Page 41 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

“I’d rather not.” I step closer to Cisco.

He sighs. “Honestly, he’s better that way. Trust me.”

“Do you know how to break his curse or not?”

“Depends on what you mean by break.”

“Purge that—” I point at Cisco’s dark ribbons and eyes. “Whatever that is out of him.”

He gives the sword a pointed look. “Only an archangel’s blade can do that, darling.”

“Do you know where the missing hilt is?”

“Why would you want a hilt?”

“Because it’s broken.”

He stares at me. Blinks. “Is it?”

“This is ridiculous.” I spin and stalk back to our camp, fuming.

I’m angry at myself, mostly. I let him distract me. I should have been working to get us out of here, and this stupid habit is driving me up the wall. I rip at the veil, tug it from my hair. The wimple is next. I scrunch them into a ball and drop them five feet out from the campfire, then freeze.

Asmodeus is already there, sitting cross-legged, warming his hands against the flames. He gives the habit a withering look. “Not really cut for balmy Italian nights, is it?”

“It’s freezing in here.”

“Is it?”

“Dammit, Asmodeus,” I growl. “I’m not in the mood for games.” My stomach growls too, reminding me that all I’ve had to eat today is a Twizzler. Speaking of which, I dig into the habit’s pocket and pull out the one Cisco refused.

It’s not so bad. A little dusty. A little damp. But beggars can’t be choosers. I blow on it, noticing Asmodeus is watching with hungry eyes. Noctis’s little fuzz-ball head pokes out of his pocket and does the same thing.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I groan. “You’re both starving, too?”

“Cigarettes and blessed wine aren’t exactly nourishing.” Asmodeus glowers.

I close my eyes and sigh. What the hell. Why not? I hand him the Twizzler. “Here.”

“No thanks.” Stubborn bastard shrugs. “It will probably give me indigestion.”

“God, you sound like Cisco when Tawny made him eat cupcakes.”

“Little Birdy fed him cupcakes?” He glances at me sideways, something like curiosity or suspicion darkening his eyes.

While I want to ask why she interests him so much, he’s so stubborn that it might be easier if I tease it out of him.

“It was this whole evil-sensing famine thing. And she didn’t feed him. She baked them . . . or maybe Leila baked them, and she handed them out. Anyway, that’s irrelevant.” I smack him with the raspberry twist on the cheek. “She gave me this to keep my blood sugar up, but you look like you need something sweet more than me, so . . . take it, but be warned, it’s a little⁠—”

He snatches it and plops the end in his mouth like a cigar.

“—sweaty.”

“Okay, I’ll help you,” he declares.

“Because I gave you a Twizzler?”

He scoffs. “No.” Snorts. “That’s ridiculous.” Aggressively chews on the raspberry rope and glowers at the fire. “I hope he choked on the cupcakes.”