Page 7

7

JACKSON

I ’ve been shot, stabbed, nearly burned alive in a cursed nightclub, and branded by a spell I didn’t even know existed—but this?

This is the most dangerous shit we’ve done yet. And we haven’t even stepped inside the building.

We’re here on a lead from Seraphine’s contact at Echolight and what little Gideon gave us. It’s not comforting by any means.

The sanctuary looms in front of us like a corpse someone forgot to bury. An old monastery, tucked back in the hills outside Portland, half-swallowed by trees and mist and decay. Cracked stone walls, sagging wooden beams, windows that gape like empty eyes. Whatever this place used to be—sacred, holy, hidden—it isn’t anymore.

“You sure this is it?” I ask.

Sera doesn’t answer right away. She just stares up at it, face unreadable, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of a blade tucked in the back of her coat.

“You’ve been here before,” I say. “Haven’t you?”

She turns slightly. “We’re not here to talk about me.”

That’s not a denial.

That’s a dodge.

And I’m getting really fucking tired of dodges.

“Jesus, do you ever tell the truth? Or is the cryptic ice queen act permanent?”

She walks ahead without another word.

Goddammit.

Inside, it’s worse.

Dust chokes the air like fog. Moonlight filters in through holes in the roof, catching on floating particles and broken glass. There are markings on the walls—faded sigils, protection runes so old they’ve started to unravel into nonsense. Someone once lived here. Someone with power. But now?

Now it feels like the building is rotting from the inside out.

“You feel that?” I murmur.

“Yeah,” Sera replies, her voice lower now. Tense. “Residual energy. Something’s feeding off it.”

I follow her into what used to be a chapel. The altar’s broken in two, its marble cracked clean down the center like something burst up from beneath. A single candle sits on the edge, still burning.

Which is the creepiest part of all.

“Someone was here recently,” I say, eyeing it.

“More like something,” she corrects.

I stop walking. “You know, it’s really fucking weird how you always seem to know more than you say.”

She pauses but doesn’t look at me.

“Want to try being honest for once?”

Still nothing.

“Who are you really, Seraphine?”

“You already know. I’m the underboss of the supernaturals.”

“No. That’s your job. That’s not who you are.”

She finally turns, and for a moment, her expression slips. Just a second. Just long enough for me to see it—fear. Or maybe guilt. Then it’s gone.

“I’m not the enemy, Jackson.”

“Then stop acting like a locked goddamn vault.”

Before she can answer, the air shifts.

Heavy. Charged.

And then the screaming starts.

It’s not human. It’s not animal. It’s somewhere in between—high-pitched and gurgling, like glass being ground under metal.

The shadows shift near the altar.

Something crawls out of the wall.

Blackened limbs. Hollow eyes. A body stitched from smoke and bone and pure malice. It shrieks, and I raise my gun instinctively—two shots fire off into what should be a head, but the damn thing doesn’t even flinch.

“Sera—”

“Back!” she shouts, throwing out a hand.

I stumble behind the cracked pew just as the thing lunges.

And then, light.

Or maybe not light. Something darker than light. Shadows pour from her like a living storm, writhing through the air and slamming into the creature mid-leap. It screams again, this time in pain, clawing at the force pinning it down.

Sera steps forward, eyes glowing like wildfire, hair whipping around her face like she’s standing in a hurricane.

And then she speaks words that crackle through the air like thunder, ancient and raw.

The creature dissolves.

Not just killed—erased.

The room goes still.

Silent.

And I just stand there, stunned. Breathing hard. Heart thudding.

“Nightshade,” I say, voice rough, “what the fuck was that?”

She turns slowly, her face unreadable again—but there’s a tremble in her hands.

I step closer.

“You told me you weren’t like the others. That you were just... connected. Not this. ”

She doesn’t answer.

“So what are you?” I demand. “Because I just saw you do something no shifter, no vamp, no goddamn mage I’ve ever worked with can do.”

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” she murmurs.

“But I did.” I step closer. “So either you start talking, or I start digging. And we both know I’m good at that.”

She meets my eyes—and just when I think she might spill it, she snaps the door shut again.

“We don’t have time for this,” she says sharply. “Whatever that thing was, it wasn’t just guarding the space—it was guarding something specific. Something left behind.”

“You’re dodging the question,” I growl.

“And you’re alive, aren’t you?”

Before I can respond, she’s already turning away, her voice clipped and low. “We need to check the walls. Look for sigils—old ones, binding runes, containment glyphs. If we find out what was being protected, maybe we figure out why the murders are connected.”

I grit my teeth but follow.

The sanctuary’s colder now. Emptier, too. The energy’s been sucked out of the space like a vacuum, but something lingers in the corners—something ancient and watching.

Seraphine finds it first. A set of faded runes etched into a collapsed stairwell. Carved deep into stone and half-covered in moss. She brushes her hand over them, eyes narrowing.

“This wasn’t meant to keep people out,” she murmurs. “It was meant to keep something in. ”

I step closer. “Something like that smoke-beast we just tangoed with?”

“Or worse.”

She kneels and pulls something loose from the crack behind the runes—an old charm disc, engraved with the same symbol we saw on the shifter boy’s chest at the second crime scene.

My stomach tightens.

“That’s a match,” I say. “Same sigil. Same goddamn pattern.”

She nods slowly. “Someone’s been using this place. Not just for rituals. For storage. There’s more going on here than sacrifices and scare tactics.”

“Like what?”

She doesn’t answer.

Of course she doesn’t.

We make it back outside as the first hints of rain start to pepper the stone. The trees sway low in the wind. There’s silence between us as we approach the cars parked beneath the tree line.

But I’m done holding my tongue.

I stop walking.

“Seraphine.”

She turns halfway. It’s the first time I’ve said her first name out loud.

“You’re going to tell me what the hell that was back there,” I say. “The thing you summoned, the words you said, the way that—thing—melted like it was afraid of you. ”

She stiffens. Her back’s still to me.

“You’re something,” I press. “Something more than an underboss with a shadow problem. And I think you’ve been lying to me since the second we met.”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

“I need the truth,” I say, quieter now. “You owe me that much.”

She finally turns to face me.