Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

136 :: JOHN R. MABRY
“Exactly. He probably fainted, and, well, my guess is that
someone called an ambulance.”
“Right,” Richard snapped open his cell phone and speed
dialed the Friary. Susan picked up the phone. “Susan, we
found Mikael’s car. It’s empty. We think he succumbed to the
demon, and fainted. Our best guess is that he’s in a coma in
some hospital. Can you call the emergency rooms in San
Francisco in the vicinity of the lower Haight? Atta girl.” He
snapped the phone closed and replaced it in his pocket. “She
and Kat are gonna cover the whole city.”
“Good move,” nodded Dylan, still peering into the car.
“Terry, these wards still in effect?”
Terry ran a hand along the side of the car, perambulating
it with his eyes closed. “They’re fading now, but they’re
intact.”
Richard was standing on the edge of the sidewalk, staring
across the street at the moldy Victorian. Terry noticed and
went to stand by him, taking his arm. “You doin’ okay?”
Richard looked down at him, and nodded. He returned his
gaze to the house, and his eyes narrowed. “We gotta go in.”
Dylan joined them, placing his own hand on Richard’s
shoulder. “Hey dude, whatcha’ thinking?”
“I’m thinking of doing some serious hurt to someone.”
“Waal, let’s find out what we’re dealing with first. Maybe
we oughta—”
Without another word, Richard strode off across the street
towards the Victorian. His tall strides had Terry nearly jogging,
and Dylan puffing a few steps behind. In a few
moments, however, they were all standing on the porch, rotted
timber beneath their feet groaning slightly, exposed nails
threatening tetanus.
Richard pounded on the door, and hopped up and down
on the balls of his feet. “Dude, maybe we oughta think this
through a little, first?” Dylan continued. “We can still
ditch—”