Shattered Souls by Delilah Devlin

Her head lowering toward Cait.
    Chest tight, Cait jumped back. “Jason, stop!” she tried to shout, but her throat constricted.
     
“For all the boundless universe
Is life—there is no death.”
     
    The chill wind stiffened, grasping like invisible fingers at her hair and clothes. “Jason,” she repeated faintly. How would she explain this?
    Frozen, she reached into her pocket and crushed the red flannel bag in her fingers, grateful as never before for her mother’s intervention.
    Jason straightened and stepped backward, but his foot fell into a deep puddle at the edge of the mother’s grave. Cursing, he tugged his boot, but the suctioning mud held it.
    The statue behind him was an angel whose even features slid into a narrow-eyed glare and whose lips pulled away from its teeth in a feral snarl. It reached out.
    Inside her head came voices shouting, Run…run…run…
    Advice she didn’t need. Her skin prickled into gooseflesh. Her heart skittered. “Hey!” Cait lurched forward and grabbed Jason’s arm. His foot slipped from the boot. He turned to retrieve it, but she shoved him forward. “Forget it—move!”
    The caretaker stood at the bottom of the hill, his dark face tightening, eyes widening as he stared at the statue Jason had yet to see.
    “Cait—my boot. What the hell’s gotten into you?”
    The temperature was dropping fast. Didn’t he feel it? “No time. Run!”
    She grabbed his hand and pulled him down the rise, falling in beside the caretaker, who didn’t need convincing.
    “Holy Mary, mother of God…” he whispered under his breath.
    “Consecrated ground,” she blurted, racing along, pulling still on Jason’s sleeve.
    “It’s all consecrated ground. It’s a damn cemetery,” Jason muttered. Then his jaw dropped. “What the fuck?”
    An angel with its serene face tilted toward the sky opened its eyes and peered down at them, the sockets hollow and black.
    Another waft of cold air buffeted Cait’s back. “A crypt!” she bit out. “We need something covered.”
    “Follow me,” the caretaker said, his burly body surprisingly nimble as he cut across a row of graves and headed to the east side of the graveyard.
    The cold tendrils grew stronger, clawing at their backs. The trio’s labored breaths puffed in frozen clouds.
    “Here,” whispered the caretaker, stopping at a stucco-and-concrete crypt and pulling out a ring of keys. His fingers shook as he flipped through them, found the one he needed, and unlocked the door.
    The three of them lunged inside and slammed the door behind them.
    Cait set her back to the door, digging in her heels. The door shuddered against her.
    “What’s goin’ on, Cait?” Jason asked, his voice tightening, his gaze jumping from her to the worker.
    The caretaker’s dark face was ashen. “Some bad mojo goin’ on here.”
    “Did I mention that Henry’s killer isn’t human?” she asked, her breaths ragged.
    “No, you didn’t,” Jason replied with a nasty snarl. “What is it with you? Can’t you trust anyone?”
    “I’m sorry, Jason. I never expected a freaking wraith to follow us here.” The door continued to rattle, and Cait began to worry about the stained glass panels at the far side of the crypt. Although she’d given up on God a long time ago, she made the sign of the cross over her chest.
    “Why are you doing that?” Jason asked, his expression growing pinched. “This is hallowed ground, right? Aren’t we safe?”
    Cait grimaced while saying a silent prayer that was true. “Reflex. The bastards scare the bejesus out of me.”
    Jason gave her a grim smile. “Paddy O’Connell’s daughter to the end.”
    The caretaker lifted a shaky hand like a child requesting permission to speak.
    “What?” Cait bit out as the door rattled harder.
    “’Pears we’re safe in here, but how the heck do we git out? We gonna die here?”
    She wouldn’t admit to the two men who were looking to her for all the answers that she hadn’t