Undercover Paranormal by Kate Moseman

Author:Kate Moseman [Kate Moseman]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fortunella Press
Published: 2023-01-27T00:00:00+00:00

16

I had a choice between using my phone flashlight or a conjured flame. I picked the flame. Didn’t want to risk dropping my phone, and a flame in my hand doubled as illumination and weapon.

The yellowish light spilled into a hallway tagged with graffiti. Paint peeled from the ceiling and dust covered the floor. I passed a rusting water fountain and continued on the balls of my feet, trying to make as little noise as possible.

The hallway ended at another door. This one opened into a room filled with a jumble of shelving units, some old wooden desks, and a cracked green chalkboard. This wasn’t just a church. It had been a school, too. I stepped around plastic student chairs and a space heater on wheels. On the other side of the room, above the other door, someone had spray-painted the words “Carpe Noctem” in elaborate letters.

I passed through the door and into a stairwell. I stepped lightly on the wooden stairsteps to avoid announcing my approach.

Amateur paintings decorated the walls with icons of faith. Each flight upward revealed more: A jar of pouring water for baptism. A flame for confirmation. A cup for communion. Double rings for matrimony. A stole for holy orders. And above it all, a white dove with its wings spread.

At the top, one last door. I could smell outside air filtering through the crack beneath it.

The bell chamber.

I placed my hand on the knob and turned it.

The door swung open with a creak.

Moonlight silhouetted James at the belfry opening. He turned, looked at me, then turned away again. “Go back to the party.”

“I wanted to see the bell.”

“Lies. You wanted a little excitement. A thrilling little story you could take back to your witch friends.” He scoffed. “Find another Blessed. I’m sure they’ll help you out.”

Perhaps I had miscalculated. “Is it because… I’m a woman?” I said, carefully framing the question with simple curiosity, not judgment.

His laugh was bitter. He whirled around and his trench coat flared like a cape. “Is it because you’re a woman? No.” He stalked closer. “Look at you. You’re what, eighteen? Nineteen?”

I nodded.

“You think I’m some hot-blooded young guy, eager to pursue every pretty thing that crosses my path?”

“I—”

“I am, without a doubt, more than twice your age. I could be your father. No matter what I look like on the outside”—here he flicked his fingers against his chest with an air of disgust—“inside, I am a forty-five-year-old man who feels every single year of his life, who would rather be tucked into a cozy suburban bedroom with a loving wife, a minivan in the driveway, and several sleeping children down the hall, than be here at this wretched party that I will have to attend until someone finally stakes me in my dried-out heart and puts me in the ground. Do you understand? I am not interested.” He pointed to the door behind me. “Now, get out!”

The flame in my cupped hand burned painlessly, each flicker marking the passing of time.

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