Page 24 of The Sinner and the Scholar
“Right.” I paid the bill. “Whatever you say, mate. Come on. Let’s see about a fake passport.”
Zeke grew ill after joining Team Saint and becoming my friend. He wasn’t even a smoker until after the diagnosis. Now his mysterious one thing is forever out of reach, and it’s probably my fault.
My mind turns back to Thea, and I think Zeke is wrong in his assessment of her. She might like reading, and she might like books, but she’s not like me. I have no problem talking to beautiful, confident women like her. I can be cool and calm. Okay, fine. That’s a lie. Admittedly, occasionally I have to channel my inner Zeke to get by. But around Thea, I feel like an imposter. Like I’m a clumsy teenager with two left feet. She sees right through my act, and it makes my anger rise. I haven’t felt this tumultuous since the days I tried to convince everyone that demons were real and one had dragged my uncle to hell.
The days no one believed me.
The days I was on my own.
But I found Team Saint. These men have unique skills that elevated them to this team. We have the potential to use them for good. I refuse to let the cracks in this team get any bigger… even if one of those cracks is because of me.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll work on Thea.”
Ten
Thea
Iavoid class for the next few days. Instead, I spend my time in the archives, squirreled away at a desk in a gloomy corner, studying the prophecy. The Rev must be busy with the Monsignor and other merger business because she never sent for me. I also haven’t seen Father McBride around, and remember the Rev telling me she was meeting with him. He’s probably long gone by now.
I take it as a sign to keep working on the translation.
But I keep to a dark, quiet spot. The floor-to-ceiling stacks are bookshelves on rollers that move to accommodate the small space. I pushed all the stacks to this side, so I’m extra hidden behind a giant wall of shelves. You’d have to know I’m here to find me. Apart from passing the moody interlopers in the hall or when I’m due to help in the kitchen, gardens, or chicken coup, I rarely see them.
Sooner or later, Team Saint will figure out that their manuscript is missing. Hell, they probably already know and are biding their time to use it against us. Last night I copied as many pages as possible while Prue was sleeping, just in case the book was confiscated. Prue never glanced at me before sliding onto her cot and passing out from exhaustion. Leila, our biggest gym junkie, said she’d not worked out once this past week without Prue doing the same.
I worry about Prue.
I want to confide in her about what happened to the five of us, but I’m unsure how she’ll respond. The old Prue was one hundred percent on our side. She was lively, a prankster, and solid rock. This new one who spends days exercising her demons—literallyexercisingthem out—can’t deal with an unknown danger in her life. She might tell the Rev about our discovery. And then, the Rev will make us share it with Team Saint, and they’ll claim it belongs to them. No, we should keep this to the original five.
I can support and protect Prue better if I figure out where the danger lies.
Five is a recurrent number in the prophecy. It’s significant. I have to trust my gut. Instincts are everything to Sinners. They are the hairline difference between life and death.
I sketch the symbol from the demon’s wrist on the note papers. I searched every ancient Sumerian text but came up short of an exact match. We know it’s Sumerian because of the style of glyphs, but not what this arrangement means.
Voices from a dismissed class filter over the stacks. Frustration is a hammer in my head.Nothing!I shove the latest book away. I’ve come up withnothingdefinitive and can’t even claim I’ve skipped class for a valuable reason. The moment the Rev discovers my truancy, there will be consequences, like… Sin Bin consequences. I shudder at the thought. As far as the Sisterhood is concerned, the way out of this demon infestation is through Team Saint. But I can’t help my gut pointing me toward Mary Magdalene. There are too many worrying words in the prophecy. Words like horsemen. Like, the enemy is within.And an age of sin.
And then there’s this:
On that fateful time, the wise woman shall usher forth an age of sin, and the sinners shall corrupt the saintly to reshape the light of truth from lies and deceit. Yet, in this time of darkness and despair, a glimmer of hope shall shine forth, for there are those among us who have been shunned by society and cast out into the wilderness.
These outcasts shall rise up to challenge belief, embracing their true desires and the power of love. And though others may label them as sinners and cast them out, their paths lead to salvation. For who are we to judge what is right and wrong when the very fabric of society has been torn asunder?
Let us not be so quick to cast stones at those who walk a different path, for they may be the ones who hold the key to unlocking the secrets of the universe. And let us remember that the divine relics, though powerful, are only tools in the hands of those who wield them. True strength lies in accepting the darkness within and forging a path of love and compassion, even in the face of adversity.
So let us embrace the outcasts and the sinners, for they may hold the key to unlocking the mysteries of the divine. And let us question what others call sin, for there is no sin but what you who make sin do. The path to salvation lies in embracing our true desires, returning to our roots, and accepting all through the power of love.
It’s clearly referencing us. We’re the outcasts and sinners. It all sounds like the end of days, but I don’t want to worry anyone if I can’t crack this code. At the moment, it’s still gibberish. The newly appeared parts don’t match the verses the world knows about, but I can see why her gospel being discredited was so palatable for people. To them, Mary was a woman, a sinner, a harlot who stole Jesus’ time and said things like ‘there is no sin.’ But to me, she’s an incredible beacon of kindness, compassion, and tolerance. She’s questioning the status quo. She’s saying that we’re all made of the same stuff. She’s wondering who has the right to judge when, at our very hearts, we’re all flawed.
There’s more prophecy. I’m sure one passage refers to mass genocide by a queen of terror, of Venus reigning, and volcanic fire erupting from middle earth. It sounds remarkably similar to something Nostradamus wrote… only Mary’s reference is to the feminine. Her gospel clearly predates the French Seer’s written works. It’s almost as if Nostradamus found this manuscript and changed events to suit the patriarchy and their oppression of anyone not cis male. Almost as if this gospel had been reunited once before.
I pull off my spectacles and rub my tired eyes. I need more time.
Footsteps approach.
I shuffle papers and close books. Someone blurry turns the corner. I pop my spectacles back on and see Wesley. No jacket. No vest. Just in his button-down shirt he rolled up at the forearms. His hair is messy, like he’s run his hands through it all day. His fingers are stained with chalk. For a moment, I think,What a coincidence.He’s searching the archives and has stumbled across me, but he makes a beeline for my desk and gives me a tight-lipped smile. “You weren’t in class.”
I stare as if to say,Yeah, and… your point?
