The Possession of Alba Díaz

Even if Elías sailed to the Indies tomorrow with nothing but a pickaxe, desperate to exhume the corpse, there would be nothing to find by the time he reached the grave. They say that when she stumbled down the cathedral steps, she was alive, yes—she was screaming, and all of Zacatecas heard it, their breasts chilled by how shredded and raw her voice was—but her wedding gown and all its silver was slick with blood. His hands flew to his face, searching for the source of the blood. Finally, he found purchase, though the demon writhed and tried to slip through his grasp, slick as raw meat, but he held on with all his strength, ignoring the squelch of flesh, ignoring the warm drip of blood.