Chapter 11
Eleven
Mercy
Istroll into the archive’s boardroom at noon the following day, scowling because I slept like shit and I’m starving.
By the time I reached the dining hall, all the food was already gone.
The rot in the garden has reduced our supplies more than we expected.
I’ve learned my lesson. No more sleeping in.
My thighs itch from wearing the cilices higher than usual to avoid the old bruises, but I’m still so tightly wound that I could fuck a statue and not come. It’s all because of what’s written on the chalkboard—Mary Magdalene’s prophecy. One line in particular: Five sinners of saints to mend…
I tear my gaze away and glower at the room, our ground zero for defense against this biblical apocalypse.
I took Joan’s journal back to my room last night, but the entries ended up sounding like the ramblings of a madwoman.
I had to take a shower to wash the bad vibes off.
Now I’m convinced it’s all a load of baloney.
The sword is just a hunk of metal. The Sisterhood is exceptionally good at spinning stories and publicity.
I wouldn’t be surprised if they set Joan up to be the martyr.
It was just another dead end.
Before I register a single face at the table, my eyes lock on the snack bar in the corner. Baskets of sweets, savories, coffee, and tea. Energy drinks and soda fill the mini fridge. The nuns keep it stocked, but Tawny oversees the shopping list.
My mouth waters, but I don’t want to look desperate and run to it and stuff my face.
Instead, I casually stroll to the long table where the other Sinners sit amongst high-powered laptops and ancient manuscripts.
The Rev flips through Mary’s gospel with Thea standing, reading over her shoulder.
The two are a pair—both wearing spectacles and identical perplexed expressions.
“You’re late, Mercy,” the Rev notes without glancing up.
A dry smirk touches Leila’s lips as she licks her finger and turns the page of her book. “Too busy breaking into rooms.”
“Whose fault is that?” I snap.
She takes one look at my face, and her smile drops. She swings back on her chair’s hind legs and opens the bar fridge within reach. Two seconds later, a Diet Coke is tossed at my head. I snatch it from the air but don’t crack the seal.
“I need something harder than that,” I mutter.
Raven snorts a laugh and then pulls a flask from somewhere beneath the table as if she’s got a whole cache of contraband there. She waggles it in the air toward me and arches her eyebrow. “Vodka?”
A warning look from the Rev stops me from accepting. That’s all she gives, and shame washes over me. I bite my tongue until I taste liquid copper. She’s right. This isn’t helpful.
I am the team leader. I need to get it together, but I can’t stop staring at the red twisted sweetie bobbing from side to side in Tawny’s lips the same way hay moves when a cow chews.
“You want one?” She pops the Twizzler stick out and offers it to me, but it droops like a limp dick between us.
“Is that the only food we have here?” I peer behind her at the snack bar for a better look at the stock supply. It’s looking as miserable as the kitchen supply earlier. “Have you eaten all the Cheetos, Tawny?”
A guilty look splashes over her face. “I was hungry.”
“We’re all hungry!” I shout and then massage my temples. My limbs are shaking. I need food, dammit.
“Here. Take mine.”
Thea’s small voice lifts my gaze to hers, now beside me. She hands me a packet of crisps, which I open and set to work demolishing the contents. I’m so intent on eating that I’m still standing. Thea is, too.
I give her a sideways glance and mumble through a full mouth, “What?”
“We owe you a better apology,” she says. “What we said before wasn’t good enough. Words aren’t good enough to show you”—she glances at Raven and Tawny—“what you mean to us.”
With a long sigh, I run my hand down my face and swallow the salty lump in my throat. I guess we’re doing this now. I suppose it’s better than in front of the boys.
Leila picks at a page of her book. “It honestly happened so fast.”
“What you said outside the other day…” Thea says. “I agree. You have every right not to trust us.”
“Take a seat, Dorothea.” The Rev gestures to an empty chair, then addresses Thea.
“It’s understandable why you kept the full truth from us.
Emotions are high. You were uncertain. Maybe even afraid.
” At their slight nods, she continues. “But Mercy is right. We at this table must not hold back from each other, whether it be the uncomfortable truth or an accidental lie. No more secrets. Every doubt, every idea, every fear must be shared.” She taps her hand on the gospel.
“Cracks widen when we let those dark thoughts sink in. The only way we survive is together.”
“Together.” I sit down and stare at Leila and Thea. “But are we?”
“Yes!” they both say.
If truth were measured by the emotion glimmering in their eyes, I’d believe them.
Wholeheartedly. But a Sinner is trained to look beyond first impressions, beyond the mask.
So, when the Rev’s old shoulders tense beneath her black robe and then both Tawny and Raven tense too, I realize they’re all still lying.
That itch beneath my skin renews. My fingers crawl down my thigh and dig into the fleshy part, over the cilices, hard and sharp, until the pain snaps me out of my internal turmoil. Taking a deep breath, I steel my resolve.
“This is the first and only time I’m going to say this.” My words come out slowly. “I know you’re still keeping something from me.” I meet each team member’s eyes, holding for a moment before moving on to the next. “Spit it out, or risk losing my trust for good.”
Tawny breaks ranks first. Her pale skin flushes red, as if she’s holding back a bubbling torrent. Her posture stiffens, and she darts glances between the others. Finally, eyes bulging, she bursts.
“We have to tell her!” She gestures at me. “She can take it.”
“Take what?” I slap my palms on the table, eyes now like daggers. “Is this about the occult shit Raven’s been—”
“Tawny’s right.” Raven cuts me off, kohl-lined eyes narrowing. “We should tell her.”
Doubt and guilt flicker behind their eyes. Maybe even a hint of fear. But most of all, I see worry. For a long moment, all I hear is the hiss of the oscillating fan and the buzz of a distant fly trapped indoors.
I don’t want to hear it if this is about the prophecy, about the priest I’m destined to defile and break. It’s one thing to know that my rotten core is good for only one thing, but it’s another to hear these women admit they see it too.
I’m used to being the home wrecker. The husband stealer. The father killer.
All I’ve ever done is exist, but the world sees what it wants to see—a Lolita, a Jezebel, a whore. A soulless bitch who belongs in Hell.
Which is why I’m taken by complete surprise when the Rev says, “Dorothea, show her the book.”
“Are you sure?” Thea replies, gathering the gospel to her chest. “Because I think it just might put ideas into her head.”
Anger clenches my fists. “Sounds like something I definitely need to see.”
Thea’s black hair is glossy and braided after her shower.
Dressed in simple black workout clothes, holding that book like a lifeline, I’m taken back to the day she arrived at the abbey.
The lost little orphan had been terrified, more so of someone confiscating her novel than of the deadly assassins she was moving in with.
But she never lied. She told the truth with a dare in her eyes, no matter the consequences.
“We’re just trying to protect you,” Thea says, her eyes softening on me.
“For fuck’s sake,” Raven snaps. “Just show her.”
Thea nods, then leaves the room and disappears between bookcases farther into the archives. When she returns, she’s balancing multiple books and leafing through the top ancient leather tome. She drops it before me on the table, pages spread.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She points at an old woodcut engraving. “But some things are better left out of sight and out of mind.”
I glance down to where her finger touches the picture of an old medieval painting. It’s of a nude woman with long red hair and a curvaceous body, surrounded by demons and horrific scenes of torture. The label reads, Lilith, Mother of Demons.
I push the book away. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s you,” Tawny whispers. “You don’t see it?”
Since they’re all staring at me so seriously, I take another look but don’t understand why they’re so freaked out.
“Sure, she has similar features. The same coloring as me.” My shrug hides my unease at the uncanny resemblance. “So do a million other redheads in the world.”
“It’s not just that.” Thea sighs, taking her seat. “We’ve found too many links between Lilith and you that it’s hard to ignore.”
A queasy feeling hits my stomach. “Links?”
“Have you seen the CCTV footage from the bar Zeke and I found?” Leila flicks on her phone, thumbs through the videos, and presses play on one. She zooms in and then shows me the screen.
I watch as Asmodeus crouches and speaks to a woman’s corpse on the floor of a dive bar. But it’s not her face that animates and talks back. Another face appears beneath the skin, as if she were occupying the body. She’s my doppelganger, through and through.
It’s not concern I see in her eyes now, but pity as she says, “When we gather all the information in Mary’s Gospel about the coming of the fifth horseman—the antichrist—all signs point to it being a woman.”
I swallow. “You think I’m evil … I’m the antichrist?”