Grace and Glory (The Harbinger #3) - Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,49
trapped here long enough that they were one step away from wraiths. Their skin was a ghoulish color, gray or waxy, and most had some really gross wounds. Holes in the head and chest. Bullet wounds. Throats cut. Faces bloated and bruised. Bodies swollen and misshapen.
They were well aware of our presence and they smiled, reeking of pure malevolency.
“What the...?” Jordan’s wings fluttered as he looked around him. A man with a nasty, bloody hole in his head had just walked through him. The Warden’s blue eyes went wide. “Did a—? You know what? Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”
Swallowing roughly, I lifted my head and wished I hadn’t. “God.”
They swarmed the ceiling like a thousand cockroaches, crawling over the beams and each other. They smothered the walls and the stacked bleachers.
A ghost drifted past me and into the hall, coming into unfortunate detail. She was young—had been no older than me when she died. Her throat and chest were torn open, revealing thick, jellylike tissue. She looked like a Raver had gotten ahold of her, but blackened veins covered her shoulders and upper arms. Maybe a Nightcrawler? Their claws and teeth were poisonous, and there was definitely something very wrong inside of her.
Her feet didn’t touch the ground as she stopped in front of Dez. “Did you come to collect your dead?” she asked in a wispy, singsong voice. “Or did you come to die?”
“He can’t see or hear you,” I told her. “I can, so leave them alone.”
Dez looked at me as the ghost’s head swung jerkily in my direction. I waved at her. “Yeah. Hi. Where are the people?”
Teller and Jordan exchanged looks while another ghost shuffled out from the thickest crowd, dragging a mangled leg that was hanging on by a few stringy tendons. He was older, his plain shirt spotted with blood. “We’re here,” he whispered. “Right in front of you.”
“Not you. The people who worked here. The cops?” I clarified. “The ones who are hopefully still alive and breathing?”
“This is really freaky,” Teller murmured.
“There’s no one alive here,” the man growled. “Not even you. You’re already dead and you—”
“Blabbity-blah-blah. Whatever, man. You weren’t supposed to be here. You were probably a good person who should’ve moved on, but here we are. I’m not going to hold it against you unless you give me a reason to.” The dead girl reached for my braid. I shot her a look of warning. “Don’t even think about touching me,” I warned, summoning my grace until the corners of my eyes turned white. “I won’t just exorcise your ass from here, I will end you. Like permanently. So, back the Hell up.”
Her lips peeled back as she gave a low whine the Wardens seemed to hear. They stopped, turning to us.
My brows lifted. “Oh, you’re an old one, aren’t you? Been dead awhile. Cool. I’m superimpressed. Why don’t you tell me where the people are?”
She slunk back, her head hanging from an unnatural angle. “They’re right behind you.”
“I’m not talking about the people I’m with.” My patience was wearing thin. “Obviously.”
“I’m not, either,” she sang.
The back of my neck tickled. I turned around, first seeing Dez and the others waiting in the hall. Teller wiped at his face like he was trying to get rid of a stray hair. There was no hair. One of the ghosts was trailing his fingers across his cheek.
Ghosts could be creepy like that.
Slowly, I lifted my gaze above the doors, to the large scoreboard—
Oh God.
They hung from the top of the scoreboard, heads bowed, their arms limp and legs swaying gently. There were a...a dozen of them. Nine dressed in jeans. Three wearing dark blue uniforms.
I stepped back, ignoring the coldness pressing against me. One of them had long brown hair. Wore a white shirt with something blue embossed across the front and jeans. Heart sinking, I looked behind me, finding the pacing man. I swallowed hard.
It was him. One of the missing workers.
“What’s going on?” Dez lingered at the opening.
“I found the missing people.” I cleared my throat. “I’m guessing all of them.”
Dez strode forward, walking straight through an older woman bloated with decay. “What...?” He trailed off, looking up. “Jesus.”
A ghost laughed as another chanted, “Jesus loves me, yes, he does...”
Something fast and pitch-black darted out from the mass of ghosts. A Shadow Person. Dammit. Most ghosts couldn’t do much damage. Wraiths could be a different story, but Shadow People? They could harm and they could kill.