Page 23 of The Sinner and the Gunslinger
One night, after Zeke and I finished playing our cowboy game, he noticed I couldn’t sleep. I told him why, and he suggested maybe I was just having a string of bad luck, which had nothing to do with a demon. After all, he saw his demon with his own eyes. It was a real being. He explained how fires worked, so we systematically walked around the house and removed hazards, and I never took off my red string “evil eye” bracelet. I slept like a baby that night.
As I shove into my room, I absently rub my wrist and glance down. I’ve hardly thought about that bracelet for years. I lost it not long after he died. No, not lost it. I scratch my wrist again. I think I gave it to another foster child when she couldn’t sleep. I gave her the bracelet because I felt guilty... so guilty. I didn’t think I deserved it. Not long after that, the Sisterhood found me.
I still can’t believe Zeke faked his death and walked out on me.
Pushing him out of my mind, I start my rounds by checking my room.
The small monastic cell is spotless and exactly how I left it, but I feel better knowing I’ve checked. Under the bed, inside the closet, and all the electric sockets. I check my window is closed but will test it one last time before I sleep too. Before leaving, I collect two essentials for the second phase of my rounds—my mini fire extinguisher and dagger.
The girls’ rooms are next. No one is in, which makes it easy. Mercy must be showering. Tawny’s room is a complete mess. I find at least two power boards facing upward instead of on the side. The empty sockets will collect dust over time, and before she knows it—fire. Her cot is unmade, her drawers are open, and her underwear and clothes hang out. But the window is closed, and no other fire hazards jump out at me.
When I’m done, I stand in the doorway. My fingers twitch as I stare at their closed doors, but the hallway is a battle line separating our side from Team Saint.
I should really check their rooms. Who knows what mess they leave them in or how many power boards face up and collect dust? All it takes is for one spark to fly through the window on a breeze, land in their mess, and the entire building will be on fire. Unlike the damp woods outside, everything in here is kindling.
The priest walks up the stairs and stops when he sees me. He says something in Italian or maybe English, but I can’t hear because blood roars in my ears, drowning out all else. I need to check their rooms without rousing suspicion. But he’s looking at me strangely.
I’ll find a way another time.
As I head downstairs and out the front door, I can’t stop the anxiety tightening my stomach. I haven’t checked their rooms since they moved in. Maybe I should just tell them to close their windows at night. I’m sure Zeke would get a kick out of that.
Outside, I stop on the front steps and inhale the sweet air. I can almost taste the twilight coming. The air is cooler but not freezing. There’s just enough of a dip in the atmosphere to invigorate me before it becomes uncomfortable.
I set off on my familiar path toward the walled garden. The walk around the estate is a few miles and can take up to an hour, depending on how thorough my check is. Chickens clucking grows louder as I near the hedges and limestone walls. The metal gate creaks open as I enter. I have to admit, being surrounded by vegetables, herbs, and even poisonous plants is my favorite part of doing my rounds.
I sweep the place with my eyes, looking for anything unusual. There are no dry patches of grass or kindling and no strange demonic behavior. The chickens look happy. The birds chirp. Further down in the garden, three nuns tend to a vegetable patch.
While logically, I don’t think the garden catching fire would risk the abbey, I still like to check. Embers from a roaring fire can travel for twenty-five miles on the wind. It’s better to be safe than sorry.
Once inside the wrought-iron gate, I take a step but then still at a sound echoing behind me.Footsteps?My hand tightens on the gate. I strain my hearing and search behind me but see nothing. I’m probably just jumpy because I haven’t completed my checks thoroughly since Team Saint arrived. The priest getting in my way unsettled me. It’s like I need to check their rooms even more desperately now.
Exhaling, I concentrate on the task at hand.
The entire walled garden covers about three acres and is sectioned by paths and manicured hedges. A greenhouse sits at the back next to the chicken coop. I’d be here all day if I swept every corner for hazards. Every cell in my body wants to, but I’m already pushing the edges of sanity with this daily habit.
I scratch my neck.For fuck’s sake.A rash is breaking out.
The nuns stop raking and plucking out weeds. They smile at me, wave, then dip their chins and touch their hands to their hearts. At first, I don’t understand what they’re trying to say, but then realize they’re thanking me for keeping them safe. Asmodeus did a number on this place. Fear glimmers behind the gratitude in their eyes, and for once, I’m glad for what I’ve become at the Sisterhood. Sometimes it’s hard to rationalize the violence, but seeing the faces of people I’m saving hits me squarely in the chest. I return a hesitant wave and smile.
“You need help?” I gesture to the wheelbarrow half full of weeds and then glance at the sky. The sun is a burning orange ball sinking behind the trees. They shouldn’t be out here after dark.
A nun with blue eyes and white hair nods, her smile stretching. The badge on her habit tells me her name is Sister Agnes. I think she’s also good with mechanics. A scratch on her cheek is covered in disinfectant. She probably received it during Asmodeus’s chaos-induced episode. The nuns tried to kill each other. I check the others and note they all have battle scars.
It’s no use telling them to finish up soon. They seem to have their hearts set on weeding this plot, and to be honest, physical work and routine will be good for them. I start plucking out the weeds in the bed, helping them as best I can. The jostled dill releases a delicious fragrance, and my mouth waters. With every weed pulled, I fall into a comfortable silence with the others. Before I know it, we’re done, and I’m waving goodbye to them.
I’m still smiling as I round the coop to check on the compost pile. Rustling deep in the stinky mess sends me on high alert. A dagger is in my hand, ready to fly at whatever is hiding in the offcuts of food and grass, but when a dark and iridescently scaled head pops out of the pile, I put it away.
Jinx. Goddamn ex-demon is getting into all sorts of mischief. I shoo her with my hand, but she dives back into the pile and rolls around in the waste like it’s catnip to a cat.
I shake my head, ready to continue, but then smell smoke. Panic seizes my mind. Fire.
No. It’s not a fire. Relax.
Calm down.
I’m sure there’s a perfectly sane explanation. I’m out here every night checking, and I have never smelled smoke.
The Sisters are putting away their tools. I don’t want to alarm them, so I move with slow, quiet precision despite my heart pounding in my chest. The mini fire extinguisher is in one hand, and a dagger in the other, as I creep around the coop to a sheltered alcove filled with dead leaves and gardening refuse.
