Page 41 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part 1

I pray they don’t see the lie in my eyes.

They don’t answer, and so I run through my best moves—hand on my heart, the Sinner sign of peace, a smile, but only the fox girl dares meet my gaze. For a split second, her mask slips, and there’s a flash of raw, feral hunger. That’s what the world does to us: chews us up, spits us out, makes us animals fighting for scraps.

“Okay. Let’s start again.” I point at myself. “I’m Mercy, the boss.”

Tawny snorts. When I raise my brows at her, she covers her mouth but can’t hide her smile.

“I am,” I insist.

“After the Rev, maybe.” She shrugs.

“Close enough.” I point at Eliska and ask for her name again.

Her accent is heavy when she answers.

“Eli for short,” Tawny adds, absently running her fingers through the girl’s uneven hair. “She’s Czech.”

Ah. Now I see why they want to sleep up here. Tawny has been playing big sister. I switch to Eliska’s native language and confirm that she can sleep up here. I repeat the same thing to Lucia in Portuguese and then point at the third girl.

“And what’s your name again?” I ask.

“Mathilde.”

“La Française?”

She nods. “Oui.”

“Parlez-vous anglais?”

A pause. “Yes.”

Mm. I thought as much. “And the others?”

“Some.” She shrugs, acting nonchalant, but I see a glimmer of pride in her eyes. She likes that I asked her for answers about speaking English, and not the others. Protective or bossy.

I straighten and say, “Let’s get you settled. Best rooms are on the Sinner level anyway. We have pillows, blankets, and cookies. Unless Tawny ate them all.”

I give her a wink, and she returns an eyeroll.

The light beneath Jasmine’s door is still on, a thin slice of feverish yellow. Every so often, something inside thuds, like she’s tossing her suitcase against the wall.

The only reason I’m not reprimanding her is that what she said might be true … if another Team Saint has played us and Jasmine’s the only one who saw it and survived, then we need her on our side.

I glance down the length of the corridor and pause to run the math. Three girls, but only two beds in every cell. Thea’s old room might be suitable as she’ll sleep in the infirmary tonight, and Prue was the last one bunking with her. I glance at my belongings on the floor. Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. Me out of the room means a free bunk.

“Jasmine’s a Sinner, like me. Maybe one of you wants to bunk with her tonight?” I suggest. They seemed amiable to Jaz. “You know. Safety in numbers.”

I barely finish the pitch before the smallest one launches into a full-body protest. She shakes her head so hard her teeth rattle. “No,” she whispers. Tawny tugs her into her side. The others take a step back, eyes wide, arms crossed, glued together like ducklings in a thunderstorm.

Well, that’s fucking interesting.

I drop my tone even lower, gentle as rain. “Alright. You don’t have to. No one will make you.”

I shoot a glance at Jasmine’s door, then back at the girls. Is this just trauma, or something else? I try to recall their behavior upon arrival, but everything was so chaotic that I don’t think I registered much, apart from them appearing skittish. I file the notion away into a mental evidence folder: Jasmine Could Be Fucked Up.

“I have an idea,” I say, and walk down to Thea’s room. It’s a standard Sinner setup—two cots, one narrow window, the barest hint of moonlight on clean sheets. I flick the overhead, and for once the bulb holds steady.

“We can put a mattress on the floor between the cots.” I make a show of plumping pillows, unfurling soft, woolen blankets, tossing them with a flourish. “You can even build a fort. I won’t tell the Rev, but I will pop by in a bit with snacks and make sure you’re all tucked in.”