Page 19 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

“Bah.” Lars waves me down. “When aren’t demons causing mischief? This is no different.”

“It’s true,” O’Malley adds. “You are an exorcist. You should know this.”

“Demon princes aren’t normal.” I flatten my gaze, ignoring the urge to pulverize his face with my fist. “You should know this.”

Valerio shrugs. “We’ve seen no evidence of higher-tier demonic activity. Could you perhaps be mistaken, my son?”

The buzzing becomes a pounding hurricane in my head. Show them. Show them what they’re up against.

“You do look tired,” he continues. “Go to your room. Rest.”

Gunther gestures to the frescoes. “Fuck your beautiful American.”

“This is why we put you both in an unused wing.” Valerio wipes sweat from his brow. “Get it out of your system without anyone else knowing.”

The more they speak, the more I want to choke them.

Do it, the buzzing urges me. There are no cameras in here.

“And then after she is no longer of use, you go to confession, reacquaint yourself with your vows, and pray. We’ll deal with that.” He gives the crunched-up folder in my fist a pointed look. “And the American.”

Shadows creep into every corner of my vision. I no longer hear buzzing in my head, but screams. Ribbons of movement slide beneath my tattoos.

It takes every ounce of self-control I have to get the next words out without breaking.

“The American is not something to be dealt with. She is the closest thing to a miracle any of you will ever experience.”

They look at me with pity, not seeing how close to death they sit.

“We are all men of the world here, Francisco.” Valerio spins his gold ring, eyes raised to the frescoes. “We know the flesh is weak.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I growl.

“Just admit you’ve been compromised so we can move you to a safer assignment.”

“I’m curious, Eminence,” I say, “why do you think you can blackmail me with Uncle Paolo’s release from prison?”

He fiddles with his golden signet ring. It is not so steamy now that I can’t see the look in his eyes, the weighing of my words.

“Because this was the only thing you bargained for,” he answers. “When you agreed to go to the seminary.”

“Why?” I prompt.

“Paolo tried to kill you in prison unsuccessfully many times, but after he realized you were not spilling his secrets, he stopped.”

“Mm.” I rub my jaw. “Go on.”

“It’s one thing to leave the family,” he says, voice growing confident. “But it’s another for someone of your sort to join the Church. You feared his reaction.”

I cock my head. “I don’t think that was it.”

“Semantics.”

“Is it?”

I say nothing else. Just crack my knuckles. The pops echo like bullets in the small room, and Valerio’s hands start to tremble. The others have no idea what we’re talking about; their gazes ping-pong between them.

“You weren’t afraid of your uncle,” Valerio murmurs, fear creeping into his eyes. “You weren’t afraid for your family either, were you? Just as you walked into prison, you could walk out at any time.”