Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

THE KINGDOM :: 337
“It soon will be,” Richard said, dropping to one knee himself
and fishing around in his kit for his Liturgy and salt.
In a few minutes, they were ready to go. “Time?” Terry
asked. Richard looked at his watch. “Eleven. Still plenty of
time, unless they start early, that is.”
“Midnight’s a pretty auspicious time for working demon
magick,” Terry pointed out.
“Yeah, but Dane might want to beat us to the punch,”
Richard countered. “I say we shouldn’t tarry.” He turned to
Charybdis. “Best way in?” The magician shrugged.
“Ah say let’s go over the wall and through the hospital
room.”
“Don’t you think the old Dane will raise the alarm?” Terry
asked.
“Not with me holding Solomon’s Ring, he won’t,”
Richard said, leading the way toward the hedge. A random
muscle in his belly began to shudder involuntarily, and he
tightened his diaphragm and willed it to be still. The voices
in his head were gaining volume, reminding him of all the
reasons that he shouldn’t be doing this: because he wasn’t
worthy, because he was a fake, because he was a sinner,
because the demons would eat him for a midnight snack. He
ignored them all and put one foot in front of another.
As they approached the hedge, the Howler hissed at them,
still curled into a protective ball near the wall. Richard
aimed a kick at the side of the monster’s head, and enjoyed
a surge of satisfaction to feel it not only connect, but bang
into the wall behind it as well. The demon roared, but
Richard kept marching, followed by the others.
At the far end of the hedge, Richard positioned himself,
dropped his bag, and intertwined the fingers of both hands
to give a leg up to whomever would go first.
Terry stepped up without hesitation. Hoisting his elfin
frame was effortless, and in moments, Terry had spread his