Read Online A Wizard of the White Council by Jonathan Moeller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Moeller
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scanning the warehouses and road. A boxy black jeep sped down the road, its sides painted with lettering. Arran caught a glimpse of a hunched, bearded figure at the wheel.
An electric jolt of rage shot through Arran. He recognized the shape behind the wheel. The winged demons often adapted such disguises when they walked among men. “Winged ones, there are winged ones on Earth.” He shouldn’t have been surprised. Had not Kaemarz mentioned that wicked and ancient Goth-Mar-Dan himself had come to Earth? Arran drew his Sacred Blade, the crimson steel glimmering with blue light, and set himself in a guard position…
The black jeep shot past, and the winged demon did not spare him a glance. The creature must not have seen him or sensed the white magic in his Sacred Blade. Arran started to run after the jeep, sword in hand, until he realized the futility of the action.
“Holy hell.” A grimy young workingman squinted at Arran. “Was that thing glowing?”
“That jeep,” said Arran, “that black jeep. Did you see it?”
The workingman frowned. “I didn’t see no jeep.”
Arran’s anger boiled over. “Damnation! That black vehicle! Did you or did you not see it?”
The workingman raised his hands. “Hey, cool down, man. That black van? Yeah, I saw it. See them driving past all the time.”
Arran realized he had raised his sword, and he rammed it back into the scabbard. “The lettering on the side? What did it say?”
The workingman looked confused. “Yeah…I think it said ‘the Gracchan Party. Vote Jones and Wycliffe in November’.”
“What does that mean?” Something clicked in Arran’s mind. “Wycliffe. I know that name.” He remembered the Ildramyn’s second vision. He had seen a short, fat man named Wycliffe talking to another man named Kurkov about selling things to Marugon. “Gods damn me for a fool. I knew it the entire time. This man Wycliffe is the gun-merchant.” The workingman looked frightened. “Wycliffe. Do you know the name?”
“Yeah,” said the workingman. “He’s a Senator. He’s running for president, I think. Or was it vice-president?”
“Senator?” said Arran. “What is that?”
“You know…he gets elected to the Senate. They sit around and pass laws and raise taxes.”
Arran grunted. “So the United States is a republic.”
“I always thought we were a democracy.”
“Thank you.” Arran started forward. “You’ve been helpful. But I warn you! Stay away from Wycliffe and his men. They are dangerous beyond anything you can imagine.”
The workingman grunted. “I stay out of politics anyway.”
Chapter 5 - Stalkers
Anno Domini 2012
Ally woke up.
“What?” she muttered, lifting her face from the desk. Her dorm room lay dark and quiet, the faint glow of the floodlights seeping through her curtains. Ally yawned, ran her fingers through her hair, and looked at her iPhone.
“Oh, man.” It was three in the morning. She had started studying for her chemistry test at about ten. About midnight she had gotten up to get some coffee. The empty mug sat on a corner of the desk, atop her lab notebook. After that she couldn’t remember a thing
Ally sighed, flicked on her desk lamp, and tried to sort her notes into a semblance of order. She had a good grasp of the material, but she wanted to go through it one more time. Perhaps she should just go to sleep. A tired mind did not write good tests.
Ally closed her eyes. She did not want to go to sleep.
The nightmares came then.
She tried to study for another ten minutes, her exhausted brain refusing to absorb any more material. Equations and electron levels blurred before her eyes in an incomprehensible mess. She gave up and flicked off her desk lamp.
More books and papers lay strewn across her bed. Ally grumbled, scooped them up, and dumped them on the floor. She considered undressing, decided it was too much work, and crawled into bed.
Sleep came almost at once, and so did the
An electric jolt of rage shot through Arran. He recognized the shape behind the wheel. The winged demons often adapted such disguises when they walked among men. “Winged ones, there are winged ones on Earth.” He shouldn’t have been surprised. Had not Kaemarz mentioned that wicked and ancient Goth-Mar-Dan himself had come to Earth? Arran drew his Sacred Blade, the crimson steel glimmering with blue light, and set himself in a guard position…
The black jeep shot past, and the winged demon did not spare him a glance. The creature must not have seen him or sensed the white magic in his Sacred Blade. Arran started to run after the jeep, sword in hand, until he realized the futility of the action.
“Holy hell.” A grimy young workingman squinted at Arran. “Was that thing glowing?”
“That jeep,” said Arran, “that black jeep. Did you see it?”
The workingman frowned. “I didn’t see no jeep.”
Arran’s anger boiled over. “Damnation! That black vehicle! Did you or did you not see it?”
The workingman raised his hands. “Hey, cool down, man. That black van? Yeah, I saw it. See them driving past all the time.”
Arran realized he had raised his sword, and he rammed it back into the scabbard. “The lettering on the side? What did it say?”
The workingman looked confused. “Yeah…I think it said ‘the Gracchan Party. Vote Jones and Wycliffe in November’.”
“What does that mean?” Something clicked in Arran’s mind. “Wycliffe. I know that name.” He remembered the Ildramyn’s second vision. He had seen a short, fat man named Wycliffe talking to another man named Kurkov about selling things to Marugon. “Gods damn me for a fool. I knew it the entire time. This man Wycliffe is the gun-merchant.” The workingman looked frightened. “Wycliffe. Do you know the name?”
“Yeah,” said the workingman. “He’s a Senator. He’s running for president, I think. Or was it vice-president?”
“Senator?” said Arran. “What is that?”
“You know…he gets elected to the Senate. They sit around and pass laws and raise taxes.”
Arran grunted. “So the United States is a republic.”
“I always thought we were a democracy.”
“Thank you.” Arran started forward. “You’ve been helpful. But I warn you! Stay away from Wycliffe and his men. They are dangerous beyond anything you can imagine.”
The workingman grunted. “I stay out of politics anyway.”
Chapter 5 - Stalkers
Anno Domini 2012
Ally woke up.
“What?” she muttered, lifting her face from the desk. Her dorm room lay dark and quiet, the faint glow of the floodlights seeping through her curtains. Ally yawned, ran her fingers through her hair, and looked at her iPhone.
“Oh, man.” It was three in the morning. She had started studying for her chemistry test at about ten. About midnight she had gotten up to get some coffee. The empty mug sat on a corner of the desk, atop her lab notebook. After that she couldn’t remember a thing
Ally sighed, flicked on her desk lamp, and tried to sort her notes into a semblance of order. She had a good grasp of the material, but she wanted to go through it one more time. Perhaps she should just go to sleep. A tired mind did not write good tests.
Ally closed her eyes. She did not want to go to sleep.
The nightmares came then.
She tried to study for another ten minutes, her exhausted brain refusing to absorb any more material. Equations and electron levels blurred before her eyes in an incomprehensible mess. She gave up and flicked off her desk lamp.
More books and papers lay strewn across her bed. Ally grumbled, scooped them up, and dumped them on the floor. She considered undressing, decided it was too much work, and crawled into bed.
Sleep came almost at once, and so did the
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