Page 117 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

He tries to gather her into his arms, but the sword is in the way. She ends up slumping to the side and awkwardly against him. Flames rapidly spread across her body, but he’s heedless of the danger to himself. I reach for the sword, but her eyes lock with mine, and she shakes her head.

“I think I . . . have more,” she gurgles. “Needs to . . . stay . . . until nothing . . . left.”

She coughs and more blood spills from the corners of her lips. Black veins appear on her flesh, bubbling to the surface. Each razor-thin line changes color, turning molten. She cries out in agony.

“Take the sword out,” Cisco orders me. Something dark and evil flashes in his eyes. I gasp, stepping back. His face crumples and he lets out a sob. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry.”

I’m not sure if he’s talking to Hannah or me, but he gathers her closer to him.

“No, Maria,” he growls. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Body spasming, she tenses in an attempt to hide the pain. I see the struggle in her face as her insides slowly catch fire. She’s still trying to be the tough one, still trying to hide her pain behind a mask. She raises a palm to Cisco’s stubbled jaw and murmurs, “I was a cunt to you. Don’t mourn me.”

“You are my family!”

She laughs. Spits blood. “You killed our family.”

He locks up in shock, in guilt, in grief.

“Don’t do that,” Hannah gurgles. “You eradicated . . . devils . . . bloodline.”

His eyes widen as he realizes the same thing as me. All that business with Paolo—she orchestrated it so the entire family was at the osteria when Cisco lost himself.

Hannah sees it dawn on our faces and smiles weakly. Then, with an almighty effort, she shoves him away. He flings backward and lands hard on his butt, palms out to break his fall, hair disheveled. Hannah looks at me and mouths something—four words I don’t quite register—and then she erupts into flames.

“Maria!” Cisco bellows.

He launches for her, but I intercept, tackling him back to the ground.

“Leave her,” I say.

“No!”

“Don’t shit on her sacrifice.”

He fights me with everything that he has, but I manage to keep him at a safe distance. I try to angle our bodies so that he can’t see his sister burning, can’t see her body collapse, but I can’t protect him from the sound of her wet, crispy body landing on the cobblestones. I’ll never forget that sound for as long as I live.

Eventually Cisco slumps over me, and our battle becomes a desperate, sobbing embrace. He clutches me so hard that I fear my ribs will crack.

“Why would she—it makes no sense—nothing left—why—” He continues to babble incoherently into my neck.

There are no words to soothe him now. There is no sense. All I can give him is this, the comfort of my arms. My love.

A flash of red and purple over his shoulder grows closer through my blurred vision. I blink the tears away and see Bianchi and Cardinal Sharma approaching behind Hannah’s charred and smoking corpse. My sword still sticks out of it. The fire is now doused. The blade is dead.

In the distance, I see flashing lights. Emergency services have arrived and already set up a perimeter, keeping the public back. More clergy. People with their phones out. Tourists. Children.

A cloud passes over the sun, washing us with brief shadow.

Cisco goes taut in my arms, muscles tensing like bowstrings. A choking sound gasps out of him against my throat.

“Mercy,” he groans out.

It sounds wrong, deep and foreign. Strangled.

“Babe?” I push him back and hold him at arm’s length. Fissures of micro black veins move across his skin, as if oil is pushing to the surface. It’s like what happened to Hannah, only these veins aren’t igniting with purifying flames. They’re growing thicker. “Holy fuck, what’s happening?”

Stark brown eyes meet mine. In them, I see my worst nightmare. Defeat. Regret. Heartbreak. Black veins are spiderwebbing across the whites.