Page 44 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part 1

Then Wesley says, voice muffled through his door, “Whatever you say, Miss Hannigan.”

Male chuckles erupt behind every door. Every. Door.

My jaw drops.

“Just for that,” I growl, “I’ll make you all wait until morning to be let out to pee.”

Quietly stomping off, it’s hard to hold my smile. When I pass Cisco’s door and see his shadow beneath the crack, I stop.

They all heard me and laughed, but in a good-natured way. The kind of way shared with family, like my Sinner sisters. The kind of laugh I never shared with my own mother—only my dad. The kind of laugh he never shared with anyone else but me.

Sixteen

Mercy

Half an hour later, I’m sitting at the long table in the archive’s boardroom. All, except Jasmine, are here. Exhaustion grinds the back of my eyelids, and I blink, trying to wake the fuck up. Raven sits back in her chair, boots resting on the corner of the table, picking her nails with a dagger, eyes on the door. An empty seat separates her and Hannah, who sits frog-legged on her chair. Beside her, at her usual spot at the head of the table, the Rev rubs her eyes beneath her spectacles.

“I swear I heard Jasmine leave her room,” I say. “She knows she has to debrief, right?”

“Of course,” Hannah grumbles, cracking her neck.

Tawny yawns. “Maybe she went back to sleep.”

“Not good enough,” I counter. “Even Thea is here.”

Stitched and bandaged, she should be in the infirmary resting, but with Wesley locked away, she refused a general anesthetic for the surgery. She wants to stay alert. Even now, she’s casting nervous glances at the door, probably wondering if Jasmine’s going after Wes to finish the job.

Fortunately, none of Thea’s major internal organs were damaged by the knife, but she won’t be going on field missions anytime soon. She’s the only person in the world the archangel’s healing staff won’t work on, so it could be months before she’s back to fighting shape.

The recklessness Jasmine showed is unforgivable. Sinners do not lose their cool like that. We spend years training to remove emotion from battle situations.

Leila has the Helwing gun resting on the table before her, her finger tapping one of the True Nails sticking in the barrel. The gun’s divine properties only work on demons—as far as we know—yet she sits close to Thea, who’s holding Raphael’s staff like a crutch. This is a show of force, no doubt, or perhaps righteousness, and it’s entirely for Jasmine’s benefit.

Righteousness. The word tastes bitter. Do we even know what that means anymore?

“For fuck’s sake,” I mumble, sliding my chair out to stand. “I’ll find her.”

But the instant I’m up, Jinx’s frilly ears fan out toward the open door. A low, vibrating growl rattles in her chest. Two seconds later, Jasmine crests the staircase landing and strolls across the archives floor toward us as if she’s arriving for Sunday brunch. Hair down and flowing, she’s clean and wearing satin, slinky pajamas, and—wait, they look familiar.

Thea winces and puts her hand on Jinx’s head when the growling escalates. “Shh.”

“About fucking time,” Raven snarls, dropping her boots to the floor.

“I had a lot of blood to wash off.” Jasmine ignores me and heads toward the vacant seat, where Hannah pulls out a seat beside her. She sits down with a huff so big it scatters papers. “I get it, the garden is compromised, but can’t the magpies pick up groceries from the local store? Do we all have to all starve?”

“The nuns aren’t our slaves. You’re more than welcome to make the trip to the store yourself. Tawny does.” I smile sweetly, then gesture at Tawny, who is now suddenly awake and jumping up to retrieve a tray of mugs from the snack bar—each topped with a snarl of marshmallow that’s more foam than sugar. “But as she can attest, even the local stores are affected by the taste issue.”

“Food tasted fine in Spain.”

Jasmine scowls at me and scratches the back of her neck. Her elbow gets in Hannah’s face, who then slaps her hand away like a mother.

Tawny starts at the end of the table near the door and hands a mug to Thea. “For your blood loss. With extra marshmallows, as you like.”

Thea raises the mug, murmurs thanks, but doesn’t really look at her. She’s too busy eyeing off Jasmine. Leila is next on Tawny’s list, but the gun is in the way. Leila’s also too busy glaring daggers at Jasmine, so Tawny just dumps the drink on the end of the table and moves on.

When Raven’s turn comes, she grabs the cup before Tawny even sets it down and offers a rare smile of gratitude. Hannah accepts hers without a word but doesn’t drink, instead pushing the mug toward The Rev. By the time Tawny gets to my side, her knuckles are white on the tray, jaw a mess of tension.

“Thanks, doll face.” I keep my tone deliberately bright. “You’re the best.”