Page 8 of Broken Shadows

“The irony, right?” Ezra notes.

I nod, then snort. “It’s as if they choose to turn a blind eye to their history of endless warring, most notably the Spanish Inquisition.”

Ezra bounces on the balls of his bright as fuck violet high-top sneaker covered feet. “Yep! So, let’s go in.”

I groan, irritation and displeasure sinking into my stomach. The hypocrisy of religious zealots leaves a foul taste in my mouth. Walking up the stones leading up to the main doors, we step inside beneath the pointed arches of the entrance doorway. Dank, cool air envelops us as I glance around the entryway of the church. The thick stone walls scream with torment, forced to witness years of willfully blind ignorance. Religion itself isn’t what is wrong with humans; it’s how some of them choose to share their beliefs that disgusts me.

I stroll past three sets of looming, elegantly carved double doors separated by a couple feet of stone wall. My fingers drag over the matching architraves, then focus on my bond with Evie. She’s there, stronger than earlier at the manor. But the once strong, glowing cable connecting us feels as thin as a single strand of thread. My heart fucking soars.

Ezra pokes at my pulse pounding away in my carotid artery and I brush him off with a growl. “Your heart rate just went insane.” One of Ezra’s brows curls upward. “Can you sense the witch?”

“Yes, but it’s very faint. I need to focus, so do me a favor and shut the fuck up. Go see if there are any offices or classrooms to search.”

He mimes sewing his lips shut, then chomps the air like he’s cutting the thread with his teeth.

If only that invisible thread were real.

Claws shoot from my fingertips as I march toward the closest set of double doors, nervous anxiety squeezing my brain. Faint screeching sounds as my claws scrape along the brass handle, grip it, and throw the door open.

I slip my hands into my pockets as I stroll down the aisle, ash swirling around me despite my slow gate. My shadows fan around me, darting behind statues of weeping saints and any other dark spaces a hidden entrance might reveal itself. I chuckle darkly, gliding over to a silver basin held aloft by a grand wooden pedestal. Water flicks against the bowl as I dip two fingers into the holy liquid, mark the center of my forehead, chest, and both shoulders, mocking the human sign of the cross. My demonic senses stretch out, ensuring my shadows missed nothing. I cock my head to the side and focus as a draft whistles through a crack somewhere in the pulpit's vicinity.

“Find anything?”

I pivot and face Ezra as he strolls from the shadows beneath the choir loft at the back of the church, rising halfway to the arched ceiling where the exposed beams groan with age.

“Possibly,” I say. “And you?”

“A whole lotta jack shit,” Ezra replies.

“You’ve returned awful fast. Are you certain you’ve checked every room, closet, bathro—”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Ezra interrupts, then throws his head back dramatically and sighs. “This adventure is turning out to be rather dull, don’t you think? We haven’t even spotted one demon.”

I shrug, then turn my back on him and say over my shoulder. “Well, if you’re calling the day a loss, feel free to fuck off back to the manor. I, however, am going to explore a promising lead.”

A loud, obnoxious crack sounds from his neck as Ezra’s head drops to its normal position. “A lead? Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” Ezra asks, his eyes gleaming. “I absolutely want to explore the creep factory. Lead on, Brother.”

I step up on the dais, my eyes darting between the pulpit and the altar. Of the two locations, the altar is permanently fixed to the floor, where the pulpit is likely moved for different services and events. I flick the cloth covering it up, then crouch behind the altar.

“Sneaky fucking bastards,” Ezra whispers over my shoulder.

We pause, analyzing the barely noticeable lines marking a square hatch. Stone screeches as my nails gouge into the miniscule crack beneath the floor of the hatch and peel it open. A thin layer of rock, identical to the ones forming the surrounding floor, line the top of a thick piece of oak. Ezra shoves his weight into my side, jockeying to go first into the unknown.

“Dibs!” He laughs. Ezra expels an oomph as a shadow wraps around his ankles and he collapses onto his front. “Oh, it’s likethat, is it?” he wheezes.

My shadows build into a gray opaque wall between us. Ezra’s shadows spill from him and ram into the shield, trailing upward like smoke against glass. I laugh. “Yes, it’s like that.” The scent of mold and rot attacks my demonic sense of smell the moment the darkness beyond is revealed; dusty stone steps leading beneath the church. I drop the shadow shield and jog down into the gloom, my brother hurrying to catch up.

I stumble as Ezra shoulder checks me, then plants his hands on his hips, glancing to the left and right.

“Fuck me,” he states, shaking his head. “I was right. Thisisa certified creep factory.”

A chuckle slips past my lips, and Ezra spins to face me. “Holy shit. Youdohave a sense of humor.”

“Don't get used to it. Go check to the left,” I command.

Ezra clears his throat loudly and scratches his beard. Although he oozes nonchalance, his eyes and the simmering growl emitting from him betray the anger bubbling under his skin. “No. No more of this splitting up bullshit. I want to know the second you find something.” My brother’s pale green eyes flash with warning, the first inkling of percolating wrath I’ve seen so far today.

I snort, then stalk down the stone corridor. Candlelight housed in iron sconces cast purple highlighted shadows, dipping between femur bones stacked snuggly within the walls as I pass. On my left, I breeze past an open archway made of the same dark stone as the floors, walls, and ceiling.

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