Page 18 of The Sinner and the Scholar
“Oh my God,” I breathe. “Can you see this?”
Or is it another hallucination?
“¡Dios mío!I see it,” Raven’s husky voice comes from over my shoulder. Groaning and moaning, Leila and Mercy also straighten, rubbing their temples. “What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “But these words weren’t here before. Hardly any of it was.”
A new inscription has been scorched into the leather cover. I run my finger over it, astounded as I translate. “The Good News of Mary Magdalene. Shit. It’s her gospel—the full unredacted gospel.”
“No shit,” Raven blurts, scrambling closer.
“Are you serious?” Mercy joins us.
There it is, plain as day. The lost Gospel of the Apostle of Apostles, the only female in Jesus’ disciples. The same female the male Apostles distrusted, the same female they said had seven demons driven out of her, and the same female that Pope Gregory decided was a whore in 591. As if a woman couldn’t be the most trusted confidant of Christ, so she must have been a liar and a whore.
I’d only just been talking to Wesley about her hours ago.
“This can’t be a coincidence,” I say. “I mean, what are the chances it turns up now? That it shows itself to us—to women.”
We’re also liars, sinners, and arguably whores. She might not have been any of those things. It could have been lies from the papacy to discredit and denigrate her. The fact is, no one really knows.
Until now. With this book.
“I agree,” Mercy says solemnly. “It means something.”
“If you told me three years ago that a book would magic itself together, I would have laughed in your face.” I’d never heard of such a thing. The only other explanation is that this is a mass hysteria, or maybe toxic mold is hidden behind the stacks. But as I try to rationalize it, I know I’m grasping at straws.
Leila paces, biting her thumb. “I’ve never believed in demons. Or even the devil. Or hell. But, shit… that wasnotnormal.”
The weight of the changing world settles on us. We’d always known that a level of mysticism existed. Raven is psychic. Before her, the Sisterhood had other psychics. But there’s been no solid evidence of hell. No sorcery. No angels talking back to us. No God answering our prayers.
Now we have real demonic possessions. Unseen spiritual energy. Evil incarnate. Magic fucking cards and shining books.
“Quick.” I point at a white cloth used to protect another tome. “Hand me that.”
Leila tosses it to me. I use it to wrap the book and then heave it onto the table. It is so old that I worry my natural oils will ruin the pages. We gather to read. I glance at Leila and say, “Keep watch.”
She nods but barely lifts her gaze. Like me, everyone is drawn to the book, to the new dark words written in a feminine scrawl. It feels as though it’s been made for our eyes. Like fate.
“This can’t be it,” Raven mumbles. “Can it? I mean, it’s in great condition.”
I see what she means. “The parchment should be disintegrating in our fingers.”
“So it’s a fake,” Tawny blurts.
“I didn’t say that. It could be protected by the same mystical energy that united it.”
They all study me, deferring to my expertise.
Raven holds her hand over the top and flinches. “There’s an energy to it. It feels the way I feel when I have a vision.”
I meet her kohl-lined eyes. “It feels good. Joyful. Holy.”
We reverently study the first page.
“Definitely Ancient Greek,” I note. The found pages in the Berlin Codex were said to be translated from Greek about the time Constantine converted Rome to Christianity and decided what went in the gnostic scriptures. “They say Mary’s gospel only has nineteen pages and is missing the rest. But this is an entire book. This tome is filled with so much more. This is… wow.”
We’re all lost for words until Raven scoffs, “Theytalk a lot of shit.”
