Page 46 of The Sinner and the Scholar
I found it at the British Museum.
It was listed as a “Byzantine Wooden Ceremonial Staff.” Time has made the inscription on the wood almost incomprehensible, but I recognized ligatures from Ancient Greek:To Heal and Hold.
I went down a rabbit hole working out where it originated and whose hands it passed. Everything points to it being the relic. It’s our best bet. The only problem is, how do I get to London on such short notice? The Sisterhood isn’t exactly rolling in cash, and smuggling a stolen artifact into the country would require a private jet or us to pay off someone at a shipping yard.
If we tell Team Saint, they’ll want in. They’ll let the Vatican know, which will slow me down. Not to mention they’ll take the gospel from us. Besides, I feel responsible for Prue’s condition. I can’t help the sick feeling in my gut telling me this is my fault… I should have noticed she needed help, and I should have paid more attention. I shouldn’t have been so quick to avoid Wesley’s help.
The Rev and the girls all decided I should make a quiet midnight trip to Cardinal City, where ex-Sinner Alice lives. She’s married to Parker Lazarus, the genetically modified leader of the Deadly Seven. And she’s also the CEO of his billionaire tech empire. He has more private jets on standby than you can toss a crucifix at.
And he owes us a favor.
We helped him close the hell dimension his fanatical father opened. We gave him Alice.
I dress in black Sinner gear—stretch pants and a black hoodie with our Red Cross emblem on the front. I put my contact lenses in and then check my backpack to ensure I have everything I need. Clothes. Poison to lace weapons. Heist shit—lock pick set, glass cutter. Fake passport. I slip on my pack and go to leave my cell but stop when my boot hits something beneath Prue’s cot. A moment of panic hits me. Whatever I kicked went under her bed. I stare at the closed door for a few breaths, silently steeling myself to bend down and look, but ice trickles down my spine. What if it’s another demon?
I’m being ridiculous.Fear helps no one. Iknowthis. Cautiously, I peek beneath the bed and pull out a notebook.
It’s Prue’s diary. The first pages are pictures and notes on Mockingbirds, even a few attempts at drawing them. Then I find private, broken thoughts about what happened to her with the Cartel. I don’t read. I skip ahead to where the words make no sense, and the handwriting becomes erratic. This doesn’t feel normal. At first, her ramblings are a normal reaction to her trauma, but then I see more. Nightmares. Visions. Hallucinations. She thinks bugs crawl on her skin. Irrational paranoia about being sick and then suddenly not. Sore throat. Stomach aches. Blood in her stools. Voices telling her to do things. Crows at the windows. My heart squeezes in my chest, and I check the date. She wrote this entry long before I got the mark.
They say there are a few types of demon possessions. It doesn’t always come in the shape of a presence invading your body but in the form of influence. The spirit of a demon becomes obsessed with you, and it convinces you to do bad things. Maybe that’s how it started for Prue. Maybe she didn’t give it what it wanted, so it moved on to phase two—possession.
Maybe that mark was always meant for her, and what I received was an accident—something I wasn’t meant to see.
Hearing a scuffle outside the door, I place the diary on Prue’s bed. I didn’t see the name of a demon anywhere, but I shoot a quick text message for Mercy to take a look while I’m away.
Wesley waits in the hall with his arms folded. He’s packed and dressed for travel—jeans, a hoodie, and a backpack. Blond hair is still messy. His spectacles sit on the bridge of his nose, so it looks like he’s staring down at me, even though he’s not. They’re crooked. I want to straighten them.
His gaze dips to my neck, and his posture softens. He sees I’ve put the charm back on. The brief softening disappears when he meets my eyes again.
“Going somewhere?” he asks dryly.
“Har-har.” I flatten my lips. It’s obvious he’s figured out what I’m doing. “You’re not coming with me.”
“I’m not asking permission.”
“I’m meeting with a contact. They don’t like strangers.”
“I’m not a stranger.”
“To them, you are.”
“Thea—”
“If you’re about to say the Vatican will pay for it, I don’t want to know.”
“I wasn’t. There’s too much red tape for us to jump through to get approval for a private jet to London in the time we need. Plus, if we’re doing what I think we’re doing, it’s better to ask the Entity for forgiveness than permission.”
I narrow my eyes. “How do you know I’m going to London?”
“You’re offending me now.”
“You did the same research. Shit.” Others might find it too if it’s so easy to locate. We have no idea if the demon inside Prue, or Asmodeus himself, has told others what’s happening here. We have no idea how that force communicates amongst itself. Perhaps Lilith can listen in on everything her creatures do… maybe that’s the point of her mark entwining with theirs.
“You can’t stop what’s coming,”demonic Prue had said.“She will always be a step ahead of you.”
I need to hurry. I feel it in my bones.
According to Raven, we must do this quickly and quietly if we want success. While she didn’t exactly have a premonition, she had the equivalent of mystical bad vibes anytime we mentioned going through the usual transport channels while we discussed a plan earlier tonight. I haven’t even contacted Alice.
