Nightfall (Devil's Night #4) - Penelope Douglas Page 0,96

planting it on me, but that was reaching.

Then I noticed it.

The slits on the keychain. In the incense burner.

Like vents.

This was a thurible. They were used in churches.

The cathedral in town had one. A big one that swung like the clapper of a bell.

I rolled up my blueprints, stuffed them into my cubby, and grabbed my bag, running out of the classroom.

• • •

I stepped into the cathedral, my eyes going up every time I entered this place. I always liked coming here. It was peaceful, and you didn’t feel weird about being alone in a public place here. It was expected.

Of course, I’d love it if Thunder Bay had a temple on the rare occasion Martin, my grandmother, and I attended, but no such luck. We had to drive to Meridian City for that.

It worked for me, though. If I needed to hide for a while, Martin would never look for me in a Catholic church.

“Emory?” someone said behind me.

I turned, seeing Father Behr. Everyone knew him.

“Here for confession?” he teased. “I’ll need to baptize you first.”

I chuckled, gripping the strap of the bag over my chest. “I’m still working out how to be an agnostic Jew, Father. Let’s not complicate things.” I smiled at him. “Good to see you, though.”

He came to stand beside me. Some devotees were kneeling in the pews, while a couple of others sat in thought, the candles lit in devotion flickering at my side.

The stations of Christ lined the walls around us, and I tipped my head back, admiring how the columns seemed to split into the ribbed vaulting and flying buttresses the way a tree trunk spread into branches. A fantastic mural adorned the ceiling.

“You’re in here a lot,” he told me.

“It’s the architecture.” I kept my eyes on the ceiling. “And it’s quiet.”

He sighed. “Sadly, yes.”

He sounded unhappy about that, and I realized it would be better for him—and the church—if it were busier.

He patted my shoulder. “Roam,” he said. “And take your time.”

“Thanks.”

He left, and I took out the key again, studying the kind of lock I was looking for. Rolling the miniature thurible between my fingers, I looked up and took stock of the big one, probably half as tall as me and twice as wide. It hung from a rope and was secured to the side of the church, near a pointed arch above the chancel.

Then I lifted my gaze, seeing the gallery above it. There was a door up there.

I clutched the key in my hand, looking around me to make sure no one was paying any attention.

Then I headed across the nave to the side aisle, past the bay, and turned left at the transept.

Climbing the steps, I wound around the spiral staircase and came to the balcony landing, overlooking the nave.

To my right, an arched wooden door sat as buckets and tarps laid on the floor, repairs looking like they’d been abandoned long ago, and the gallery no longer used for seating since Father Behr barely filled the pews downstairs anymore.

No one and nothing was up here, except the light streaming in through the stained-glass windows, glimmering red and blue on the old carpet.

Opening my palm, I looked from the key to the lock on the door.

My pulse rate kicked up a notch, worry and excitement coursing through me.

But in a way that made me sick.

I walked over to the door and slipped the key in, but when I grabbed the handle and twisted, it opened without me unlocking anything.

I pulled out the key and shoved it in my school jacket, opening the door wide and wincing at the screech of the old hinges.

Shit. I cast a nervous glance around me, still seeing no one around.

Finally, I peeked inside the door, spotting another spiral staircase.

I narrowed my eyes. This might lead to a spire.

Taking out my phone, I turned on the flashlight and stepped up the stairs, the stone under my shoes gritty with dirt. I rose more and more, seeing a door on the right.

I took out the key again, the tunnel vision in the small, tight space making my hands shake.

I coughed, the dust tickling my throat.

This was probably stupid. I didn’t know who the key came from, and I didn’t know what was on the other side of that door. Whoever gave it to me played hard-to-get just enough by not explaining, so I would be intrigued.

I stuck the key in and twisted it, but the door wouldn’t give. I jiggled it