Page 70 of The Sinner and the Gunslinger
“Let’s go,” I say, heading into the bathroom. I quickly strip off my wet clothes and dress into my Sinner uniform. We’ll get on a plane and head to Romania.
Our false passports will get us into Europe. It will have to do for now. While we’re in the air, I’ll contact Thea and see if she can coordinate the rest of our travel arrangements.
When I leave the bathroom, Zeke is still staring at his rosary.
“Zeke?”
“Somehow,” he mumbles, “I came into this night thinking I was invincible. I’d bypassed the law. I’d cheated death with Andrei. I actually thought we had God on our side. But then I looked into the soulless depths of Asmodeus’s eyes and realized this has nothing to do with sides. It’s not about a bargain we make or a lucky charm. It’s not about justice. It’s about who wants it more.”
“Who wants what more?” The relic?
He doesn’t answer, just clears his throat and grabs his backpack. “Let’s go.”
He’s not even in dry clothes. I grab his arm as he turns to leave. A harrowing look haunts his eyes as he meets my gaze.
“Thank you,” I murmur, softly touching his face. “You saved our lives.”
He swallows and frowns, seemingly at a loss for words, but it’s okay because I can take over from here. I’ll be his huckleberry.
Twenty-Eight
Zeke
Whenever I kill a man, I step further from the light and closer to the dark. It was a fluke that we got out of there alive. I reacted when I saw the carpet in flames, the demon from my past, and Leila’s frightened eyes.
I pitted my will against Asmodeus’s.
I pitted mine against Flauros’s, against Lilith’s.
I won. For now, until the next time we meet again.
Love makes us better,Cisco said.
Better is a subjective word. Better at killing? Better at protecting? Better is not good. Better is not holy. Better is simply winning.
Our flight is crowded, so we can’t discuss what happened without being overheard. The long hours across the Atlantic are spent sleeping fitfully. I keep dreaming of flames, Ludovic’s startled eyes when I pointed my pistol at him, and Puck crawling after Leila. I wake frequently and check she’s still sitting next to me. For most of it, she’s out like a light. The rest of the time, she’s making plans and messaging her team back home.
I like to think she’s not messed up about this because she feels safe with me around. I’ve finally been able to put to use all the demonology knowledge I spent years gathering instead of being with her. I try and latch onto that. Nothing else matters.
A private charter plane will be ready for us when we touch down in Romania. This one will take us as close as possible to the small village near the temple Ludovic mentioned. We’ll parachute in and then question the locals about the helmet.
Leila organized everything. I don’t tell her I have absolutely no clue how to skydive because I’m worried, despite everything that’s happened to draw us closer together, she’ll find a way to go it alone. If I had the choice to leave her, knowing she’d be safer, I’d probably take it.
I already did that once.
I guess I haven’t changed that much at all.
* * *
Wind blasts into the fuselage through the open hatch. Probably just as well that I’m freezing my ass off. Otherwise, I’d be too worried about the twelve-thousand-foot drop onto a snow-covered mountain. Leila is strapped into her chute and checking her bags and supplies. We’re both wearing insulated skydiving suits, but there’s no escaping this frigid temperature. Hell has frozen over, and we’re diving into it headfirst.
“Check your chute!” she shouts through the roar of the wind and points to my backpack.
I peer over my shoulder and tug a few straps but have no idea what I’m doing. Now might be a good time to confess to her about all this. But when I face her again, she’s giving me a smug look.
She knows.
I shake my head in disbelief, then lean closer so she can hear me shout, “You know I have no clue how to do this, don’t you?”
