Series: The Un Series by Izzy Sweet
Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
But the dread in my stomach becomes a solid ball of ice. As much as I despise her, I need her to protect me from him.
Father Dominic clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “An emergency, hmm?”
My skin starts to crawl, and I don’t need to look up to know that he’s looking at me.
Sister Agatha bristles at his tone, her spine straightening. “Yes, Father,” she says more confidently. “The Prophet has given me specific instructions and I need to speak with him immediately. It is my duty.”
Father Dominic chuckles as if he finds something amusing. “I have no doubt you were given such instructions. Unfortunately, you will have to wait.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sister Agatha shake her head in disbelief. “But—"
“No buts, Sister,” Father Dominic says harshly. “Our business is more pressing.”
Sister Agatha sucks in a shrill, sharp breath, and I instinctively wince. I can practically feel her outrage pouring off her in waves.
Anytime I’ve ever earned such a sound from her it was always followed by a hard beating from Jeffrey.
“Dominic,” the man with the gray beard says gently, trying to diffuse the situation. “Our business is not that urgent. There’s no need for us to get between Sister Agatha and her duty.”
Sister Agatha lets her breath out in a gush of relief.
But Father Dominic huffs angrily. “Not that urgent? McCall, our time, our business will always be more important than this… this…” He flicks his hand toward me dismissively. “This creature who should have been smothered at birth.”
I know I should be insulted, but I’m too freaked out to feel it. I’m in no rush to stand in front of the Prophet again.
The last time I stood in front of him was terrifying, and that was in front of the entire congregation. I have no clue what he’ll do this time when Sister Agatha drags me before him without an audience.
Will he kill me today?
I’ve never had reason to fear such before, given how much trouble the Order has gone through to keep me alive and hidden all these years.
Yet there’s something about the way Sister Agatha is behaving, something in her rush to get me in front of the Prophet that makes me think I’m in more danger than I’m aware of.
Now that I might fully manifest and come to bear the cursed mark, everything has changed. I’m no longer simply tainted…
I’m a liability.
Little of the mark is known to me, only the bits and pieces Sister Agatha has leaked to me over the years. I know it’s supposed to appear after my first period as a red figure eight somewhere on my body.
And once it appears I’ll somehow be connected to a vampire.
What being connected to a vampire actually entails, besides somehow birthing evil into the world, has never been explained.
Though, I’m quite sure it is all very unpleasant, and if given a choice I’d rather avoid it.
I don’t want to be connected to anything or anyone. I’d rather be free.
Father McCall lets out a weary sigh. “Yes, Dominic, I understand that, but perhaps this—"
A door opens somewhere, its hinges squealing in high protest, and Father McCall falls silent.
“Sister Agatha,” Jeffrey says in a rush, sounding breathless, “the Prophet will see you now.”
Father Dominic laughs incredulously, and I peek up again to see him glaring daggers at Jeffrey. “Unbelievable.”
Sister Agatha lifts her chin and the corners of her lips twitch, repressing a grin. “Thank you, Jeffrey.”
Jeffrey nods sharply, his blonde hair not falling into his eyes for once because it sticks to his sweaty forehead. I wonder if he ran all the way here after telling Sister Agatha what happened?
Sister Agatha tugs on my arm, signaling I should follow beside her.
As we pass through the door, I hear Father Dominic grumble behind us, “Well, I must see what is so important that we’re to be left waiting like a couple of wet-behind-the-ears seminarians.”
Sister Agatha shoots a dirty look over her shoulder, but otherwise pinches her lips together and remains silent. She leads me into a dim room lit only by a few scattered candelabras.
The air is mustier than the hallway we just passed through, and I can see a thousand specks of dust floating like golden glitter in the air ahead of us.
It would be pretty, maybe even reassuring, if the room itself wasn’t so derelict and depressing.
Tall bookshelves line the walls, full of old books, and the windows are covered in thick, red velvet curtains caked in dust.
Out of curiosity, I glance down and examine the floor. The old wood is dull and the finish has worn down in several places. There’s so much dirt and dust, I doubt anyone has scrubbed or polished it in years.
Why would the Prophet meet anyone here when it’s obvious the room has been left to fall into disrepair?