Read Online The Green Lama: Scions (The Green Lama Legacy Book 1) by Adam Lance Garcia - Free Book Online Page A

before she could break away. She managed to fire off a shot, the bullet slicing through the man’s side. Unaffected, he grabbed her wrist and twisted violently. She screamed as the gun fell from her hand.
    “Jean!” Ken shouted. She was too damned impulsive, too damn in love with the thrill of it all. He aimed his gun at the man’s head. “Let her go, dammit!”
    “And what will you do, Ken Clayton?” the man growled, his voice modulating with each word. Jean let out a small whimper as the man twisted her wrist further.
    A thunderstorm cracked open in Ken’s chest. “How—?”
    The man turned his obsidian eyes to Ken, blood dripping down his face like tears. “Nothing is hidden from the eyes of the Old Ones… Even the secret you keep.”
    Ken’s hands began to shiver. He glanced at the bullet wound in the man’s side, spilling blood like a broken fire hydrant. “What are you?”
    The man’s smile stretched wide into a terrifying Steeplechase grin. “That is not dead which can eternal lie. And with strange aeons even death may die!”
    In a flash of motion the man clamped his hand around Ken’s throat before slamming him against the brick wall. Stars exploded behind Ken’s eyes as a galaxy of pain came to life. He could hear Jean scream his name through the encroaching darkness, growing farther away as his mind tumbled down the tunnel of consciousness until he heard nothing at all.
    • • •
    Tsarong felt every day of his life creak in his joints as he made his way to the door. He had grown accustomed to the pain, the muted, arthritic drum roll that reminded him he was still bound to this realm—still able to make a difference before the oncoming storm. If that was still his role to play—there was no way to be certain until the time came—for to know one’s destiny was to void it.
    All that mattered was that Jethro, at once his student and master, his friend and brother, was ready to hold back the darkness when the stars aligned.
    “Yes?” he said as he opened the door to find a young woman quickly straightening her black hat with velveteen purple and pink flowers.
    “Hello. Hi,” the woman said, slightly out of breath as she flattened down the flyaway strands of her golden blonde hair, her brow shining. Tsarong glanced down the hall at the dormant elevator bank; she must have run up the stairs, all twelve stories. “I’m looking for Jethro Dumont.”
    So is every other woman in this city, Tsarong thought, his face a blank slate. “I’m afraid he’s not here, Miss…?”
    “Of course, he isn’t,” she muttered, pushing past him into the foyer. “Man of mystery that one. You’re Tah-sor-wrong, right?”
    “Tsarong,” he corrected. “I’m afraid I didn’t get your name.”
    “Betty Dale, at least that’s what it says in my byline,” she said offhandedly as she walked purposefully toward the study. “We spoke on the phone, oh, probably a dozen times.”
    “Ah, yes,” he said, placing his hands inside his sleeves as he followed after her. “The reporter from the Herald-Tribune”
    She strolled into the study, diligently picking up and examining every item she walked past before carelessly placing them aside. She stopped to look up in muted awe at the circular stained glass window high above. “That’s me, brother. Jeez, would you look at this place? A little sparse, but damn, ten million goes a long way doesn’t it? Just think what it could do for me. Not that I’m interested, mind you. I don’t do blackmail or bribes. I’m all about the Fourth Estate, though this place looks big enough to fit the first three.” She walked over to the golden Buddha tucked into the far bookshelf, the array of butter candles momentarily giving her a bronze complexion. “When are you expecting Dumont back?”
    “I couldn’t say, Miss Dale. I am not his keeper.” “Guess we’re just gonna have to wait then.” She dropped down into Jethro’s desk chair. She waved at the rows and rows