Page 97 of The Sinner and the Scholar
The muscular, naked man with dark hair rises and faces the Saint.
“Perfect,” he drawls, cracks his neck, closes his eyes, and releases a low, breathy grunt. He shakes out his limbs like he’s about to race with Olympians. A dark, tailored suit now covers his body… a mirror image of the one Dominic wears.
Asmodeus.
Black demonic eyes meet mine, and he smirks. “In the tawdry flesh.”
Thirty-Two
Thea
We’ve somehow released Asmodeus—the Stony One—from a prison we didn’t know he was in. And from the smug look on his face, this is what he had planned all along. My mind whirls back to the summoning. When he appeared, he’d stretched like he’d been crouched forever.
I swing the staff at his head. Holy power thrums up my arms, charging me with electricity. “I’ll send you right back, asshole.”
He stops the staff from hitting his head with two fingers, then swats it aside like an annoying fly. A slow smile stretches his obscenely beautiful lips.
“Unless you wish to release Pestilence, I suggest not. That prison only has room for one. And I’ve been in there for centuries. Who would you rather—one of the horsemen or me?”
“I don’t understand,” Tawny mumbles. “How did we…?”
“Well, dove, it’s like this.” He turns to her, his words sharp as razors. “Remember that old lover who scorned me, and I killed every one of her husbands for seven marriages? Well, she made a deal with an archangel, and he gave her that staff. You can either use that thing on me, take your chances that it has enough juice to do the job again, or use it on your friends.”
Gurgling at the bed steals my attention. Prue looks like herself, but she’s choking on blood. It bubbles from her mouth as her eyes dart about the bed, trying but failing to focus on us.
“I held on as long as I could,” she coughs.
I rush to her side. “We know, Prue. You did good. You did so good.”
Asmodeus slinks back to watch. I don’t have time for him. None of us do. Blood spits and oozes from Prue’s mouth. She reaches for me. “I kept it inside as long as I could. I didn’t give up.”
I grab her hand and blink away the tears. The girls are touching her now, all struggling to hide emotion.
“I’m going to heal you, okay?” I wipe her sweaty face with my hand. Her pupils are pinholes of pain, and every bone in her body must be broken. “I’m going to make this okay.”
“No,” she grits out, wincing and shaking her head. “No more.”
“But Prue—”
“No!”Her nostrils flare as she summons the strength to speak. “I’m done, Thelma. My ride is over. Elvis has left the building. Let me go.”
Open your eyes. Witness his death. Give his life meaning.
The memory slams into my chest, squeezing my heart. Tears burn my eyes as Father starts her last rights.
“Shut up!” I scream at him. “Shut the fuck up.”
The Rev is in tears, praying. I look around the group, aghast. They’ve all accepted Prue’s death already.
“No,” I croak. “We’re not letting this happen. Girls. You know our fate. She’s one of us!” I press the staff to Prue’s chest. It responds to me. Prue doesn’t want it. I sense the rejection like a slap to the face. But I can’t let her go to hell. I can’t let her soul be tortured for eternity because I failed to follow my calling. Maybe if I’d accepted Team Saint’s help earlier, none of this would have happened.
“Babe,” I say to Prue, voice trembling. “There’s plenty more of this ride to enjoy. It’s not time yet. Trust me. Come on.”
Prue’s eyes defocus. “I did good. I held on.”
“I know,” I choke. “You did.”
“So long…” She gurgles. Her eyes widen, and she seizes in agony—blood streams from her eyes, lips, and ears.
