"Criminals? You want me to believe Pastor Adrian hangs out with criminals?" The conversation had definitely not gone the way Rhychard hoped. After leaving Adrian standing in the parking lot with his mouth open, Rhychard went after Renny, hoping to get some answers to questions he couldn't really ask. The whole secrecy thing of being a Warrior of the Way was a giant obstacle for his fishing expedition for information, but he thought if he substituted criminal for demon, Renny might listen. Of course, as with every conversation between Renny and him since their breakup, he guessed wrong. He debated telling her about Buttercup and her role in Adrian's plans, but the way the conversation went, any mention of Rhychard helping a hooker would not help his case. "Rhychard, you've been watching too much television. Maybe it's time you got a real job." Renny stood staring at him, arms crossed defiantly over her chest.He had caught up with her just outside her townhome as she locked up her car.
Buttercup stood in the kitchen in front of a pan of sizzling bacon. She wore one of the long button-down dress shirts Rhychard forgot he even owned. They apparently hadn't found pants for her because as she stretched to reach for some plates, the shirt rode up her thin legs exposing the bottom curves of her firm ass, the flesh slightly paler than the rest of her body. Rhychard's eyebrows went up as he shifted in his seat, but he didn't look away. He couldn't no matter how much decency said he should. She had showered and finished scraping the remaining makeup off that had plastered her face. The transformation was stunning. Her obsidian hair hung straight and loose down her back in a soft waterfall instead of the hair-sprayed curls that had before sat there like a crude bird's nest. Her bronze skin was clean and alive now even if a bruise decorated it here and there, and she had gentle eyes and thin, soft lips that appeared as if they would hold a natural smile.:A real flower, is she
Rhychard glanced back out at the trees behind his house, oaks and elders with a couple of towering pines thrown in. It was an oasis for him. He could walk into those woods, and the noise of life faded the deeper he went, the churning waters of the river calling him, soothing him. He wanted to walk in them now and forget Vargas and Adrian, Harvest Fellowship and cemeteries. He wanted to forget Renny.He felt Tryna's tiny hand on his arm and glanced down at her. "Rhychard, to open a Gateway to the Void takes blood, lots of blood.""And Harvest Fellowship has about four hundred in their congregation on any given Sunday. That's a lot of blood." What is it with demons and blood? Why can't they just once perform a simple ritual with a dance and a chant and then go for an espresso?Tryna returned her gaze to the woods as she turned back around. Dusk cast its long shadows over the earth. "I need to go see someone. I need to see if I can find some answers. We have to be able to turn the tide, a
Kendalais had spent quite a bit of time describing the power of the sword. It was the one weapon the Guardian had made in the beginning. He was a god of creation, not destruction. Yet, he made one for every Warrior he planned on calling and imbued it with the power to detect the Unseelie with a blue glow and radiating heat. Iron is deadly to the faerie, so the Guardian made the swords out of bronze and empowered them with magic that would not only detect the Unseelie but destroy them, as well. He also gave the blade the power to remember. The Warriors passed the Guardian Swords from Warrior to Warrior as each one died and the Guardian called another. Somehow, the sword held the soul of the dead Warrior. The Guardian knew when a Warrior was about to die and called the next, so they would be there to retrieve the sword. It could not fall into the hands of the Unseelie, for they would turn one over to the Destroyer who would then convert it and turn its power against the Seelie. When it w
Every Monday night, Harvest Fellowship's deacons gathered in the pastor's conference room, twenty men selected by the congregation who best represented Christian values and assisted Pastor Adrian Michaels in carrying out the ministry of the church. Rhychard knew most of those men, had hung out with them, had dinner with them. He had even worked alongside them in several ministry projects. Of course, that was before Renny accused him of cheating on her and dumped him. Now, no one at Harvest Fellowship would even say hello to him.Miles Evans had been an exception. The man loved gossip and didn't care where he got it. Rhychard had known that about the man since he met him. Miles enjoyed his off-colored jokes that were borderline crude, which had surprised Rhychard considering Miles was a leader in the church. Of course, it was now quite obvious that something was rotten at Harvest Fellowship, and that standards were preached, but not followed.Men started slipping out of the glass door o
So much for Christians being meek. David was a thick mass of swinging arms and thrashing legs as he tried to straddle Rhychard's waist. He kept lashing out, connecting wherever he could. It took several blows before Rhychard could twist his hips enough to toss the heavier man off him. He used the excess of his jacket to slow the swinging fists from pummeling him into one giant bruise. Rhychard didn't try to defend the accusations, just his body. He rolled on top of the squirming man and caught each of his fists. Once he seized both of David's fleshly weapons, he pinned them to David's chest and pressed down. Rhychard's ribs screamed as the angry deacon kicked and twisted under him trying to get free."David! David, knock it off! I didn't do it." The man wasn't listening. Rhychard needed to become a better observer of body language. "David, don't make me hurt you! I didn't set you up. I was here talking to Renny when I saw Buttercup get out of your car. I didn't know what was going on a
:Are you sure this is a proper plan?:"As long as the alarm doesn't get tripped, what can go wrong?":That is usually the last sentence before chaos rains down upon us. Did you not say the same thing at that warehouse with John Relco?:Rhychard ignored the giant coshey and focused instead on the deadbolt he was trying to convince to let him in. Kree had been sound asleep when Rhychard arrived at his small condo. It took a little convincing to get the giant mutt to agree to stand guard, but in the end, it worked out. Kree perched on the gray-shingled roof, his gaze scanning for intruders, while Rhychard tried to recall what the Internet had shown him about picking a lock.The plan was simple. Once Rhychard got inside Adrian's office, he would search for the pictures that Buttercup helped arrange. If he could get his hands on those, then the good pastor would lose his leverage. The men could stop following his orders and, with the proof turned over to David Morsetti, the church would dis
The drawers were a dead end. Rhychard felt around edges and behind drawers, inside each little whatnot and behind every picture. Nothing. He sat in one of the leather chairs, his back to the window, as he stared at the office.:How goes it, Warrior?::Either Harvest Fellowship has the best custodian in the world or our good pastor is a little OCD. Nothing is out of place.: Rhychard scanned the walls, the desk, the bookshelves…the books? Rhychard stood and scanned the books on the shelf. They were alphabetized within subjects. Prayer. Commentaries. Biographies. Between a Biblical concordance and a topical Bible was a large hardbound book on American Baseball. "Now, you're out of place, aren't you?" He slipped the book from its place, surprised at how light it was compared to its notebook size. :I think I found something.::I was afraid you had fallen asleep.:It was a hollow box, one of those storage boxes that you could buy in a craft store that at first glance seemed like a real book,