Page 5 of Run, Little Thief

I stumble across the road, lungs burning, legs trembling, and sprint toward the church.

“Please be open, please be open, please be—yes!”

The doors shut fast, and I press myself against them, holding my breath as I focus on each sound. The car might be louder, or I could just be hearing my blood thumping in my ears.

Seconds tick by, maybe minutes. Did the car stop? Did its driver get out?

Suddenly, the engine starts up again.

I scurry to the nearest window and press myself against the wall to take a look outside.

The car’s gone.

I stand there for another couple of minutes, waiting and ready to bolt, but nothing happens.

Nobody’s outside. No one followed me in here. It’s just my paranoia working overtime.

When I’m completely sure I’m alone, I take a quick look around, but there’s not much to see. The church seems abandoned. The pews, the stone altar, and the giant wooden cross above it are covered in dust. Cobwebs shine under the moonlight bleeding in through some of the windows, while others are boarded up.

Not a soul seems to have been inside for months, possibly years.

After barricading the doors, I sit down on a pew, using my bag as a pillow and my jacket as a blanket. I need to rest up for a bit.

Just a couple of minutes . . . a couple of hours at most . . .

I’ll be gone before the first ray of sunlight . . . and . . .

I must have fallen asleep without realizing it, because I wake up with a jolt.

Deadly eyes stare back at me through the dark. I suck in a breath—and feel the icy blade pressed to my throat.

CHAPTER 3

Fear explodes in my chest, and I freeze instantly.

A man is hovering over me, dressed in black, his face hidden beneath a skull mask.

It’s him. La Guadaña. The Grim Reaper.

He found me.

His piercing gaze burns into me. It’s like looking the Devil in the eye and hoping to find a soul, but there’s nothing there. Nothing but sins and a sense of doom.

“Don’t move,” he hisses. “Unless you want me to cut your windpipe in half.”

His voice is low and deep, his words a clear warning that makes my blood run cold. Still, something else stirs inside of me at the touch of his blade against my skin and the rasp of his voice.

My heart skips a beat, then it pounds so hard it might burst out of my rib cage, while my body remains frozen in place.

How did he find me? How did he manage to enter the church without me hearing a thing? No engine. No footsteps. No creaking door. No breaking glass. Nothing.

Then the realization hits.

He’s a ghost, just like me, working in the shadows, always feared but never to be seen. Only, I won’t survive meeting him.

“Get up.” He relaxes the pressure of the blade a fraction. “Slowly. Hands where I can see them.”

Reluctantly, I follow his instructions, all the while holding his intense stare. I take a careful breath, and his scent fills my nostrils. He smells like ice and burning wood, like sin and death combined.