Once Bitten (Shadow Guild: The Rebel #1) - Linsey Hall Page 0,65
him.
He was so still that I couldn’t help but wonder if he was just as focused on me. I stole a look at him, and tension fizzed in the air between us. It took everything I had to direct my attention toward the path.
A third pair of people approached, though it was hard to make out their forms through the magical barrier. Fortunately, the barrier worked in both directions, blurring the figures within and without.
A moment later, they’d crossed through the barrier, and I got a good look at them. They were a man and a woman, each with average features but of similar height to the Devil and me, respectively.
They stopped and withdrew two red cloaks from their bags. I was bracing myself to lunge from our hiding space when the Devil moved. He was beside them in a blur and smashed their heads together.
They dropped to the ground, unconscious, and he dragged them by their feet to our hiding space.
I gaped at him. “Holy crap, you’re fast.”
His gaze flicked up to me, and something darkened in his eyes. “Being a monster has its benefits.”
Like super speed and super strength. But it was his use of the word monster that caught my ear. There was an edge to it that I didn’t understand. Not that I had time to be mulling over such things.
The Devil quickly bound the two figures with their belts and shoelaces, then tore strips from their shirts and gagged them. Last, he raised his wrist to his mouth and spoke into his comms charm. “Rafe? Cleanup in the graveyard, two bodies. We’ll put them in the cells before turning them over to the guild.”
“Cells?” I grabbed one of the cloaks and tugged it on.
“Another perk of being a monster.”
He owned cells.
I pushed the thought aside. The tall, dark figure of Rafe appeared a moment later, along with his partner, both moving with leonine grace. As the Devil put on his red cloak, they disappeared with the two bodies.
His face was shadowed as he met my gaze. “Ready to wing it?”
“Ready.” My heart raced.
Together, we approached the main door of the church. It was nearly midnight now, and anxiety flooded my veins. The massive wooden doors gave way with smooth ease beneath our touch, and we stepped inside the church. It echoed with a silence that seemed to scream through the space.
I took it all in as quickly as I could, not wanting to hesitate too long. Hesitation might reveal that I had no idea what I was doing.
That I wasn’t one of them.
Unfortunately, the main doors led directly into the circular, domed space—right where everyone else was standing. Nearly three dozen cloaked figures stood around the perimeter of the room, staring silently at the empty altar in the middle.
There were so many.
Fear pierced me, and I nearly clutched the Devil’s hand for support. I didn’t, of course. This was not the place for hand-holding, no matter how much I wanted to cling to him for safety. No matter what, I couldn’t break character and give us away.
I couldn’t find the victim amongst the crowd, and no one stood out as the leader. Everyone was identical in their red cloaks, hidden by their cowardice and evil.
I was deeply grateful Beatrix hadn’t seen any of this. We’d found her body intact, and she hadn’t suffered long.
I kept my head tilted down as I walked alongside the Devil. If everyone was meant to stand equidistant, that meant that there were two spaces empty across the room. We were possibly the last to arrive.
Together, we strode toward the empty spaces in the lineup. My heartbeat thundered in my ears as we walked, and I prayed that no one was watching too closely. The cloaks covered our faces, but if someone looked from the right angle, they might penetrate our disguises.
Once we were in place, I surreptitiously looked around. It was nearly impossible to make out anyone’s features, and no one looked like the leader. Was the necromancer with the victim now?
Would he bring her out?
The ground began to vibrate, and I stiffened.
Magical signatures filled the air, sparking through the space. There were all sorts of scents and sounds, tastes and feelings. Most of them were bad—the smell of burning rubber, the taste of rotten fruit, the smell of sewage. It felt prickly and evil, like a million ants crawling along my skin.
But it was the smell of death that made my skin grow cold.