Edge of Twilight. Maggie Shayne

it down by reminding herself how often her parents and their paranoia had turned out to be dead on target. There were bad people in the world. Edge might be one of them.

      When she reached the church, the shutters were closed tight. She wondered where he was resting and sent a nervous glance toward the sky. The sun was still there, beyond the trees, hanging low, but not yet setting. She had time.

      She stretched her arms, reached the very bottom of the shutters and tugged on them. They didn’t move; something held them from the other side. So she yanked a little harder, popping them open, but only just slightly. She didn’t want to let a shaft of sunlight in if he were lying within its reach on the other side. Pulling herself up, she peered through the crack she’d made and saw no sign of Edge, so she opened the shutters farther and climbed through. A little puff of dust rose from the floor when she landed. She quickly turned to close the shutters behind her, then faced in again as she brushed her hands against each other.

      And then she frowned as she took in the changed appearance of the church.

      The pews had been moved to one side, and in the large open space where they’d been, there was … equipment. A weight bench, with barbells balanced across its upright arms. A punching bag dangling from the rafters, a mat on the floor.

      “What’s he up to?” she wondered aloud, pacing through the church, examining the items, which were stamped with Salem Fitness Center, Salem, MA. She crooked an eyebrow. Edge had been busy.

      She looked around for his duffel bag but didn’t find it. The pew on the dais still held his strange little collection of keepsakes. There were more candles now than the three that stood on the pew. He’d affixed one on each windowsill. All unlit, of course. She wondered why he saw the need for candles, when he could see better than she could in the dark.

      Where was he?

      She went through a door at the rear of the church. It stuck a little, swollen from the weather and hanging by only one hinge, but she shoved it open and stepped into a dark, dusty storage room. There were shelves, a couple of disintegrating boxes with candles spilling out of them, and another door. Amber shoved that door open and stared down a rickety wooden staircase. Some of the steps were broken, others missing.

      He was down there. Naturally he was down there. It would be the safest place to rest. No one in their right mind would attempt to navigate the broken-down stairs in the pitch-dark to invade his privacy. His duffel bag was apparently down there with him, since she hadn’t located it anywhere else.

      Drawing a breath, she started carefully, stepping past the missing first step, past the broken second step, and slowly lowering her weight onto the intact-looking third step from the top.

      The distinct sound of wood splitting told her she’d made a serious mistake.