Hailey balls her hands into fists in the fabric of her dress, squeezing her fingers tight enough to stop the blood flow, turning them white. Her arms tremble in the cold of the church as a line of icy sweat runs down her back. Swallowing, Hailey tries to conceal her shock and fear at the sight of the new preacher. Moments ago, he walked out to begin his sermon and Hailey recognized him as none other than the demon himself, Soneillon!

Hiding her reaction is no simple task, however, and it takes all of Hailey’s willpower to refrain from leaping up and attacking the demon immediately. Atop his bully pulpit, Soneillon smiles to the congregation and says in a pleasant voice, “For those of you who haven’t met me yet, my name is Father Sonny. That’s Sonny with a ‘y’ not an ‘i,’” he adds with a chuckle.

Tapping the bible lain out before him, Soneillon says, “When I arrived here, I was impressed at the fortitude and resilience displayed by this congregation. You’ve weathered an attack by Becca! Now that’s quite the achievement.” Pausing, he surveils the front few rows with a toothy smile. “And then a madman tried to hurt some of the local students,” gesturing toward Detective Anderson he adds, “injuring one of our own in the process. But Detective Anderson stopped him in the end, thank God.” After allowing a slight lull where he gives a small measure of applause for Anderson, who sits in uncomfortable silence throughout, Soneillon continues. “Just last week the last of The Deck was rounded up, breaking that criminal gang’s hold over the city. So I know you’ve had an exciting month or two and a new pastor is hardly the most interesting thing happening in Liberty City, but I’m happy to be here anyway,” he jokes in a folksy manner.

In her place in the pews, Hailey traces her hand over the faint scar line from where Becca cut her stomach open in an attempt to bleed her dry. Paralyzed by the memory, she almost misses when Father Sonny begins to speak again.

“I’ve learned quite a bit about all of you, but I thought it might be nice if I took a moment to introduce myself to the congregation. So, hello!” Soneillon waves cheekily before laughing and folding his hand back under his robes. “I’m originally from across the sea, my father was a marine stationed in Tokyo who stayed after the war. Growing up in Japan I learned quite a lot as I watched the country rebuild itself from tragedy after the birth of the flower girl, Hana-Komyi.” Father Sonny’s face turns serious as he continues. “Thousands died, many of them my classmates, before the Association’s containment field was built and she was relocated.”

Stepping down from the pulpit, Soneillon continues with fervor shinning in his eyes. “It was devastation unlike anything I’d ever seen. Hiroshima was gone, the entire city rotten away by the force of her uncontrolled powers. Powers are a funny thing, that way. Hana wasn’t, and still isn’t, a bad person. She’s just the victim of a power she has no control over. But that brings me to the point I wanted to make today, because it was easy for people to blame Hana. To vilify her and to hate her.”

Pausing to take a breath, Soneillon sweeps his eyes over the congregation. Scrunching down in her seat, Hailey has a moment of panic when his eyes pass over her, but he seems not to recognize the teen heroine and continues surveying the crowd before continuing his speech.

“Power did that to her, to my friends, and to a country on the cusp of rebuilding itself. Powers ruined her life. I like to think that she had some warning that perhaps one day she noticed something off, maybe her food spoilt faster than usual or she could heal from playground injuries quicker. I bet Hana thought it would be wonderful to have powers, never caring for the consequences. And why should she?” Soneillon asks, throwing his hands wide, “she was a child! A girl no older than twelve with burgeoning superpowers! It must have felt like all her dreams come true!”

Soneillon pauses, his voice falling as he says, “But. But powers do not always come from God. Sometimes they come from the Devil, and oh he is wicked in his ways!” Soneillon points out to the congregation saying in a dramatic voice, “Who here has felt the touch of a demon? No need to lie, I can see it plain as day on your faces! We’ve all felt the insidious whisper of a demon in our ear, egging us toward sin!” Then, in a calm voice, Soneillon continues with, “But you resist. Because you are God fearing people possessed by righteousness.”

Soneillon inhales deeply and begins to speak again, saying in a deceptively calm voice, “Sin has its way of worming and working into the heart of the righteous like that. It always seems so reasonable, so right, at the time and we never question what our actions truly mean until it’s far too late to stop.”

Soneillon makes as if to begin speaking again, but then his eyes go unfocused and suddenly widen. Surprise flits across his face for a half-second before vanishing into a carefully constructed visage. Carefully, he inhales deeply one more time, flicking his tongue across his teeth like some kind of human-snake hybrid. His eyes roam across the room as he inhales one more time, finally settling on Hailey. The two lock eyes, an unspoken challenge passing between them. Soneillon’s face widens into a vicious smirk.

“Ahhhh, yes,” he says, resuming his speech as if nothing happened. “We must be on guard against false prophets and deceivers, all those insidious individuals who wield the power of the devil without care for the horrible consequences. I am speaking, of course, of witches.”

At this, a minor stir of confusion and unease spreads throughout the congregation. A few of the parents shift uncomfortably as they listen to the sermon. His statement, however, does grab the attention of everyone in the room. Rapt, the congregation leans in to hear what Father Sonny has to say next.

“Witchery was my area of study as a young priest. I pored over pages in ancient texts looking for what I thought were pseudohistorical accounts of individuals with powers. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I was both right and not-right at the same time.” Soneillon pauses to shake his head as if remembering his impetuous and self-assured youth with a wry smile. “I was so certain in my knowledge that it took a long time for me to see the light! When I did, however, it was terrifying.” His voice drops, growing more serious. “The truth was that witches were real, their foul magic taken straight from the devil in a bid to gain unholy powers that would give them control over good people who opposed them.”

Soneillon pauses to allow for a moment of silence. Then he continues. “Exodus 22:18 tells us that we shall not suffer a witch to live. Quite plainly, God is telling us how to deal with these evil sorceresses and sorcerers. We must defend our communities, our homes, our schools, and our children. I was shocked, when I arrived, to learn that witches had fought at our very own St. Cecilia High! Was it a coincidence that this bloody combat, a battle that not only destroyed several portions of the school but almost resulted in the permeant maiming or deaths of at least three students if not more, took place on Christian ground?” Soneillon does not wait for an answer, furiously pronouncing, “I think not! It was the evil design of a Godless witch who caused this! Who placed children in harm’s way!”

“They traffic in the devil’s mysteries,” Soneillon says in a subdued voice that holds his audience spellbound. “They do not care who lives or dies, only that their darkness spreads until it blots out the good light of all that is holy and righteous.” Sorrow in his tone, Soneillon continues. “It breaks my heart, and the heart of every good man and woman, to see this kind of black stain plague our schools and our children.”

“But what can we do?!” cries out a matronly woman in the front row. “Eldritch arrived and saved the school, but if we expect more attacks we must have greater protection!”

Sadly, Soneillon shakes his head and leans on the pulpit saying in an exhausted voice. “We pray, we remain vigilant, and we have faith in God. In all things, he will protect us. Now come, let us pray.”

The gathering bows their heads in contemplative prayer, none more so than Hailey who cannot bring herself to participate. Instead, she stares at her hands and thinks back to her fight with Belladonna, the destruction and damage it caused as well as her own tragic mistake, using the Malleus Malleficarum spell that helped raise Soneillon from the depths of the underworld. Guilt and anger churn in her stomach, guilt for causing this profane violation of the church at the hands of Soneillon and anger at his actions. But anger alone cannot stop him, she knows. Still, for the moment, Hailey has no other option than to simply sit and stew, or so she thinks.

“Now!” Father Sonny says, breaking the silence, “It’s time for communion. I think we should bring up the children first, those most affected by the recent violence and terror that has gripped our city. If the choir wouldn’t mind?” he gestures to the balcony where the soft voices of the choir raise in a song of peace and love.

“Hailey,” whispers her mother, shaking her from her stunned stupor, “that’s you, go on up!”

Lethargic, Hailey mechanically pulls herself out of the pew and begins to walk, ashen faced, toward the minister. Her white dress, pristine this morning, is now slick to her back with a sheen of sweat. Her skin, cold and clammy with the shiver-shaking dread of what Soneillon might do when he recognizes her is dead as she tries to pinch life back into herself while slumping toward Father Soneillon who carefully places each wafer in the mouths of the unsuspecting children.

Framed by the swelling song of the choir and the steady thrum of the organ Hailey drifts up the center aisle getting closer and closer to Soneillon with each long step. Slowly she approaches his outstretched hands bearing the golden wine chalice and the wafers. Swallowing back a lump of fear and trepanation, she takes the first step on the raised dais and quickly bows her head, trying to obscure her features behind her hair.

“Please don’t let him recognize me, please God, please don’t let him recognize me,” she murmurs in a chanted prayer under her breath as Missy finishes taking her turn in front of her. Leaning forward, she quickly motions for the sign of the holy trinity and steps toward the bread keeping her head down. As she reaches for the wafer with the intention of taking Communion through intinction, a hand catches her chin.

“Tut, tut, poor dear,” says Soneillon in a faux pitying tone. “Please, allow me to help you.”

With his free hand, he reaches back and dips the bread into the wine, but when it comes out Hailey cannot help but gasp slightly, for the wine is now blood red!

Smiling, Soneillon lifts the dripping carmine wafer and poises it in front of Hailey’s mouth. Then he leans forward and says in a teasing voice, “Come now, isn’t this ritual all about human blood?” Seeing her shocked expression, he sarcastically consoles her by adding, “Don’t worry though, it’s just lamb’s blood. Now, open wide.”

“No,” replies Hailey in a burst of reckless defiance.

“Oh?” asks Soneillon with a raised eyebrow. “Well I suppose we can ask the congregation for their opinion on that. I’m sure your mother would have quite the opinion on her daughter, the teenage witch.”

Her resistance crumbling, Hailey stares helplessly at Father Soneillon for a few seconds. Then, trembling, Hailey opens her lips and allows Soneillon to place the disgusting thing in her mouth. Mechanically she closes and forces herself to swallow, staring daggers at the demon.

Both eyes flashing in amusement, Soneillon places a hand on her shoulder and says, “My child, it appears as though you could use the chance to confess. Would you join me in confessional after the service?”

Defiance in her eyes, Hailey meets his gaze and nods deliberately. But her body betrays her as she walks back, her knees almost giving out as the adrenaline that flooded her body fades and the terrifying knowledge that Soneillon knows her secret identity floods back as she collapses into her seat in the pew. Limp, she listens passively to the rest of the ceremony, barely mustering enough energy to murmur back the correct responses at the appropriate times.

Finally, when it is over, she turns to her mother and says quietly, “Mom, if you don’t mind I’d like to go to the confession booth for a bit. I have some things I want to talk about.”

“Sure sweetie,” her mother replies in a distracted tone as she waves to Detective Anderson trying to catch his attention. Turning to her daughter with frustration leaking out of her voice she asks, “Can you catch Missy’s eye for a minute? I want to say hello to the detective.”

Rolling her eyes, Hailey sighs and waves at Missy, who tugs on her dad’s arm and begins to drag him over.

Seeing her friend on her way, Hailey decides to avoid the inevitable conversation and says to her unhearing mother, “I’ll be back when I’m back. Try not to embarrass me too much.”

Then, forlorn, she makes her way to the booth and steps inside. Sitting down on the worn wooden bench, she faces forward to the mesh separating her from her tormentor. Nothing, however, can protect her from the sound of his voice eating through the booth.

“Well?” he asks, “aren’t you going to tell me how long it’s been since your last confession?”

“No,” answers Hailey in a flat voice. “This isn’t a confession, and you aren’t a priest.”

Chuckling lightly, Soneillon replies, “Debatable. I am certainly possessing a priest. Still, the formalities must be observed, otherwise who knows what I might say to the good people out there? So tell me, how long since your last confession?”

Biting back her caustic response, Hailey settles the churning in her stomach and grips the wood of the bench until her knuckles turn white. Then, once she settles, she speaks through gritted teeth. “Bless me father, for I have sinned…”

And so the sanctuary of faith becomes a weapon in the hands of Soneillon! Darkness gathers round our heroine as she struggles against the inevitable in… “The Devil’s Teat!”