Page 132 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part 1

And I drink it in.

I want more.

“I know it was you,” I whisper, hunting through her soul for the deepest of her evil. “That’s why the orphans fear to sleep with you, isn’t it?”

She scratches at my wrists, then at nothing.

Every drop of darkness, every ounce of envy, evil, and sin, is mine to keep. This is holy. Sacramental. But Heaven is an addiction, and it’s been so long. I can’t control the influx. I drink and feast and gorge myself. I don’t stop until she’s empty.

Jasmine sags to the floor, hollow, skin gray and cold. A giant fly rolls away from her neck, dead too. The shadow ribbons withdraw, slithering back beneath my tattoos.

The hunger … is sated.

But only for a heartbeat.

Then the real agony sets in. The void inside me screams, splitting my skull.

More, more, more!

I double over and clutch my head. My legs buckle, and I land hard on my knees. I gasp, heave in air, and steady myself on the cold concrete wall. The pain is cosmic, like swallowing shards of glass and then trying not to vomit them up, except the sensation is everywhere. Inside me. Desperate.

It takes forever.

It takes a second.

Finally, when I can see straight, I look up. The crypt is in ruin. Feathers, maggots, blood, and bones are scattered everywhere. Jasmine is on the ground, eyes rolled up, and she twitches out her death throes. The wall behind her is streaked with blood and bug guts from where I crushed her skull.

The flies are gone.

And then there’s Mercy, on the floor, clutching her elbow. Two wide blue eyes peer out through a curtain of messy hair.

Footsteps scuffle on the steps behind me. I turn and see the others descend. My team. Mercy’s team.

Leila is the first to view the devastation. Her face grows hard as I’ve never seen it before. She lifts her spiked gun and aims at my head. “What the ever-loving fuck, priest?”

Her too.

“No,” I grunt, but the hunger yawns inside me, opening its mouth. I tense all over, grit my teeth, and stare at Mercy. I remember how she looked at me beneath the water, and then I force the cage closed.

Snick.

Leila cocks the pistol and sights me down the barrel. “Make one fucking move toward my sister, and you’re dead.”

Voices shout. Chaos erupts. A distant part of me recognizes my team, my family—Zeke, Wesley, Dom. They all try to reason with her.

But no Mercy.

Her silence is the worst pain of all. It almost kills me to face her again. She tries to stand, but her good arm folds, and she slips.

I push off the wall, every motion agony.

Wesley yells, “Don’t—he’s not—he’s⁠—”

“I swear to God, Father. One more step and I shoot.”

“Wait!” Thea’s voice rings out. “The gun will kill the man. The staff will kill the demon.”

My feet shuffle to a stop, but I don’t look back. I won’t survive the relics. If this is my time, I want Mercy to be the last thing I see. Her eyes, her hair, her smile. I take a step. Then another.