As the memory faded, Rhychard pulled into a remote spot in the condo parking lot. The evening was coming on, the mighty oaks casting their long shadows over everything, and all Rhychard wanted was a shower, a beer, and a cigar. The day had been a whole lot of nothing, and he was over it.He knew he had upset Trace, but he couldn't help it. He was through sticking his nose where it didn't belong. He wanted his life back even though he knew that would never happen. Yet, while others may guide his destiny in some areas, he vowed not to make it worse in any other. His life was in enough turmoil.Kree wasn't there when Rhychard walked through the door nor was Tryna, and for that Rhychard was glad. He had dealt with enough people for one day. The silence was a soothing balm over his frazzled nerves.He grabbed the last Amber Bock out of the fridge and peeled off his shirt on his way to the bathroom. Using his sweat-soaked top as protection for his hand, he twisted the cap off his beer and to
He discovered the Whispering Oaks Condominiums while moving a senior couple out of one of the upstairs units. It was a quiet place surrounded by massive oaks whose branches intertwined overhead and shaded most of the back area. Shrubs and palm fronds cluttered the ground beneath the trees, but Rhychard had cut a path through to a small river that ran east-west behind the buildings. He found a flat rock that jutted out into the water he could sit on and watch manatees relaxing in the cool water. The only people he had seen had been a couple paddling a kayak one time while he was out there. Otherwise, the river was pretty deserted, which made it all the more enjoyable for him.His condo wasn't big, a small kitchen about the size of a walk-in closet with a dinette area next to it which opened into a small living room. To the west was the front door, to the south were sliding glass doors that led to his peaceful haven of a back porch and to the east the hallway to the smaller half of the c
Rhychard massaged his bicep as he waited in line at Common Grounds for his first cup of coffee of the morning, black, extra caffeinated, and hot enough to scorch the top of his mouth on the first sip. He hadn't realized he had been out of his Eight O'Clock Bean until he went to make some that morning and only then remembered he had used the last of it the morning prior. He hadn't been all that worried about it because he expected to have money that afternoon for essential things, like food. Of course, that was before Trace acted like Mr. Benevolent without asking him first. It didn't really matter, however, since Rhychard was out of anything resembling breakfast food, as well, and would need to go out, anyway. Luckily, the coffeehouse around the corner from his apartment served bagels, as well.His arm, though healed, was still tender from Vargas's razor-sharp talons. Tryna insisted it was all in Rhychard's head as Kree's powers had never failed, while Rhychard insisted it was all in h
"Rhychard? I thought that was you." Looking up, Rhychard saw the balding head and plastic smile of Miles Evans, one of the few members of Harvest Fellowship Rhychard was glad not to have to tolerate anymore. That was one of the things about going to church Rhychard hated. You had to be nice to the idiots. "How have you been? I haven't seen you around the church in a while." Miles took the other chair at the table and helped himself to Rhychard's peace and quiet. He was an odd-looking man with small ears, a nose that looked like it belonged on the yuppie's dog, and very thin eyebrows. He was short and squat, and his only exercise was pushing himself away from the table. By the size of him, he didn't exercise much."No, you haven't." Rhychard shrugged. Why is it church people only confront you about your attendance when they see you? They never go out of their way to reach out to you. Rhychard stopped going to Harvest Fellowship over two months ago, and not one of the righteous had even
Rhychard ran his hand through his long, obsidian hair. He winced a little from the stiff pain in his arms, not from the previous day's attack, but rather from a full day of hauling filing cabinets across town. With Trace giving Mrs. Ivy back her money, Rhychard had to scramble to pick up work to silence his growling belly. He had called in a favor with Captain Relco, who hired him to help move old case files into storage. It wasn't a big job, but it allowed him to eat for a couple of more days. The night was chilly, with the scent of autumn in the breeze as it tugged at the colorful array of leaves just starting to turn toward fall. He stood outside the Harbor Townhomes and watched as Renny Saunders slid out of her Altima, the night air catching her long blond tresses in its invisible fingers, stroking it the way he used to do. He couldn't help but stare, remembering how that petite form had felt in his arms just a short while ago. She wore a soft teal business dress and carried her G
Rhychard shifted against the tree he leaned on as he stared up at the lighted window. Renny was still an active member of Harvest Fellowship. She had always known what was going on at the church. Not like Miles, a busybody in everyone's business. She actually cared what happened to that church and the people who attended. Rhychard doubted that had changed in three months. She should be able to give him a clue as to what was happening now, a hint, at least, of what Vargas was after on sacred ground. Surely, she would now be a great asset in the battle against evil. Yet, how would he ever be able to describe what was going on without her thinking he was certifiably crazy? He couldn't even get her to talk to him about ordinary things.Rhychard wrapped himself tighter inside his full-body leather coat, the one that made him appear as Hugh Jackman did in Van Helsing. He knew Kree was right. As much as Renny and he had promised each other to be a family, his new secrets were more than she co
He knew he should try to discover why Vargas could step onto the Harvest Fellowship property, but Rhychard couldn't get the vision of the gargoyles swarming around Renny's apartment out of his head. Why were they there? What did they want with her? Gargoyles were the hunting dogs of the Nether. Demons and dark elves used them to sniff out their victims or as frontline soldiers, easily disposable. They were the grunts of the underworld, and he needed to discover why someone put them on Renny's trail. Tryna would be pissed, but he didn't care. He promised to protect Renny and, even though she didn't want his help, he wouldn't stand idly by and watch the Void destroy her life. At least, not if he could help it. And he could help it.Rhychard revved his Suzuki GSXR1000 as he tried to balance a coffee and a mocha frappe on his tank. Traffic was light, so he didn't have to worry about too much zigzagging through the Harbor City streets as he made his way to Saunders Realty. If Renny kept to
It was as if the Destroyer had wrapped his hand around Rhychard's heart and kept it from beating. He forced himself to keep breathing. It was bound to happen. He should have expected it. Renny hadn't stayed single long between her last boyfriend and Rhychard. She loved being in a relationship. Still, hearing it hurt worse than Vargas ripping his arm open in three places. "So, I suppose breakfast after church is out." He forced a smile. "I'm happy for you. Really. Who is the lucky guy?"She shook her head. "It doesn't matter who he is. I just can't sit with you that Saturday."Rhychard's brows pressed together toward the top of his nose as he gave her a curious look. "You can't tell me who you're dating?""I won't tell you who I'm dating. It's none of your business." She grabbed her keys tighter. "Look, I have to go.""Wait, you're mad at me because I asked who you're seeing?" Rhychard stood and stepped to block her from her car door. Mistake. "That's not fair!"Renny shoved him out of