Inspired by the movie The Conjuring
Headcanoned with and beta-ed by graceonce
Rated M for language
Music: Nero - Two Steps from Hell
"One quote, Mary, please. That's all I'm asking of you."
The blonde across from her shrugged lightly as she continued to drink her coffee, foot swaying beneath the linoleum table, and the brunette bit back a groan, watching her from between her fingers as her shoulders slumped.
The younger girl finally, slowly, pulled her mug away to place it on her napkin with a light grimace, licking her bottom lip. "I don't know what you want me to tell you. It was an easy one."
The woman chewed at the end of her thumbnail, pen tapping on the table. "One quote," she coaxed. "That's it." The blonde's eyebrows raised and she gestured with her shoulders, giving a noncommittal grunt that had her companion scowling back. The brunette's black eyes trailed to the ceiling and swam there as she slid forward in her chair. She blinked, eyes narrowed. "An 'easy one', you said?"
"This time round, yes."
"I can use that," the woman murmured. "I'll tweak it, give it some pop so that it stands out." She glanced down. "You've never minded me tweaking."
"Never have," Mary replied.
The brunette gave a click of her tongue as she sat back up, sliding her pen into her notebook's spirals. "You're not helping me any, you know that?"
Mary smiled as she raised her cup to her lips. "You're not my project, Lana," the girl said. "I'm yours."
Lana sneered back. "And I'm starting to think this was a bad idea. Project or not."
The blonde shrugged. "I told you it wouldn't be easy. It's hard to explain, to understand, and to explain so that others can understand themselves." The brunette glanced sharply at her, brows furrowed. "Though you're doing amazingly well," she added. "But it's not easy. Nor is it easy finding people willing to read this sort of content. And I told you that too when we started. I told you to expect a lack of views."
"It's not easy when my interviewee won't let herself be interviewed," the woman replied. "If only my Aryan songstress would sing." She waved her notepad vaguely. "And I have readers."
"Outside of the church?"
"The fanatic."
Mary's eyebrow raised but she smiled when Lana did, but it quickly turned into a grimace when she drank again. She hissed as she placed her mug down, reaching for her napkin. "God, Lana, your coffee."
"What?"
"It's horrendous. Christ."
"Watch yourself," Lana hummed. "And I told you to drink tea. Why do you think I do?"
"Why do I keep asking you to make anything is the real question," Mary grouched. She stood and crossed to the sink, pouring the black out of her mug. "Here I thought you'd try a little."
"For you?"
Mary glanced back, blue eyes bright beneath her light scowl, and Lana shrugged.
"That's me trying."
"God help us all."
"Is that what the apostles said when Jesus turned water into wine?"
The blonde snorted lightly. "No. They weren't afraid of his cooking." She turned to lean on the counter, drying her hands with a rag. "I've been summoned to Louisiana."
"Summoned," Lana echoed, looking away. "Is it urgent?"
"Timothy says there's a pregnant woman involved. I'd like to be there Monday."
The brunette stood, pulling her jacket off the back of her chair. "I'll have this written for Sunday. Will you want to see it?"
"Your project, not mine," Mary replied. She narrowed her eyes gently, watching Lana. "Are you up for this?"
"You can't drive," the brunette said. "Do I have a choice?"
OOOoooOOO
Lana winced as a manila folder landed at her side to lay on the passenger seat and she glanced into the rearview mirror as Mary stretched in the back of the car, rubbing at her eyes. She looked back to the road and reached over to straighten the files.
"It seems like a simple poltergeist," the blonde spoke. "It's textbook." Lana laughed, but it was dark. "We'll be out by tomorrow."
"That's what you said about our fourth case," the brunette said lowly. She met Mary's blue eyes in the mirror, holding her gaze. "Wasn't it?"
A smile graced the blonde's face and she nodded. "Take a left here." Lana pulled on the steering wheel and they traveled down a neighborhood road, large trees on either side hanging above them and providing a dark shade. The brunette leaned forward in her seat to watch the passing houses, black eyes narrowed. "It's a white mansion," Mary said.
"They're all white."
"You'll know it when you see it."
Lana had begun to bite back when she came to a slow stop before a pair of metal gates, closed tightly and the plaque on the side dirtied. It was an old colonial, like all the others in the district, but when she glanced back at Mary the blonde nodded and began to leave the car, fingers tight around her rosary.
Lana fetched her notebook from the glove box, and after a moment of hesitation, grabbed her rosary too. A gift of the girl's.
"You didn't tell me this was a school," the brunette called. Her scowl returned when the blonde didn't answer and she stepped forward to be flush with the girl's back. "Is this safe?"
"Are you worried?" Mary didn't wait for an answer. "I've got control." She stiffened when Lana breathed against her ear.
"I know."
The gates opened slowly without either of their touches, hinges creaking as they stepped through and closing behind them silently, Mary watching dubiously and with an eyebrow raised.
It was a two leveled house, columns holding the patio and the balconies traveled through by windows. Most were open to let the Louisiana heat pass through, creating a breeze through the mansion, and Lana found herself wishing to be in the middle of that hurricane, though tropical storms were nothing to make fun of in the ethereal city of New Orleans.
It was a young, well-dressed, man that opened the front door, his hands hidden behind his back and beneath his coat, against his ribs. He let them in with a deep nod of his head and Mary waltzed in, light blue dress swishing against her knees, Lana awkwardly hot in her own gray pants, her vest.
They were led to a living room, its ceilings high and a grand piano in the corner, the candles glowing and throwing shadows on the paintings' faces. A blonde was seated in the loveseat, facing the fireplace and away from them, and at the man's quiet rap on the door she turned her head to watch them over the back of her couch, hazel eyes showing. Her eyebrows raised and she took a drag from her cigarette before leaning forward to tap the ashes off on a tray they couldn't see.
She stood and rounded the chair, taking the time to smooth out the wrinkles on her shirt her protruding belly had produced, and she took another drag, the smoke swirling above her.
"Sister Mary McKee, of Boston," the younger blonde said, reaching forward. She shook the woman's hand easily, handshake strong compared to how limp it would have been months before.
"Fiona Goode." Words hung off of the woman's tongue but she bit them back, instead giving them a tight smile. Her hazel eyes traveled to a black gaze.
"Lana Winters, Miss McKee's journalist."
"Journalist!" Goode grinned. "My goodness, what a title."
Lana's scowl deepened. "Should you be smoking?" The woman sneered but she didn't flinch when the man took a few steps forward and pulled the cigarette out of her mouth, breaking the tube in between yellowed fingers.
She swept her hand out. "Would you take a seat?"
Mary removed a pillow from underneath her as she sat down on the couch. Lana didn't move. "Father Timothy said this was urgent."
"I run a school," Fiona replied. "Wouldn't you say this is urgent?"
Mary shifted in her seat. "Children are important, yes."
"Would you like a drink?"
Lana turned, Mary following her movement, and the man stared back, gaze shifting between the two.
"Something to drink?" he asked again, voice harrowingly deep.
"Water, if you have some. It's hot," the brunette said. "Thank you."
"The usual for me, Spalding," Fiona called. She turned her attention back to her visitors as she sat, fingers noticeably closing around a missing cigarette.
"How far along are you?"
"Seven months this boy's been in here," the woman sighed. She reached for her pack. "He's driving me insane, kicking all the time."
"Boy?" Mary echoed. "How can you be sure?"
"Royal blood can only hope it is." If she noticed Lana's grimace, she said nothing. "What can you do about my little problem?" She held her hand out and Spalding placed a tumbler in the flat of her palm. Lana took the glass of water that was handed to her and Mary ignored her when she gestured to ask if she wanted to drink.
"I can do my best," the younger blonde replied.
"Your best? That won't be good enough. I need it gone, whatever it is."
"I read the report," Mary continued. "Strange music playing, fires in your greenhouse, clothes torn out of closets."
"I didn't consider it out of the ordinary at first," Fiona interrupted. "I'm used to that sort of thing. But when a voice starts calling your name..."
"Then you call the right authorities," the nun finished for her. "I'm glad you did." She turned to Lana and the brunette took her pen out of her pocket, clicking it as she opened her notebook to a new page. "If you don't mind, we'll stay a few hours to assess your newest resident."
"The girls are out for the day, take as long as you want." The woman glanced at the grandfather clock. "It'll start wreaking havoc soon, anyway."
"It likes a specific time?"
"7:48 in the evening, on the dot." Fiona stood, though not as fast as she would have liked, and she grimaced as she placed her glass down. "I'll be back around eleven, you've got free reign. Don't mind Myrtle."
Lana didn't have time to ask who Myrtle was, the young woman gone in a swirl of black shawls and heels entirely too tall for how pregnant she was. She frowned after her but Mary placed her hand around her elbow and she relaxed, looking into soft blue eyes.
"I'm not sure I like her," she admitted.
"Perhaps only because you're so alike," Mary hummed. She turned away, gaze raking over the room.
"Excuse me?" Lana asked. "I don't think so."
"Headstrong."
The brunette shook her head but didn't reply, instead following the younger woman around the couch. Her own eyes raised to the walls and its paintings, the ceiling. "What's it feel like?"
"It feels lived in."
Lana's black gaze met a golden one and she nodded before jotting her words down. "Palpable?"
"More like a whisper," Mary murmured back. She raised her fingers into the air as she continued to walk. "Like a lyric."
"James Dean, is that you?"
The blonde blew air out of her nose and Lana turned away. She walked to the nearest painting, yet another blonde, this one platinum, and gazed into her blue eyes, eyelashes heavily painted. She looked young, surely younger than whenever she'd died. The brunette could only think these were funeral portraits.
She turned and yelped, notebook clattering to the floor and hand jumping to her heart. "Jesus Christ."
"I'm sorry, did I startle you?"
"Forgive me," she muttered. "I try not to say the lord's name in vain." She bent down to pick up her fallen pad. Mary was gone. "I'm here with-"
"I know," the woman said, eyes sharp behind her cat eye glasses. "Myrtle Snow."
"Lana Winters," the brunette answered. She jotted the name down as the woman watched. "Are you a student?"
"I wish I was still that young, to feel my bones fly free." She paused. "You've met our Supreme," the young redhead sniffed. "Surely she said she was headmistress."
Lana's pen tapped against her thigh. "Is she not?"
"Hell above, no." Myrtle stood a little taller. "I am."
"Are you simply a girl's school?" the brunette asked. "Ms. Goode didn't seem much moved by the idea of a potential demonic entity in her house."
"My house," the woman corrected. "Only a girl's school, Ms. Winters. What else could we possibly be?" she asked, narrowing her gaze. "Only a prestigious school."
Lana smiled. "Nice shoes, Ms. Snow."
"Oh, thank you!" The redhead glanced down at her own pumps, lifting a heel to look back at it, but when she glanced up Lana had already moved away and retreated into the hallway after her companion, writing all the while.
She traced to the kitchen, finding the young blonde looking out the window above the sink, scowling lightly.
"Please don't leave me alone again, they give me the heebie jeebies, all of them," Lana said. "The headmistress is in the living room if you want to speak to her."
"I don't need to."
The brunette looked up, pen halting as her eyebrows raised. "Oh?"
"It's not here," the girl snapped.
Her hands lowered. "Oh."
"It's gone. The feeling was lasting, like perfume," Mary continued, softening. "But it didn't stay."
"Then where did it go?" Lana shifted her weight. "Miss Goode said 7:48, maybe-"
"No, Lana, no matter that it has a time it likes to exploit, I would feel its presence. It's not here."
The brunette shrugged, shoulders raising to her ears as she agreed. Mary sighed and Lana thought she heard an apology in between two sweeps of a blue gaze, but she didn't mention it.
"Do you want to get dinner? We have a while till Ms. Goode comes back." She held out her hand and Mary linked her arm with hers, elbow against elbow. "I hope you like spicy food," she teased. The girl's button nose crinkled, blue eyes twinkling, and she laughed.
They were early coming back, Mary's head on Lana's shoulder as they walked through the school's gates, but she righted herself before reaching the patio stairs, tugging her dress's hem down. Spalding was quick in saying Fiona had not come back, and Myrtle had snorted from the couch, following it with a scoff. The upper levels creaked with footsteps, the girls having come home. Lana took a seat on the couch and Mary followed.
It was midnight by the time Fiona waltzed in, draping her fur coat over Spalding's outstretched arm as she looked over her visitors with bright hazel eyes. She peeled off her night black gloves, seemingly amused as Mary breathed out.
"Find anything, Miss McKee?" She sat herself down and Spalding placed a tumbler at her elbow.
"Something," the younger blonde said. "How was your night?"
"Perfectly fine," Fiona replied smoothly, eyeing Lana. "Is it a scheming spirit? A vengeful phantom?"
"Nothing of the sort, Ms. Goode."
"A sprite then, if not a poltergeist." the woman asked flippantly.
Mary shook her head. "Not a sprite, or a poltergeist. But rather something that lives here peacefully until its keeper manifests."
"A follower of Bes," Lana interjected.
"A follower of Bes," Fiona repeated.
"An entity that isn't possessive, if you will, in the physical sense of the term," Mary continued. "They latch onto souls like demons do, but in a protective way and most often for a lifetime. They're nicer, more malleable, than other beings. It isn't too big of a threat." The blonde looked to the ceiling. "They're of the Egyptian sort, but some say they're fallen angels, living in hell."
"It's attached to me, then?"
"No."
"You said nothing happened while I was gone," Fiona replied, flushing angrily.
Mary glanced back at her, blue eyes swirling with the fire's gold. "It's not attached to you, Ms. Goode. It's attached to your child."
"He's not born."
"Souls are souls from their conception on."
"Fucking Catholics," Fiona muttered, tapping the base of her cigarette.
"Are you upset your ego isn't being flattered?" Lana asked forcefully.
"Get rid of it, Miss McKee, I don't want any demons around me or my boy. Threat or not."
Mary shifted. "I can't."
"Then why the hell are you here?"
"Protector demons aren't exorcisable, not fully," the younger blonde replied, crossing her arms over her chest. "They only leave for a period of time before coming back. They're too attached to this world."
"How long?"
"Till they come back? It depends on the creature, it depends on the degree of attachment," Mary said. "Some months, some years. Your child isn't old enough yet for the demon to have made a true, stable, connection, but it will come back. I can do all I want, but know this isn't a permanent solution."
"It's not harmful? This demon?"
"Not usually."
Fiona watched her but finally grimaced, waving her arm vaguely. "Just get rid of it. I'll worry about it when it comes back."
"She," Mary replied softly.
"And have Myrtle take care of the bill, she's our Guardian of Veracity in the Vernacular and our Keeper of Finances."
OOOoooOOO
"I wanted to apologize."
The brunette paused, hand outstretched and the girl's luggage in hand, Robichaux's and the exorcism at her back. She took a moment to close the car's trunk. "Why?"
The blonde shrugged, looking so small, and Lana opened the back door for her. "For acting so careless. For being, not myself." She slid into the seat. "For being someone else in there. For speaking so out of turn with both you and that woman." She let the door close in on her and she leaned back onto the leather, head tilted up to the ceiling while the brunette climbed into the front seat.
Lana looked into the rearview mirror, knuckles white on the steering wheel as she breathed out. "Are you alright?"
Mary lowered her head, her blue eyes teary, and she nodded pitifully before rubbing at her nose. "I'm fine, I'm sorry. This takes a lot out of me, being around them, no matter that they're not fearful."
"It's okay."
"It's getting stronger, Lana. I'm afraid it is."
"That's okay too."
"Am I different?" Mary asked softly.
"Only in the sense that you speak your mind more often," Lana laughed lightly, but it fell on deaf ears, Mary's head bowed. She turned in her seat and reached for the girl's hand. "There's nothing wrong with you. You're doing great." She bit her lower lip, worrying at the torn skin. "You're a little snarky, a little careless, and a little courageous in an off-handed way, but you're still you. I can still see you in there. You're you."
"Am I?" the blonde repeated. "I don't feel like I am. This courage feels like death creeping into my veins, pushing out my-" she blew air out. "Pushing me out. We both know I'm, I'm-"
"Apologetic?"
"If you want to call it that."
Lana took a moment to speak. "We'll find someone, I promised you that. And I'm still promising you that. It'll get done." She tilted her head to the side. "You know I'd tell you if you started growing horns." The girl laughed dejectedly as she shook her head and Lana grinned, tugging her hand up to press a kiss to the back of it.
"Lana?"
"Mary."
"Can I sit up in the front with you tonight?"
She'd fallen asleep with her head on the brunette's shoulder and Lana had almost wanted to let them sleep in the car, the night warm enough, but in the end she shook the blonde awake and coaxed her out of the automobile and into their motel room. She fell onto the bed immediately, foregoing undressing but nudging off her heels and she bunched up the pillow beneath her, looking up the brunette as she placed their luggage by the door, checked the bathroom.
"Thank you, Lana. For staying."
Black eyes washed over her. "Don't."
Mary nodded, almost to herself, as she dug her nose into her elbow. "You're a walking sin, you know that?" she asked, voice muffled as her eyes closed and her breathing evened out. She opened them momentarily, golden hues swirling. "It's like I'm feeding off of you."
"I know, Mary, I know." She made her way to the mattress and sat on its side gingerly, fingers pushing blonde strands behind small ears.
The girl yawned. "Will you have enough to write an article?"
"Plenty."
She fell asleep with a satisfied smile, curled up on the bed, and Lana took the time to place a blanket around her waist before grabbing her own from her backpack and making herself comfortable in the room's armchair, knees tucked beneath her. She clicked the little lamp at her side on and fished her notebook out, her pen too.
As Mary slept on, little noises torn out of her throat as she dreamed, Lana wrote while she could, too tired to sleep. When the blonde shifted too hard she reached forward and tucked her back in, but the girl pushed her covers off anyway, and Lana knew it was useless to try again. She threw her notebook to the ground, pen following.
And slept until dawn.
She woke with baby blue eyes watching her from the bed's side, the blonde sitting up and with her hands trapped between her thighs, and she shifted upright, ignoring the pain in her neck.
"What's wrong?"
Mary shook her head, eyes welling up with tears, and she looked away. "I want to go home. I want to pray. I need to pray. I know I said we'd visit around but I need to, uh, go back to church. I can't do this here."
Lana nodded slowly. "Okay. Okay, let's go home."
"I don't like it here," the blonde continued. "There's too many spirits." She rubbed at her forehead with the palm of her hand. She took Lana's hand to help her stand up and she all but crawled out of the room, the brunette in tow with their luggage.
She curled up in the backseat on their way back to the northeast, the brunette failing to rise her out of the car when she stopped to take a breather to remove the kinks from her back, stretching to the sky. For an odd hour Mary sat at her side, staring out the passing scenery, but she shifted back behind at a red light outside Virginia Beach, features as green as the foamy sea.
"We're almost there, Mary," Lana murmured outside New York. She reached up to rub at the corner of her eye. "Just a few more hours. Can you give me that?"
"You can't drive any faster, can you?" the girl whispered back. "How I wish you could."
Lana pulled her gaze away from the rearview mirror, teeth digging into her lower lip. Her canines drew blood.
Boston seemed to reinvigorate the blonde until she stood straight in her seat, fingers pressed to the window and her blue eyes lifted to the sky. The brunette had wanted to tell her to wait until the car had stopped moving before she jumped out but her words hadn't left her throat that the girl was already on the sidewalk and pulling her shoes back on, previously forgotten on the automobile's floor. Lana hurried after her, grabbing onto her before she tripped over herself, and she held her up with a hand to her elbow.
The blonde shook her off, growling in a tone that wasn't hers and the brunette took a step back and finally turned around to lock her car, keeping an eye on Mary.
She was almost running ahead and Lana tried her best to keep up as they walked to the little chapel through the cathedral, shoes echoing on the stone floors. She glanced back at the brunette, hurrying her along with a short wave of her hand.
"Sister Mary Eunice."
The blonde turned mid-step, eyebrows drawn together in confusion and hurt and she glanced at Lana before fixing the man barreling down the hallway with her wide blue eyes. "Father Timothy."
"Good," he called, marching towards them. "You're back." He gave the brunette a curt nod. "Ms. Winters. How was New Orleans?"
"Smokey."
"And Robichaux's?"
"Clean."
He smiled. " Mary, may I speak with you?"
Mary shifted closer to Lana. "Now, Father?"
"There's a family in need of your expertise, Sister."
"I, I just got here, Father. I was going to go pray."
"I admire your pious soul, but this is important. Kids, Mary, a family. Terrified," he urged. "It's not far," he continued. "Just on the outside of Boston, in the suburbs. There'll be plenty of time to pray for their health and happiness after."
Mary looked away, tears threatening to spill for Lana only, and she nodded.
"You're entirely too good," he praised. "Come, the information is on my desk. Ms. Winters, if you'd like to come?" He turned and began walking, rosary swaying from beneath his closed fist.
Mary breathed out shakily, sobs curled up in her throat, and Lana pressed the palm of her hand to the dip in her back, forehead to the blonde's temple.
"Why don't you go pray? I'll follow Timothy and get those files."
The blonde bit the inside of her cheek, eyes darting between Lana's black gaze and the father's retreating figure. "Lana, I don't know if-"
"What about your health and happiness?" The brunette shook her head. " I'll tell him you're car sick. Go."
Mary nodded quickly and, after a moment of hesitation, leaned down to press a kiss to the woman's cheek. She retreated through a side door and Lana traced down the hallway after Timothy, catching up to him. He turned as he fit his key into his office's lock.
"Oh, where did she go?"
"She's gone to the bathroom, the last hour on the road made her sick," Lana said.
Timothy's brows knotted together. "Oh, heavens. I do hope she's alright."
"The suburbs, Father?"
He nodded and opened his door, letting her in after her. "Not a demonic possession, this time, or, so far." He glanced up. "There's something inside that house."
"Isn't there always."
"Your dry sense of humor is a welcomed coat of paint here, Ms. Winters," he praised lightly. "No wonder Miss McKee's taken to you."
Lana shifted her shoulders, hands intertwined before her, and she smiled. "Thank you, father."
"And I thank you for doing what you're doing for us and the church. You're the only one who'd take the job, you're a courageous young woman, Ms. Winters." He handed her a folder. "Stronger than all the men who walked into this office."
"That's very kind of you, father."
"Ambition is a strong trait," he told her. He looked her over. "And perhaps a flaw, if taken too far."
"I'm careful, father, as is Mary," Lana replied softly. "We're careful." The lie burned through her tongue and she shifted her gaze to the files in her arms. "Family of four?"
"A father, a mother, a child. The second child is of the father, but not his wife." He clicked his tongue. "Such charity she upholds, taking care of a baby that is not hers."
"Are they from a first marriage?"
Timothy looked up, a small smile on his face, and Lana grimaced back. She glanced at her watch.
"It's a little late to run over there now, I wouldn't want to be rude at a first meeting. Can they wait till morning?"
"No later, Ms. Winters," he replied. "I implore you. No child should feel unwanted in their own home."
"I know," she said softly. "God, I know."
