Page 39 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

A fuzzy, malformed white head pokes out of the inner pocket. It has four eyes: two large, liquid ones and two small ones. Black antennae unfurl and stick up like fox ears. Its head swivels to me, and it stares.

“Chirp,” it snaps from a mammalian mouth.

That felt like a warning. Something like, Back off, lady.

I watch, dumbfounded, as the fist-sized creature crawls out of the pocket on six clawed paws. A puffy tail swishes beneath tattered and asymmetrical wings as it skitters up the fabric, heading straight for Asmodeus’s throat. The demon himself sits frozen, as if this will all be forgotten if no one says a word. As if a tiny white fluff ball isn’t scaling his jaw and aggressively nuzzling his cheek, purring like a broken dirt bike engine.

Asmodeus closes his eyes and exhales, the absolute picture of exhaustion. He groans, “Not now, you wretched lint ball. I am trying to be intimidating.”

He swats it away, but it flies off, does a clumsy loop-de-loop, and lands directly on his head, paws digging into the silken black hair. It blinks at me with big, dumb, empty eyes.

Asmodeus huffs through his nose, grabs a bottle of sacramental wine from a crate behind him, and twists the cap off.

“Now, where were we?” He takes a swig and grimaces as holy meets the profane. Smoke leaks from his nose. He burps and tries to thump his chest, but his knuckles whack my blade. “Oh, right. That.” He glances down. “Go ahead. Kill me. Just aim a little more to the right.”

“Are we not going to talk about the white thing in your hair?”

“Nope.” He taps his bullet hole. “Stab here, darling. Penetrate me good and hard, just how you like it.”

“Are you insane?”

“Insane?” He snorts. “Tired more like it. Do you have any idea how exhausting this soul thing is?”

“Um. Probably.”

“I don’t think you do,” he cries. “I felt guilt this morning. Guilt! From stealing a croissant! I used to bathe in the blood of the innocent, and now I’m worried about my cholesterol and whether the barista thinks I’m rude. It’s a fucking nightmare.”

He grabs the blade and adjusts my aim, so it’s centered over his heart—the bullet hole. “All right, I’m ready. Do your worst.”

I hesitate, but then think, this demon killed Prudence. He killed a lot of people. Was probably sitting there right now, watching Cisco and me while having a drink. If I kill him, maybe the spell, or whatever he’s done to Cisco, will break.

The instant my intention solidifies and I press on the blade, the moth creature launches off Asmodeus’s head with a pint-sized snarl. It flies directly at me, but I dodge. It zooms straight past my face and bonks harmlessly off Cisco’s frozen pectoral, then falls in a drunken swirl until it lands on the chalky floor with a squeak.

It’s not dead, though. It pushes up on its six, furry legs and shakes its head, dazed.

Asmodeus slaps his face with his palm and mumbles through his fingers, “Terrifying. Truly. Get back in my pocket before I feed you to a ghoul.”

He reaches for it, and something lurches inside my chest. “Don’t you dare feed him to a ghoul!”

I drop the sword and pick it up, cradling it to my chest. It’s so fluffy. So tiny. Poor thing.

“I don’t even know what a ghoul is,” I growl, “but you scared it. Look, it’s shaking. Poor little guy only wanted to protect you.”

“Oh, puh-lease. That’s how he gets you.” Asmodeus rolls his eyes. “One minute he’s all bitey and enormously fierce, the next he’s giving you those little puppy dog eyes and pretending he’s lost and can’t find the way to purgatory even though that’s his actual job and he’s been doing it for eons.”

That’s . . . oddly specific.

“He?” I tickle under its furry chin and smile when it does that dirt bike engine purr, nuzzling into me. “What kind of creature is he?”

“He’s a celestial defect who forgot how to fall properly. He follows me around because he’s too stupid to realize I’m not home anymore.”

But even as he insults the creature, Asmodeus gently scoops it from my hands and tucks it safely into his pocket, close to his newly beating heart.

He sees me staring at him, a wry smile on my face.

“Well, he’s a stray, isn’t he?” he says. “Like us. That’s why I’m letting him tag along.”

“Mm-hm.” I pick up my sword.