Reverend Gilles was waiting for us in his office-or is it called a cloister, or a retreat, or something like that? Rectory always sounded to me like a place where you would find a proctologist. Perhaps it was a sacristy-I admit that I am not up on my terminology here. My foster mother, Doris, did try to get me to church when I was young, but after a couple of regrettable incidents it became apparent that it wasn’t going to stick, and Harry intervened.

The reverend’s study was lined with books that had improbable titles offering no doubt very sound advice on dealing with things God would really prefer you to avoid. There were also a few that offered insight into a woman’s soul, although it did not specify which woman, and information on how to make Christ work for you, which I hoped did not mean at minimum wage. There was even one on Christian chemistry, which seemed to me to be stretching the point, unless it gave a recipe for the old water-into-wine trick.

Much more interesting was a book with Gothic script on the binding. I turned my head to read the title; mere curiosity, but when I read it I felt a jolt go through me as if my esophagus had suddenly filled with ice.

Demonic Possession: Fact or Fancy? it said, and as I read the title I distinctly heard the far-off sound of a nickel dropping.

It would be very easy for an outside observer to shake his head and say, Yes, obviously, Dexter is a dull boy if he has never thought of that. But the truth is, I had not. Demon has so many negative connotations, doesn’t it? And as long as the Presence was present, there seemed no need to define it in those arcane terms. It was only now that it was gone that I required some explanation. And why not this one? It was a bit old-fashioned, but its very hoariness seemed to argue that there might be something to it, some connection that went back to the nonsense with Solomon and Moloch and all the way up to what was happening to me today.

Was the Dark Passenger really a demon? And did the Passenger’s absence mean it had been cast out? If so, by what? Something overwhelmingly good? I could not recall encountering anything like that in the last, oh, lifetime or so. Just the opposite, in fact.

But could something very very bad cast out a demon? I mean, what could be worse than a demon? Perhaps Moloch? Or could a demon cast itself out for some reason?

I tried to comfort myself with the thought that at least I had some good questions now, but I didn’t feel terribly comforted, and my thoughts were interrupted when the door opened and the Right Reverend Gilles breezed in, beaming and muttering, “Well, well.”

The reverend was about fifty and seemed well fed, so I suppose the tithing business was working. He came right to us and gave Rita a hug and a peck on the cheek, before turning to offer me a hearty masculine handshake.

“Well,” he said, smiling cautiously at me. “So you’re Dexter.”

“I suppose I am,” I said. “I just couldn’t help it.”

He nodded, almost as if I had made sense. “Sit down, please, relax,” he said, and he moved around behind the desk and sat in a large swivel chair.

I took him at his word and leaned back in the red leather chair opposite his desk, but Rita perched nervously on the edge of her identical seat.

“Rita,” he said, and he smiled again. “Well, well. So you’re ready to try again, are you?”

“Yes, I-that’s just-I mean, I think so,” Rita said, blushing furiously. “I mean, yes.” She looked at me with a bright red smile and said, “Yes, I’m ready.”

“Good, good,” he said, and he switched his expression of fond concern over to me. “And you, Dexter. I would really like to know a little bit about you.”

“Well, to begin with, I’m a murder suspect,” I said modestly.

“Dexter,” Rita said, and impossibly turned even redder.

“The police think you killed somebody?” Reverend Gilles asked.

“Oh, they don’t all think that,” I said. “Just my sister.”

“Dexter works in forensics,” Rita blurted out. “His sister is a detective. He just-he was only kidding about the other part.”

Once again he nodded at me. “A sense of humor is a big help in any relationship,” he said.

He paused for a moment, looked very thoughtful and even more sincere, and then said, “How do you feel about Rita’s children?”

“Oh, Cody and Astor adore Dexter,” Rita said, and she looked very happy that we were no longer talking about my status as a wanted man.

“But how does Dexter feel about them?” he insisted gently.

“I like them,” I said.

Reverend Gilles nodded and said, “Good. Very good. Sometimes children can be a burden. Especially when they’re not yours.”

“Cody and Astor are very good at being a burden,” I said. “But I don’t really mind.”

“They’re going to need a lot of mentoring,” he said, “after all they went through.”

“Oh, I mentor them,” I said, although I thought it was probably a good idea not to be too specific, so I just added, “They’re very eager to be mentored.”

“All right,” he said. “So we’ll see those kids here at Sunday school, right?” It seemed to me to be a bald-faced attempt to blackmail us into providing future recruits to fill his collection basket, but Rita nodded eagerly, so I went along with it. Besides, I was reasonably sure that whatever anyone might say, Cody and Astor would find their spiritual comfort somewhere else.

“Now, the two of you,” he said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing the back of one hand with the palm of the other. “A relationship in today’s world needs a strong foundation in faith,” he said, looking at me expectantly. “Dexter? How about it?”

Well, there it was. You have to believe that sooner or later a minister will find a way to twist things around so they fall into his area. I don’t know if it’s worse to lie to a minister than to anyone else, but I did want to get this interview over quickly and painlessly, and could that possibly happen if I told the truth? Suppose I did and said something like, Yes, I have a great deal of faith, Reverend-in human greed and stupidity, and in the sweetness of sharp steel on a moonlit night. I have faith in the dark unseen, the cold chuckle from the shadows inside, the absolute clarity of the knife. Oh, yes, I have faith, Reverend, and beyond faith-I have certainty, because I have seen the bleak bottom line and I know it is real; it’s where I live.

But really, that was hardly calculated to reassure the man, and I surely didn’t need to worry about going to hell for telling a lie to a minister. If there actually is a hell, I already have a front-row seat. So I merely said, “Faith is very important,” and he seemed to be happy with that.

“Great, okay,” he said, and he glanced covertly at his watch. “Dexter, do you have any questions about our church?”

A fair question, perhaps, but it took me by surprise, since I had been thinking of this interview as my time for answering questions, not asking them. I was perfectly ready to be evasive for at least another hour-but really, what was there to ask about? Did they use grape juice or wine? Was the collection basket metal or wood? Was dancing a sin? I was just not prepared. And yet he seemed like he was truly interested in knowing. So I smiled reassuringly back at Reverend Gilles and said, “Actually, I’d love to know what you think about demonic possession.”

“Dexter!” Rita gulped with a nervous smile. “That’s not-You can’t really-”

Reverend Gilles raised a hand. “It’s all right, Rita,” he said. “I think I know where Dexter’s coming from.” He leaned back in the chair and nodded, favoring me with a pleasant and knowing smile. “Been quite a while since you’ve been to church, Dexter?”

“Well, actually, it has,” I said.

“I think you’ll find that the new church is quite a good fit for the modern world. The central truth of God’s love doesn’t change,” he said. “But sometimes our understanding of it can.” And then he actually winked at me. “I think we can agree that demons are for Halloween, not for Sunday service.”