Page 17 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

“Ah,” Gunther replies, giving me a wistful, almost lascivious glance. “Yes. Perhaps if I had taken a more flawed path, I too would look like I belong on these walls.”

They chuckle. I’m not sure the young priest does. I feel his stare against my skin, hot and full of warning. I’m watching you, it says.

Valerio leans forward, swirls the ladle in the font, and then pours water onto the stones. Steam fills the air with a sputtering hiss.

He gestures with the ladle to the older men on his right. “Francisco, meet Cardinals Gunther Hass and Lars Björnson.” He swings the ladle to the priest. “And this is Father Lorcan O’Malley, exorcist in charge of the Spanish team.”

My gaze snaps to him and narrows. The Spanish team, as in the one Jasmine slaughtered?

Seven

Cisco

Being able to sense evil has its advantages. All my life, I could tell when someone was lying to me by the flare of evil coinciding with their words. But sometimes, when the lies are so convoluted, the sense of evil isn’t even a blip on the radar. They believe the lie so much that it feels as if they’re telling the truth.

Take now, for example. These men are either lying about Father O’Malley being the exorcist for the Spanish team, or he’s newly appointed to that role since the massacre, yet somehow important enough to be included in this high-level meeting. My guess is he’s new and simply a pawn to gauge my reaction.

Which means they know little about what really happened in Spain, except that everyone is dead.

“You’re new?” I ask him.

“Why would you ask that?” O’Malley replies in a thick Irish accent.

“I think you know why.”

He darts a glance at the cardinals, then back to me. “So you know. About the attack?”

“Sì.” I flick my gaze to Valerio, who knows exactly what my curse does and why I’d know about the massacre. “The woman responsible for the carnage is no longer with us.”

Something eases in Valerio’s shoulders, and it makes me uncomfortable.

“These Sinners are out of control,” he grumbles. “We are fortunate for your loyalty, Francisco.”

There it is. After everything, they still believe I’m theirs.

“So we’re in agreement.” Lars leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His towel gapes indecently, and I have to look away as he finishes, “We must destroy the tares before they choke the wheat.”

My eye twitches at the reference to the parable about an enemy of heaven.

“You misunderstand me.” I swing my gaze his way. “The one responsible did not act alone. I warned you about the infestation at the abbey.”

“You warned of one in the States, not Spain,” Valerio corrects.

“I also said I need more time. I believe the same demonic infestation is to blame for the massacre, not the women of the Hildegard Sisterhood. They are innocent in this, and are fighting the same evil as us.”

Valerio sighs heavily. “You speak with such passion about these women, Francisco. You have always been so eager to save the lost. But I worry that this . . . pastoral charity . . . is blinding you to the reality of the board.”

“The relics are real, Eminence. They are fighting the same holy war we are. You should listen to their representative⁠—”

He holds up a finger weighted by a gold signet ring. “The American was invited to speak with us, but she is not here. One can only assume she has changed her mind.”

I arch a brow and glance around the steam room, at the pornographic frescoes. “You invited her here?”

He shrugs. “Why not? They claim to want equality, but when it comes down to it, they do not.”

Mercy is not the type to refuse a meeting in a steam room with half-naked men. But I say nothing, because if they’re trying to play the weak-female card, they must not realize she is a Sinner.

“It’s probably a good thing she is not here,” Valerio continues. “We can speak candidly without her.”