Page 114 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

“As long as I can use my sword arm, I’ll be fine.”

“Good. Because when it’s my turn, forget about the subclavian area. You’ll need to stab me in the heart.”

An ache in my throat tightens. “Are you sure?”

Her hand squeezes my shoulder. “Not getting soft on me now, are you?”

“No, but . . .” Nerves skitter in my belly. “You sure that’s how the sword works?”

She hesitates. “No.”

“Then maybe⁠—”

“Mercy,” she clips.

“Fuck.” My mind whirls. “I don’t know how the sword works either. So how can we be sure this is the right way?”

“It’s the only way. His recovery time is negligible now, so if he takes my half, you’ll have no opportunity to stop him. But if I take his half, then I’ll need a moment to process the curse. I’ll get sleepy—that’s when you strike.”

When she kidnapped me and held me in that room, gloating about how everything turned out, she was putting on a show for Beelzebub. Now I see that every time she capitulated to one of his desires, she secretly found a way to do something for herself. For us. Whether it was salvaging a couple of orphans under the guise of needing them to persuade Jasmine to murder, or whether it was sending Jasmine to her death at the church, but using it to test Cisco’s recovery, she did what she could.

She’s even the one who alerted Wesley about Mary’s Gospel, and she had the relic sent to the abbey along with it and pretended it was broken.

And when I think about it, her absence at the abbey all these years was probably her keeping the evil away.

Under the circumstances, could I have done the same? Or would I have given up completely and handed myself over to the dark forces?

“You’ve been planning this for a long time, haven’t you?” I say. “All the times you spied on us, manipulated us, or killed . . . you found a way to use it.”

Everything in her tenses, her arm around me, her body behind me, her lungs. She holds her breath for a few long moments, and then stilted, sobbing gasps escape, puffing against my ear. The blurry air immediately surrounding us flickers and wobbles. Her fingers flex around the dagger at my throat, and for a moment, I think she’s going to lose it—to lose hold on the invisible power cloaking us.

But then she releases a long, measured breath, using a calming technique I know well.

The blurry air returns to a consistent form.

“Turns out,” she mutters dryly, “you of all people, get it after all.”

“Thank you,” I murmur.

“For what?”

“For your service. Your sacrifice. Your pain.” I hook my fingers around her forearm at my chest and squeeze. “I’m sorry it’s come to this.”

“I’m not doing this for you,” she chokes out, shuddering behind me with a racked breath.

“I know,” I whisper.

Wind blows around us. Cisco’s shadow ribbons whip perilously close but miss.

“Promise me one thing,” Hannah says.

“Anything.”

“Don’t let them take this from us too.”

Us, not me.

Them, not him.