Chapter 17
Seventeen
Mercy
Istep out of the steaming shower to a knock at the bathroom door.
“Merce?” It’s Tawny. Of course, it’s her. “You okay in there?”
“Living the dream, baby.”
“You’ve been in there a while.”
“Have I.”
A pause. “Raven’s downstairs already. She made coffee for us. It tastes like Vodka.”
“That tracks.”
“Are you ... coming out soon?”
I look at the cilices in the sink, the lacy push-up bra and thong on the floor, the Sinner uniform … the lip gloss. “Two minutes.”
“Okay.” Another pause. “Hey. You don’t have to do this part, you know. We could swap. I could be the one who—”
“Tawn.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve got it, babe.”
“Okay.” Quieter. “Just thought I’d say.”
I screw my eyes shut tight and take a deep breath.
I’m so fucking tired, and not in the good kind of tired, the one where you’ve been fucked all night.
I’m the kind of tired where you’ve been awake for half the night staring at the ceiling, reliving every stupid thing you let yourself believe the day before.
I let myself hope. What an idiot.
I stood in front of that sword like a little girl in a Sunday dress, and I thought, Maybe it’s mine.
I’m thirty-six, with hands that have paved my way to Hell, and somehow I still had a soft place inside me that thought I was the one.
I was always the one. But I wasn’t. The sword sat there, dull and lifeless, calling me out.
And I had to make myself not cry about it in front of my sisters, because Sinners don’t cry over swords.
They get on with it.
The tremble moves into my arms, and my fingers grip the porcelain for balance.
Inhale. Smile. Give Tawny a boss to look up to.
“Love you,” I shout.
No answer.
Fuck, she’s already gone.
I lean on the sink, head hanging, hair dripping, arms trembling.
The thing about Tawny is that she means it.
She’ll dress the slut and walk into that room with her marshmallow heart and a packet of biscuits, trying to seduce a man who has been trained, like me, to use kindness as a tool.
Cisco would give her nothing, and she’d come out feeling like she’d failed.
I’m doing him a favor. That’s what I’m doing.
The Rev and I agreed it had to be Raven, Tawny, and me. The rest of the team is compromised. Leila and Thea are biased. Hannah and Jasmine are already lying about what happened in Spain.
My knuckles whiten on the sink.
God, I’m angry. I’m so angry I could chew through the porcelain.
I’m angry at Jasmine returning from Spain and stealing my fucking pajamas.
I’m angry she threw my toys down the corridor in front of everyone as if that was going to shame me.
As if I haven’t been shamed enough by professionals. By my own mother.
I’m angry at Hannah, who watched Jasmine do it and said nothing.
I’m angry at the European chapters for being dead, at Team Saint for arriving with their kind eyes and voices, only to be—what?
I don’t even know yet. I just know the stories don’t fit.
I know flies don’t hatch in a day. I know my house is full of people lying to me, and at least two of them, I would have died for last week.
And the Rev didn’t back me when I needed her to. Not properly. I’m still miffed that she didn’t even think to mention Hannah had returned home before she sent her out again.
So fine.
If the sword doesn’t want me, fine. If my family is splintering, fine.
If Jaz wants to keep throwing my vibrators about—fine.
I’ve spent my entire life being called a slut by people who needed me to be smaller than I was, starting with the woman who pushed me out of her body, and I am still here.
I’m still standing in this bathroom with two hours of sleep and a face that needs a little work, but I’m going to do the one thing I have always been able to do: walk into a room and take it apart.
I splash icy water on my face, then watch it run over the cilices, but I don’t put them on. The welts on my thighs need airing out, and being horny as fuck has its advantages in these moments.
“Not today, Satan.”
I tuck the cilices into my makeup bag, then towel-dry my body and hair.
The thong snaps on. The balconette push-up bra is next, doing the Lord’s work, holding my generous breasts.
Over that, I wear a thin camisole with a gaping neckline.
The hoodie goes on, half-zipped, and slouches off one shoulder.
Finally, I pinch my cheeks and then wipe condensation from the mirror, braving a look at my face.
There she is.
There she always is.
Little Miss Fucking Hannigan, but still a walking bombshell on two hours’ sleep. I don’t even try anymore. That’s the joke. I haven’t had to try since I was thirteen … but Cisco is a tough nut to crack. He won’t soften for anyone else. He hands me things, like his phone and his secrets.
I test the bags beneath my eyes. Okay, I lied. Maybe I need to put in a little effort. I add concealer under my eyes, mascara, lip gloss, and a dab of perfume to my décolletage. Tying my hair into a top knot, I leave the bathroom and am surprised to see Raven and Tawny already in the hallway.
Raven’s kohl-lined eyes are darker, extra weapons are cached around her body, and an unlit cigarette dangles on her ruby-red lips.
Her brand of unhinged goth is loud next to Tawny’s doe-eyed innocence, whose hair is smooth and curled into a bouncy ponytail.
Her makeup is natural like mine, and she smells like apple pie.
They are the living embodiment of Bad Cop, Good Cop.
Raven cracks her knuckles. “Are we ready to do this?”
“As ready as we’ll ever be,” I reply.
“I still don’t get why you need me here,” Tawny whines. “Three’s a crowd.”
“You know why.” I flick dust from her shoulder. “One is easily disbelieved. Two is collusion. But three is hard to refute.”
Whatever the truth is, it’s far more believable coming from three of us.
“Yeah, I know.” She casts a forlorn look at the staircase.
“How were the children?” I stretch an ache in my neck.
I’ve never seen Tawny awake and moving before dawn without force, but she was the first at the orphans’ door this morning. She wants to play big sister again.
Some orphans come to the Sisterhood and fit right in.
We become Sinners as though we’re born for it.
But Tawny was different. She arrived expecting her mother to come and collect her any minute.
She never wanted to be here. I think a part of her still hopes that her family will turn up one day and rescue her from this life.
“The sooner we get this done,” I say, “the sooner you can join Leila and the girls.”
Her mood brightens. “Who’s our first victim?”
I look to Raven for an answer. “Any visions?”
Glowering, she plucks her unlit cigarette from her lips and tosses it through the bathroom door to the trash can. “Not about this.”
My eyes narrow. “Can we still trust them?”
She flinches. “I’m not sure about anything anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I assumed because my visions told me Mary’s prophecy is real, that they’re trustworthy. But then Jaz and Hannah returned home and…”
“And what?” I prompt, but she doesn’t answer. “This isn’t the time to hold back, Raven. Have you had visions about Jaz or H?”
“That’s just it,” she mutters. “I’ve seen nothing. Nada. Zip.”
“That’s good, right?” Tawny asks.
“No.” Raven tugs on her rainbow-tipped braid. “Everyone should have an aura.”
A cold feeling creeps up my spine. “Are you saying they don’t?”
“They don’t.” She confirms. “The orphans do. But for a while, I couldn’t see the Rev’s.”
“What does it mean?” I whisper.
She glares daggers at me. “I told you, I don’t know.”
“Babe. Chill.” I raise my brows. “I was just asking. It’s okay if you don’t know everything all the time.”
I’ve never seen her so unsettled before, which means she’s telling the truth. Being able to see the future would come with a certain sense of expectation, until you suddenly don’t know what’s coming next.
Tawny’s complexion has gone white as a sheet. “Is it just them?”
Raven chews her lip, then looks at me and winces. “The priest has always had no aura. I just never thought anything of it before. I mean, they don’t feel evil, right?”
“Don’t worry.” I clamp my hand on her shoulder, and she flinches. “If something’s up, we’ll figure it out.” I take Tawny’s shoulder too and squeeze. “We’ve got this.”
They each nod, but it feels lackluster.
“Do I need to crack your skulls?” I warn, fingers digging into their shoulders.
“Fucking try and I’ll gut you,” Raven snarls, hissing at the pain and darting away.
“No need to be rude.” Tawny shrugs me off.
“That’s better.” I grin.
They grin back.
“Now let’s go and remind these fuckers whose house this is.”