Page 108 of Wicked Believer
“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t fucking know, honestly. Just bloody answer me already.”
Father Brown watches me curiously. “Whatever meaning I intended isn’t as important as the meaning you gave it, especially if you—”
I sit bolt upright. “Do you think that perhaps she’s doing this on purpose? To undermine me? Could Michael have put her up to this?”
“Lucifer, did something—?”
“No.” I shake my head, instantly abandoning the idea. “No, she would never do that. I’ve just been trying so hard to protect her that I’ve failed to see what was right in front of me. Failed to take into account whatshemight want.” I lift my gaze toward him unexpectedly. “But love requires sacrifice, does it not, Father?”
Father Brown gives a skeptical nod. “In theory.”
“And sacrifice is a form of surrender? Giving up one’s power in service of the greater good?”
Father Brown sighs heavily. “I’m not certain I understand what you’re asking me, Lucifer.”
I beckon him forward, lowering my voice conspiratorially as he draws near. “Suppose I said that I wanted to change course, turn over a new leaf, wipe the ol’ slate clean as it were—only for her sake, mind you—how might a devilish chap like me go about doing that, humph?”
Father Brown gapes at me. “Are you ... are you asking for me to absolve you?”
I cast him a chastising look. “Don’t get cheeky now, Father. We both know you don’t hold nearly that kind of power. No matter what the Catholic church may claim. But, yes, I’m asking that if I needed for my celestial slate to be wiped clean, to be forgiven, for my wife’s sake, what might you have me do? Shall I say ten Hail Marys and then call it a day?”
Father Brown presses his lips together like he’s not certain what to make of me. “Well, I don’t know if this idea will hold much appeal for you, but you could always”—he glances pointedly toward the ceiling—“askfor forgiveness.”
I scoff. “Right. That’ll be the day.”
Father Brown smiles.
As if he knows exactly how desperate Charlotte’s made me.
“Honesty helps, too, of course,” he says.
I hesitate before I tilt my head at him curiously. “And if Ididwant to give that little idea of yours a go, do you ... do you think He would listen?”
Father Brown chuckles softly. “Only one way to find out.” He nods toward the confessional booth, and for a long moment I stare at it like a cobra prepared to strike. Then I abruptly stand and stride toward it. I glance over my shoulder to ensure no one is watching as I climb into the parishioner’s box. I seal the little wooden door shut.
Father Brown climbs in on the other side and sits down in the booth across from me as he begins to make the sign of the cross over himself.
I lean forward onto my knees. “We’re going to be here for quite some time, I’m afraid.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Charlotte
That night, I’m still too frustrated and angry over how powerless I feel in the face of this whole apocalypse situation to drag myself up to our room, so instead I lock myself alone in one of the guest suites.
I collapse onto the bed, screaming my muffled rage into Egyptian cotton sheets until it feels like there’s nothing left but a cavernous hole where my soul used to be.
Fuck this.
Fuck doing nothing.
I rise from the bed, my hands, arms, and feet seeming to move of their own accord—like I’m a puppet on strings—until I’m standing at the top of our building. The same spot where Lucifer cast the aurora borealis over the city.
It’s the early hours of the morning, most of the city’s residents still asleep.
Those who don’t know what lies in store for them, anyway.
The autumn breeze rolls through my hair, the chill making me wrap my arms around myself as I steel my resolve, my rage.
