Page 37 of The Sinner and the Scholar
Before closing off the circle, Wesley orders, “Get out. Leave her in. This should trap her… or at least the demonic entity inside.”
I don’t want to let Prue go. If the men can’t see the rot, it’s still Prue inside. That glimmer of helplessness was real. I know it. The disease and rot are probably supernatural manifestations of the demon’s soul. Something only the five Sinners who connected with Mary’s lost gospel can see. Mary had the Sight. Maybe that flash of white light did something to us.
“Thea,” Wesley implores, his eyes hard. “Trust me, you don’t want to be locked in there for this next bit.”
Grinding my teeth, I look to Mercy. Two eyes of fiery determination meet mine. She gives me a curt nod.
“We do it together,” she says. “Go.”
We leap out of the circle, careful not to smudge the chalk. The instant we escape, Wesley closes the circle, and Prue launches at us. She hits an invisible wall. The chalk lines smoke and burn into the wooden floor, activating whatever woo-woo sorcery Wesley concocted.
I swallow. This is what he taught in his class? Damn, I’m a stubborn fool for playing truant.
“How long will it hold?” Mercy asks, straightening her negligee with aplomb.
“A few hours,” Wesley replies. “Maybe four.”
“La concha de tu madre!”Raven stalks up to him, and she prods him in the chest. “Why wasn’tthatshown in class?”
He straightens his spectacles. “Firstly, you need to know the theory behind the symbols and why they work, then—”
Leila holds up her hand, cutting him off. “I want to know how we get that thing out of her.”
“Is it too late?” Tawny hugs herself. “I mean, look at her.”
Prue drools and spits and hisses. No sign of our sister is there.
“Scuze.” Father Angelotti slides between Mercy and Leila. He holds a small Bible in one hand and a vial of holy water in another. Unflinching, the half-naked priest prays in Latin and tosses water at Prue.
Any time the water hits her, it sizzles, and she snarls. She backs up to the furthest corner of her arcane trap.
While all the attention is on the exorcism, Mercy whispers, “Check out his tats.”
My gaze drops to the priest’s back, specifically to the Madonna and Sacred Heart spanning his broad shoulders. My gaze lowers to the prison tattoos disappearing into his sweatpants. They’re crudely made and remind me of gang signs. Maybe even the mafia. Mercy and I share a look. Father Angelotti was in prison.
Wesley notices us staring. He motions for us to stand back.
“Will Prue survive?” I ask him.
“Father has performed many exorcisms.”
“What’s the host survival rate?”
He doesn’t answer.
Whatever Father is doing isn’t working. It only incenses the demon further. It scratches her skin as if the meat suit is too tight. Her voice deepens and turns guttural, like the one that attacked me at the club. Then it laughs mockingly.
Dominic pats Wesley on the chest, his eyes hard. He speaks in Italian, too low for me to catch, but Wesley disappears into his room, returns with a notebook, and scribbles down words.
I glance at Prue, then at Wesley. He’s recording the demonic words. I should have thought of that. I briefly glance at what he’s written.You can’t stop what’s coming. She will always be a step ahead of you.
Banging on the stairs has us all turning to see the Rev making her way up, the Monsignor puffing at her heels. Both are in night robes. The moment they enter the hallway, the Rev points her cane at Mercy. “What happened?”
Mercy faces me for an explanation.
“She’s possessed,” I answer. “I woke up, and she was like that.”
The Rev sends us Sinners a look we all know well—we need to talk. Privately. We huddle in close. The Monsignor goes to speak to his team. His rapid-fire Italian is too hard to understand with everything going on, but it makes me think he’s like the Rev—a hard nut pretending to be soft.
