Page 130 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part 1

Her lips curve at my struggle. “We should join our pieces. Broken shards are stronger together.”

“I don’t know what you⁠—”

The church door bangs open, letting in a gust of apocalyptic wind and rain. Mercy stalks in, hair plastered to her face, oversized t-shirt wet and clinging to her curves, blood stains running down her thighs. The sword hangs in her hand, and smoke curls from the blade.

She sees Jasmine in her pink, silk robe, and fury darkens her expression. The sword glows. But then she sees me, cock barely put away, and time stops.

Air pulls as tight around me like a noose.

For a heartbeat, nobody speaks.

Mercy goes dead still.

For the first time, I glimpse the cold-hearted assassin they warned us about at the Vatican. It’s the kind of stare that says she’s already planned where to put the sword.

“It’s not…” My words die in my throat.

What am I supposed to say? Sorry, your friend tried to suck my soul out through my cock? Sorry, I let her? She was wearing your robe … I thought it was you?

“Didn’t take much, did it?” Jasmine cackles.

“Fucking bitch,” Mercy spits, and then charges down the closest aisle.

I yank my zipper up so hard that it finally unsticks, but I’m too late starting the exorcism rite. Jasmine leaps over the pews and heads toward the exit, pink robe fluttering, stench of rot trailing. She leaps like a ballerina across the wood, and then she’s gone, out of the church door and into the night.

Mercy pivots and chases after her. She doesn’t even look at me.

“Wait!” I shout, take a step after her, but then rush back to the oratory.

I shove a bottle of holy water into my back pocket, a prayer book into the other. I find a lighter and grab the purple stole. Then I run.

Forty-Three

Cisco

Irun so fast that I almost slip on the wet tiles by the door. Outside, it’s pitch black. Wind screams through branches, swaying the shadowy limbs like monstrous hands. The rain comes in gusts, stinging my face.

They’re at the end of the path heading away from the abbey. Mercy is gaining on the pink blur ahead.

An image slams into my head. Pink ribbon floating on a stormy sea. Pressure builds inside me until I roar, “No. Not tonight.”

Next, I look, they’re moving around the church, disappearing into the shadows. I tear after them. Mud squelches through my toes.

I round the same corner. Wet branches slap in my face. I swipe them away and step forward, but something else pelts my face, splatting against my skin.

The buzzing.

It’s everywhere.

Stop fighting it. Start feeding it.

Flies swarm around me, screaming for blood, all feeling the way Jasmine did—familiar but with a dash of evil. They dive at my cheeks, hit my hair, crawl down my neck. It’s agony. The world’s smallest teeth, biting, biting, biting.

Chase her. Feast on her.

Every time I slap one away, ten more come. They get in my eyes. My mouth.

The devil inside me is howling.