Page 36 of The Sinner and the Scholar
“Stop!” I yank him back. “Can’t you see?”
“See what?”
“She’s possessed. Can’t you see the rotting flesh and demonic eyes?” I look at the men, agape.
They have no idea what I’m talking about. I rub my eyes beneath my spectacles. This is why I use contacts on missions. Damned glass fogs up. Am I still dreaming?
“I see it,” Raven says grimly.
“Good God,” Tawny mumbles, then gags and tries to hide it.
“She’s rotting away.” Leila waves her hand before her nose. “Like she’s got some kind of plague.”
Mercy agrees.
Prue stinks like off meat thrown in the sewer.
Relief washes through me. I’m not going insane or dreaming. But then guilt hits me hard.
“Prue,” I whisper, inching closer.
Her chin drops to her chest, and she sways on her feet. The instant I touch her sweaty shoulder, her head whips up, and she spews cuss words and vile propositions that would make a Sinner blush. She lurches forward, and her hands wrap around my throat.
Unnaturally strong, she backs me against the wall, teeth snapping for my face. The stench reaches into my stomach and calls up the contents. I barely hold back the bile.
Father Angelotti swears in Italian and barks orders at his team. Tawny shoves a blessed item into each Sinner’s hand. My fingers thread around Prue’s throat, holding her back.
You’re safe.
My heart squeezes. I hold out my other hand for Tawny to place a statue of the Virgin Mary.
“What do I do with this?” I gape. “Plug her mouth?”
Tawny shrugs, eyes just as wild as mine.
We hold our items forward—religious artifacts facing the demon—and pray loudly. Except I’m begging and holding the statue against Prue’s chest.
Nothing seems to work. But Sinners don’t wait for defeat. We meet it head-on. Mercy jumps on Prue and directs the others to do the same.
“Pin her down,” she grits out.
Between the five of us, one for each limb and one for the head, we soon have Prue bucking beneath us on the ground.
Then she vomits. It’s not a spray like the one a week ago. She looks at us helplessly as it oozes from her mouth. In that instant, I see intelligence, and I see Prue. I remember when we almost lost her to the Cartel, and Alice told me she found Prue in a barn stall, bruised and missing pants.
“We won’t let anything happen to you.” Prue smooths my hair. “You’re one of us now. We protect our own.”
Fuck it. I roll her to the side and put her in a recovery position.
“You’re not dying on our watch,” I tell her.
“You’re gonna be fine, Prue,” Tawny says, her eyes glimmering as she pulls Prue’s hair back. “We’ve got you, hun.”
The demon inside Prue gnashes its teeth at Tawny, narrowly missing her face. The viper flares in Tawny’s eyes. She kneels on Prue’s chest and forces her head back by the hair. “You fucker,” she growls. “You’re not going to win.”
“Already have, little Sinner,” the demon hisses from Prue’s mouth.
We rally and reinforce a limb, holding our sister down like a criminal. Wesley rushes over with a piece of chalk in his hands. He scratches a circle around us, adding symbols and tweaks to his design. He works studiously and confidently. It’s then I pay attention to the strange tattoos on his body, reminiscent of the marks he draws. Come to think of it, now that I see them shirtless, it’s clear all of Team Saint have arcane tattoos.
