by A. Q. Owen
Orion tiptoed away from his room, making his way along the flattened carpet that ran in the center of the corridor atop a smooth stone floor. He pushed through the doors at the end of the hall and poked his head out. Twisting both directions, he saw nothing unusual and stepped out into the adjacent corridor. To the left, the passage led to the front of the church, where parishioners could enter from a door on the side. Nothing to see there.
He kept going, heading toward the front of the building and the main entrance, then around to the inner doors leading into the sanctuary. He stopped for a moment and looked into the dark chapel. A few dim lights glowed, casting a yellow tint off some of the golden candlesticks and other shiny objects in the presbytery at the front.
Orion sighed and looked down at his cassock. He’d never felt more like a heretic in his life, and the overwhelming sensation caused his feet to move, almost involuntarily, toward the center door.
Inside the sanctuary, his nostrils filled with the smell of old incense, oil, wood, and stone. He glanced around, making sure no one was in there, though he knew he was alone. Old habits.
Reverently, he made his way to the front of the sanctuary and stopped when he reached the altar. The pained figure of Christ loomed large in the middle of a series of metal pipes that rose almost to the ceiling. He’d seen pipe organs like that before, more times than he could count. Once, he’d even attempted to play one, but being a total novice, that didn’t last more than a few notes. Still, the power behind a billows pipe organ was something to behold. The sound, the vibrations, the energy could rock a building like this to its foundation if played correctly.
He grinned at the thought.
Then the guilt came back. This time, it broke through his soul like a dam hit by a bomb. His mind flooded with it. His heart filled with it. And he instinctively dropped to his knees, bowing his head.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “For everything.”
He paused for a moment, hoping that he’d hear something, see something as a sign that he’d been forgiven, or at least heard.
A sigh escaped his lips, and he glanced up at the image of Christ, the face twisted in agony that could only come from a pain far beyond the physical.
“Right,” he whispered. “You don’t talk much.” He stood, though he kept his head bowed. “I wish you did. I wish you’d tell me what to do.”
His eyes wandered to his right hand where the ring occupied a spot on his finger, seemingly permanently now.
His face twitched, his nose feeling a tickle. “Or did you already?”
He expected the ring to glow twice to answer him, but it did nothing.
“Yeah, I think maybe you did.” He turned his head back to the sculpture and gave a nod. “Thank you. If this is what you want from me, I’ll do it.”
He turned quickly, the lower parts of the robe fluttering behind him as he whirled toward the door. The cassock’s fabric flapped behind him dramatically as he marched through the doors and out into the hall.
Orion turned to the left and made his way toward Steve’s office. Once there, he opened the secret passageway and slipped into the narrow opening, giving one last glance behind him as he passed through. The whiskey bottle Steve had been working on earlier that evening was still sitting on the desk, along with the little tin cups.
Orion sighed. It was one of the first times in a while he’d not wanted to empty the entire contents of a bottle into his belly. He blinked a few times and then turned away, walking down the stairs to the bowels of the church.
He entered the narrow room where the swirling red portal hovered against the back wall like some kind of churning, ghostly spirit.
Orion stared at it for a long moment. A splinter of doubt pricked his mind for the slightest of seconds, and then he stepped forward. When he was on the threshold of the portal, he paused once more, feeling a strange sense of energy almost drawing him in, tugging at his skin.
“The sword,” he said. Since he’d come back from his initial visit to the Realm, he hadn’t realized the sword had been missing. What was it Leonardo had said? Something about it disappearing when he passed back through to Earth? He’d gained incredible powers to use for self-defense, things he’d never dreamed possible. Still, nothing felt as comfortable in his hands as a real, tangible weapon. At some point, he’d need to pay a little visit to his secret hideout where he kept most of his gear. For now, though, he didn’t need any of that. Those weapons wouldn’t help him where he was going.
It was time to pay the devil a visit. And there was only one weapon that would suffice.
“Sword of the Gods,” he whispered, “my hand is yours.”
The four-sided cross on the ring glowed bright blue. Orion flicked his wrist. Suddenly, out of thin air, the saber materialized in his hand. His fingers wrapped around it tightly, and the priestly cassock he wore disappeared, transforming into the cloak and hood he’d donned in the other dimension.
“It’s time to pay the devil a little visit.”
The room flashed bright red as Orion stepped into the energy field and disappeared into the Realm.
Thank You
I just wanted to take a second to say thanks for reading this story. I had a lot of fun creating it and can’t wait for book two.
I know that you have plenty of choices when it comes to what books to buy for your entertainment, and I’m honored you chose mine.
Be sure to swing by my website at aqowen.com to find out what’s happening next in the Newton’s Gate Universe and join the VIP reader list to get exclusive updates and content.
Thanks again. See you in the next adventure.
Alexander Owen
Copyright © 2018 by A.Q. Owen and 138 Publishing, Chattanooga, Tennessee.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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