staroth truly had no concerns about invading the priest's privacy. Since he was incapable of reading the Irishman's mind, he actually decided that it was more or less his right, then, to scope out his found and find out what he could about the person he was bound to. Since the exorcism had gone off course and Liam Roe had learned of his existence, Ruairi had become even more closed off than before. Astaroth thought as he got down on the floor to rummage underneath Ruairi's bed, by finding out more about the priest on his own, he could at least steer the conversation. So truthfully, he was doing Father Mac Cumhaill a favour, whether or not the priest came to see it that way.
At first, Astaroth found nothing under the bed but dust clouds and an old hammer, but rummaging further, he noticed that one of the floorboards beneath the bed was loose. It didn't take him much manoeuvering to lift the board away. Reaching fearlessly down into the darkness, the demon's fingertips his against something hard. Very carefully, he raised his find from the hole in the floor and brought it into the light.
Astaroth sat on the floor holding the battered Ladurée macaroon box in his hands. He assumed that whatever was inside wasn't a selection of delicate cookies from Paris: this box must contain something that Ruairi was trying to keep from him.
Gingerly, he lifted the lid from the box and got up from the floor to spill the contents across the priest's neatly made bed. At first, the demon was disappointed. Before him were bundles of papers, a few old polaroids of a man that he did not recognise, and a few beaten up and frayed diaries. If there was something scandalous hidden here, Astaroth realised miserably, he was going to have to dig for it.
***
“What are you doing?”
Most days, Ruairi left Astaroth alone in the clergy house to watch day time television and feel sorry for himself. Today was no different, but at some point while he was working away in his office at the church, the priest was his by a sudden pang of anxiety. He didn’t know exactly what was causing it or where it had come from, but his bond with the demon made his thinking go straight to Astaroth. Quickly, he abandoned his work and walked across the churchyard to the adjacent lot where his house stood.
He didn’t know what he was expecting when he rushed from room to room, frantically looking for the mischevious demon he’d gotten himself intertwined with. But he knew what he hadn’t anticipated was walking in on the Duke of Hell languishing across his bedspread, reading notes that he had once written to his Parisian lover.
Without thinking he swiped at Astaroth, snatching the letter from his hand before quickly trying to gather his belongings and stuff them frantically back into his makeshift keepsake box.