Page 37 of Of Angels & Absolution

Upstairs, Annabel Lee invites me to come hang out for a few minutes, and even though I feel a little awkward around them, Manson insists. I need to ask them about something, anyway, so I acquiesce without much resistance.

“Oh, look, Brandon Lee Jr. is out,” Annabel Lee says when we step into her room. She scoops up a skunk from her floor and gestures us to come inside. “Don’t worry, he won’t spray. His scent glands were removed.”

“You know, if you and Mercy were roommates, it would be like Snow White’s dorm room,” Manson says, dropping onto her bed and propping himself up with one elbow. “Her room is all cottagecore pretty, and yours is full of animals and wild things.”

“If she had a roommate, it would be me,” Ronique points out.

I wince. Is that why she doesn’t like me? She thinks I’m trying to replace her. I think about how I felt when Eternity started to pull away, and that was only the beginning. If she had made other friends when we went to high school and abandoned me, I would have never recovered from the devastation. I hate myself for thinking that probably, she would have. I was too shy, too anxious, too much of a rule follower. I never belonged in the Quint. Not really. I was only there because Saint said I did, and I’m not even sure that he belonged.

“These little guys are my roommates,” Annabel Lee says, lifting the cloths to peer into each of her crates. “Hey there, pookie-wookie-snookiepants.” She makes her baby voice and reaches in to pet some critter I can’t see.

“True,” Ronique says, plopping down on her friend’s bed. “I wouldn’t want to wake up to find a snake wrapped around my neck. Besides, they kinda smell funny.”

“Rude,” Annabel Lee says, lifting the cover of one of the crates, which looks like a terrarium of some sort with a red light inside. I suck in a breath when I see that the thick branch behind the glass is actually a snake.

“Cheers to the weirds,” Manson says, pulling a flask from his backpack. “Let’s have a little celebration of our own before you go traipsing off to enjoy your politically incorrect holiday.”

The other two crowd around him, and I hesitantly sink into the lone chair in the room while they take shots.

“Let’s play fuck-marry-kill with the staff,” Manson says.

“Too easy,” Annabel Lee says. “We’d all fuck Father Salvatore.”

My heart flips at his name, and my thighs tremble. I haven’t been able to meet his eye in class since that day in the library. I need to go to confession, but I can’t bring myself to.

“How about with the Sinners?” Manson asks, taking a swig from his flask and passing it to me. He wiggles his perfectly shaped, manicured, bleached eyebrows. “You first, Mercy.”

“I don’t know any of them,” I say. “Or even their names.”

Still, I don’t want to be totally left out, so I take a drink. It takes like one of the syrups Aunt Lucy put in her coffee—if it fermented before she could use it. I barely manage to swallow it, and my eyes water at the sting.

Manson laughs and accepts the drink back before handing it to Ronique.

“I’d rather do the Hellhounds,” she says. “I would fuck, marry,andkill Saint Soules.”

“We know,” Annabel Lee and Manson say in unison, like they’ve had this conversation a million times.

“I’m just saying,” Ronique says. “He can have all of me, even my kill. Hell, I’d let the whole dozen run a train on me if I got to have him as the caboose.”

The others laugh, and I think I’ll throw up.

“Okay, now do the Sinners,” Manson says, lounging back on one elbow.

“I’d fuck Salem,” Ronique says. “Humble her and make her my bitch. I’d marry… Which one stopped speaking? Was itKnox? If so, I’d marry him. Then he couldn’t annoy me. And I’d kill Killian.”

“What’s in a name?” Annabel Lee quotes, accepting the flask. “I’d kill Bain. Cut the head off the beast so the whole thing would die. I’d fuck Greyson because he’s the hottest one. I’d marry Archer because he seems like he could make me laugh and we could be unhinged together.”

The others make comments of approval, and she drinks and hands the flask on. I try to remember the names, so that later I can figure out which Sincero sibling is which.

“I’d fuck Rafe,” Manson says, drinking and handing the bottle to me again. “He’s dreamy. I’d marry Salem just to fuck with everyone’s head, plus, with all those brothers, you know she knows how to handle a man, which means she could keep my ass in line. And I’d kill… Archer. Something’s not right about him.”

“Is one of them really smart?” I ask. “Like, a computer genius or anything?”

The three of them stare at me like they forgot I was here.

“The triplets are all pretty smart,” Manson says slowly. “Why?”

“I—I have something I need to find,” I say. “Something sensitive that’s hidden online.”

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