Page 87 of Property of Crypt Keeper

Enough that I should have noticed. Enough that I should have questioned it. Instead, I had simply accepted it. Like I’d accepted everything Rafael told me for nearly a hundred years. Slowly, I exhaled. “An abandoned cathedral.”

Silence. Then Zeus blinked. “A cathedral.”

“Yes.”

“A church,” Spook clarified.

“Yes.”

“A regular old church,” Spook elaborated unnecessarily.

Wanting to roll my eyes, instead, I stared at him. “No.”

“Well that’s good,” he muttered. “Because I was worried we’d all lost our damn minds.”

The Kings gathered around the large table while maps and photographs were spread out before us. It was like déjà vu. Only this time, Gideon was missing from the table, and I felt that in my chest. Some might say soul, but as a demon, we supposedly didn’t have one.

As they prepared weapons and coordinated teams, I explained, “It wasn’t somewhere we visited often.”

Boomslang listened carefully. “How often?”

“Eight to ten times over the years,” I replied. I’d never thought much of it before then.

His expression remained neutral.

“And why were you there?” Killswitch asked.

“I thought it was a safe house.” The admission tasted bitter. A safe house. A meeting place. Somewhere information was exchanged. Somewhere Rafael occasionally disappeared for an hour while telling me to wait.

I never questioned it. Because Rafael never encouraged questions. Questions were distractions. Questions got people killed for being too nosey. Questions meant you weren’t paying attention to your target.

Now I wondered how many answers I’d walked past without having a damn clue.

“There was always something strange about it,” I reluctantly admitted, ashamed that I’d never cared enough to investigate.

Mako crossed his arms. “Like what?”

Thinking about it, I frowned. Running over the visits in my mind. Recalling what details I could. Then it hit me. “The smell.”

Several heads lifted.

“What smell?” Hack asked.

“It was out of place there. Chemicals, I guess, for lack of a better way to describe it,” I replied.

The room grew quiet.

“Not every time,” I continued, my mind whirring. “Just occasionally.”

My stomach tightened as memories crystallized. “Bleach.” A pause. “Or maybe disinfectant? Both? The scent that lingers in hospitals,” I murmured. The scent I’d ignored for years. Because I never expected it to really matter to me.

“Damn it,” I muttered.

As I strapped extra blades to my thighs, I heard someone approach. The voice came from behind me.

“Hell no, you’re not,” Boomslang snapped.

I glanced up as I tightened the last strap. Zara stood near the stairs with her tiny arms crossed. A small rumble rose from her little chest.