Chapter 8
Eight
Cisco
The mere presence of Mercy is enough to rein in the leash on my hunger. I don’t want her to see me like this. Shadow ribbons snap back into my body. I whirl to face her, wide-eyed and prepared to explain, but then freeze.
She is dressed only in a tiny, white towel.
Her voluminous red hair hangs loose, and strands plaster to her damp, freckled shoulders, reminding me of that time I saw her from the belfry.
Steam already forms droplets on her skin.
I watch, mesmerized, as a rivulet runs down her neck, across her decolletage, and then disappears into the plump swell of her cleavage.
Hunger roars inside me anew. This curse is a coin with two sides: violence and lust. It cares nothing for timing or decency, and now that it fed on Jasmine’s violence, it’s remembering everything else it has a taste for.
“What is the meaning of this?” Valerio tugs his towel over his lap. Lars does the same. O’Malley grips a stiletto blade, resting on his wobbling knee. But Gunther . . . the sick bastard grabs his crotch and squeezes once, a lascivious gaze trained on Mercy.
Mine.
Every cell in my body screams the word.
Mercy is mine. Not theirs. Not anyone else’s.
Mine to ruin. Mine to devour. To keep.
“Oh, Eminence,” Mercy says to Valerio, oblivious to my mood. “You look so . . . flustered.”
“You are a trespasser, girl. A heretic in a holy place.”
“But you invited me. Right?”
“Your very presence here is a violation of the Sanctum,” he spits.
They don’t even care that Mercy has caught them in a blatant lie. They have nothing but gold and gaslighting. There is no God in this room, only a boys’ club built on the bones of better men.
“Violation? Little old me?” She lets out a soft, breathy laugh that echoes. “I’m just a woman.”
“You’re the reason for this apocalypse!”
Her jaw drops as she spins to me and raises her brows. “So now they believe.”
My teeth grind. “Perhaps we should go straight to the Pope.”
Valerio snarls. “The Holy Father is praying for the world, Francisco. He doesn’t have time to entertain the delusions of an exorcist who has lost his way.”
“Quite the backflip,” Mercy answers for me. “Only moments ago, you were begging for his patronage.”
“That was before he let the enemy in.”
“Funny,” she scoffs, “That you think I need anyone to let me do anything.”
“Guards!” Lars shouts.
“Your guards are taking a nap.”
Mercy calmly sashays toward them. The damp, white towel clings to every curve. I’m not the only one mesmerized, but since I am the only one standing between her and the door, no one else sees the angelic sword tucked between her shoulder blades, hiltless handle peeking out from the towel.
She wiggles her fingers at me behind her back, drawing my attention to the twinkling ring on her finger. I focus through the steam and recognize it from the abbey reliquary. A poison ring.
“Now . . . where was I . . .” She uses her hands like a frame, angling them around the walls as if she’s about to take a picture.
“Since it’s clear you’re unwilling to play nice, let me give you a warning.
I’ve already taken a gazillion photographs and videos of the rooms out there while I was snooping through your files.
My team has copies waiting to distribute. ”
“You think blackmail will force us to legitimize your organization?” Valerio’s jowls wobble with his fury.
“Blackmail?” Her laugh is a breathtaking sight. “No. That’s what you’re attempting to do to Cisco.” She scoops more water onto the hot stones. Through the hissing, she says, “I think we’re long past wanting your approval, Marcus.”
“It’s Eminence,” he spits. “Not Marcus.” To me, he barks, “You leak our secrets to your whore?”
The word is barely out of his mouth before I am upon him, across the room, my hand circling his throat. Black crowds my vision. Feral teeth in his face, I snarl, “She is not a whore.” My fingernails break skin like paper. Blood oozes down his neck. “She is the miracle keeping you alive.”
“Babe.”
Something small and cold lands against my bare back. I blink at the sensation and slowly gather focus on that one anchor point. Peace. Trembling, breathing through my nose, I crane my neck to look at her.
“If I had a penny,” she whispers, “for every man who called me a whore, I’d be a rich girl. They’re not worth the stain on your soul.”
I see the plea in her eyes, and the shame lurking beneath—the vulnerability she tries to hide from me except during confession. It’s deeper than a word, and she doesn’t need me to hurt men trying to shrink her. She needs me to watch as she stands tall.
I peel my fingers from Valerio’s throat.
“So it’s true,” O’Malley spits. “You are their dog now.” He turns to the others. “I told you he was compromised. This was a waste of time.”
But the other cardinals aren’t listening to him. They’ve pissed themselves in fear, urine dribbling down their inner legs. Valerio is the worst. He looks at me with terror because he knows. It was not the devil who attacked him right now, but the man.
And he knows he’s lost me. That’s why his threat is empty.
“Do you honestly believe you can walk out of here and still be a priest?” He wipes the blood on his throat.
“We will laicize you before the sun sets. We will strip you of your title, your protection, and your God. You’ll be nothing but a common thug with a curse you can no longer control.
Without us, your devil won’t have a leash. He’ll eat you alive.”
“The leash was never yours to hold, Eminence,” I growl. “You were simply the ones who convinced me I needed it.”
“And what of your mother?” he adds. “What of Paolo? If you choose the Sinner over the Sanctum, he’s out of his cage. We are the only reason your family is still breathing.”
“Don’t.” Mercy’s voice is small behind me. “Don’t take the bait.”
“Is the whore’s touch worth—”
“Amen.” I finish my prayer. Ribbons of shadow explode from my body, lashing out in all directions, latching onto every sin coursing through their miserable bodies.
I am pelted with images of sin, disgusting lies, and shameful actions.
It tastes so good. It fills me with tingling, glorious satisfaction.
More, more, more. Take it all. Hunt down every last wicked deed.
I feast until I see something that makes me pause, a conversation in the dark. Whispers from faceless men.
“The sword—we can’t let them have it.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t you see? It purifies evil. If it’s used on him, we lose our advantage.”
A pause.
“There are others?”
“No . . . there are only two and she—”
“She cannot be collared, I know.”
“Even more reason the relic must be ours.”