Page 37 of The Gathering
Sounded like bullshit.
“Is this a new gift? One you developedafteryou trusted the people who mutilated your innocence?”
“It is adevelopedgift,” she huffed, unbothered as she worked on the binding. “You dolearnthings in life and knowledge is one of God’s greatest gifts.”
“From your mistakes?”
“Of course,” she said happily, flashing a look and smile that hid her secrets. “You learn from everything in life if you’re paying attention. My mistakes, my pain, my joy, my suffering. My naivete, my ignorance.” She paused, pressing a serious stormy gaze on him. “Mystupidity,” she whispered, then cracked her biggest smile yet before getting serious with the binding. “Oh look at that,” she gasped, cutting faster. “Ilearneda weak pattern in this weave!”
Her illogical answers scattered his focus and fed his anger. “Good. Cut me loose. I can be the next mistake you learn from.”
Her burst of laughter felt like a slap while she worked on his freedom. “Why is being fearsome so important to you?” she poked with innocent curiosity, moving to the side of the bed as she cut. “Does it make you feel strong to have weaker people fear you?”
She asked it like he was a child with silly thoughts rather than the man who’d dismantled an entire country to rid the world of her kind of stupid. “I have cleansed this nation of evil with no regard for the ignorance or innocence that allowed it to thrive.”
“Oh yes,” she marveled, setting the scissors down and yanking the netting open at his waist. “I know all about what Sir Mayhem did. Let’s get you sitting so you can help finish this. My hands are done for!” She gently moved his legs off the side of the bed and struggled to pull him upright. “Everybody here knows what you did. Here, take this,” she said, putting the scissors in his right hand.
He eyed her, feeling his curiosity getting hostile. “And what do you think of what I did?”
She stood exactly before him and crossed her arms with a grounding breath. Her head tilted with a digging stare as if the answer was in his eyes. He held the scissors and her gaze, analyzing the erratic race in his mind. “I think you’re a crazy genius,” she blurted emphatically and right to his face. Daring him to fight her about it.
He was no closer to understanding her particular brand of delusion but found himself oddly unbothered with it. What did crazy mean to somebody like her? He realized he didn’t care aboutthatpuzzle.
She gestured quickly at him with a tiny hand then tucked it back against her chest, reminding him of a little bird with too much energy and no wings to fly it out. “You clearly put a genius amount of thought into what you’ve done and then you backed it up with enough crazy to actually do it.”
Her head cocked the other way, arms crossing in the opposite direction.
There it was. In her digging nosy gaze. Wings. A mind that never rested, flitting over everything it encountered.Everything.
Sinrik looked down at the binding and began cutting himself out before his little bird friend changed her flitting mind. “Thank you, Sister Beatrice,” he said, standing and letting the prison fall to the floor.
She looked up at him, staring with open awe before taking a full step back. “Tending to the downtrodden is my vocation,” she said quietly, eyes clear and honest to a huge, huge fault. They suddenly lowered to his midsection where he fastened his opened pants. “My… passion,” she added, clearing her throat with the drop of her head.
Sinrik eyed the tiny woman before him, his tactical tools locking in. “I need to find my soldier, Sister. They’ve taken him somewhere and if I don’t service him, he could become unstable. Can you help me?”
Her blue eyes leveled right on him, lit up with that reckless bravery. “You mean Mr. Morgue?” She gave a curt nod. “I am so happy to take you to him. He did refuse to talk but Mr. Bishop said he just needed the right persuasion.”
“He’s programmed not to talk,” he informed her. “As I’m sure Mr. Bishop has learned.”
She shook her head briskly, eyes severe with warning. “You surely do underestimate the Marsh King, Mr. Sinrik.”
He considered his little leverage before him. “I feel as though I should thank God for your friendship, Sister.”
Her smile was like the crack of the very first dawn. Light fulfilling its purpose. Scattering the dark. Not aware that at the end of the day, a darkness just as stubborn would consume it. And create a very fucked up eternal love affair.
“Yes, you should, Mr. Sinrik,” she assured with firm nods. “Let us pray before we set out.” She snatched his hands in hers and lowered her head.
Sinrik’s muscles locked up at the circuit of power suddenly moving through him as she entered a strange warfare against powers he was very intimate with. His hands slowly closed around hers, feeling her hostile energy in his blood and the air in his lungs.
He recognized it immediately. Mayhem. The little birdie was stirring it. Taunting it. Stomping her tiny foot on its head. A gnat full of hot, hurried whispers.
Sinrik stood on the very edge of this strange affair with her. Watching this tiny flame refuse to be snuffed out. Fully aware she held hands with the one who’d used all his power to heal the derangement she suffered with.
He stared at her mouth, allowing his mind to stand in the exact center of her warfare. He slowly closed his eyes, feeling the mad beating of her tiny wings against the storm she charged into. Alone. Innocent hands holding desperately to his guilty ones.
He opened his eyes, finding all her warfare aimed right at him in the form of a smile. “Ah-men,” she finished on a triumphant whisper.
Something hot and sharp sliced right through him as he stared at her. She’d declared war against him. And for him. Against the darkness he belonged to and for the light he never knew.
