Page 123 of Gravehouse

I glance over my shoulder to see how far Jord is. He could take minutes, or hours. Before I can second-guess myself, I jog across the road and climb the steps.

The heavy doors groan open, and a cold breeze whisks through my body. Let me guess... even God himself doesn’t want me in his home.

Can’t say I blame him.

The doors click shut behind me, and I wince, hoping I didn’t disturb anyone... or anything.

Voices sound through the chapel from somewhere past the first row of pews.

I freeze. I don’t know if I should stay here like a child being caught doing something they shouldn’t or leave and pretend I was never here.

Someone clears their throat, and I slowly make my way to a spot that’s hidden enough to not make me look like I’m lurking.

“There’s been talk that he has begun moving through The Houses. No one knows who he is, so they don’t know who to look out for.”

A chair leg scrapes, then paper rustles.

The old priest answers, his voice softer than the other. “Well, if that is true, many should be very afraid. He is no threat to us. He’s hunting leaders. Powerful ones. Organizations that thought themselves untouchable.”

“It’s only a matter of time before he comes to Désamour,” the other man interrupts. “They say he has eyes that would chill the Devil.”

I’m starting to feel a little shady sitting here like this.

The priest lets out a breath through his nose. “I’m sure he would love that.”

Silence.

“What I mean is that we should start warning people.”

Maybe I should pray. That’s one thing I’ve never tried, along with anything from Karma Sutra, though I’m not sure Leon would be up for it.

Footsteps scrape closer, and by the time I look up, it’s too late. The priest is already moving down the aisle in a flow of his black robe.

He stops at my pew as if he’d expected me all along, and for one second, I think he might know me, really know me.

Instead, he offers me a folded sheet of paper. “For your safety.”

I take it with a gentle smile, flipping it open to see the faceless outline of a shadow and the words

LE BOUCHER SANS LOI.

Below it, a warning in blunt print.

Report any suspicious activity and avoid leaving your home after dark.

I glance up at the priest.

They just said he targets people in power, the ones who hide behind their money and think they can commit crimes and get away with it.

I tuck it into my pocket.

If fear is what they’re handing out, I’m not in the mood to collect.

Twenty minutes later,I’m shrugging out of my coat and digging the note from the pocket.

“Nonna,” I call as I head into the dining room, unfolding the paper between my fingers.

I stop when I see she isn’t alone.