Page 135 of The Unseen Hour

I tugged hard, but the door didn’t budge.

“Blasted ghosts!” Think, Celia. Of course they had barred the door for the Unseen Hour.

The church was a safe haven. Desperate people without a home of their own, or who had ended up out alone too near the hour, had probably sought refuge within it.

Refusing to give up, I turned and began circling the church. I went around the side of the building, pressing my head up against each darkened stained-glass window. The scenes depicted were beautiful in the sunlight, but in the dark of night appeared haunting. The face of Day looked down on me, eyes dark and disapproving without the sun to make them shine. In his hands, he held the wheat and scythe.

“That’s not yours,” I murmured, staring at the scythe.

I had to be careful. If I entered and left an opening behind me, the other Shades might lure people out before I could destroy the sheet music. I’d be a killer as much as if I’d sung them to the Ether myself.

There were very few individuals I would happily see dead, and I doubted any of them were hiding in the church.

I looked again at the stained glass, then at the ground around me.

I was sending up a silent plea for forgiveness as I bent down and grabbed a rock. I was about to bash in a window when I saw movement.

Someone was walking toward the doors.

CHAPTER 54

Iran, yelling. The tree hoppers had followed me to the church, and they squawked, echoing me.

“Please! Please let me in!” No one responded. There was no way for me to know whether they couldn’t hear me unless I was singing, or if they were ignoring me. It wouldn't be the first time someone had begged for help during the Unseen Hour only to be left out in the cold, dead the next morning. It sounded harsh, but villagers feared opening their homes and risking their own lives.

I remembered being a small child and hearing a frantic stable hand who had been chasing a loose horse pounding on the doors. The screaming and bustle of the responding staff had drawn me to my door, still awake during the unholy hour even at the age of seven.

I’d crept stealthily from my room, since at that age a nanny was supposed to keep an eye on me and ensure I stayed inside. When mine went to see about the noise, I curiously followed.

I listened at the edge of a hall as the staff debated what to do. In the end, my parents opened a side door themselves, after sending the staff to a closed room. The stable hand tumbled in and my mother slammed the door shut immediately after. He was white as a sheet and mumbling to himself about haunting sounds.

It wasn’t until now that I realized he’d heard the Shade song. My family’s peers had called them mad for risking such a thing.

I could only imagine how these people inside were feeling, with my desperate attempts to get in creating a moral dilemma. The memory, however, had given me an idea.

There was one trick left, and maybe I could do it without completely destroying the window. I studied the panes carefully, and instead of launching the rock through the center I used it like a hammer, cracking the glass in one triangular area. A green piece of glass gave way, breaking inward and giving me a fist-sized opening directly into the church. Ignoring the hesitation that tugged at me, I shoved my face up to the opening and started to sing the song written on the sheet music.

I hadn’t felt the urge to sing when I’d arrived in Emrys, and I could only attribute that to the overriding desire to succeed and end the hour. But in that instant, I needed the music.

Even when I was the cause, I couldn’t get over the haunting but beautiful nature of Shade song. A melody that somehow spoke to the soul. After only a few moments an individual holding a candle walked into sight. It was the vicar. He had on a soft robe rather than his vestments. I cringed when he made eye contact with me, and I could see the terror on his face.

Carefully and slowly, I made my way down the line of windows, breaking the smallest triangle or square in the stained glass I could find in each one as I led the vicar closer to the front door. There were no windows on the doors, but there were two that were regular glass to each side. They were too high up to climb through or reach, and I was forced to throw a rock through one. This still left only a small hole, and I hoped it would be enough to keep those inside safe from the other Shades for just a short while.

I tilted my head up, singing toward the ruined glass.

Just as I began to lose hope, the front door of the church creaked open and then swung wide. Before any Shade had time to notice and could grab the emerging vicar and snatch his soul, I leapt forward, shoving him back inside and slamming the door shut behind us.

I stopped singing, and the vicar stopped moving, but his gaze remained unfocused as he stared intently at a wall.

I rushed past him—and quite a few other individuals in the pews. One or two were lying straight across them, attempting sleep. Most were kneeling and praying. A couple cried out as I swept past, but no one called my name. No one pointed.

Just as it had taken effort for me to grasp the rock or door, I thought the rest of my body might not be fully solid or visible yet either.

That could only help.

I ran to the altar at the front of the sanctuary. On one side was a basin of holy water, a reference to Day and the fuel of life. On the other side was one of the fires that the church always kept lit. A testament to the funerals held for our deceased, and their journey to Death.

I tried to rip the music in half. It refused to let me do so.