“I know she isn’t a nun!” Devota said to the crumpled form of Sister Charity. “But she was adopted out, wasn’t she?” Devota’s expression filled with hatred. “She and the whore of a sister of hers, taken in by a family . . .” In the half-light, Devota returned her attention to Valerie. “And he fancied you, too. I saw him lay his hand on your shoulder when you talked to him, just as I saw the light in his eyes when Asteria handed him a rose in the garden, or the way he smiled at Sister Lea . . . Yes, even I fell for his charms, but I was stronger than to give in to my evil thoughts. God helped me see the truth, that I was stronger than those weak, quivering, lusting idiots. Satan tempted them, you know. He lured them into falling for Father Frank, and they all willingly surrendered whatever piety, whatever courage, whatever devotion they’d once thought they’d had. They gave in. I didn’t!” Her voice actually shook for a second. “And he, too, was to blame. God tested him, and Frank . . . Father Frank failed.” She swallowed hard and hesitated for a second, collecting herself.

In a moment of striking clarity, Val knew that Frank had rejected Devota. Sometime, somewhere, she’d been passed over in his affections, just like she’d been passed over and never adopted to a family. Maybe it was real, maybe it was all in Devota’s twisted mind, but the result was the same: one more strike to her battered, malevolent soul.

As if reading Val’s thoughts, Devota shuddered and spat, “But he liked you, didn’t he? Frank lusted after you!”

“No.” This was taking a turn she didn’t understand.

“Just like all those others who twittered and giggled, laughing and sighing at the sight of him, starting with . . . that!” She curled her lips in revulsion as she pointed her knife at the grisly remains of Sister Lea.

Val thought of the heart symbol with the letters inside. CALLED. She’d made a mistake. One of the Ls was not Sister Lucia, but Sister Lea. Camille, Asteria, Louise, Lea, Edwina, and Devota . . . How right Camille had been. They all, including Devota, had been in love with the priest.

“Did you see her last moments?” Devota demanded. When Val didn’t respond, she clarified. “I’m talking about that whore of a woman you thought was your sister. The only child of Mike and Mary Brown.”

The BlackBerry. And the horrid pictures of Asteria and Camille dying, struggling for breath, bleeding, their fingers scraping their own bloodied throats . . .

Rage boiled inside Val. “You sick, twisted bitch,” she accused as Sister Charity let out a wheezing, gurgling breath. “Who do you think you are?”

“God’s servant.”