Page 13 of The Sinner and the Gunslinger
“I mean your tattoos,” the priest replies. “They are now broken like Wesley’s?”
Wes looks at me. “Bloody hell, mate. I didn’t even think to check.”
I grab my sweater from behind my neck and slide it over my head. The Rolling Stones t-shirt comes off too. I glance down at my torso. Rich black lines and arcane symbols are littered over the bronze flesh. “Looks fine to me.”
“No,” Dom says from behind me. “Sono guarite. Back tattoo isguasto.”
“He’s right, Z,” Wes says, inspecting my back. “Healed scars have disrupted the tattoos.”
I crane my neck and see near my lower back where a decade ago, a thirty-eight-caliber slug hit, just missing my kidney. The healed skin has purged the tattoo ink. None of these arcane spells will work if the lines aren’t joined.
“The sooner you get those fixed, the better,” Cisco points out.
“These little miracles are exactly what I’m talking about,” Wesley says, meaning my healed wounds and sickness.
“I understand. Which is why I passed this information to our friends at the Vatican.”
“What?” Wes stands, alarm in his eyes.
“Sit down.” Cisco remains unworried. “We cannot lie to them about the Monsignor’s death.”
“They’ll come here and remove the gospel before we even—”
“Have faith they will see the miracles too.”
“I’m not sure if I can.” Wesley gestures toward the exit, toward the abbey. “It will divide the gap we’re working hard at closing.”
“You three are my flock. Not these Sinners.”
“Really?” Wes’s eyebrow raises. “That coming from a priest? And what about the nuns? Are they not your flock too?”
Cisco frowns and shakes his head. “You are bleeding the lines.”
“I know why we were sent here,” Wes says. “I know we color outside the lines. Maybe the Sinners aren’t your flock yet, but they will be. Trust me. When the Vatican comes, they will take over the hunt for the relics.”
“Does it matter who finds them, so long as they’re used to defeat evil?”
“Of course it does. These women aren’t the reprobates we were led to believe. We can’t dismantle this organization. You’ve all seen the good they do here.”
“Good?” Cisco’s dark brows rise, and he glances at the sacristy that has become the Sin Bin. “These women have been sanctioned to sin for centuries. It’s a little different than repenting afterward. It’s permission to sin. Believe me when I say this is not agoodlife.”
“But they’re notevil, right?” I ask, my intense gaze on the priest. His sixth sense helped him advance to the position of exorcist in record time. He once told me I wasn’t evil... despite my godless history. I believed him, but I need to know if he feels the same way about these women or if it was just something he told me to make me feel better.
Cisco’s eyes dart to Dom, then back to me.
“No,” he confesses. “I have not sensed true evil in one of them since the demonic possession. But all God’s children are free to make choices, Ezekiel. Not all choices are good.”
“You took a choice away from us,” Wesley’s eyes are darkly displeased. “We should have discussed what we wanted to do about our orders before contacting the Vatican.”
“I am the exorcist in charge of this team. I do not need permission to speak with His Excellency,” Cisco points out dryly. His tone sparks suspicious thoughts inside me. Cisco has never behaved like other priests. From his tattoos to his rushed time at the seminary to the way he loses his temper and storms off. He is ordained, yes. Watching him conduct an exorcism will prove that. He has faith, yes. Seeing him pray or offer Mass tells me that. And he is a good man beneath all that hardness. We spent six months together in Italy during the start of our team’s relationship, and I witnessed him with his own parish.
He listened patiently, provided advice, and tirelessly helped the community, not once expecting anything in return. The parishioners trusted him. I’ve never doubted his loyalty to this team. We all come from dubious backgrounds, so a little misbehavior now and then was ignored.
But I realized something when I saw him under the crucifix wiping his stained hands with a cloth.
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” I narrow my eyes. “You’ve been one of them all along.”
No wonder he’s always been such a domineering dick regarding our purpose for being here.
