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equally without any adornment, and only three of them had a door: one, as an entry and exit; another, leading to the toilets; and the last one led to a tiny office.
    Padre Salas found himself with 22 people who were waiting in tense silence: the nine girls, nine mothers, three fathers, and the reporter from Las Noticias , with whom he had made an agreement. He already knew all of them, and as such he could get straight to the point and save himself any useless circumlocutions.
    “We’re going to start the process of exorcism on your daughters. I have received authorisation from both the Archbishop of Guadalajara and the Prime Archbishop of Mexico. It is a harsh treatment , which you can of course watch, but during which you cannot intervene. If, at any moment, any one of you does not feel strong enough to endure the tension which this will certainly induce, Padre Rincón will escort you to this office here or, if you prefer, to outside the warehouse.”
    Padre Salas paused. He contemplated the downcast and frightened faces of the mothers and fathers. Apart from one of the girls, whose was barely being held up by her mother, the others appeared to be asleep in their parents’ arms.
    “One person is going to record the entire ritual. We’re doing it as much for your own security as to keep a testimony of the ceremony, so that it can be of help to future victims of possession. Your daughters’ faces will be pixelated, concealed, and your names and surnames will be protected, so that your identities remain safe. Are there any questions?”
    The priest looked back at those poor people: they were humble people; he had been into their homes and had seen first hand their shabby surroundings. He doubted that they would have an understanding of the significance of the process he was about to begin, but he knew that they trusted him. Perhaps that was the most important thing: the only important thing.
    “Could my daughter end up dying?” asked Daniela’s father, from El Salto, in almost a whisper.
    “Many things can happen, but we should have faith, believe in the power of God, and in the strength of your daughters to expel the demons that have possessed them.”
    “Forgive me, father, but you haven’t answered my question...”
    The priest noticed that his lips were trembling. Images from the past came flooding back to his mind: images that he had been able to leave behind him when he was in his refuge in Coyoacán. Now, he saw himself once more involved in a duel with a demon, and his worst nightmares plagued him with ferocity.
    “Yes, they can be near death, they can perish, and they can even burst into flame spontaneously, right before our eyes. You need to be prepared. But to not confront the situation would mean to accept that the girls end up, sooner rather than later, transforming completely into atrocious beasts, treacherous and malevolent. To die, from one perspective, I dare say is the lesser of two evils.”
    Padre Salas returned to the office, coming back with a bottle of holy water. He began to pray in Latin, as he went around splashing the water on the floor, the walls, the ceiling, and everyone present. Sancho was recording, in a state of astonishment, everything that the priest was doing. He felt both distressed and exultant at the same time. Suddenly, the walls in the warehouse gave off a resounding crack, and the girls began to howl, shout, and bellow violently like unruly wild animals. Everyone else was shaking, terrified, except for Padre Salas, who continued praying, hardly missing a beat.
    XII. El Salto, State of Jalisco
    Sancho was afraid of potentially missing anything interesting happening back at the warehouse in Guadalajara, but he could not stop himself from going out and investigating on his own, and what little Valeria had relayed to him, along with what he had discovered on the banks of Lake Chapala, needed answers.
    Besides, he urgently needed to keep informed, since the editor in chief,