Page 32 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part 1

My eyes widen. Did I just say that? Out loud?

Is that what I really want?

Slowly, I face my team. Even the Reverend Mother wears a knowing expression.

Male voices on the stairs save me from facing my feelings. Dominic and Wesley arrive, faces flushed from the cold outdoors. Dominic takes a spare seat beside the Rev. Wes, who sits beside Thea, gives the Rev a quick nod, and says, “All good on our side.”

No signs of demonic activity.

The Rev orders Tawny to report on world news.

“Okay, so the global news outlets are starting to report strangeness,” Tawny begins, her voice tight as she reads from her phone. “The World Health Organization is calling it a ‘taste and texture disorder.’ Some are calling it mass hysteria, the latest online viral trend.”

“I suppose that’s good, right?” I glance around the table nervously. “If they think it’s a hoax, then we might have more time before shit goes sideways.”

The mumbled agreements don’t sound too convincing.

Tawny scrolls, tapping the screen with an agitated fingernail. “There’s also a new agricultural anomaly in the Midwest. They’re calling it ‘The Black Blight.’ Crops are failing en masse, not rotting yet, but collapsing and wilting in the field.” She pauses, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Many reports mention a strange, thick, black sickness in livestock. They’re dying with black fluid on their mouths and infested with flies.”

Black blood. The fish Jinx dragged in from the lake. The one Raven called an omen. I feel the last vestiges of blood drain from my face.

Tawny continues, oblivious to the terror she’s sown. “Those infestations aren’t that common, though. They’re weirdly localized and only new … like today, new. I’ll have to fact-check⁠—”

Mid-sentence, she glances toward the door and cocks her head. For a moment, I think the worst, that there’s a reason the priest and Zeke are late returning from their security sweep of the grounds. But a grin splits across Tawny’s face, and she jumps to her feet. “Pizza’s here.”

After she dashes out of the room and toward the staircase, Leila murmurs, “She’s like a dog, I swear.”

Raven starts running through the latest inquiries from the Sisterhood’s fake paranormal activity hotline. We set it up years ago to help us investigate fact from fiction when demonic activity first appeared.

“Two suspected possessions in Tricott,” she drones, “Three in Forks County. One thinks her neighbor is possessed because their dog barks at her all day.”

“Um, guys.” Tawny’s voice filters in from the main archives.

I gesture vaguely to the door, eyes still on the hotline report. “Someone help her bring in the pizza.”

“It’s not pizza,” Thea says, eyes wide.

The atmosphere shifts around me. From the tension-filled expressions on everyone’s faces, it’s not good. I turn to peer through the open doorway to see Tawny at the top of the staircase.

She’s not alone. Beside her stand two women dressed all in black except for the red cross splashed across the front of their hoodies. If it weren’t for their Sinner uniforms, I almost didn’t recognize them. Hannah’s dark hair has been cut into an austere bob, her demeanor every bit the Senator she was impersonating at the Pentagon. Weapons strapped to her body are spotless. Jasmine, on the other hand, is covered from head to toe in dirt, scratches, and old blood. But I know it’s her because of the way she stands, one hand gripping the bloody dagger on her hip like it’s a security blanket. When she first arrived at the abbey, she would sleep with that dagger under her pillow. Her long brown braid is frayed, and her eyes are wild with alarm. The three young girls hiding behind her are much the same, banged up and alarmed, each holding a small suitcase.

They can’t be older than ten or eleven years.

“I thought you weren’t taking in recruits.” Wesley’s harsh voice cuts through the silence.

Jasmine’s eyes snap to him and narrow. “Who the fuck are you?”

Oh shit.

“You didn’t warn her?” I ask the Rev, brows raising.

Her helpless look says it all. Jasmine’s flung dagger at Wesley’s head says the rest.

Thirteen

Mercy

Jasmine’s blade finds a target, but it’s not Wesley. Before her chair thuds to the ground, Thea shields her boyfriend with her body, curling to face him and taking the hit in the back of her shoulder. The impact topples her into his arms, scattering books and papers.