these demons!” The crowd repeated it back to him each time: “Oh, Lord, cast out these demons!”
Emboldened by the power and energy of the crowd, and the little boy’s healed leg, Juliana slipped off both her gloves and held her bare hands high.
When the crowd was at a fever pitch, the preacher turned, seized both of her hands, then closed his eyes and shouted one final “Oh, Lord, cast out these demons!”
Juliana clutched his hands, closed her eyes, and threw back her head, waiting for God to finally break her evil curse.
A wave of quiet rolled over the room, displacing the shouting, singing, and loud praying that had accompanied all the other healings. She didn’t feel any different. She opened her eyes.
The preacher stood in front of her, squeezing her hands, his jaw hanging open. Diseased sores had opened all over his face, and dark blood drooled from his lips. His face and jaw swelled and change shape, as if tumors were sprouting all over his skull. His hands, still gripping tight to hers, had turned rotten and leprous.
Juliana gasped and released him, realizing too late that the preacher didn’t have any power over the demon plague, after all. It was eating him up. The preacher staggered toward the front of the stage, groaning and raising his decayed hands. He fell to his knees, and the audience screamed and drew back. The chorus girls grabbed each other and screamed.
The piano player took one look at what was happening and wisely grabbed his hat and darted out through the canvas flaps at the back of the stage.
The crowd continued shrieking, panicked but not sure whether to run or pray or just shout. Many pointed at Juliana. She felt glued to the spot where she stood, though she knew she ought to leave the stage. There was nothing she could do. The preacher would die, and it would be her fault.
The preacher’s assistant hurried over to the horribly infected preacher and knelt beside him. He took the man’s contorted, blistered face in both hands, showing no fear at all. He spoke quietly to the preacher, and though Juliana couldn’t hear his words over the frightened crowd, she could hear his tone—calm, measured, focused.
Then, incredibly, the demon plague was reversed. The preacher’s face and neck healed, and his hands returned to normal. In less than a minute, it looked like he’d never been infected at all, except for the splotches of blood and pus on his suit and tie.
The assistant helped the preacher stand. The preacher looked down at his hands, turning them back and forth, then held them up for the audience to see. “Healed! Healed, by the grace of God!” he shouted. The crowd shouted back with hallelujahs and amens.
Then the preacher turned to Juliana and scowled as he pointed one trembling finger at her.
“The devil is here today!” the preacher announced. “This is no girl. She’s a demoness, sent from Hell!”
The crowd roared and surged toward the stage, shouting all kinds of filthy names and curses at Juliana.
“I’m not!” Juliana said, though she doubted anyone could hear her over the din. “I can’t help it! I don’t want to hurt anyone, I came to be healed...” She realized she was crying. Why not? She’d been foolish, letting herself hope for too much. She turned toward the preacher’s assistant, giving him a desperate look. He was the one with the miraculous power, she now understood, and not the preacher. Maybe he could still help her.
“Devil!” someone shouted from below.
“Witch!” screamed someone else.
Men and women from the crowd clambered up onto the stage with fear glowing in their eyes.
“Destroy her!” the preacher shouted. “Drown the demon in the river! We’ll baptize it back to Hell!”
The crowd swarmed the stage, all of them closing in on Juliana, and she realized they would kill her, unless she killed them first.
“Stop! Get back!” she shouted. She raised her bare hands and let the demon plague appear all over her skin, even her face, mutating her appearance into something infernal.
The crowd slowed. Suddenly, nobody wanted to be the first to grab her.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Juliana said. “I’m here for healing...but I can kill you if I want. Please don’t make me.”
One person advanced toward her, the preacher’s assistant. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the back of the stage. She noticed that her boils and blisters vanished where he touched her, and she felt a warm glow there instead.
“I have the