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."
"Maybe that's because the magic is telling you not to."
"Possibly." He straightened. "I'll fetch another pew, and we'll see what happens."
She stepped back. "I doubt it's another spawn. Doesn't feel the same."
"It could be some other type of wraith. Or demon. Dunleavy's a sorcerer, so he has a supermarket of evil to choose from."
"Now there's a comforting thought," she said, rubbing her arms again.
He came back in carrying a two-seat pew. "Stand back."
She did. He lifted the pew and tossed it end first at the wall. It hit with a crack that sounded like half the wall had shattered under the impact. The shimmer in the air grew brighter, and the pew kept on going—disappearing right through the wall.
"What the hell…?" She scooted over. The wall looked solid, unmarked. So where the hell did the pew go? "What happened?"
"Either the magic consumed it, or the magic is hiding something. Like another door. Try one of your knives."
She flicked the damaged blade down into her palm and cautiously eased it into the shimmer. Wisps of lightning crawled away from the knife, revealing what lay underneath the spell. Another door. Or the pieces of one. The pew had split the old door in half and both sections were flopping limply towards the deeper darkness haunting the space beyond.
She met Michael's gaze. "Why would Dunleavy be hiding this door?"
"I suspect we'll find the answer by investigating what lay beyond the door." He raised a hand, tentatively touching the shimmery air. Flickers of light crawled away from his flesh. "It's a concealing spell, nothing more."
"The front door was padlocked, and no one's been in here for ages." She hesitated, remembering the dust dancing through the sunlight.
"Dunleavy could easily have gotten the key," Michael replied, obviously following her thoughts. "He has control of the rangers, remember. And since he had a devil spawn protecting the door to this room, there has to be something worth guarding down there."
"So we're going in?"
"We are. But me first."
She grinned. "I must be psychic. I just knew you were going to say that."
He chuckled softly, brushed a kiss across her lips, then stepped through the shimmery air. "There's steps," he said after a moment. "Only two or three of them, by the look of it."
She stepped through the shimmer. Energy crawled across her skin, stinging like ants before fading away.
The darkness crowding the room beyond the doorway gave way as her vampirelike night sight came on-line. There were shapes in the darkness below them, but she couldn't quite make out what they were.
"Looks as if there's a bit of a drop to the ground."
"Maybe." He shifted, putting one foot on the first step, testing it before he put his full weight on it. He did the same with the next one. "They seem fairly secure."
He stepped onto the next one, but it was one step too many. With a splintering crack, the old wooden step gave way, and he dropped like stone into the darkness.