Page 99 of The Sinner and the Gunslinger
“Think quick.” I toss Snuggles at him, twist on my knee, reach into the wall cavity, and pull out the holy relic.
My blood sings as we connect. Unseen energy booms outward from me, creating a wave of dust like the ripples in a pond. I swear the pistol sighs as though it’s finally home. It’s as magnificent as I imagined. Spiky nails on the long barrel—the same nails that pierced Christ’s skin. The gravity of this moment is not lost on me. The relic choseme.
I’m glad I studied Dorothea’s diagram because I know how to open the chamber, drop my special bullet, and lock it. I spin and cock the hammer, aim—Asmodeus’ eyes widen. He flickers and jolts. Frowns. Flickers again. Nothing. I laugh.
I think he’s trying to teleport, but the sigils have trapped him.
My laughter was a mistake. A taloned hand swipes at me, and I jerk backward. The back of my head hits the wall, and I see stars. He tries to take the gun, but I have it in a death grip. We end up rolling and grappling along the tomb floor.
As we near the dais, we run out of room to roll. I end up on top and straddle his waist to strengthen my purchase to pull the gun from his grip. His fingers hiss with smoke as he grips the spiky barrel and tries to squeeze the trigger. But I’m ready. I follow through with my other elbow when he tugs, smashing it into his nose.
Shocked, his head whips to the side.
“Fucking bitch!” he spits.
Demon noses bleed just as ours do.
“Love it when they talk dirty,” I say, as if he’s just another notch on my demon belt. I pull back my elbow and body slam his throat. He chokes, but as I climb off him and aim the gun down at his chest, he kicks my feet from under me. I flip back, glimpse sigils on the ceiling, and land hard on my spine. The wind knocks out of me. The gun skitters from my hands, spinning away on the dirty stone floor. I flinch, expecting the hammer to drop. But it doesn’t.
Asmodeus pushes himself off the floor.
I scramble and crawl to chase the relic, expecting him to fight me for it. But he runs through the door.Hurry. My blood sings as my fingers wrap around the gun’s grip. I get to my feet and stand in the doorway, widening my stance. My gunslinger’s deep voice whispers instructions in my mind.
Focus on your breathing.
I exhale.
Take the time to line up your target.
I look down the long barrel of the gun and realize each spiky nail acts as a sighting device. I lock onto the center of Asmodeus’s back as he runs away.
Keep your stance stable and your eyes on the prize.
I make sure the hammer is cocked.
Even after you squeeze the trigger.
I fire, holding the pistol steady through the recoil.
Asmodeus jerks forward. He falls. Lands hard on his face inches from the steps leading out. Smoke curls from a hole in the center of his back, right over where his heart should be. But he doesn’t get up.
I blow away the smoke curling from the barrel, then holster it where my Smith & Wesson usually sits. The relic fits perfectly. I walk back into the tomb and pick both the special bullet casing and Snuggles off the floor. Smiling at him, I dust him off.
“Saved me again, buddy.”
It all happened so fast. It’s over. Asmodeus, a demon prince of hell, the Horseman of War, is dead. I put the spent casing back in my pocket. It’s almost too good to—
Groaning in the corridor snaps my eyes back. My lungs seize. Time stops as horror sets in. He’s not dead.Not dead.Panicking, trembling, I drop to my knees and riffle through my backpack. I fumble. Struggle to grasp Matei’s bullets in my numb fingers and reload the gun’s chambers. But as I swing my aim back to the corridor and cock the hammer, Asmodeus raises his palms.
“Don’t shoot!”
I hesitate. Breathe. And study the man before me on his knees with agony on his face. He clutches his chest, cries out in pain, and rips his suit and shirt open in one fell swoop. Buttons spray. He claws at the unnatural wound at the center of his sculptured chest. Instead of blood, light bleeds from the puckered hole. Lightning surges through his veins, illuminating the skin, and reaching further to his extremities with every strike.
“I can’t...” He hisses. “I can’t breathe.”
I slowly walk to him. The smell of flesh burning mixes with something floral and coppery. Asmodeus crumples forward, clutching his chest. He glances up at me, brow furrowed. Candlelight from the tomb is enough for me to see his eyes flicker from demonic black to human brown.
“What have you done to me?” he snarls.
