Page 67 of The Sinner and the Gunslinger
As I stand and straighten my skirt, I take a sidelong glance at the demonic bikers around the table. Two watch Asmodeus, but Flauros watches me.
Ice-cold fingers run down my spine. The demon prince might be preoccupied, but this one is not. He knows what he wants, and apparently, it’s me. I force my legs to walk smoothly toward the kitchen and narrow my eyes with a thought... Lilith mentioned she wanted one of her own up here with Asmodeus. It must be Flauros—the same demon that killed Zeke’s sister. Zeke said he had suspicions the demon was after me all along.
Lilith also failed to tell Asmodeus what closed the cracks on the seals to the gates of hell—Sinners working with Saints. I don’t know what Lilith is fully up to, but it’s not something Asmodeus is a part of. She’s manipulating him. If Asmodeus learns Lilith has undermined him, then this could be another opportunity.
The more I act like this is normal, the easier it will be to slip poison into the drinks and feed them to the possessed hosts. We kept Prue sedated when Pestilence possessed her. It wasn’t a foolproof plan, but it helped us contain Pestilence for a few days. Maybe a good dose of poison will give us a few hours. I’d be happy with a few minutes.
Flauros’s hungry gaze follows me as I walk about the kitchen collecting fresh glasses. Unable to find the freedom to dose each individual glass, I settle for dosing the entire whiskey bottle. Every last drop of the poison in my ring is added, making it a potent concoction. As long as none of the innocents drink, we’ll be fine. I give the bottle a little swirl and then start pouring.
I serve Asmodeus first, slipping the demon prince’s glass next to him, before moving to Flauros and the other two biker demons. I can barely breathe from the stench of rot on their breaths. The people they’ve possessed might be dead inside those bodies. It feels like their souls are long gone.
Fear presses down on me. Flauros’s eyes bleed flames. If a spark lands on something flammable, we’re all dead. This penthouse will burn in seconds, and with the elevator the only way down, we could be sardines in a can.
“Pretty little doll,” he hisses to me under his breath. “We have unfinished business, you and I.”
I smile tightly and hand him a drink. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He hesitates. “Don’t you know me, little china doll?”
“Do you want the drink or not?”
Again, he hesitates, clearly confused over my lack of interest.
I shrug and say loudly, “Oh well. I’ll drink it if you don’t want to join the party.”
Asmodeus glances up suddenly and glares at Flauros. If he is truly the demon of fun times, then he’ll be pissed if his minions aren’t participating. As predicted, Flauros scowls in chagrin, takes the glass, and shoots it back. He gives me a very humanHappy now?look before tossing the glass over his shoulder.
It shatters loudly on the floor.
Now that all the demonic entities have been fed the whiskey, I glance at Zeke and get ready to run. We’re out of here when any of them drop or stumble. Asmodeus was the first to drink, but he’s a prince of hell. All he does is cough and tap his chest as though something is caught. A moment of panic pierces my mind. Maybe I’ve misjudged. Maybe the poison won’t work after all. I could have used too much on the others.
“Read ’em and weep,” Asmodeus drawls, grinning from ear to ear. “Royal flush.”
“You cheated,” Ludovic slurs, pointing his finger at Asmodeus. “I saw you.”
“Only rats dare accuse the great Asmodeus of cheating.” Flauros snarls at Ludovic.
Rat... didn’t Raven say something about a rat in her warning for Zeke?
One of the biker demons falls with a loud thud.
“How much did he drink?” Asmodeus asks the sheikh, who shrugs in return.
Zeke turns to me, his eyes full of something unreadable, yet frightening. Then he shoots Ludovic between the eyes.
All hell breaks loose.
“No!” Asmodeus roars, standing so suddenly that he tips the poker table over. Chips, glasses, and cards tumble everywhere. Furious eyes dart between Ludovic bleeding out, the remaining demon bikers swaying from the poison, and Zeke with his smoking gun.
Asmodeus gestures in the air. Lights flicker, the temperature drops, and the atmosphere pops in my ears. Every human apart from Zeke and myself becomes infected with his war disease. Poisonous chaos spreads from their eyes over their skin, covering their cheekbones with a black web. This is the first time I’ve seen the evil take root. This is pandemonium in its rawest form.
I duck in time to miss a fist swinging for my head. Thank God for muscle memory because it’s the only thing saving me as I deflect blow after blow from Petrov as he tries to take me down, snarling something about never trusting me.
“Fucker,” I grunt, as I block his next strike with my forearm. My fist connects with his midsection, but he barely registers the blow.
Time to get serious, then. I back up. Petrov snarls and launches at me, hands out. I release my bullwhip and use the length to capture his outstretched arms. I wrap once, twice, around a wrist and yank him until he stumbles. He knocks me around, but I use his weight against him. In the next second, I have him face down on the ground with my knee pressed to his shoulder blades. One of my sanctified hairpins is in his soulless black eye before he can buck.
The sigils do their job, and Petrov stills. I want to feel bad, he’s innocent just like Sister Agnes was, but another body rushes me. I glimpse the whiskey bottle on the floor with the rest of the poker cards and chips. I crawl toward it. Something grabs my ankle. I glance back and see it’s Flauros. Sound warbles. Smoke stings my nose. The demon crawls to me, hissing and crackling like the brimstone in hell. The poison has barely worked to slow his host’s body. Perhaps he’s too powerful.
