Page 3 of Broken Shadows (Corrupt Shadows Duet #2)
CHAPTER THREE
Lorcan
That's it . I will not sit here with my cock in my hand and wait for shit to solve itself.
My shadows shimmer as they coat the surface of every tattoo on my body, their writhing movements akin to my own unstable state.
Dull tapping occupies the silence as I unconsciously jiggle the toe of my boot. Growling, I set my half-finished coffee and scone on the kitchen island. “Ezra.”
My brother casually strolls into the kitchen, his eyes bright with curiosity, then sits on the velvet-plum upholstered stool closest to me. “Yes, Lorry?”
“Don’t call me that,” I warn through gritted teeth.
Ezra smirks. “Noted.”
Godsdammit. Air spills past my lips in a sigh. I should not have said anything. The pads of my fingers glide through my hair as I shove a hand through it. “Do you know where The Order would take Evie?”
“Hmmm,” Ezra contemplates, folding his arms over his wide chest and taps a tattooed finger against his lips. “If it were me, I'd bring her somewhere that has the most solid fortitudes.” I open my mouth to reply, but he lifts his hand in the air. “Patience,” he sing-songs. “They have a headquarters. It's not too far away from the witch’s hometown.”
“Ashmore.”
“That's the one. Anyway, that is definitely where I would keep your girl if I were them.”
I say nothing as I stomp towards the stove; the hood casting a skewed rectangular shadow in the space between the marble countertops and the island. Blackness swallows my boot and creeps up my leg as I enter the shadow. My brother lunges over the island, then grabs my wrist.
“Wait! I’m coming with you,” he says, just like a needy puppy following at my fucking heels.
Closing my eyes, the glimmer from the silver chandelier shines through my lids with a burning glow. I focus on tracing my little witch’s face in my mind. My lungs inflate, then depress with my slow breath.
My lids flutter open, and I shove Ezra away from me, his claws digging into my wrist. I glare at the demon blood dripping onto the ground, the thick drops pooling into a puddle.
My upper lip pulls back. “This is how a truce works?”
Ezra winks.
Fucking. Winks .
“Well, it does for demon brothers. We were born to split flesh and shed blood.” He releases me, then elbows me in the ribs.
“For fuck's sake,” I growl. “Fine. You can come with me, but the moment you get in my way, I’ll gut you.”
Ezra's eyes widen to saucers and his body trembles dramatically. “Oh no, don't hurt me, Mr. King of Demons. I promise I'll be good.” His chest shakes as ruckus laughter fills the kitchen.
“Piss off, asshole,” I spit as the shadows wrap around me, clinging to my torso as I walk through them.
There's something peaceful about the In-Between—the purgatory between the Human and Shadow Realm. After several minutes of navigating the shadows with Ezra, his lips mercifully remaining shut, I part the onyx void and slip from the darkness.
Squinting my eyes, I glare at the sky, the murky Shadow Realm sun nearing its highest point. A sea of asphalt stretches before me, a gargantuan structure casting an angular shadow over me as I walk closer.
Ezra’s footsteps pad beside me and we halt before The Order’s headquarters, an immense cross shaped shadow falling over the pair of us like a wraith. My brother’s pale green eyes dart from the building to me. I shake my head and walk forward, blinking away bits of floating ash as my boots sink into the browning, brittle lawn of one of the most obnoxiously ostentatious churches I have ever laid eyes on, the rough grass scraping against the soles of my shoes.
Two impressive towers stand like formidable soldiers on either side of a central spire, piercing the gray sky, reaching higher than the central one boasting an enormous silver cross in a disgusting display of wealth. My gaze lingers on the intricate gables of the pitched slate roofs expanding from every angle of the church, excluding the grand entrance. Large wings expanding beneath them to the left and right.
Four more smaller intricately carved spires surround the base of the contrasting gray stones, hoisting the symbol of faith above everything for miles. I lift a hand to my brow, shielding my vision from the sun’s cornhusk glow reflecting off stained glass windows lined with tracery.
“I haven’t seen buttresses like this in eons,” I mention. Tilting my chin to the vertically oriented structure, I step closer to an elegantly carved sign installed on the shitty grass. I chuckle darkly and drag my claws along the weathered wood, several deep scratches marring the words Christ’s Blood Church. I’ll never get over the way religions obsess over their ‘lord and savior’s blood.
“The irony, right?” Ezra notes.
I nod, then snort. “It’s as if they choose to turn a blind eye to their history of endless warring, most notably the Spanish Inquisition.”
Ezra bounces on the balls of his bright as fuck violet high-top sneaker covered feet. “Yep! So, let’s go in.”
I groan, irritation and displeasure sinking into my stomach. The hypocrisy of religious zealots leaves a foul taste in my mouth. Walking up the stones leading up to the main doors, we step inside beneath the pointed arches of the entrance doorway. Dank, cool air envelops us as I glance around the entryway of the church. The thick stone walls scream with torment, forced to witness years of willfully blind ignorance. Religion itself isn’t what is wrong with humans; it’s how some of them choose to share their beliefs that disgusts me.
I stroll past three sets of looming, elegantly carved double doors separated by a couple feet of stone wall. My fingers drag over the matching architraves, then focus on my bond with Evie. She’s there, stronger than earlier at the manor. But the once strong, glowing cable connecting us feels as thin as a single strand of thread. My heart fucking soars.
Ezra pokes at my pulse pounding away in my carotid artery and I brush him off with a growl. “Your heart rate just went insane.” One of Ezra’s brows curls upward. “Can you sense the witch?”
“Yes, but it’s very faint. I need to focus, so do me a favor and shut the fuck up. Go see if there are any offices or classrooms to search.”
He mimes sewing his lips shut, then chomps the air like he’s cutting the thread with his teeth.
If only that invisible thread were real.
Claws shoot from my fingertips as I march toward the closest set of double doors, nervous anxiety squeezing my brain. Faint screeching sounds as my claws scrape along the brass handle, grip it, and throw the door open.
I slip my hands into my pockets as I stroll down the aisle, ash swirling around me despite my slow gate. My shadows fan around me, darting behind statues of weeping saints and any other dark spaces a hidden entrance might reveal itself. I chuckle darkly, gliding over to a silver basin held aloft by a grand wooden pedestal. Water flicks against the bowl as I dip two fingers into the holy liquid, mark the center of my forehead, chest, and both shoulders, mocking the human sign of the cross. My demonic senses stretch out, ensuring my shadows missed nothing. I cock my head to the side and focus as a draft whistles through a crack somewhere in the pulpit's vicinity.
“Find anything?”
I pivot and face Ezra as he strolls from the shadows beneath the choir loft at the back of the church, rising halfway to the arched ceiling where the exposed beams groan with age.
“Possibly,” I say. “And you?”
“A whole lotta jack shit,” Ezra replies.
“You’ve returned awful fast. Are you certain you’ve checked every room, closet, bathro—”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Ezra interrupts, then throws his head back dramatically and sighs. “This adventure is turning out to be rather dull, don’t you think? We haven’t even spotted one demon.”
I shrug, then turn my back on him and say over my shoulder. “Well, if you’re calling the day a loss, feel free to fuck off back to the manor. I, however, am going to explore a promising lead.”
A loud, obnoxious crack sounds from his neck as Ezra’s head drops to its normal position. “A lead? Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” Ezra asks, his eyes gleaming. “I absolutely want to explore the creep factory. Lead on, Brother.”
I step up on the dais, my eyes darting between the pulpit and the altar. Of the two locations, the altar is permanently fixed to the floor, where the pulpit is likely moved for different services and events. I flick the cloth covering it up, then crouch behind the altar.
“Sneaky fucking bastards,” Ezra whispers over my shoulder.
We pause, analyzing the barely noticeable lines marking a square hatch. Stone screeches as my nails gouge into the miniscule crack beneath the floor of the hatch and peel it open. A thin layer of rock, identical to the ones forming the surrounding floor, line the top of a thick piece of oak. Ezra shoves his weight into my side, jockeying to go first into the unknown.
“Dibs!” He laughs. Ezra expels an oomph as a shadow wraps around his ankles and he collapses onto his front. “Oh, it’s like that , is it?” he wheezes.
My shadows build into a gray opaque wall between us. Ezra’s shadows spill from him and ram into the shield, trailing upward like smoke against glass. I laugh. “Yes, it’s like that.” The scent of mold and rot attacks my demonic sense of smell the moment the darkness beyond is revealed; dusty stone steps leading beneath the church. I drop the shadow shield and jog down into the gloom, my brother hurrying to catch up.
I stumble as Ezra shoulder checks me, then plants his hands on his hips, glancing to the left and right.
“Fuck me,” he states, shaking his head. “I was right. This is a certified creep factory.”
A chuckle slips past my lips, and Ezra spins to face me. “Holy shit. You do have a sense of humor.”
“Don't get used to it. Go check to the left,” I command.
Ezra clears his throat loudly and scratches his beard. Although he oozes nonchalance, his eyes and the simmering growl emitting from him betray the anger bubbling under his skin. “No. No more of this splitting up bullshit. I want to know the second you find something.” My brother’s pale green eyes flash with warning, the first inkling of percolating wrath I’ve seen so far today.
I snort, then stalk down the stone corridor. Candlelight housed in iron sconces cast purple highlighted shadows, dipping between femur bones stacked snuggly within the walls as I pass. On my left, I breeze past an open archway made of the same dark stone as the floors, walls, and ceiling.
“Lorcan,” Ezra calls.
“Yes?” I question as I keep walking.
“We should check every room, just in case,” Ezra says, then folds his arms across his wide chest, his ridiculous purple hoodie stretching taught against his muscles. He’s right, but any delay, even a necessary one, feeds the anxiety bludgeoning my ribs.
My boots scrape against the stone floor as I stomp back to my brother. A screech rents the air as he pushes a rusty iron door open, the hinges complaining excessively. Curling my upper lip, an irritated growl rumbling in my chest as I maneuver past him into the mostly vacant space beyond.
Dust rises into the air with each of my breaths. I cough once as I wave away the offending substance. The bond between my little witch and I tightens the deeper I move into the room, as if every step I take is farther away from her. I spin on my heel, scanning every inch of the barren cell. Piles of moldering hay dot the ground lining the damp walls. My fingers trail across a patch of encroaching moss above a bucket of something vile I have no desire to examine further.
“Nice place. I see they spare no expense for their captives.” Ezra whistles and glances at me. “Oh, look, they even sprang for the Cadillac of shit buckets. It’s got a lid to sit on and everything.”
I inhale deeply, my nose scrunching as I breathe in the putrid scent—mostly bodily fluids—expelled here. “I doubt this dungeon is used very often, judging by the level of decay.” I jut my chin at a dismal hay pallet. “But it does further prove the lengths The Order will go to.”
He nods, picking up a metal shackle hanging from chains secured to the wall. Ezra rotates the worn metal in his tattooed hands, the corners of his lips falling. My nails scratch lightly against my scalp as I run both hands through the longer strands on the top of my head. We need to move on. I prowl toward the exit. Metal curls inward and groans as I kick the iron door, a crater forming in the stone frame, on my way out for good measure. Ezra’s quiet laughter follows me as I delve deeper into the gloom. Ignoring my brother’s earlier suggestion, I speed past several more cells bracketed by even rows of skulls padding the walls and grip my bond with Evie as tightly as I can. There has to be some trace of my little witch. I just need to keep searching. The black spiky mace of anxious energy gnaws on my stomach, lining harder and harder as more time passes.
Ezra strides lackadaisically down the macabre tunnel beside me, commenting on anything and everything around him, his voice growing distant as I pick up my pace. “Shit, their headquarters is much larger than I thought. Although, I quite like the alternative material used to replace basic bitch stone. Such a delightful pattern of alternating skulls and humerus bones. Don’t you think?” For a few, blissful moment's silence reigns, but my shoulders stiffen as it’s swiftly disrupted. “Brother, you have to check this out.”
I rub my temples as a headache drills into my skull. “What could you possibly need now?” Ezra points a thick tattooed finger at a huge marble slab pressed into an arched cut out of the stone wall. We’ve passed dozens of arcosolias along each twisting turn of the catacombs. What makes this one different from all the others?
Ezra’s nostrils flare, and the dark, sinister magic of Wrath glows like obsidian embers in his eyes, their pastel green nearly obliterated. “Seriously, just fucking listen to me for once and take a godsdamn look, Lorcan,” he growls. Seems like our time together is finally wearing on my dear brother too—about godsdamn time.
“What was it you said earlier? Ah, yes. ‘Calm your tits,’ Wrath,” I coo, not giving a single fuck. I’m provoking the monster. My brother balls his hands into fists at his sides, the tattoos straining across his knuckles. I chuckle and stroll over to him. Shadows condense on my skin, sliding around the edges of the smooth marble. “The fuck?” I mutter under my breath. The shadows on the left side of the slab vanish, while their counterparts on the right, top, and bottom probe and wreath along a thin crack between marble and stone. A loose pebble skitters against my boot as I step closer, flattening a claw tipped hand against the marble edge and grunt. Scraping consumes all other sounds as I force a slender opening, no wider than the width of my shoulders from the side, to appear.
“Told you,” Ezra declares, his anger swiftly evaporating.
I poke my head around the slab and glare at his smirking face. “Smug bastard. How the fuck did you know?”
“Unlike others in my present company, I take my time to explore shit. My shadows have traced every single crevice, nook, and cubicula carved or worn into this damn labyrinthine. Sooo, when something unusual came to my attention, I stopped to inspect it.” He gestured to the north. “You can only see the gap when coming from that direction, and the shadow created by the slab makes it appear like any other shadow,” Ezra explains proudly and grins.
My spine straightens, and something bitter and ugly prickles beneath my skin. I would not have noticed the cleverly disguised opening if my brother had not forced me to listen. No. I refuse to acknowledge those vile feelings. I slip into the gap, my chest and back just barely fitting as I move through it at an angle. “Good luck getting through that,” I chuckle as I emerge at a set of steps.
Grunts and groans echo off the walls as Ezra squeezes into the gap. He makes it nearly all the way through, then huffs and throws a hand toward me. “A little help?” he asks.
I roll my eyes and uncross my arms. “Use your godsdamn shadows, idiot.” He glares at me, but I smirk and tug him forward before he can free himself. Ezra trips, then rights himself.
“Not cool,” he grumbles.
I laugh. “I was just doing as you asked.”
“Mhm,” Ezra hums, and rubs his chest. “We’ll have to find another way out. That was too tight for my liking. I thought my sternum would puncture my heart. It’s not like I can suck in my fucking ribs.”
I groan as yet another bone lined corridor stretches before us. However, there is one difference. Doors peek through gaps in bone and stone walls at odd intervals, as if the size of the rooms behind them vary greatly.
Ezra claps a hand on my back as I pause and poke my head through an open archway made of the same stone as the floor, walls, and ceiling. My heart lurches into my throat. Evie. I stumble into the open chamber, my eyes drifting to the massive archaic chandelier on the vaulted ceiling. It’s made with tibia bones connecting four levels of metal rings—each rimmed with skulls—by chains from the round, vaulted ceiling.
My nose wrinkles as the ghostly scent of roses tinged with blood cloyingly permeates the surrounding air.
“What is it?” Ezra asks, eyes the same shade as mine narrowing on my face. My palm slaps the nearest wall, sliding on mildew as I lean against it heavily.
“She’s close. I can smell her.”
The breath stalls in my lungs, and my eyes dart around the dim space. My little witch’s bond tugs sharply, the slightest twinge of pain reverberating down its length. Fuck. Where is she? Panic crushes me beneath its icy waves, yet anger buoys me from the dark depths below. I shiver as the sound of my molars grinding reaches my ears. I struggle to regain any sense of calm, pinned beneath the two opposing emotions.
I sprint forward, my feet sliding on the dingy, unkept floor as I search the entirety of the circular wall. The bond tightens again and my head whips to the center of the room. An old, weathered table—no, a gurney of sorts—stands sentinel. I creep slowly toward it, my little witch’s scent strengthening but still muted as it always is on this side of the mirror. My head tilts to the side as I assess the innocuous object as if it’s a threat, then step onto the metal drain juxtaposed to the gurney. My witch’s essence, her signature stamped in time and space between our realms, envelopes me.
Shock encompasses every thought and emotion as I whisper, “Little Witch.” Bone clacks against stone as my knees collapse under me. “I fucking found her.”
Ezra inhales sharply. For a moment, I stare at the drain, splashes of a rust-colored substance and bits of what could be human innards litter the pipe beneath the grate. What manner of fucking Hell have they put her through? A steady growl rises past my throat, transitioning into a roar of unfiltered rage. It’s even worse than I thought.
They will pay for this.
The growl continues to emit from me, and I distantly recognize that my brother has joined mine. A deep, menacing hum rumbles with our combined sound of discontent, echoing off the beams holding back the stone above. I jump to my feet. My witch is so godsdamn close, yet I can’t help her.
“Fuck!” I sink my claws into the tattered leather of the gurney and launch it across the room. A metal tray on wheels I hadn’t noticed earlier crashes onto its side, and blood-stained surgical tools clatter to the ground.
“Oh, shit,” Ezra says, the wheels of the blasted bed clipping his man bun as he barely ducks in time to avoid the projectile. “Unholy fuck,” he hisses. “That was a little too close for comfort.” He pats down his chest and eyes me. “Feel better?”
I stalk toward him, grabbing him by the collar of his hoodie and snap my teeth in his face. “There will be one less demon if you don't shut your mouth right the fuck now.”
“Truce, remember,” Ezra states, peeling my fingers away from his hoodie and gingerly plucking each one of my claws free so I don't tear the fabric. “Seriously, calm your tits. Instead of raging,” he holds up his hands, “let’s…” His gaze zeros in on something over my shoulder. Ezra jogs past me, then crouches and holds a long shard of mirrored glass aloft, his teeth glowing in an eerie grin. I bolt over to him and snatch the bit of mirror.
I twist around, noting the scratches and absence of dust on the stone floor where we stand. My lips twitch as I glare into the mirror, gripping the sharp edges so tightly it slices into my fingers and palm, and stare at a pair of men. I lean closer and note the upside-down crosses hanging from their breakable necks as they chat and sweep up bits of wood and broken mirror.
“Why are we always the ones left cleaning up after that bitch?” the taller of the two questions, tilting his head toward where I feel Evie’s signature the strongest.
“First, you know she can hear you, right? And second, ’cause we’d rather be the ones cleaning up the destruction than the poor bastards he brings for her to slaughter.” The man wielding the dustpan and gesturing wildly explains, his eyes lingering nervously on the center of the room.
The tall, destined to die slowly and painfully, man snorts. “She’s too drugged up to understand you. Anyway, do you mind?” He nods at the pile of debris. “After this, we have to go attend our other duties in the North Wing of the abbey.”
“Ugggh. Seriously, Edward needs to stop taking on captives.”
I lower the shard, then share a look with Ezra. “To the North Wing.”