Missions

Majec scrubbed his hand over his scalp, missing his once-long hair. “How many are there?”

“A dozen, no more.” Wentz lit a cigarette.

“Even with a full clip, I couldn’t take out that many.”

“Since neither of us have half that, point’s moot.”

Mary Agnes pulled the pins out of her hair, long red curls tumbling down. “Unless we remove them for you.”

“Like that’s gonna happen.” Wentz blew smoke groundward.

Majec punched him on the shoulder. “What he means is that, even if trained, we couldn’t let you endanger yourselves.”

Mary Grace laughed. “You mean you won’t risk your CO’s wrath by screwing up this job.”

Majec nodded.

Mary Lucia stretched, long legs extending well beyond her black skirt. “Agnes, how many of these celebrations have you attended?”

“Four, not counting the one where we bailed at the last minute due to fire storm.”

“Grace?”

“Six that I remember. I started young. It’s a little blurry.”

Wentz frowned, confused.

“This is my second,” whispered Mary Margaret.

Lucia stroked the girl’s hair. "Listen up, new guys. I have as many as they do combined, which means we’re at two dozen, and not once have we failed our duty.” She began stripping off her habit, revealing a slinky dress underneath. “So, kindly step aside and let us seduce these jackholes standing in our way. Then we can offer ourselves up to the new god as virgin sacrifices – again – and get back to the abbey before someone wakes up another goddamned demon.”