With deliberate calm, Isaac parked his car in his usual spot and got out. The itch was gone, and his body was relaxed. He finally felt like he could fall asleep—but when he turned toward the apartment building, his steps faltered.
In jeans and a crisp black shirt with a white collar, Father Hawley waited by the front door, watching him. His bald head was highlighted by the golden glow of the exterior light, and he held a travel mug in one hand.
Prickling with unease, Isaac had no choice but to walk over and greet him.
“Father,” he said coolly. “I didn’t expect you.”
Hawley nodded sagely, his hazel brown eyes studying Isaac intently. “I know. Walk with me, Paladin Morrow.”
No.
He bowed his head in defeat and fell into step with the priest. There was no hiding where he’d been. He still wore his knives on his belt, and even if he weren’t, lying would only make things worse. Hawley always knew when he was lying, somehow.
“How many did you kill?” Hawley asked as they passed the prison.
They had one lone prisoner locked up inside—the one responsible for the demons finding and attacking HQ. The council hadn’t decided what to do with him.
“Three,” he answered belatedly.
“And how did you kill them?”
They were demons. It shouldn’t matter. All that should matter was that they were dead. But he knew Hawley’s real motivations by now. It wasn’t about the demons at all. It was about Isaac. He wanted to know if Isaac had given in to the darkness inside him, if he’d indulged his bloodlust.
“I killed them quickly,” he lied, hoping it sounded smooth enough to be believable. “I was just restless. I’ve been restless since the battle here.”
They were at the church now. Hawley opened the door and ushered Isaac inside. Internally, he recoiled from the quiet, gleaming interior, but his feet moved forward despite his misgivings. He knew better than to disobey.
He drifted to the front of the room, stopping in front of the pulpit where he was always instructed to go. Behind it, a large, golden cross hung on the wall against a green velvet curtain. As a child, he used to wonder if it was real gold. Now, he knew nothing was ever what it seemed.
Hawley circled him. “Tell me your sins.”
His stomach plummeted. “I have no need for a confession, Father,” he said.
“Tell me your sins.” There was steel in his voice this time. Isaac was meant to obey his authority no matter what.
Gritting his teeth, Isaac knelt down and glared at the floor. “I killed them slowly.”
“And?” Hawley barked.
Isaac flinched. What else was there? How much could he have sinned in the last few hours? “And…” He thought hard. “I enjoyed it.”
“And?”
Isaac froze. What else was there? What else had he done wrong?
Hawley rounded the pulpit, and Isaac knew what he was fetching without looking. “Remove your shirt.”
Isaac wanted to scream. He killed the demons; he did his job. So what if he enjoyed the act itself? He jerked his shirt off so hard he nearly ripped it, gripping it in his lap to hide the way his hands trembled, and Hawley approached him with a grim expression.
“I don’t like doing this,” he said, pious and soft. “You know I don’t. But you leave me no choice.”
The oily glimmer in his eyes belied his words.
Isaac opened his mouth to ask what other sin he’d committed, but admitting he didn’t know would probably be worse than owning up to whatever it was. His conflict was visible on his face, because Hawley shook his head sadly.
“You don’t even know why I’m punishing you, do you?”
Isaac’s mouth twisted. He knew exactly why Hawley punished him. Isaac was different. Born wrong. He wasn’tblessed with a sense of right and wrong, so Hawley beat one into him. If he stepped out of line, he was punished.
