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,
A branch snapped, and the first gargoyle plunged into the clearing followed immediately by the second. Kree turned and leaped into the air, paws extended. Rhychard ducked to his right and slashed at the second creature. The gargoyle braced his wings, trying to halt his momentum. He wasn't fast enough, however. The Guardian Sword sliced through the beast's chest, ripping it open. It screeched, slicing the air with its dying wail before exploding into ash. So much for not drawing attention to them.Rhychard turned to aid Kree. The elven hound and gargoyle were wrapped around each other in a wrestling match on the ground. Kree yelped as a claw ripped his chest, then he bit into one of the wings with his massive jaws and ripped. The gargoyle screamed, stretching his head back as he wailed his pain at the moon. Rhychard brought his sword down across the beast's outstretched neck, ending the wail. Kree fell to the earth and sneezed. :I hate the way they die.:"I agree, but better that than h
"I know you're in there!" Anger. A male voice. Guttural, as if whoever the voice belonged to smoked too many cigarettes. A fist violently pounded on the front door. "Open the damn door, Buttercup, or I'm going to be really pissed off. You don't want to see me pissed off, do you? You know what happens then."Rhychard forced his eyes open and stared at the clock. Seven A.M. And the person at the door already sounded pissed. :Kree?: No answer. Great. Tryna was still off scavenging for information, so without Kree there, Rhychard was basically alone. Kree hadn't returned after their foray into breaking and entering, and Rhychard had no idea where the giant mutt was. Rhychard sighed. He would have to get up to deal with whoever dared disturb his peace and quiet, and now he was pissed.Throwing the sheet to the side, Rhychard grabbed one of the short swords from the harness and stormed his way to the front door. Well, it was more like he stumbled, but he did it while he was fuming, so he fel