Page 63 of Corrupt Shadows

One man, with shoulder-length, dirty-blond waves and glacier-blue eyes, heads to the front door. His fingers fist my hair, and he pulls up the sleeve of my sweater. Gasps sound around the room as my tattoos confirm everything. Gomez squeaks from the hands of the bitch across the room adorning the Order symbol, and finally the other man reenters with Father Thomas.

His blue stare softens as he treads inside, both of his hands clasped in front of him.

“Is this the one?” Ezra asks, and the pastor nods.

I bare my teeth. “You told them about Rosa!” I shout, and Ezra tightens his grip on my hair. “They threatened her, and she’s innocent. These people are fucking monsters.”

Ezra tsk-tsks. “Coming from the monster.” He whips his head around to look at the pastor, whose eyebrows are pulled down toward his crooked nose.

Father Thomas runs his fingers through his disheveled, salt-and-pepper hair, swallowing thickly.

“Now,” Ezra says after clearing his throat. “Did she talk about my brother? About the demon?” he snaps, impatience threading each word.

Father Thomas nods quickly, his eyes darting from me to Ezra. He adjusts the white card in his collar, sweat beading his temples. “Yes, she wanted help. Said he was stalking her.”

“Yeah!” I shout, wrestling harder. “Thanks for the fucking help, Father.”

“You are a witch,” he states, as if it is a filthy, disgusting word. “Whatever demonic forces have called, you have answered.” He must genuinely think it’s my fault Lorcan has been haunting me in the mirrors.

Although, now, I wouldn’t mind him turning up, so I desperately scan the mirrors. Ezra notices so spins me around to face him, yanking my hair in the process.

I shoot a hiss between my teeth and glare at him. “Let Gomez go, and I’ll tell you what you want,” I say because I’m tired of this game, and hearing his squeaks is killing me inside. “You don’t need to play hard to get.”

He scoffs, amusement widening his stare, but he releases my hair. “Where is my brother?”

“I wish I could tell you,” I say, stumbling back. Closing my eyes briefly, I run my hand up to my scalp, rubbing the sore skin. “He’s not visited for a few days, but he came through the mirror in my office.” I point at the door in the shadowy area of my apartment, then glance at Gomez.

My shadows tug underneath my skin, and the pastor is watching me as I take a step toward them. I scan the faces of every Order member, not recognizing any of them, not that I would at their ages. At least Edward isn’t with them, but I’m certain he would have heard about my whereabouts by now. It’s unlikely I’m getting out of this alive, unless I use my powers. However, I’d risk Gomez being caught in the crossfire, and it won’t affect the demon anyway, masquerading as something good under the Order members’ noses. How can they believe he’s not dangerous? That his brother is a demon but somehow he isn’t?

Biblical stories cover his arms and neck, in tattoos spiraling with shadow magic. Like Lorcan, the markings on his body tell a story, but his are lies. He’s faking being an angel. This is fucking ludicrous.

Ezra grabs my arm, his nails biting my skin as he leads me toward my office. The Order members follow, each of them holding the pendants around their necks as if it might save them. When one gets close, I notice my magic faltering.

My lips part as realization washes over me. Those pendants work against my magic. That’s why it’s the symbol of an upside-down cross.

I walk into the office, the smell of parchment, books, and dust hitting my nose. I glance at the nonfiction shelf and rub the side of my neck. Every coven of witches has a marking, to identify themselves and their magic. The upside-down cross must have been one of a distant coven, but why would the Order adopt it? Only a coven mark could affect my magic like this.

The woman holding Gomez brushes past me, and my magic wanes further. Gomez’s beady eyes lock onto mine, and tears well, blurring my vision.

I’ll get you out of this, I promise in my mind, hoping he can somehow understand me. Ezra runs his hand along the frame and smiles. It’s creepy as hell. “We thought this was lost.”

The corner of my mouth twitches. I wonder what will happen if I push him into it. Does it even work that way?

He locks eyes with me, as if he got the same thought, then grabs my hand and tugs me against his chest. His groin presses against my back, his arms holding mine still. His fingers grip my throat as he stares at the reflection of us and my inability to move against him. My heart pounds, then I see him—Lorcan.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Evie

An unnatural silence descends, as if the room itself is holding its breath. Lorcan’s masked face is carefully blank as he steps through the mirror into my office, his hands in his pockets.

Ezra snorts, ruffling the hair by my temple. “Nice mask, brother. Too much of a pussy to show your face?”

Lorcan’s lips pull back, his shifted razor-like teeth bared at his brother. Lorcan’s eyes are wild as they dart toward each of the threats in the room. “Ezra, release her or I will remove your arms from their sockets,” Lorcan hisses through his teeth.

“Now why would I do that? She’s a snack,” Ezra says, running a knuckle down my throat. “Plus, these kind people are waiting so patiently to reunite her with God.”

He snarls. “God? She’s a witch. He wouldn’t touch her.”

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