Page 14 of The Sinner and the Scholar
“What’s this?” I hold it up. “How did you… Whatdidyou do?”
He rubs his jaw, looking at me in a way that says he’s not done making demands, but he points at the card. “It’s the arcane arts. Geomancy. We draw symbols to invoke the powers of the cosmos and—”
I hold up my hand, cutting him off. If he is going to make up circus bullshit, I don’t need to hear it. “Forget I asked.”
He blinks, visibly taken aback. I get the sense that might be a rare thing. “You don’t believe me.”
“That a magic card saved me from a bunch of rabid birds? No.” But then again, I’m still processing the demonic possession from earlier. “You must have put gunpowder in there or something.”
“No, I didn’t. As I’ve just demonstrated, geomancy works. John Dee’s books have a lot more—”
“John Dee!” I laugh. “He’s an insane alchemist who pretended to talk to angels, all so he had an excuse to swap wives with his buddy. Even the Vatican denounced him.” I scoff. “It’s like, just own your depraved shit. Why spend a lifetime inventing an angelic language all so you can send secret messages to your mistress.”
His eyes flash. “He was denouncedbeforedemonic activity woke from a long, dormant sleep. The Vatican has been known to reverse previous statements when new evidence comes to light.”
“Hmmm. You mean like how they branded Mary Magdalene a whore—Jesus’ only female apostle—then spent centuries hunting down opinionated women and called them witches,thenchanged their mind and said, oh no, sorry, we might have got the whore bit wrong. We actually don’t know what Mary was, but we won’t mention the thousands of women we killed. You mean like that statement?”
“What has that got to do with anything?”
“It has everything to do with everything.”
He puts his hands on his hips. “While you women were here, meddling in the affairs of men, we’ve been hunting demons across Europe.”
My blood boils.Meddling in the affairs of men?This is the same kind of sexist horseshit that led to the creation of the Sisterhood. A switch flips inside my head.
Every hormone, emotion, and cell in my body explodes uncontrollably. One second, I’m standing there, seeing red. The next, my fists grip his collar and shove up beneath his jaw, like I’m a hairline away from choking him out. I’m so close I could bite off his nose.
“You think what we do here is a child’s game?” I shoot heat from my eyes as if I can burn him alive and save the devil a job. “You think the murderers, rapists, and psychopaths we kill should be allowed to live, to have power? You think they have a right to abuse the weaker sex? You think predators should be free to roam the streets and group homes where little girls are vulnerable?”
I hadn’t meant to say that last one. It triggers a paralyzing squeeze of anxiety in my chest, flooding old memories to the surface. The foster care group home I lived in was a long-term orphanage.
“Take it,” the janitor says, handing me my first Harlequin romance book. “I’ve got plenty more.”
“I’m not supposed to read these. They’re for grownups.”
“Pah.” He waves his hand. “It can be our little secret. I’ve marked my favorite chapter. Read it and tell me what you think.”
It wasn’t until I was older, at the Sisterhood, and in charge of my own body that I realized this man had been grooming me, using my loneliness and yearning for love to earn my trust. If I hadn’t been found with those books under my bed, if I hadn’t been so vicious about protecting my right to read whatever the fuck I wanted, the Sisterhood would never have found me, and I’d have suffered worse than the attention of a slimy man.
Many never get so lucky.
I expect disgust and disdain on Wesley’s face, but I don’t expect the tenderness in his gaze. It’s uncomfortable, like a brush of fire against my skin.
I could end his life. He knows this. But he’s not afraid.
Why?
He can’t possibly think he can beat me. Heknowswhat I am. He saw the blood, vomit, and brain matter. He should be permanently disgusted. So why?
Who hurt you?
Unbidden, my fists relax on his collar. My hands splay out, flattening the crumpled mess I made until his shirt is smooth again. But I can’t pull my hands away. I’m stuck, suddenly aware of the breadth of his broad chest, sharp jaw, and flared nostrils. It’s funny how a startled reaction born of fear can mimic arousal. The heart rate elevates. The pupils dilate. Breathing becomes stilted. Suddenly, I’m not grasping a stuffy, arrogant scholar but a man looking at me like no one has before.
Too close.
I shove off and readjust my towel.
What had we been talking about? Increasing demonic activity.
