dead or brain-damaged.
I gave the demon a nasty smile. “Fatal error,” I told it in
a low whisper that I hoped to God the parents didn’t
hear. “You should have kept your mouth shut.”
The cupid’s bow mouth widened. I closed my eyes. And the
trance took me immediately, fueled by my anger. Distantly,
I was aware of that little-girl voice making pathetic
noises, pleading with me and with its mommy, but I was too
far gone to hear the words.
In my trance, I see with my otherworldly eyes. Everything
looks different. Simpler. I can’t see things. All I see are
the living, and I see them as patches of primary colors.
People show up as blue in my otherworldly vision. Jenkins
was a dark, solid blue, like a person at rest. If he felt
any strong emotions about this whole procedure, I couldn’t
sense it. The parents, on the other hand, were a mess,
their auras roiling with every shade of blue imaginable.
But on the table under my hands, the aura glowed blood red.
A demon aura, so overwhelming there was no sign of human
blue beneath it. The aura squirmed, and I realized that the
body was struggling against the restraints. The demon saw
its destruction coming and was making a last-ditch effort
to escape. I hoped they hadn’t gotten squeamish when they’d
secured the restraints. The supernatural strength of some
demons is enough to bend steel, but even an inexperienced
staff would know that.
I heard the distinctive sound of groaning metal. Alarm
trickled down my back. This thing was strong. And
desperate. Behind me, someone cried out. The yellow tint of
fear blended with the blue of their auras to make the
humans look almost green.
Just like everyone has their own ritual to get into the
trance, everyone has their own mental image they use as a
metaphor for casting out a demon. Mine is wind.
I imagined a gust of hurricane force wind hitting that red
aura. If it had been your average, run-of-the-mill demon,
that one blast would have been enough. But this fucker was
tough. The aura didn’t waver, and I heard an echo of
laughter ringing in my ears.
There were more cries of distress from the humans, and
again metal groaned as the demon struggled. My heart
pounded in my throat, and fear almost stole my
concentration.
None of the three demons I’d failed to exorcize had come
close to escaping, thankfully. I may be the scourge of
demon-kind, but I do not want to be trapped in a room with
a loose, angry demon in need of a new host.
The fear radiating from Jenkins and the Walkers pounded
against my concentration, worse than my own fear, because
there were three of them feeding each others’ panic. I
prayed Jenkins wouldn’t do anything really stupid, like
open the door to take himself out of harm’s way.
As soon as I thought it, though, it happened. My
concentration snapped completely, and I was out of the
trance in time to see Jenkins shove the Walkers out the
open door before he dove out himself.
At least he had the good sense to swing the door shut
behind him. I really didn’t want to see what would happen
if the demon got loose in the containment center halls with
all those inexperienced armed guards wandering around.
Of course, I really didn’t want to be trapped alone in a
room with a powerful, pissed-off demon either.
I looked at the table, and my heart stuttered at what I saw.
Steel restraints bolted to the table held Lisa’s thin arms
and legs down, and there was another steel restraint around
her waist. She’d pulled so hard on those restraints that
the table had buckled beneath them, though so far she
hadn’t managed to break free. Blood poured from her wrists
and ankles--the demon didn’t much care what happened to
this poor little body. It just wanted out. It pulled Lisa’s
lips back in a feral snarl. The metal groaned again.
Shit.
I drew in a deep, quavering breath and forced myself to
close my eyes. If I gave it enough time, this thing was
going to free itself. And I was going to become an
unwilling host to an illegal demon myself.
No pressure.
Sweat trickled down the small of my back. I tried to calm
myself. My life depended on it.
I slipped back into the trance more easily than I’d
expected. Amazing what desperation will do for you. Once
again, I hit that demon aura with a blast of wind. It
wavered for a moment, then settled firmly back in place.
The metal didn’t groan now so much as scream. The
temptation to open my eyes and see what progress the thing
was making was almost unbearable, but I resisted.
A small, delicate hand clapped onto my arm with a bone-
crushing grip. But her hand was over my sweater, no skin-to-
skin contact.
I stifled a scream and sent another blast of wind at the
aura. Somehow, I managed to stay entranced, even with a
demon squeezing my arm so brutally I’d wear bruises for
days even if it didn’t break anything.
My breath burned in and out of my lungs and my heart
slammed against my chest. I was so scared I could taste it,
but if I let the fear win, I was demon-chow.
I gathered my power into me, concentrating on drawing every
ounce of my strength into my center for one last try. There
was another scream of tortured metal, and a second small
hand grabbed me.
I almost panicked and let my next blast loose at that
moment, but I knew I had only one more chance. If I didn’t
throw enough power against the demon, I was toast. So I
fought my instincts and held myself together a few seconds
more.
The demon’s fingers tore through the fabric of my sweater,
and that little demonic hand pressed against the skin of my
forearm.
I screamed louder than I’d ever screamed in my life,
overwhelmed by terror, horror, revulsion. My worst
nightmare come true. A demon forcing itself into my body,
taking me over, destroying everything I was without
actually killing me . . .
I shoved my gathered power at it, knowing it was already
too late--demons can transfer from one host to another
instantly. The millisecond it touched me, I was gone.
Except, I wasn’t.
That red, red aura crept up my arm from the demon’s hand,
and then withdrew, half a heartbeat before my power hit it.
I’d thrown everything I had into that blast. The aura
shattered into a million tiny pinpricks of color; then it
was gone.
I opened my eyes, hardly believing my good fortune, hardly
believing I was still myself.
I wobbled on my feet. The floor bucked under me. I felt
myself falling in slow motion but couldn’t even get my
hands under me to cushion the fall. My head hit that cold
tile floor, and I was out.
© 2003-2025 off-the-edge.net
all rights reserved Privacy Policy