Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

screamed something at Richard, and waved at him menacingly
with the gun. Richard did not falter, but placing one
foot after the other, continued his advent.
As if in slow motion, Dane screamed something else at
him, his long black locks flailing in the candle light, flecks of
gold sweat spinning into the gloom as his head whipped
from side to side. His mouth moved slowly, a curse, it
seemed, as he raised the pistol and took aim, directly at
Richard’s head.
Richard’s face revealed not anger, nor fear, but only pity.
Nor did he hesitate. Richard saw the muzzle of the pistol
blaze momentarily, and felt the rush of wind and the pinch
of his flesh as the bullet grazed his temple.
Richard paused momentarily and put a hand up to the side
of his head. Looking at it, he noted without panic the blood
that covered his fingers, appearing wetly black in the dim
light. He looked up at Dane again, shook his head, and took
another step.
:: 72 ::
THE KINGDOM :: 349
Larch had hit the floor the moment he heard the first gunshot.
Careful to stay within the protective circle, he curled up
in the fetal position and closed his eyes.
Dylan, throwing every ounce of caution to the wind,
dashed to the child’s side and hugged her to him. She buried
her face in his habit and held on for dear life. Dylan clamped
his left arm around her protectively, and in his right brandished
a crucifix in the direction of the infernal worm and its
rider.
Terry made directly for the object of summoning—the
paper triangle on which the sigil of the demon had been