Page 134 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part 1

Normally, I see every sin I taste, experience it in my head. The feast feels righteous. Deserved.

Before tonight, I was hungry, but I was contained. Maybe even killable.

Now … now I am afraid of what I am becoming.

The aftershocks last forever.

Sweat stings my eyes, every muscle shudders, and the bitter taste in my mouth morphs into dirt and ash.

Time crawls, and I count each second, waiting for someone to come drag me out. Maybe Leila and the gun, maybe one of the others. I should pray. Say my rosary. A Hail Mary. Something. But every time I try to open my mouth, a wash of shame steals my words.

It’s different now.

Everyone knows.

People I care about know.

Eventually, someone enters the church on soft, hesitant feet. Mercy. I feel it. Smell it. And I hate myself because as she gets near, I want it. After everything, Dio mio, how I want it. How I wish for it and yearn for it.

It’s not going to happen.

She’s the one they send in when everyone else fails.

Breathing shallow, I watch Mercy’s bare feet circle me, and then she kneels by my head. Black yoga pants. Black cotton singlet. I look up into a freshly showered face. Clean and dry. Not a single bruise on her. Thea must have healed her. Thank God.

And she’s here.

Emotion clogs my throat. I roll my forehead on the cold floor, facing downward, and close my eyes.

“If you want me to go, just say so,” she whispers.

I nod. “You should go.”

Silence stretches. The rain has stopped. The rafters creak. I almost think Mercy will do as I tell her, but then the warm press of her body aligns with mine.

My eyes flip open. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” She tucks herself into my side, rests her neck against my splayed arm, and stares up at the ceiling. “Counting fucking sheep.”

“Mercy.” My voice breaks. “You need to go.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

She faces me. “Because the sword is mine. It’s still broken, but it’s mine.”

“The smoke.” I remember it curled from the blade when she stood at the church’s door. “It glowed.”

“You know what that means, don’t you?”

“You’re the next Sinner.” I swallow hard. “In the prophecy.”

“And you’re the Saint⁠—”

“I’m not.”

“Shut the fuck up and listen, bitch.”