Page 89 of Property of Crypt Keeper

“Flame-resistant,” Mako replied with a shrug. “Booby traps.”

“Aren’t you all immortal?” I asked with a cocked brow and a smirk.

“Immortal implies one can’t be killed. Most supernaturals are ageless. There is a difference,” Hack calmly explained.

Put like that, I instantly sobered. Demons were essentially immortal, but there were a few things that could kill us. My own parents were proof positive of that, and I hadn’t stopped to think about it like that. Then again, I had entered every conflict without a lot of regard for my life. I always figured when it was my time, it was time.

The mark along my spine changed that for me, but I hadn’t stopped to consider it. There had been too many other things going on.

“Point taken,” I conceded as I tugged the balaclava over my head, keeping my braid tucked inside.

On full alert, we moved toward the entrance. One large door was ajar, hanging by a single hinge. The interior was even worse. Dust coated everything.

Broken pews lay scattered across the floor. Rain leaked through sections of the damaged roof. The now-bright moonlight spilled through shattered stained-glass windows, painting fractured colors across ancient stone.

Yet, despite the decay… it was almost like a facade because something I couldn’t put my finger on gave off the impression of being maintained. Not visibly. I sensed it instinctively. Like parts of the cathedral were being preserved for a purpose, while others were left to rot as a cover.

Slowly, I moved toward the altar. My pulse quickened with every step. In my mind, I saw it. Rafael always paused here.

Always.

Every visit.

Without fail.

At the time, I assumed he was praying, which had been ironic in itself. Yet some of the older demons had held out hope that God would forgive them and bring them home. At that time, I placed Rafael in that category. Now? I knew better.

My gaze swept across the stonework. The statues. The carvings. The angels frozen in time.

Then I saw it.

An angel statue. Worn smooth by centuries. One hand extended outward. Fingers nearly resting against a section of the old wall that looked slightly different than everything surrounding it.

Carefully, I approached. With my fingers outstretched much as the angel’s were, my heartbeat thundered in my ears.

“No way,” Zeus muttered behind me.

Hesitantly, I pressed the coarse stone. Nothing. My heart sank, disappointment settling in.

Then it twisted. A loud grinding sound echoed through the cathedral. Everyone immediately raised weapons. Stone shifted. Dust exploded outward—and a hidden section of wall slowly slid open.

Cold air rushed upward. Ancient. Stale. Heavy. Darkness waited below.

“Is this the way your parents brought you in?” Boomslang asked Zara.

Her brows pinched in the center as she shook her head. “But it’s here.” Her small nostrils flared, and she pointed at the ground. “I smell it.”

We all glanced at each other. Boomslang finally motioned for Mako and Zeus to go first. One by one, we followed. Dexter picked Zara up and carried her.

The narrow staircase seemed endless. Slippery stone steps descended deeper and deeper beneath the cathedral. The farther we went, the more the temperature dropped.

The air thickened, and with every level we descended, my certainty grew. Rafael hadn’t been bringing me to a safe house. He’d been bringing me here. All along. But why?

My chest tightened painfully. Every lesson. Every mission. Every conversation. How much of it had been real? How much had simply been preparation? A useful weapon being sharpened for future use?

The thought made me sick. Because I wasn’t grieving my long-lost parents. I wasn’t grieving the loss of family. I was grieving the death of trust.

And somehow that hurt worse.