Damian
Damian had never held a proper holiday dinner in his home. He'd told himself he'd never had the time, but in truth, there had been no one to invite. His social circles were filled with older doctors and young students. Those of his own age he encountered found him too serious, while his elders found him too fanciful. To try to entertain would have felt like a desperate attempt at making friends. Alexander, Rachel, and Octavio were frequent companions, but Damian had always been used to being alone.
Seeing Samara's joy at their feast gave him a sudden understanding of what all the fuss over holiday dinners was for. He found himself suddenly wanting to plot Christmas parties, and New Year celebrations, and - he wanted to see her keep smiling. The stress, fear and anger that he so often saw on her face was utterly absent. She had made something beautiful, even in the midst of the ugliness that followed her.
The dinner was coming to a close when a scarcely-heard sound chimed through the house: the distant ringing of a telephone. The sound was so strange that the dinner party went silent in confusion, and Damian immediately got up from his chair.
"Pardon me, if you will," he said quickly. "I'll attend to that."
The telephone had been installed in a nondescript closet in the hall. The room was small, with a single bulb to light it, and the door locked from the inside to afford him privacy. In truth, when he'd had it put in, he found telephones to be a terrible eyesore and wanted it shut away. But there was only one person who would call him, and that alone made possessing the phone an absolute necessity.
He slipped into the little room and locked the door. The telephone's harsh ring filled the space, quickly sobering the lingering warmth of the rum punch he'd drank. This was it.
She'd gotten his letter.
He picked the earpiece, and leaned close to the microphone. "Hearst residence."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Hearst," the operator said. "You're receiving a call from Ms. Balthazha. I'll put her through."
"Thank you." Damian's heart began to pound. He had lost track of the months that had passed since he'd last spoken to his grandmother. Well over a year, certainly...perhaps over two... She left him to his own devices, which he was grateful for. The woman had plenty of her own worries to take care of anyway, as an exorcist and apothecary in bustling London. But by this time, his letter asking for her help should have reached her.
"Damian?" Her voice crackled over the line. He didn't know her true age, but her voice had remained strong and unshaken even after so many years.
"Amma. It's good to hear your voice." And it was. It filled him with comfort, with memories of books, herbs, and language lessons. Quiet evenings by the fire, listening to her stories of the old country.
"And yours, mitt hjärta. I received your letter yesterday...such terrible visions I've had, it was good to know you're still safe. Are you alright? This girl-"
"I'm alright, Amma." He went on to explain, as quickly as he could, what had happened thus far. He tried to skirt about the part where he'd paid for Samara's services, but doubtlessly his grandmother could divulge as much anyway. She listened in silence, and when he was done, said simply, "I'll be in states by next month."
Relief washed over him. Finally, hope was on the horizon. Who better to deal with this than Balthazha, who had more years of knowledge and experience than any other exorcist he had encountered? He sighed heavily, "Good. Excellent! We'll be awaiting your arrival. Surely, between the two of us, we'll bring this to an end-"
"Is she there with you? The girl?"
"Samara. No, she...she had friends over for dinner..." He paused when he heard her sharp intake of breath. "Amma? Are you alright?"
"You're allowing her to be exposed to others?" she said. Her voice was painfully neutral, carefully controlled. "I would advise against that, Damian. She is an open door through which all manner of powerful demons can make their way through."
"I believe we've managed to keep it controlled. She works hard to be conscious of them, mindful of when they are attempting to overtake her. She's done well-"
"She can't - that is, it carries great risk to trust her on that, Damian. You should know this. I'm sure the girl is strong, and doing her best, but the wickedness of demons knows no bounds. They will entice her to lie, to mislead you. And they will always, always seek to harm you. You are currently their greatest threat. Don't ever forget that."
The reproachful tone in her voice irritated him, but he could not say she was wrong. In every case - almost every case - her assessment was true. The possessed could not truly be trusted. A strong demon could easily adopt the mannerisms of their victim and deceive all those around them. But Samara was strong. She would tell him. She would fight.
"I understand your apprehension, Amma," he said carefully. "And truly, I know, the situation is dire. But she needs joy in her life. It helps her."
"I could sense those who haunt her," his grandmother's voice lowered, and her tone turned grim. "The moment I touched your letter. Their infection is deep, and they are powerful beings indeed. More powerful than I have encountered in years. How you managed to exorcise one alone already, I cannot even fathom."
"I was not alone," he said. "Samara fought them too. She's trying, even when they overwhelm her. Nonetheless, I would not want to attempt it again alone. I've never felt so drained."
"Be safe, Damian. Always, above all else, keep yourself safe. But I will be there soon. I'll have to see her for myself. We will do what we do best: we will help those who can no longer help themselves. Watch over her, carefully. Reserve your trust."
"I'll be safe," he said, choosing not to give comment on what he would do with his trust. "Safe journeys, Amma."
"One more thing, Damian, before I go."
"Yes?"
"Do you love her?"