Devil's Trap

VII

When they finally got outside, the stars had hidden themselves in their position hanging above the two spies. The clouds were back, and it was soon after that Jack felt the first raindrop hit his cheek. It was getting more and more difficult for him to keep his eyes open. The time was almost midnight.

Once they were as far away from the speakeasy as they could walk, Jack started trying to wave down a taxi. His cut was still hurting. Stella caught him hide a wince.

She rummaged through her purse. Jack was aware that she still hadn't given him back the pistol, but he didn't care enough to ask. The only things on his mind were a good night's sleep and the pulse of the cross on his heart.

Stella pulled a roll of gauze from the bag, as well as a pair of travel scissors. Jack watched her blankly, hoping that she would wake him up if he was to collapse right then and there.

"The symbol they carved is an inverted cross," he said, more to himself than to Stella. She nodded, cutting a piece of the bandage off the roll. "So we must be looking for a satanic cult, or at least some sacrilegious organization."

Stella cocked her head to the side. "Not necessarily. Usually an inverted cross is called a Petrine Cross, and symbolizes martyrdom and modesty," she said nonchalantly. She glanced up at Jack. "Wipe that look off your face. I know what I'm talking about."

He almost smiled at her, watching the headlights of a taxi illuminate her face. They climbed in, both heaving a sigh of relief to be driving as far away from that place as they could.

Stella handed him a scrap of the gauze. "Hold this on the wound until we get back to the station."

Jack had forgotten that they should probably report to Healy before heading home. "Why don't we drop you off at your place before I meet Fitzgerald and company?"

Stella shook her head. "No way. I am a part of your team now." She started digging her fingernails into her hand again. "I think you could use my help."

"I hate to say it, but I think we could definitely use your help," he said. He glanced down at her hand. "I noticed you doing that back at the speakeasy."

She quickly threw her hands down, revealing a long stretch of jagged flesh winding around the tendons in her hand. "It's just a nervous habit, I guess."

"Do you have any more of that gauze?" he asked. Stella handed him her purse, following as his fingers clumsily ripped off a piece. "Give me your hand."

"Don't worry about me," she said. He wound the gauze around her hand nonetheless, tucking it gently under a previous layer. "What about you? You look like you've been to hell and back."

Jack chuckled. "I don't sleep much anymore." His smile faded soon thereafter. "I just want to go home."

Stella nodded, her eyes finding his in the dim light. She took a deep breath. "How do you do this for a living?" she asked. "I damn near passed out when he pulled the knife."

He shrugged, dropping his head. "I think of the good that will come from all of this. When all's said and done, any sacrifice we make will stop a terrible person from hurting any more people," he said. "I am so sorry we dragged you into this."

"No one dragged me anywhere," she said. "I wanted to do this. I just didn't know what I expected."

"You don't have to do this, you know."

She paused a moment and looked back at her hand. "I know," she whispered. "I want to."