Page 50 of Sinful Crimes for the Artistically Inclined
Joe nodded. Percy thrust the heavy doors back and moved into what was a perfectly magnificent pose of readiness, one hand a tight fist protecting his face, the other holding his ridiculous-on-anyone-else antique blade at the ready, his left leg back for balance, eyes fiery and intent, and just as quickly as Joe’s jaw dropped and his stomach flipped, Percy dropped the pose and pulled him in close by the front of his shirt. “On your knees.”
Joe did as instructed in a heartbeat, as Percy’s gaze fell down on him and he stepped closer still. Joe stared up, completely enthralled by Percy, who, in that moment, was equally captivated. Joe forgot entirely where he was, as Percy placed a hand on his cheek. He ran his finger slowly along the curve of Joe’s cheekbone and down along his lips. Joe turned his head and bit softly into Percy’s thumb. Had Percy, at that time, reached for a handful of Joe’s hair, Joe would have been utterly powerless. Instead, Percy said, “I thought you wanted me to be serious?”
“I am…” Joe faltered. “I mean—I did. Do. I do!”
“You’re making it very hard.”
“That’s good to hear,” Joe replied on an enamoured breath.
Percy grinned, sank down beside Joe, and turned to shine his torch upward again. He stayed that way for a time, studying carefully, then said, “There.” He leaned over, his breath hot on Joe’s cheek. “Do you see it?”
Joe looked carefully. He didn’t see a thing out of the ordinary, other than Percy, and shook his head to indicate as much.
“Where’s your holy water?”
Joe scrunched up his face. “You assume just because I’m a priest, I carry holy water everywhere I go?”
Percy raised a shoulder. “Don’t you?”
With a grimace, Joe pulled a small flask of holy water from his pocket. Percy said nothing, only accepted the bottle, half covered the opening with his index finger, and flicked a small spritz of water into the chamber. He raised his torch and looked over at Joe expectantly. Joe stood, searching, and indeed, there hung, as if in the very air, sparkling drops of holy water. Joe stepped closer, then felt Percy’s warning hand slide around his biceps. “Don’t forget the oubliettes.”
Joe blanched at his negligence before turning his attention back to the water. “How?”
“Blades,” Percy said. “Razor thin and razor sharp. It would take your head off easily if you were in a hurry.”
Shock and wonder fought for supremacy in Joe’s harshly whispered, “You’ve seen this before?”
“It’s standard kit.”
“Standard?”
“Standard.” Without another word, Percy dropped back down, stretching himself out long on the floor, on his belly. He began the arduous task of sliding under razor wires while searching for hidden oubliettes.
Joe sank down onto his stomach the same way. “How do you know these things? This whole world? Why… Why are you like this?” He felt bad at the way he worded the question as soon as it was out.
He didn’t know all the sordid details of Percy’s upbringing, but he knew it was horrific. That in his grieving mother’s household, Percy was raised somewhere between poverty and neglect. That back with his abusive father, he was met withexcruciating wealth and regular beatings. Add to that the very peculiar torture of a missing brother, a haunted house, demonic possessions, murder, and extreme loneliness, and Joe wondered that Percy had made it out the other side at all.
He was about to apologise for the question, but Percy went on as though it were nothing. “There was a girl. When I was ten years old. Her name was Zia.”
“Zia?”
“Yes,” he said firmly, still beating his fist down on the stones in front of him, a trickle of sweat running down his cheek from the unacknowledged exertion and foul heat. “She was… There was something compelling about her from the moment we met. She was twelve, and I was oddly drawn to her. As though there was something unknown but vitally important between us.”
A large space opened up in front of Joe as a swathe of stone caved in. He felt Percy’s hand on him immediately, holding him steady as his heart felt like it was about to beat its way out of his throat. Joe pushed himself back and shone the torchlight down. “Empty.”
“I doubt a great many thieves could make it this far with all the razor wire.”
“That’s sound thinking.” Joe looked around for any signs of past bodies sliced to ribbons by razors, and he did wonder if there was a slightly reddish-brownish, blood-like hue between the stones here and there.
“Are you all right?” Percy was watching him intently, and despite the desperation he knew Percy had to get his hands on the sheath, Joe got the comforting feeling he might call the whole thing off had Joe said no.
“Fine,” Joe replied, still breathing hard. “Tell me about Zia.”
“Come this way.” Percy hauled his impressive everything to the side, making space for Joe. “Zia, it transpired, had been kidnapped when she was only five years old.”
Joe gasped. “No!”
“She had no real parents, and I was searching for my own estranged father, so naturally we formed a tight bond.”
