Chapter 41: The Self-Righteous Bigot
Jinn stared in her eyes; he could see her hesitation, her resignation, and most of all, he saw her desperation.
He saw how desperately Agnes wanted him to believe in her. To the point she seemed ready to break the oath she had made.
So Jinn did just that... he demonstrated that he believed her.
"I understand. You don’t have to tell me anything." His words were like a cold breeze in the middle of a desert.
"Can you tell me what you wanted to do with this?" But before she could be happy, Sister Agnes froze hearing his next words. She saw him glancing towards the thing she drew with her blood on the wooden floor.
After a moment of hesitation, she finally revealed her plans to him.
"After you answered their questions and left, those people were still thinking you had something to do with the deaths."
Jinn immediately understood who she was talking about. Sister Agnes’s hands shook as she clasped them together, her knuckles turning white.
Her eyes darted once toward the glowing lines on the floor before returning to Jinn, her lips quivering as she forced the words out.
"I was going to call upon a devil... to use my soul—this worthless, rotting soul—as payment. In return, I wanted them to take the lives of anyone who dared point their finger at you and maybe some sort of power that can watch over you and protect you for the rest of your life..."
Her voice cracked, a sob caught in her throat. Her face was a mixture of expressions, both broken and fierce, as if something was anchoring her to live, a drive that granted her strength to go beyond the extreme.
And Jinn realized that he was that anchor. His chest tightened upon realizing that heavy truth, but he kept his tone steady.
"And that’s why you brought us here? Why did you kidnap them?"
The nun flinched at the word ’kidnapped,’ her nails digging into her palms. For a long moment she was silent, her breath ragged, until she finally whispered:
"Yes. If I failed... if I couldn’t summon anything... then at least when the church’s investigators eventually find me... they would see it. They would think I was the one trying to use you all as sacrifices. They would believe you had nothing to do with the deaths."
Her eyes gleamed with desperation so raw it felt painful to look at.
"I couldn’t risk them taking you away. I couldn’t let them put the blame on you... not when I am the one at fault."
The candle flames around the pentagram flickered violently, as if mocking her confession. The air pressed down heavier than before, thick with the stench of iron and smoke.
Jinn stared at her. His eyes saw past the trembling of her hands and wild mutters into the hollow pit that had swallowed her reason.
And he realized—she truly believed that she was at fault when all she ever wanted to do was protect herself and him.
"No, you are not at fault." Finally he said the words that had been in his mind, "The one who is at fault is me."
Shocked, Sister Agnes turned her head toward him and saw him staring at the ground with a self-deprecating smile on his face. "I always thought I could see through the hearts of people and handle any situation no matter how difficult it was, but now I know that it is not true."
"What are you saying, Jinn?" The matron looked confused; she reached out to comfort the boy, wanting to assure him that her failures were not his fault, but her hands froze the next moment as Jinn spoke.
"I underestimated the power of blessings, and I overestimated myself... but no more." Jinn looked at the surprised woman beside him and said, "The only thing you were wrong about is that I had nothing to do with their deaths."
"I—" The sound of wood creaking under weight forced Jinn to stop before he could continue.
Jinn’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing, while Sister Agnes spun toward the sound with her heart in her throat.
The boy who had been lying on the floor with his hands and feet tied by ropes was now standing up.
The ropes that were snapped into his wrists and ankles were now lying on the floor like dead snakes.
Geralt now stood on his feet; his chest rose and fell as he glared at Jinn with a feverish madness.
"I knew it..." His voice was rough, cracking at the edges. "I knew if I followed you, I would find a clue that you had a hand in all of this!"
"Oh, I did not think you could find this place." Jinn chuckled, treating Geralt like an insignificant ant. He turned to the matron and asked, "Did you tie him?"
Although scared and confused, Sister Agnes nodded and said, "When I brought you all here, he was already here, unconscious. So I tied him up as well."
"Shut up!" Geralt finally snapped in anger. His gaze flicked down to the bloody lines etched into the wood, then snapped toward Sister Agnes. His lips curled, his teeth bared in something between a grin and a snarl.
"But I didn’t expect this," he hissed. "The matron herself. You always showed yourself to be a holy mother, full of grace and love. You pretended to care about all of us, but in reality, you only cared about one child—him!
"But that should have been expected; after all, you treated Jinn differently than anyone else. To you the rest of us were broken dolls who needed your help, but he..." Geralt glared at Jinn, "He was your prodigal son, one you could never have."
Sister Agnes’s hand pressed against her chest as though she had been struck. Her lips parted, but no words came. Her eyes shook, unable to look away from the boy’s burning stare.
Geralt’s voice rose, jagged and sharp. "The corpses. The stench of blood. The devil’s mark on the floor. It was always you! You were just helping this bastard like you always do!"
"But no more." As he spoke, Geralt’s eyes drifted towards the broken leg of a chair lying nearby. "The church will see..."
With a quick jump, he grabbed it up and pointed it at Jinn and Sister Agnes like a sword. "They’ll know I was right. And if I have to drag your bodies through the mud to prove it, I will."