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  “I belong only to myself.” I carefully unclenched my fingers, with their viciously long nails, in case I had to slash at him to make my escape. I hid my hands in the folds of my skirt, at the ready.

  He moved closer. “You’re mine. No one else’s.”

  I would lose a physical fight even if I managed to scratch his face open. Michael was eight inches taller and outweighed me by eighty pounds. I gathered my strength to bolt for the door. “Leave me alone.”

  “Is there some problem?” Dex Morgan’s tone of voice was smooth, as befitted his role as the host of the evening. He stood at the French door, only a half step above us, but surprisingly menacing. Dex Morgan was taller and more muscular than Michael Rather. That meant Michael would not attack him physically. Michael only used his strength to subdue weaker people.

  Dex said, “I won’t ask if you have a ticket to this event. The lady has said she wants you to leave. I suggest you do.”

  Michael turned and fled into the garden. We heard the noise of him going through a gate, and then a car starting.

  I relaxed my fingers. My legs trembled and I wanted to sag in relief, but I would not show weakness even to my rescuer. I kept my tone as cold as possible. “Thank you for your timely intervention.”

  “You’re welcome.” Humor was in his tone as he said, “Do you always speak this formally?”

  “It encourages respectful behavior,” I shot back.

  Dex offered his arm and nodded toward a bench along the terrace balustrade. “Then may I respectfully help you to a seat? You look as if you’re about to faint.”

  He was correct. The adrenaline from my horrible encounter with Michael had made my trembling accelerate. I felt lightheaded, and there was a rushing noise in my ears. I allowed myself to rest my hand on Dex Morgan’s arm where it was covered by his tux jacket. I let him lead me to the bench. Despite my weak knees, I exerted enough control to sink down gracefully. I put my head back, resting it on the balustrade, and took deep breaths. I closed my eyes.

  Why did the demon that haunted me refuse to appear when he could have made me fearsome to Michael Rather? Why was I always the victim in these encounters? Why was I haunted by both a live stalker ex-lover and a maleficent paranormal entity at the same time? What had I ever done to deserve my wretched situation?

  No. That was negative self-talk. I would not indulge in it. I would rise above. I opened my eyes.

  Dex Morgan stood in front of me, not overly close, staring at me with concern. “Would you like me to find your friend? You look unwell.”

  I made myself smile slightly. “Now who is being formal? I have recovered. Please feel free to return to your hosting duties.”

  He said wryly, “That’s putting me in my place all over again. I came outside to find you, as it happens.”

  I tilted my head in inquiry.

  “I have a proposition for you.”

  I felt my face go still. Surely he didn’t plan to insult me? But day-to-day life often included unexpected moments of unpleasantness. “Perhaps you do not know who I am—”

  “I grabbed a moment to check you out online,” he said. “I want to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

  Chapter 4

  An offer I couldn’t refuse? “You intrigue me. Go on.” If my tone was imperious, it only matched his own level of self-confidence. He thought money talked, and it did, but I was not to be bought for mere money.

  “I want you to commit to helping my charity. In return, I’ll donate to a foundation you can set up in your own name to help worthy prospective opera singers get a break, get schooling, or whatever.”

  “You do not need my help to collect money for your charity.”

  “No.”

  “You were angry at me for criticizing your singer.”

  “I don’t know much about opera—”

  “She was butchering lieder, not opera. German song cycles.” I could not help the irritation in my voice. “Perfect for a concert setting, but your society singer has no voice.”

  Ordinarily, I would not bother correcting ignorance. Dex Morgan brought out my argumentative side. The potent chemistry between us made us opponents on every issue, large or small. I found it hard to ignore how attractive he was. His maleness exuded appeal on an overt level I could not ignore, though I tried. He was confident without the insistence on being boss that I had encountered from men in the past. Something elemental in me responded to him.

  Dex gestured with one hand, conceding the fact to me. “Then your help will be even more important.”

  I leveled a disbelieving expression at him. “Really?”

  “I don’t have time tonight. May I call you tomorrow to discuss details? I want you to sing for me, Daylia. You have…presence.”

  I inclined my head. From the jeweled evening purse still dangling on its long metal chain on my shoulder, I extracted my card. “I am in rehearsals all day long until the opening night of Carmen, but you may email or text me.”

  I stood, and he moved in to take my arm to help me stand. I appreciated his courtesy, even as a part of me protested his assumption that I remained weak. I had regained my strength.

  I did not shake off his fingers on my bare elbow, because their mere touch caused electricity to flow through my body. Stunned, I stepped back.

  He looked stunned, too.

  I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

  Dex Morgan reached his hand out to mine, palm up. “That could have been a fluke. Touch me again.”

  My eyes widened. There was zero pretense in him. This was a man talking to a woman, acknowledging instant desire. He would not force me to touch him. He asked. Reassuring without being too possessive. Male strength, leashed. Somewhere inside me, a very feminine instinct exulted. Something relaxed and liquefied. Something primal and female.

  Without conscious decision, I laid my hand in his.

  The electric arc was so intense I found myself in his arms, kissing him wildly. I was impelled from a simple touch of his flesh to put my arms around him in abandon and raise my mouth to seek his. He kissed me with an equal lack of restraint, his hands roaming my breasts and bare back. I clung to his strong chest. He crushed me against him.

  Then it was over. He released me. I stepped back, shaking my head as I did so. There were so many reasons this could not be.

  I must have spoken out loud.

  “Don’t start in on reasons, Daylia,” he said. “Don’t deny this.” His expression was fierce. Those warm, dry fingers that had touched me so intimately clenched at his sides. “When can I see you again?”

  “I—I don’t know.” It was a weak answer.

  His expression changed to that of the confident male, sure of my female responsiveness. “Yes, you do. You know as well as I do what’s between us.”

  He had the nerve to smile at me. “You used a contraction. You’re human, Daylia, like me.”

  I should have been offended, but I was too shaken by how compliant and eager I felt. I wanted to see him again, and as soon as possible. But I would not let myself succumb to the foolish urge. I shook my head in silent refusal.

  “I’ll be in touch. Very soon.” He gestured that I should precede him into the building. No touching. Wise. Every nerve in my body zinged with excitement. Only self-control kept me from showing how I felt. We entered the hall, aware that our intimacy was over. We were immediately swamped by people demanding our individual attention.

  Importunate women surrounded Dex as I went off to dance with an elderly admirer who claimed he had followed my career for many years. During the dance, the dignified, white-haired gentleman propositioned me. I smoothly turned him down. I had long mastered the art of flattering arts patrons without offering any part of my personal self to them.

  Except Dex Morgan.

  Dex was across the room, dancing with young and old. I made myself not look at him. My body had not forgotten a single moment of our encounter on the terrace. Magic had happened, magic I had never expected
to happen to me.

  Chapter 5

  Dex called me every day, wanting to see me. I put him off. Once the glow of our terrace encounter dimmed slightly, my cautious side ruled. I did not want to get involved with a man right now. The demon problem was utterly distracting. I had no time for romance. Or whatever.

  Yet I was reluctant to reject Dex definitively. Each day, when he called, I told him I might have time to see him in a few days, but not today.

  Rehearsals the next week took a quick downturn on Monday afternoon, when the tenor, Louis Landry, sang his response to my “Habanera,” my first important aria in the first act. I stopped him. “You are not doing it right. Do not go up on the C.” I sang his three notes. “You should go down.”

  He glared at me. “I’m following the score exactly.”

  The director, Régine Balinger, stepped in. “Louie, please continue to sing it as the score shows. Try it again from ‘Seville,’ please, Daylia.”

  Unwillingly, because she was completely wrong, I sang the phrase, while Louis sang his interjections.

  In the “Habanera,” Carmen seduced Don José by singing about how she would dance and sing with him—implying much more—if he let her escape going to jail. His increasingly fervid words in response demonstrated how her song broke him down and made him desperate to have her for himself.

  I stopped. “It is not right. Don José must supplicate me more intensely.”

  Régine said, “It’s fine. From the audience perspective, Don José is already completely in your power. Keep singing, Carmen.”

  My chest naturally expanded at her praise. Although I disagreed with her, I sang my next lines. I stopped again. “I do not like the way Louis is singing his part.”

  Louis got a long-suffering expression on his face. He’d known me since we were both Cafritz-Domingo music students. “What is it this time?”

  “Your use of chest voice. You should not use chest voice.”

  “Daylia, I love you, girl, but give it a rest, will you?”

  Régine said to him, “Why not take a break for fifteen minutes?”

  Louis left the practice room. Régine told the accompanist she could take a break, too. Régine turned to me once the door closed. Her expression was carefully neutral. “I don’t know a better way to phrase this. You’ve got to stop picking apart other people’s work. It attacks their confidence.”

  “I will not pretend something is good when it is not.” I tried not to show how offended I was by her criticism. “To do my best, I must be surrounded by the best.”

  Régine gave me a wise look. “We don’t live in an ideal world. There will always be someone in a production who isn’t up to your level.”

  “Louis was clearly wrong to use chest voice.”

  “Would you like it if he started to criticize how you sang?”

  “Chest voice is wrong, and someone had to tell him.”

  Régine tilted her head. “Which one of us is the director?”

  “Are you pulling rank on me?” I drew myself up.

  “I’m trying to get you to see where your responsibility ends and mine begins.” She smiled very slightly. “It’s my job to coax the best out of the performers. Let me do the heavy lifting.”

  “Do you plan to tell Louis he should not use chest voice?”

  Régine’s lips tightened before she spoke again, slowly and carefully. “I want you to concentrate on how you sing, not on how someone else sings.”

  “He is wrong, and you are, too.” My voice rose.

  Régine’s eyes narrowed. She let herself show her annoyance. “We’ve discussed this enough. Please cooperate and don’t stop the practice session again to complain about how someone else is singing.”

  I slammed my score down on the table. “I will not accept such low standards. I am a professional. Even if the people around me are content to accept mediocrity, I will not abide it.” I began to pack my things.

  Régine said, “Don’t let temper get the best of you. Think.”

  A minute later, with everything together, I said, “This is the last rehearsal I shall attend. You can expect to see me for the dress, but not before.”

  “Daylia, you’re making a mistake.” Régine’s tone was not conciliatory.

  “Are you threatening me? You dare to threaten me?” The demon was in me. My eyes opened wide and my head wagged from side to side as I spoke. I aimed evil messages at the director who now stood with her arms hanging loosely at her sides, her fists clenched. “You do not know who you are dealing with.”

  Régine’s expression froze. “If you refuse to attend more rehearsals, don’t bother to show up for the dress. I’ll hire another mezzo.”

  “You cannot do that. This production is built around me, not anybody else,” I said, my voice getting more insistent. “I have a huge, devoted following here in my hometown. They buy tickets to see me.”

  “Read your contract. Better yet, have your business manager explain it to you.”

  “You dare to insinuate I am stupid?” The demon howled and I launched myself at Régine, my hands outthrust to choke her.

  Louis yelled from behind me. “Daylia, stop! What are you doing? Stop!”

  I stopped my forward rush. Jolted out of the heat of the moment, I stared at my hands in horror. Louis came up to me and put his arm around my shoulders. I peered at Régine, who was staring at me as if I had turned into a monster.

  “My sister, you’d best take a break.” Louis kept his arm around me and steered me out of the room. From his arm motions, he must have been signaling Régine at the same moment.

  Outside, in the hall, I put both hands on my forehead, trying to force the demon away. “Thank you, Louis. You saved me. Somehow, I must exorcise this demon.”

  “Demon?”

  I dropped my hands. “I am possessed by a demon. First, it manifests as constant sly putting others down. Then it escalates to these rages. Louis, you’ve known me for a long time. I wasn’t like this before, was I?”

  His dark eyes viewed me with open sympathy. “No.” He smiled. “Although you’ve always had high standards, you didn’t used to tell everybody else how to sing.”

  I tried to smile in return. “I know it is wrong even as I do it, but the demon in me pushes me on.”

  “Why do you say demon?”

  “This isn’t me. I’ve been searching for an exorcist—”

  “An exorcist! That’s dangerous.” He looked concerned.

  I sighed. “Would you be so kind as to get my bag from the rehearsal room? I can’t go back there now.”

  “Sure.” Louis opened the door and closed it after him. The rooms were well soundproofed. I didn’t have to hear if Régine Balinger was furious at me. I moved farther down the hall, anyway. A minute later, Louis found me staring vacantly at a rack of dun-colored dresses for the cigarette girls of Act I. Chorus costumes usually were bland and subdued, and these certainly fit the bill. As Carmen, the star of the opera, my vividly colored costumes made me stand out.

  Louis handed me my large leather purse. At my enquiring glance, he shook his head.

  “She didn’t say anything to me except rehearsal tomorrow is at ten a.m.”

  I let out a relieved sigh. I had a little time.

  But who would help me?

  As I left the Potomac Arts Center in a taxi, I turned my phone back on. Hannah Lochte, the psychologist, had left a message. The professor at Catholic University had agreed to talk to me about exorcism.

  Chapter 6

  The Reverend Professor Marcus O’Flaherty was nothing like what I expected. No hint of an Irish accent colored his voice as he greeted me. He also did not have the typical pink and white complexion or the halo of white hair his name would suggest. In fact, he was dark, like me, no more than forty, with an energetic, lean look to him. He wore a cassock, the long black garment priests put white or colorfully embroidered robes over for services. I should have checked him out online first, but I’d dashed over to see him in
a hurry. I’d never gotten into the habit of constantly checking the net. Too many hours with my phone off for rehearsals and performances.

  Marcus O’Flaherty had a male assistant, a young priest, sitting at a desk outside his impressively large office. Clearly Marcus O’Flaherty held a position beyond that of a professor. Otherwise, the room was the usual university professor’s office, complete with a credenza with stacks of books piled haphazardly behind him.

  He said, “Please have a seat.” He explained that Hannah Lochte’s description of me had intrigued him. He wanted to learn more about my situation. “Could you tell me why you think you need an exorcism?”

  After I gave him the whole story, he sat thoughtful for a minute. “Does the demon have a name?”

  I was taken aback. A name had never entered my thoughts. “No, I don’t believe so.”

  “Is it a male demon or a female demon?”

  I viewed him with some hauteur. “How is that relevant?”

  “An outside entity usually has a name, a gender, a personality. The demon as you describe it seems to be all rage and sly malice.”

  I nodded curtly. “That is an apt description. Then you understand my problem.”

  He shook his head. “No, not yet. I have more questions.”

  He pulled out a notebook and read from it. “Do you attend mass regularly?”

  “We don’t call it mass. Yes, I am a regular churchgoer.”

  He nodded and made a note. “Does the demon stir when you attend church services or when you pray?”

  I was appalled. “Never. Those moments of my life are soothing and filled with peace.”

  He tilted his head, inquiring. “You like praying?”

  “I do.”

  “Yet the demon never writhes within you as you hear the word of God?”

  “Never.” I did not have to think about it. The demon did not interrupt my church activities or my private conferences with God.

  He shifted in his chair. “Take me through the steps of the demon’s activities.”

  I described the demon’s actions, culminating with the recent scene at the Federal Concert Opera. Reluctantly, I added, “You can see that incident for yourself.” The YouTube video was evidence, although it pained me to be shown behaving so badly.