Father (Blood Brotherhood 1)

That’s when I start to fret. “Father Bryn is going to be so angry if he finds out we went down here. He has a thing about locked doors.”

“What’s he going to do?” Jonah laughs. “Send us back to prison?”

No, he’s going to beat us. But I can’t tell Jonah that. “I mean, maybe?”

“He’s Christian. He has to forgive us.”

“I don’t think that is how he functions,” I say. I have a lot of misgivings right now. I can feel the trouble we’re about to get in, the same way I felt it when we were mid-Atlantic, and moron here opened his bag to show me his party stash. “We should get out of here.”

“You can get out of here.”

To hell with it. I’ve tried to warn him. I am not going to be punished again. It fucking hurts.

“I’m not going to be part of this,” I tell him, retreating a few steps.

“Suit yourself.” He keeps working on breaking in.

The door takes some pushing, but it does open eventually, after he jams enough metal crap into it and breaks the lock. He’ll probably blame me for that later.

There’s a very loud creak as it swings. He goes down the old stone stairs. I follow, wishing I wasn’t following but not able to ignore the pull of my curiosity. Jonah has always known how to get me into trouble. I know this is going to end badly and painfully. Everything in this country is like a thousand years old. Mom always liked new things. I wonder if that’s why. Sick of everything being rotted.

The light down here is dim. Fortunately, I have a flashlight app on my phone and that illuminates everything I need to see. There's another door at the bottom of the stairs. It’s not locked, but it does have a pretty cool cross type seal thing as a handle. Silver, I think. Jonah grunts and messes with it for a minute or two before working out that the way the door is made you have to grab the handle very tightly to open it. Weird, but not hard to operate.

That door swings open smoothly. These aren't old hinges. This down here is new. I am starting to get the same sort of feeling I got right before I stumbled across Jonah’s stash that got us arrested. We’re about to chance upon something big. I can feel it.

“Whoa,” Jonah gasps. I gasp too.

This is not a wine cellar. It is a huge old armory. Or a dungeon. Or some weird combination of both. I don't need my phone flashlight anymore because this underground room is lit with a cool glow that must come from secreted lights. The walls are old stone, and the floor is too, but everything else here feels very new, or at least, very polished. The contents of the place are mostly sports equipment, punching bags, a boxing ring, and then rows of what I can only describe as stuff and things because I don’t know what they are besides that they’re probably made for combat or practicing it. There are weapons hung on the walls. Swords. Lots of swords. And some maces. And some double-headed axes. I guess I shouldn't expect guns. They’re illegal in England. That makes me laugh to myself. It doesn't make these people any less dangerous. It just makes them sharp.

“We shouldn't be down here,” I hiss.

Jonah ignores me as he walks around, looking at stuff, touching stuff. I think he’s forgotten about the wine. Well, almost. He never imagined anything in this house would be cool. Upstairs is dedicated to being what the British call dead boring. But it’s all a front.

“You were right. There’s something very weird and something very cool going on here.” He’s grinning, excited. I’m grinning too, but it's a nervous kind of smile.

“Apparently, being where you shouldn’t be runs in the family.”

I let out a small shriek of shock as Bryn steps out of shadows. He’s looking less like a priest than ever. He’s wearing tight black pants, tactical style, and a wife beater. He looks jacked. He must lift all the time.

“Dude, why didn’t you tell me you’re awesome?” Jonah exclaims.

He doesn’t answer that question. He walks over to Jonah, his hand held out.

“Have you taken any pictures on that contraption of yours?”

“No.”

He snaps his fingers. “Give me the phone.”

“No.”

His expression changes. I’d say he’s angry. But he's not angry. He's something else.

“Jonah, you have been here scarcely twenty-four hours. Let me tell you now, disobeying me will be the most painful thing you will ever do. Give me the phone or I swear to the heavenly father you will leave this room utterly unable to sit and barely able to walk.”

I know for sure that Jonah has never given up his phone except when they took it in prison. I know he’s going to refuse.