Page 11 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part 1

“You’d better hurry,” she intones. “She’s almost done with her shower.”

“Babe! Ugh. This isn’t over,” I grit out, but the rage is already leaking out, replaced by a desperate, electric need. “I’m worried about you.”

At her averted gaze, I snatch my clothes bundle and sprint toward Leila’s room. She’s still in the shower, thank God.

I yank open her bedroom door and hit the lights. The single bulb is a harsh, yellow glare on the furniture. Unlike my room, Hannah and Leila’s is organized like a military museum. The shelf over Leila’s cot is a grid of precision: neatly stacked field manuals, a gun-cleaning kit, bullets, a tennis ball, and her weird little toy, Snuggles—the enchanted protection bear missing an eye.

That looks like a good hiding spot. I head straight for it, pick it up, and plump the stuffed belly, testing for hidden objects. It doesn’t feel heavier than it should. But then again, my chain cilices aren’t that big.

Pressing my lips together, I move to the thick field manual and pull it off the shelf. The cover opens, revealing my prize within a carved-out interior. The chain cilices are made of two rows of interlocking metal loops with small dull tines that press into my skin like barbs. The satin ribbons almost make them look like pretty garter belts. The tighter you fasten the ribbon, the more pain the cilices cause. My fingers close around the cold, familiar chains. The relief is an instant wave of calmness that unclenches my muscles. I shove the cilices deep into the waistband of my yoga pants and turn, already planning my escape, when I see something strange on Hannah’s side of the room.

Her bag.

A shadow fills the doorway. My pulse spikes, but it’s only the Reverend Mother.

Ancient and small, the nun’s face is a road map of wrinkles and a life well lived. Her dark habit is a shroud in the yellow light. For someone who needs a cane to walk, she is somehow always just there or not far away.

“Mercy,” she greets.

Blocking my exit, leaning heavily on her cane. Her gaze darts to where I hide the cilices against my abdomen, then up to the messy shelf.

“How is the cataloging coming along, dear?”

I push the guilt down with a swallow.

“It’s going fine, thank you, Reverend Mother.” I pull the lie tighter. “It is a lot of work, but I should be done by morning. Or the next.”

“Do you need help?” she asks.

“No.” My lips flatten. “It’s better if the others don’t know we’re hiding the relics. I can manage this myself.” I look at the rumpled bed. “Wait, is that where Hannah went?”

“Hannah?” She frowns, and her eyes glaze for a long moment. “Oh, no, she’s not here.”

“But her things are?” I give a pointed nod to the bed. “When did she get back from D.C.?”

Again, the Rev looks confused, and a grimy sense of unease unfurls in my gut. Age can do many things to the mind.

The Rev sees the bag, and something clicks. “Oh, that was a few days ago. She left already. I…” She pats her forehead. “Goodness, child. I’m feeling rather famished. Must be my blood sugar.”

“Do you want me to find something from the kitchen?”

“Not to worry. I’m sure Tawny’s doing that right now for the meeting.”

“Where did Hannah go?” I ask. “And why didn’t you tell me?”

“Spain. To collect Jasmine. There were some … conflicts. When Hannah arrived, I thought it best just to send her out at once. Especially considering the relics they must save.” She startles oddly. “The manifest!”

“What?”

“Oh, I can’t believe I forgot to give this to you. Silly me.” She pats down her habit and digs into a deep pocket to retrieve a folded piece of paper. “This arrived from Spain, but it’s alright, Hannah’s on the case. I’m sure between her and Jasmine, everything will be fine.”

I take it and cast my eyes over the typed list. Reference numbers, item descriptions, and headers are all written in Spanish. I’m not as fluent in this language as I am with others, but I know I’m better than the Reverend Mother, who only speaks English.

“Rev, these items are already in the reliquary. The crate from Spain arrived weeks ago. How long have you had this letter?”

“It just arrived.”

There’s no date on the letter. Sending the manifest in a different shipment is a safety measure.