Secrets and Shadows by Shannon Delany Read Free Book Online Page B

worry stone and hid the other keys under the seat.
    I was headed to the church twenty-two minutes after the Rusakovas had disappeared into the night.
    And I was definitely worried.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    I sneaked around the side of the church, wishing for a werewolf’s hearing. Tal , stained-glass windows stretched above me, partial y boarded up. A faint gleam of light warned me something was wrong. I doubted the Rusakovas needed artificial light to perform their search.
    Someone else was there. Correction: had been waiting there.
    People talked inside while something pounded against … pounded against a wal ? A door? The cel ar door.
    Again. And again.
    My heart slammed into my ribs, keeping time with the crashing inside. Pressing my back to the wal I tried to think. There were two distinct human voices. Maybe more.
    I didn’t have training to deal with even one.
    What options did I have? I thought back to when I’d attended Sunday school and church here. What else had the little old ladies complained about?
    One particularly wet summer water got in and destroyed the chowchow labels right before the fair.
    Where…? I crept back down the little slope, looking for the path the water had taken.
    “Ah!” I crouched beside a smal — small —window nearly flush with the ground. Inside, the wolves growled and snapped, hurling themselves up the flimsy staircase and against the door.
    With a hesitant finger I tapped the glass fixed in the crumbling brick foundation.
    Things inside grew eerily stil . Then the pounding against the door resumed and the window squeaked open. Cat’s face was ghostly against the darkness. “Jessie! Horashow . It was a trrrap.” She snarled out the last word, teeth in her normal y inviting smile spiking to razor sharpness.
    I didn’t mention it was Pietr’s job to state the obvious.
    “They had—” Words failed her for a moment, and she shook herself, teeth dul ing, eyes shifting from midnight blue to crimson as she struggled for focus—“a pelt that made us think we were on the right track.
    ”
    “A pelt? ”
    “Our father’s.”
    My stomach churned and I thought about the men inside. “How many of them are there?”
    “Two.”
    “Distract them. Keep them near the door while I sneak in.”
    “Get Alexi,” she suggested.

    “There’s no time for that. They won’t keep you here. They’l want you headed to wherever before dawn.”
    “What wil you do?”
    “Try not to make matters worse. I’l come in up top.”
    “We wil keep their attention,” she promised.
    A hush fel as the window shut and I circled around to the exterior acolyte’s door.
    I tested it, the old decorative knob squealing in my grasp. Slow and easy. I waited for the distraction, remembering the room. The door was often unlocked, until one time the acolyte discovered a deacon slumped against the wal , al the tiny cups of wine drained.
    Mom had said it was no surprise, considering how many people showed up only for Communion and holidays instead of every Sunday. They weren’t truly attending church, she claimed, just “paying their fire insurance.” So to show our commitment we had perfect attendance. If we were going to be Saved, we would put in our time. She lived the saying “Nothing’s worth having if you haven’t worked for it.” That applied to heavenly salvation, too.
    A crash from the cel ar that made the sanctuary shimmy jerked me back from my memories. I yanked the door open, the smel of mildew strong as I dashed through the smal room and down the carpeted aisle lined by carved and uncomfortable pews.
    In the nave I went onto the bal s of my feet and stole to the head of the winding staircase. One hand on the smooth wooden banister, I peered down, looking for trouble and hoping trouble wasn’t already looking for me.
    Squatting, I kept below the visual barrier the banister drew in midair and I slid one leg down the stairs at a time, like a fencer practicing lunges on uneven turf. Gradual y I made