"Odd that you're feeling it rather than me.” Though it did still feel like something was waiting. She rubbed her arms and studied the small door to the right of the dais. Whatever the sensation was—whether it was good, evil, or something else entirely—it was coming from that direction. “There's no one in that room?” she asked, nodding towards the door.
He shook his head and fully entered the church, his steps echoing as harshly as hers. The air seemed to become colder. Tenser.
"But something is near."
He caught her hand, and she gripped on tight, drawing strength from his warmth, his calm. Together, they moved forward.
"It's the door,” she said, as they drew close. “It's coming from the door." He nodded. “We've faced something like this before."
"We have?” She stared at the knob and saw the slight shimmer. Then she remembered where she'd seen something similar and groaned. “Not a damn devil spawn."
"Afraid so."
"Why would he risk calling forth a wraith as dangerous as that to protect a door in an old church?"
"I suspect we'll have the answer to that once we get the door open.” He released her hand, and squatted in front of the door, studying the knob. “The magic binding the spawn isn't recent. It's been here for quite a while."
"How can you tell something like that?"
Amusement played around his lips as he glanced up at her. “I've been hanging around old witches for more years than I care to remember. You pick up on these things.” He rose and headed for the stack of pews sitting in the corner. “I'm afraid there's only one way to spring the trap."
"Is there only one devil spawn bound to that door?"
"Probably."
"So where's the other one?” Devil spawn came as a pair. If Dunleavy had called one, he would have gotten two.
"Who knows. It could be in the room beyond this door. It could be protecting Dunleavy, or it could be anywhere.” He grabbed the top pew and hauled it down.
"That's a cheery thought,” she muttered, stepping away from the door. With a grunt of effort, Michael hefted the big old wooden pew and tossed it at the door. It hit with a crash that was almost deafening. The door buckled and splintered under the force of the impact. As the pew fell, the wood hit the handle. For a second, nothing happened. Then a scream bit across the silence, a wail so high pitched it was almost inaudible. Goose bumps fled across her flesh, and she rubbed her arms, stepping back again. She knew what was coming, and she didn't want to be anywhere near the pew when it arrived.
Steam began to pour from the metal, steam that glittered like diamonds in the thin strands of sunlight streaming in from the nearby window. It boiled, convulsed, and somehow found form. Found life. Became a flimsy, white-sheeted creature with rows of wickedly sharp teeth and soulless eyes. Her mouth went dry. She'd gotten too close to one of these things in Jackson Hole and still bore the scars on her calf.
The creature wrapped its flimsy gowns along the length of the pew and screamed again. There was a sharp retort, a bright flash, and then the devil spawn—and the pew—were gone. Dunleavy had obviously ordered the creature to destroy whatever touched the handle—which was exceedingly lucky for them. Water was the only thing that could stop or deter the spawns, and there wasn't much of that to be found here in the church.
"One down, one to go,” she muttered, rubbing her arms again. “Do you think the spell will reset itself?"
"Spawns are usually only set the one task. They aren't the brightest of creatures.” He looked at her.
“You can't sense anything else in the room beyond this door?" She shook her head. “But that doesn't mean anything. I didn't sense the first spawn until we got closer to it, either."
"True."
He reached for the door handle. She watched, her heart in mouth, as his fingers wrapped around it. Nothing happened. The door creaked open to reveal a very small, and very empty room. Well, empty except for dust.
He stepped inside, and she followed, crowding close to his back and peering over his shoulder.
“Nothing's here."
"Something's here,” he countered.
"What?"
"I don't know.” His voice held an edge of frustration. “The damn runes on my back are interfering." She grunted and moved past him. Under normal circumstances, she'd be the one feeling the evil. But the circle around this town had snatched that ability away, along with her kinetic skills. While some of those skills somehow seemed to have leached to Michael, surely if she got close enough to whatever was hiding in this room, she'd feel it. After all, she'd sensed who—what—was with her in the Circle's test room, and according to Camille, that shouldn't have been possible. She reached out, skimming her fingers in front of, but not actually touching, the walls. After she'd done two walls, she was beginning to think this was a fool's errand. Then energy lightly caressed her fingers.
"Here,” she said, leaning closer. “There's something here." The wall was badly plastered, the paint cracked and peeling and covered in dust. It looked solid, as if it hadn't been touched in ages. Only the slight shimmer in the air—a shimmer that was similar and yet different to the sort of energy that the devil spawn gave off—gave away the fact that something other than dust was here.
Michael's shoulder brushed hers as he leaned beside her. “I can't see anything."