14.5

 

Steve gave a short bark of laughter. “The police? What would they do? There’s nothing to arrest here even if you could get them to respond to an intruder. They’d probably arrest me for possession of restricted items”

Roisin felt her breath catch. “Is that what your artifacts are?”

Steve nodded. “Technically they’re undocumented religious artifacts, so yes, assuming they recognised them for what they were. More likely they’d arrest me for petty theft from sites of religious interest.”

Roisin pressed a hand to her chest. The pressure pulsed harder, having exhausted whatever the little figurine had given it. “It’s starting again.”

Steve hesitated, his right-hand hovering over the little collection under his arm. He selected another relic, this time an irregular chunk like a small piece of brick, again wrapped in cloth, this one dusty rather than stained. Again he held it up and again she could see it simmering before the pull on her released its grip and transferred to the object. This time it lasted for almost half a minute before it flickered out. “Jeez.” Steve dropped the chunk, careless of what happened to it as it bounced off the stair below him and skittered across the quarry tiles of the lobby. “That one took me two days of digging to recover.”

Roisin felt the cold deepen. “What was it?”

Steve glanced back at her. “A piece of the original stonework in the vaults of Notre Dame before it burned down.”

The darkness shifted again — a subtle, almost imperceptible movement, like a breath drawn in. The pressure inside Roisin’s chest jumped in response, stronger now, and painful enough to make her grunt.

Steve lifted a third wrapped object. This time the wrapping revealed it was quite clearly a cross, though whether there was a tiny Jesus attached to it, Roisin couldn’t tell. Had the circumstances not been as serious as they were, she would have laughed. This was less ‘The Exorcist’ and more the 1956 ‘War of the Worlds’ when the priest Nathanial thought he could exorcise the Martians,

The air warmed slightly.

The darkness recoiled as the cross twinkled with prisms. It pulsed once, twice, then glowed steadily like an old radio valve but without the smell of burning dust.

Roisin felt the pull reduce, then cease entirely. “It’s working,” she said, her voice filled with the relief she was feeling.

Steve shook his head, still holding the cloth-wrapped cross aloft. “It shouldn’t though. I only picked this one out to use as a bench test. It’s doing the opposite of what I expected and I don’t know why.” He spared her a glance. “Why is a cross working against a traveller? It shouldn’t.”

Roisin felt the darkness pulse. The pressure against her ribs ramped up suddenly, pulling her forward. She grabbed the handrail again as she stumbled down one more stair.

Steve shifted to one side to block her way and used his free arm to steady her. “Don’t move.”

“I’m not,” she whispered.

“You are,” he said quietly. “Inside.”

“I can’t help it.” Roisin felt her breath hitch. “Steve… it’s getting stronger. Again.”

“I know.”

“What do I do?”

“Stay with me.”

The darkness shifted again — not forward, not backward, but sideways, as though circling, testing the edges of the threshold. The air grew colder. The shadows along the walls trembled.

Steve unwrapped the artifact.

Just a corner.

Just enough.

A faint glow seeped through the cloth — not bright, not warm, but steady, like the last ember of a dying fire. The air around it shimmered, the pressure in the hallway easing slightly as the prisms from the cross began to expand.

The darkness recoiled sharply.

Steve exhaled. “There you are.”

Roisin stared at the cross. “What is it?”

Steve didn’t answer immediately. He kept his gaze fixed on the darkness, his posture tense, his grip steady. Several seconds went by until he spoke again, at which point he said: “A fragment.”

“Of what?”

He hesitated again. “The stories say it’s a fragment of the True Cross,” but I thought it was just a trick until I saw it had a spirit attached to it. Now I’m not so sure. It could be a real fragment of the cross at Golgotha.”

Roisin felt the echo inside her chest stutter again, as though recognising the truth of his words“ Are you talking about the Crucifixion? In the Bible? You mean that was real?”

“Real is subjective. Only the people who believe it was real make it so.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Either it happened or it didn’t.”

Steve didn’t answer.

The darkness pulsed.

Roisin felt her knees weaken. “Steve—”

He stepped closer to her, shielding her with his body. “It’s trying to align with you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Steve said quietly, “that it thinks you’re part of wherever it came from.”

Roisin felt the world tilt. “I’m not.”

“I know,” Steve said. “But it doesn’t.”

The darkness surged forward.

Not far.

Just enough.

Roisin gasped, clutching her chest. She was pulled violently forward; one step; two. A sharp, electric pulse shot through her chest.

Steve reacted instantly and fully unwrapped the cross. Its prisms flared, flowing outward, almost connecting with the darkness.

Roisin screamed.