And Blue Skies From Pain Read Free Page B

in direct contact with the demon.
    “No, Father. I—”
    A loud crash from the original passage caused them both to turn. The thump-thump of heavy footsteps were accompanied by the rattle and clink of military-grade weapons and equipment. “Father Drager? Father Jackson? Are you here?”
    “Here!” Father Jackson attempted to slap the dust off and winced with a hiss of pain. Gazing down at himself, he sighed. “Help me see to Father Drager.”
    Joseph nodded. They use your weaknesses to control you. So he’d been told. Now he knew.
    Four Guardians emerged from the passage. Two rushed to treat Father Jackson’s burned hands and help with Father Drager while the others began a search of the area. It took some time, but they were finally able to get Father Drager free without hurting him. His arm was badly broken, and he’d suffered a number of bad cuts. None appeared bad enough to account for the state of catatonic shock, however. He stared, sightless into a distant past or a horror-filled future, alive but unresponsive. A stretcher was sent for and brought in. One of the others presided over Father Wright, giving the mangled corpse the Last Rites. While Father Drager was being tended, Joseph decided to help investigate the other rooms.
    He entered the remaining unchecked room and regretted it almost at once. The stench was terrific. Coughing, he struggled to maintain control over his stomach. Four children blinked up at him from the darkness, their frail hands held up to shield their eyes from the abrupt invasion of light. They appeared to range in ages from four to twelve or thirteen. Starved, half-naked, filthy and bruised, it was almost impossible to tell boys from girls. Each was chained to the wall by the ankles. He would’ve mistaken them for human but for the predator’s eyes reflecting the light pouring into the tiny room with a reddish-yellow glow. He was about to turn away when he spied a silvery sheen to the third child’s eyes. Thinking it might be a trick of the light, he looked closer. It was subtle and could’ve easily been missed, but the silver glint remained. He studied and compared the other children.
    “The light hurts,” a six-year-old said, shying away.
    “Shhh. I’m sorry. It will be all right. I need to see your eyes,” Joseph said.
    “Don’t you believe him,” the oldest boy said, lisping through broken teeth.
    Father Murray discovered that three of the four children’s eyes reacted in the same odd way—again, only if he searched for it and only if the light struck their irises at a particular angle. However, the last child’s didn’t. Interesting. I wonder if anyone has noticed this before? The boy with the broken teeth appeared to be the oldest, and he stared back at Joseph with a face filled with hate.
    They aren’t human, Joseph thought, knowing full well each of their bruised faces would be with him to the end of his days in spite of that fact. But does that excuse what was done to them?
    As if in answer to the questions rising in Joseph’s mind, one of the other Guardians spoke behind him. “Demon spawn. All of them.”
    Jesus Christ, look at them, Joseph thought. Does it matter what they are? They suffer. They feel pain. The Fallen had been present in this place. So it had been reported. But the creatures weren’t in charge. Who could knowingly do this to them? And beneath one of our own orphanages? He was about to voice his objections when the doorway darkened.
    “What is that trainee doing here?”
    Joseph turned to face an angry Guardian with greying brown hair, a thin nose and square face. The accent was definitely Limerick. The Order of Milites Dei operated in secrecy. Therefore, there was no such thing as a uniform for Guardians nor recognizable markers of rank. The priest’s attitude was enough to command respect, however.
    “I’m Probationary Guardian Joseph Murray, Father,” Joseph said. “I’ve been assigned to Guardian Jackson.”
    The priest from