“Seb?” I called, hugging the file to my chest.

The sound of a match striking. “Yes, it’s all right,” he called back. “Come on.”

I buttoned the file into my jacket again, then kneeled down and started to crawl. The old velvet sofa smelled mouldy; gravel dug into my palms and knees. Ahead, a sliver of light beckoned from the warehouse wall, where a piece of corrugated metal didn’t quite lie flush.

The panel lifted as I crawled towards it – Seb, holding it open for me. I squeezed through, past his arm. Once inside, I got to my feet and brushed myself off, looking around in amazement. The light came from a small cluster of lit candles that seemed to be growing from the concrete floor. A sleeping bag lay beside them, along with a stack of children’s paperbacks with worn spines. I picked up the top one, surprised that I recognized the cover – The Incredible Journey. Our fourth-grade teacher had read that out loud to us. I placed it carefully back, straightening it so that it lined up with the others again.

Seb stood with his hands in his pockets, looking embarrassed. “When I was a boy, I stayed here often,” he said with a shrug. “I stole all the books,” he added.

I cleared my throat. “It’s okay, I think you get a special pass for stealing books. From what I hear, it’s something book lovers would understand.” It felt like we were both treading water to stay above the surface, avoiding all the topics that might drag us under. I pulled out the file and laid it on the sleeping bag. “What is this place?” I gazed into the shadows beyond the candlelight. “Is it just abandoned?”

“No, someone owns it.” Seb bent down and snapped a candle from the floor; it came away like a small tree, with waxy roots spreading out. “Come, I’ll show you.”

Our footsteps echoed on the concrete. I couldn’t hold back a gasp as the first face appeared from the gloom. Statue after stone statue stood scattered throughout the warehouse, like some weird, silent cocktail party. Propped up against the walls were several huge stained-glass windows – the candlelight flickered across their panels, sending a rainbow of colours sparking around us.

“Is this all from a church?” I touched the cold stone face of the nearest statue: a man in robes, his expression kindly – as if he might have some answers to everything that was going on, if only he could speak.

Seb was beside me, holding up the candle. He nodded. “Even before the Church of Angels really got started here, a few smaller churches were taken over by angel-worshippers. I think someone must have stored these things here then, to keep them safe maybe. But they seem forgotten now.” He lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps whoever stored them died, or got angel burn.”