The Brightest Night (Origin #3) - Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,160

services. The altar at the back of the room was a dead giveaway, and so were the few remaining pews pushed along the sides of the room. Candles glowed from the altar and the makeshift tables scattered about the rumpled cots. Blankets and old newspapers covered the windows. There was a steel barrel in the center of the room with some kind of wire grille over the top of it. Beside it was a stack of pots and opened cans. I spotted what might’ve been creamed corn, and I caught the scent of burned wood. This was how they were heating their food.

I wasn’t sure if burning wood in here was healthy, but they were probably too afraid to light a fire outside.

“It’s okay,” Nate spoke out loud, walking forward. “She’s a friend who has been giving us some food and stuff. She brought some stuff with her now. Her name is Evie, and she’s safe.”

As he spoke, my gaze zeroed in on the pews against the wall. There was maybe a two- or three-foot gap between the seat and floor. The space was black, but …

“You all can come out. I promise you.” Nate stopped, scratching his fingers through his hair. “She’s not going to do anything.”

There was a soft scratching from under the pews, but no movement.

Nate turned to me, sighing. “Show them what you’ve got.”

Nodding, I slid the backpack off a shoulder and unzipped it. I started pulling stuff out—peroxide, cotton, food, water. I placed them on one of the tables.

“Jamal? Nia?” Nate called. “Come on. We don’t have forever.”

There was silence, and then from the darkness of one of the doorways behind the altar, a boy stepped out. He was a little taller than Nate, but as he drew closer, I pegged his age to be around Nate’s. There was either dirt or a bruise near his eye that darkened the rich brown skin. A second later, another one stepped out of the door, and this one was a girl, holding a hand to her thin pink shirt. Tiny wisps of hair had escaped her braid. Her light brown skin looked a little flushed as she inched forward, coming to stand behind the boy named Jamal. She, too, looked no older than Nate.

“What are you doing?” asked Jamal in a hushed voice. “You brought her here?”

“I know, but she wanted to help, and she’s cool. She’s not like them,” Nate answered, and I kept my face blank. “She brought some stuff for your hand, Nia.”

The little girl glanced at the table, but she didn’t move.

I took a step back from the table but remained quiet. Three sets of eyes tracked my movement, and I believed many more had done the same.

“It’s okay,” Nate repeated. “She hasn’t said a word to anyone.” He drew in a bigger breath. “I told you guys about her. She’s not like them.”

Movement to my left drew my gaze. Out from under a pew, a tiny body unfolded itself. It was a girl, a small one who couldn’t have been more than five or six. Her shirt was several sizes too big, nearly doubling for a dress over jeans. “Creamed corn.”

I blinked.

Nate sighed again.

The little girl crept closer, and I saw she clutched something in her arm. It wasn’t a doll or stuffed animal. It looked like a small blanket. “You gave us creamed corn.”

“I did.”

She lifted the blanket to her chin. “I like creamed corn.”

“I brought some more. It’s on the table.”

The little girl glanced at Nate, and when he nodded, she rushed past the cots to the table. One grubby little hand snaked out, snatching up a can.

“That’s green beans,” I told her, slowly walking over. The little girl didn’t run as I picked up the creamed corn. “Here you go.”

She dropped the can straight onto the floor and took the other can, holding it to her chest. Then she turned and raced toward Nate. I bent down, picking up the can, and when I rose, my heart about stopped.

And it definitely broke a little.

Kids all but piled out from underneath the pews, most of them not much older that the little girl. Some were older, closer to Nate’s age, their too-slim bodies having been bent into God knows what kind of contortions to fit under the benches. All of them were wary, their eyes bouncing around nervously like Nate’s had at the house, and not a single one of them looked all that well. They were too thin, too