Page 85 of The Sinner and the Gunslinger
“Maybe we can burn it,” I suggest. “Toss it into the blacksmith’s forge, then protect this cabin with a spell. Put salt around the exterior boundary.”
“We can’t just lock ourselves in. The others in the village will be at risk.”
“You’re right. Dammit. Get dressed.” I race around, gathering anything I can find to help me mark a magical safety boundary with the right sigils.
“We can’t stay,” she repeats, voice calm. “We should head out to Helwing’s church. Bring the toy with us.”
“I’m not fucking touching that thing again. It’s probably possessed.” I shudder.
“Then we really need to bring it with us.”
I stop cold in my tracks. Leila’s somehow fully dressed before me, in her black Sinner uniform—hoodie, red cross on the front, tight leggings with hidden places for weapons. Her katana is strapped between her shoulder blades, and her Smith & Wesson is holstered at her hip. I gape.
“How did you dress so fast?”
“You’re too slow,” she admonishes.
“Jesus.” I hasten my movements.
“We’ll help the villagers safeguard themselves,” she continues, all businesslike. “And then we’ll take the toy and leave on the bus in the morning. No demons will come here with any luck, but instead, follow us.”
I glance at the bathroom door and feel like Snuggles is watching us through the wood. I lift up the hem of my T-shirt and twist my torso to see the Enochian sigil I think we need for the protection spell.
“This one.” I tap it. “If we paint it on the doors with our blood and say the words around that tattoo, it will contain the demonic entity inside the room and keep it out. It’s like the one Wes used to keep Prue in the pentagram when Pestilence possessed her. We also need salt to make it foolproof, but maybe this will work enough if we paint it on all exits.”
“The bathroom window too.” She nods.
“And then we go and warn the village.”
* * *
The soft-pink light of dawn touches the sleepy village as we walk toward Orlov’s house. I keep one eye behind us while Leila focuses on the front. Danger might come from anywhere at this point. A rooster crows from somewhere, but its sound echoes, and I can’t pinpoint the location.
Snow hasn’t fallen overnight, but remnants of ice collect in random piles, and the path is muddy. Our breaths mist before our mouths. We squelch loudly. But I’m alert, awake, and ready.
We trudge quietly up the steps to Orlov’s porch. I turn to survey the village street with my Colt in my hand, spelled bullets loaded, ready to fire at anything that moves. My wrist is wrapped with a hasty bandage, as is Leila’s from a shallow cut we made for the containment sigils. Leila’s fist lifts to knock on the door, but she pauses.
“Zeke,” she whispers. “Look.”
Before I follow her instructions, I check our surroundings one last time, and eye off some smoke curling from a chimney. Satisfied we’re not in danger, I face her.
She points at newly painted flowers on the wooden door. “They weren’t there before.”
At first glance, the painted flowers are the same as all the others around the village, but this new lot on the door have familiar shapes and ligatures.
“Enochian Sigils.” The language of the angels.
Her shrewd gaze hits mine, and she steps back to take a better look at the cabin’s exterior. Freshly painted flowers hide more sigils along the walls and windows.
“And look.” She points down at our feet where tall red flowers grow in pots along with other herbs and varieties. “Don’t those flowers look familiar?”
“I’ve seen the red ones painted in the cabin. And these sunflower ones.” I crouch and touch an empty pot. The soil is upturned, like something was freshly pulled out. “Looks like we weren’t the only ones busy last night.”
She thumps her fist on the door. I turn my attention back to the village paths—sweeping my gaze from cabin to bush, from pig stye to garden. My neck prickles like we’re being watched, but it could be just remnants of my nerves from Snuggles turning up unexpectedly. Another shudder runs through me just as the door opens.
“Is true! You are the Vânatoare.” Orlov’s reverence spins me around.
The tall, robust man looks at Leila’s Sinner uniform with wonder in his eyes. A military vest covers his knitted sweater. The pockets are filled with tinkling vials, bullets, and... is that a grenade painted with flowers? A floral wreath adorns his neck and an ammunition belt rests around his hips.
