Free Haze by Paula Weston Page B

moment up the mountain when we rescued Maggie, when we crept through the forest and my stomach dropped so fast I thought I was falling.
    That’s what it feels like when Rephaim shift.
    ‘It’s the same with demons?’
    ‘About a thousand time worse.’
    I nod. Wet my lips.
    ‘Gaby.’ He doesn’t come closer, but the quietness in his voice settles my racing pulse. ‘I don’t like this any more than you do. I hate closed spaces. I always take the stairs over a lift.’
    I scoff. ‘You’ve never walked a flight of stairs in your life.’
    A wry smile. He’s trying to make me feel better. ‘True. But I meant what I said: there are no pit scum here. Whatever is going on, we’ll deal with it.’
    I pull myself together. ‘So, who’s missing from the photos?’
    ‘Nobody.’
    ‘You sure?’
    ‘I’ve counted twice. There are a hundred and eighty-two of us, all up. We’re all here.’ He tosses the pencil and paper back onto the desk. ‘Actually there’s a hundred and eighty-three if you count Goldilocks. He’s not there.’
    ‘They didn’t need his photo. They know what he looks like—and he’s never been part of the Sanctuary.’
    ‘Goldilocks could have taken the surveillance shots, but someone still had to tell him where to be and that person had to be at the Sanctuary.’ Rafa picks up the stool by the desk and smashes it into the nearest wall.
    ‘Hey!’ My pulse begins to hammer. I thought he was okay. If he’s not, how can I be? ‘Calm down.’
    He gives me a level look. ‘I am calm. I thought we should take a closer look at these walls.’
    ‘Oh.’ The adrenaline subsides. ‘Good idea.’
    I stand back while he swings the stool again and then I pry back the busted plasterboard. There’s a beaten metal wall underneath. I tap it with my knuckle. It’s solid. Rafa throws the stool aside and we tear a bigger hole.
    ‘That has to be iron,’ he says. ‘I don’t get it.’
    The surface is covered in intricate marks. Rafa drags the lamp over from the corner, rips off the shade and holds the bare bulb close to the exposed wall. The marks are actually symbols: a recurring icon that looks like a rudimentary set of wings.
    ‘Have you seen anything like this before?’
    Rafa traces the symbols with his fingertips. ‘Never.’ He runs a palm along his jaw. ‘This room…it changes everything.’
    ‘How could they know how to do this?’
    He’s still studying the etchings. ‘Whoever gave them floorplans and photos could have found something in Nathaniel’s library.’
    ‘But that would mean Nathaniel knows it’s possible to trap Rephaim.’
    Rafa rips another piece of plasterboard from the wall. Photos come loose and flutter to the floor. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time he’s kept something from us, would it?’ We keep pulling the wall apart until one whole side of the room is exposed. The air is thick with plaster dust. We stand back and wait for it to settle.
    ‘Holy shit.’
    Up close, the marks were haphazard and random, some deeper and darker than others. But now I see the darker etchings aren’t random at all. They create another larger set of wings. Not rudimentary ones like the individual markings, but detailed feathered wings, outstretched so the tip of each extends to the corners of the wall.
    I pull out my phone and photograph it. It takes two attempts; my hand isn’t steady enough the first time.
    There’s a heavy thud on the door. We both turn around and take a step back. The impact comes again, shaking more plaster and dust loose.
    Rafa nods at me, moves into a fighter’s stance. I snatch up the journal and do the same, but it doesn’t feel natural. I feel numb, outside myself, unfocused. We’re unarmed. Alone. Rafa moves so he’s slightly in front of me.
    More thumps. Ten of them. Twenty. Then something gives inside the iron door. A few seconds later, it’s forced back until there’s a gap large enough for someone to fit through.
    I feel my pulse in my