Page 297 of Sinister

“It was a low-level demon.” He shrugs. “I was hoping he’d be stronger.”

I gawk at him. “You . . . what?”

“It is of no consequence now. Your demon problem is gone.” He dusts off his clothes and makes to leave. But before he does, he stops by the corpse of Father Benedict. “I’ll help you bury them,” he states.

“But Claire . . . Her family will⁠—”

“They should not see her like this. Her body will rot quicker than an average one because the negative energy from the demon has already eaten at it from within. If you wait much longer, you will not like what you see.”

“All right. I suppose we will find a way to break the news to her parents. Poor girl . . .” I say as I take one last look at her body. So young, and now she’s forever gone.

“I will ensure the parents do not trouble you.”

True to his word, Valerion does all the work: from digging two makeshift graves to carrying the bodies and burying them. Then he somehow convinces her parents that Claire’s death was natural.

Not only are they not belligerent with us, but they leave at dawn without asking any questions.

Odd. Truly odd.

So as Valerion turns to leave, too, I can’t help but ask.

“Just who . . . what are you?”

He pauses in the doorway, his lips curling upward.

“This is not the last you will see of me, Sister Agatha.”

Then he’s gone. But not for long.

81

THE NUN

St. Anselm Convent, 1790

Valerion has been a constant presence at the convent every time we have a case of demonic possession. Yet in all the years I’ve known him, he has never changed. No wrinkles or new lines on his face. No grey hairs. Nothing. He still has the youthful appearance of a twenty-something-year-old even though, by my calculations, he should be over fifty—at least as far as I’ve known him.

But given his experience and the ease with which he deals with those demons, I have come to wonder whether he is at all human.

Perhaps he is an angel sent from above to help us fight this plight that’s taken over the land.

Over the years, the cases of possession have multiplied. Whereas before most of them would turn out to be hoaxes, now almost every case is real. And Valerion appears, doing his duty of getting rid of that evil.

Tonight, however, is unlike any case we’ve had before. Perhaps because it did not start as a case at all.

When an entourage of three Franciscan friars showed up on our doorstep, all the sisters were curious. It was a first, and while we’ve heard of the existence of some in nearby towns, they’d never come to our convent before.

Immediately, Sister Prudence arranged for a rich meal, and we all welcomed them to the dining hall as best we could.

Franciscans are known for their repudiation of all material goods, and they live solely from the charity and goodwill of others. The other sisters and I were very curious about the tales they could tell us.

Yet what started as a rather normal dinner with plenty of stories and anecdotes soon turned into something far more sinister.

“Sister Prudence, was it not?” Frey Antonio intones as he gazes at the assortment of food she’d laid out on the table for him.

“Yes.” She smiles. She busies herself, moving a bread basket closer to him. But just as she lays it by his plate, his hand brushes over hers ever so gently. She’s startled. He merely looks intently at her.

“Your mother is ill, yes?” he asks in a low voice.