Page 44 of The Sinner and the Scholar
Tawny’s American Pie sweetness fades. She deadpans. Darkness clouds over her. We’ve all got demons from our youth, but hers are the most complicated. And mysterious. She doesn’t talk about her past, but I see nightmares in her eyes when she doesn’t think anyone’s looking. I hear her scream in the night.
She points at him with a dagger and says sweetly, “And I smell a sad, bitter little demon.”
A flicker of danger ignites the air like the aftermath of lightning.
He counters, “Careful, sweet. The last woman who scorned me earned the death of every consecutive husband for seven marriages.”
“Answer the question.”
He regards Tawny with aroused humor. “I would if I heard a question, dove.”
“A demon has possessed our friend,” Mercy says. “Tell us how to get it out and how we save her.”
Asmodeus holds Tawny’s stare a little longer, then reluctantly faces Mercy. “That’s not a question.”
“How do we save our friendandget the demon out?” I ask.
He places his hands behind his back and strolls to me. “You’re the brains of this outfit, aren’t you?”
I swallow. “Answer the question, or we send you back to whatever hovel you crawled out of.”
“No need to get snippy.” He checks his nails as though he’s not secretly plotting our demise, as if he hasn’t already decided what to do with us. He drops his hand and replies, “There’s an angelic relic that will do the job.”
That seemed too easy, but also something that rings a bell about the prophecy. “Where can we find it, and how can we use it?”
“I don’t know where to find it.”
Ah. There’s the rub.
“But I know how to use it,” he continues.
“What does it do?”
“It’s the healing staff of the Archangel Raphael.” Hate flitters over his unwieldy expression. His dark, demon eyes are hiding something in their depths. If I could reach in and pull his secrets out, then we’ll all be okay. But something is off about his willingness to aid us. They say if you summon a demon, you control it, but how true is that statement? Wesley admitted he’d not done this before. Asmodeus is not just any demon… he’s a prince of hell.
“Healing staff,” I repeat, unable to hide the contempt from my voice. “That better not be a male euphemism.”
His lips curve wickedly. It’s not disdain in his eyes but a flicker of respect. “Clever women. Beautiful Women. But not Virgins. Not innocent. All sinners. You’ll all be here with me eventually. I think I’ll enjoy your company. I think you’ll enjoymyhealing staff.” He gives a jaunty thrust of his hips again.
This is getting old. My lashes lower as I hold my patience and remind myself he needs a question.
“You’re a child,” I say. “You need to be spoken to with clearly defined logic and questions.”
His humor dies. The joker is gone, and the dragon is back, peeking out from that handsome face as though it’s cataloging every detail of mine so he can hunt me down later. Isn’t he also the demon of revenge?
“What does the staff look like?” I ask.
“Last time I saw it, it was a long piece of wood.”
I hold his stare, caught between worrying he’s misleading us and knowing this is the real him—the dragon. Not the joker.
“How does the staff work?”
“Use it on your possessed friend. Think healing thoughts. Her body will be healed.”
“And until then,” Raven asks, “how do we stop the demon from destroying Prue?”
Asmodeus spins to face her. In doing so, a wind gusts about the pentagram, smudging salt circles and chalk lines. We’re in trouble if those lines break.
