before the assault, the snapping jaws and massive paws of the cu sith returning the fight. Bran could barely see Richard, the man lost in a swirl of sapphire. The two continued to tear at each other, one with protective fire and the other, quick and shredding teeth. The time for words had passed.
The victor would be left alive and the other dead.
Bran wanted no part in it and awaited his chance at freedom. As the minutes wore on, the dog appeared to be failing. Both hind limbs limped as it circled its foe. The man followed the hound’s movements, steady in his steps, poised to take the advantage. Whatever damage had been done to him Richard did not show it. He was as indomitable as a mountain, moving fluidly, the muscles of his neck, shoulders, and arms corded knots. No growls emanated from the two enemies; with the exception of the angry chittering from the fairies above, the world had gone still.
Weakened and harried, the green beast leapt at Richard.
Richard moved like silk.
He stepped to the side with nimble ease—and rammed the blade of his flaming sword through the side of the hound’s chest.
The dog gave a weak yelp as it landed limply on the ground.
It didn’t move.
Richard did not stop. In one fluid motion he raised the sword above his head, hilt first, and brought it down with pure vehemence. The blade hammered through the neck of the canine and continued into the asphault of the Bricks like a knife through warm butter. Blood and gore spurted, sizzling from the heat.
His arms splattered with crimson, Richard straightened, breathing hard.
“Who are yo—”
Before Bran could finish question, Richard sent the fire of his weapon skyward.
The fairies tried to leap away. They were too slow. Screaming rage, they erupted into ash that sifted down like snowflakes.
The sword disappeared.
Richard and the carcass were all that remained.
“Bran,” Richard said flatly.
“Who the hell are you?!” Bran questioned, suddenly angry.
The rail-thin man walked toward him, his haunted eyes growing darker with each step, his lips a severe line. Even in the darkness Bran could see Richard was tired. With pale skin and shaggy hair, the homeless man barely looked alive, a walking zombie.
“I am no one to worry about.”
“No, seriously,” Bran pushed. “Who the hell are you and what was that thing?”
“It was a mistake.”
“A mistake?”
“Yes, thank you,” Richard scoffed. “No more, at least.” He peered down at the dead body of the cu sith. “The cu sith got lucky once. Not tonight though.”
“What were those things?” Bran reiterated, pointing where the fairies had been. “And that dog thing?”
“That is none of your business.”
“The hell it ain’t,” Bran hissed, still fueled with adrenaline. “I want answers!”
“Answers, huh?” Richard mocked. He offered his hand. “Leave the Bricks, boy. Get your things and get out of that store. You are safe, for tonight. But not from Merle.”
An unidentified chill swept through Bran. Merle’s visitor smiled in assurance but there was no warmth in it, the offered handshake a mechanical act. Bran sensed danger in touching the man’s hand. He didn’t know how he knew. He just did.
Bran rebuffed the hand.
“Why shouldn’t I trust Merle?” he said instead.
“Don’t come back down here—at night at least,” the disheveled man said, ignoring Bran’s rejection and turning to leave. “Mark my words. Stay away from that old man. He is nothing but trouble.”
“Hey! Wait!” Bran shouted.
“Go back to your street friends,” Richard said over his shoulder as he left the alley. “They are safer than Merle ever will be.”
Leaving the dead cu sith behind, Bran chased after. “Stop, you assho…”
But out on the sidewalk, Richard had vanished.
Still leery of the night around him, Bran hurried the last few blocks to the bookstore. He didn’t know what to think. Creatures that looked like fairies had attacked him. A giant green dog had spoken to him and then tried to kill him.
Either he had been drugged or it had really happened.
And Richard, a friend of Merle, possessed a sword that became vapor at will.
While unlocking the door, Bran peered through the night back the way he had come, angry at the fear still rushing through his veins and his inability to uncover what had truly happened.
For an instant, he thought he saw a flash of brilliant azure light.
Then darkness fell once more.
Cardinal Cormac Pell O’Connor sat in the warm glow of several lamps and placed the phone receiver back onto its cradle.
He was not pleased.
Through the arched window, the silver light of the