Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

THE KINGDOM :: 253
Like a mournful medieval procession they made their way
past the foyer, through the living room, and began to climb
the wide front stairway.
Richard brought up the rear, and paused on the last step
as Terry poked his head into Mikael’s room. Soon they were
all crowded around the doorway watching as Dylan, kneeling
over Mikael’s body, cupped his hands and blew into his
mouth. He did it again, mumbling prayers only heard by
himself, his power animal, and the Divine.
Then he sat back on his haunches and discovered he had
an audience. “Well?” asked Brian, rubbing his wrist. “Tell
me I didn’t just aggravate my carpal tunnel for nothing.”
“We were able to retrieve a significant chunk of Mikael’s
soul, split off when he was a kid,” Dylan said, his voice
cracked with exhaustion. “But no, we didn’t find him-him.”
The small amount of hope in the room deflated like a
knifed basketball. Richard put his hand on Kat’s arm, wondering
how much more she could take.
When she spoke, though, it was with such strength and
clarity that he was taken aback. “That’s it? You’re just giving
up?”
Dylan sighed, and Richard could hear him carefully control
his annoyance, buffering it with compassion despite how
little he had left to give. “No, darlin’, Ah’m not givin’ up.
But Ah am gonna go ta bed. T’marra Ah’ll give it another
try.”
She lowered her head. Dylan had gently put her in her
place, and if she resented it, she made no show of it. Without
another word, Dylan rose and made his way to the bathroom.
“Goin’ ta bed, now...” he called down the hall.
“More cocoa...” Susan said, and slipped down the front
stairs.
“Ready for bed, baby?” Terry sidled up to where Brian
was seated and pressed his belly against his partner’s face.