Rhychard took a long drag from his cigar, held the smoke a moment, and then exhaled slowly, sending smoke ribbons over the porch railing. It was his favorite place in the apartment and the only place not covered in left-behind fur. It was odd having a roommate who shed, but Rhychard would take that over blaring rap music any day. His last roommate had been a disaster, and he was more than pleased that nightmare had ended.When he entered his apartment, Rhychard had deposited the still unconscious girl on his bed and left her in Tryna's tiny, but capable, hands. Kree merely took over the couch, as always, head resting on one arm, feet dangling off the other. The faerie was probably the least intimidating of the three of them, even being a creature over six hundred years old.The fact that gargoyles tried to rip the girl apart and in broad daylight, a pretty bold move on their part, bothered Rhychard. Of course, creatures of the Void didn't care if humans saw them as it only enhanced the

"Well, I can only guess, but I'd say you've made some life-changing decisions lately," Rhychard said. "Gargoyles are servants of the Void, what you would call evil. My guess would be, you lived your life in a way that honored or served the Void and recently made a decision that would put you on the path of the Way, which, basically, you would call good. The Void hates losing members, but then again, what religion doesn't. The Void's exit plan, however, is a little drastic."Buttercup glared at the Warrior. "I am not evil."Tryna reached out and brushed the hair from the girl's eyes. "No, sweetheart, you are not.""Nevertheless, you were living for the Void," Rhychard said, ignoring Tryna's icy glare. "You may not have shed blood or practiced occult sacrifices, but you were living your life for the Void, regardless.":Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired,: Kree's voice sounded in his head. Rhychard ignored him. No one took it easy on him when he discovered faerie tales were re

It didn't take long for Rhychard to discover the truth of the elf's words.The memory scattered as Kree's question popped back into Rhychard's head at the thought of his enemies. I wonder what's there that Vargas wants. Creatures of the Void usually avoided sacred ground, so it had to be more than a taunt on the demon's part. Something had to be there, but what? Rhychard hit the throttle on his Suzuki and did a quick U-turn. It was time to have a talk with Adrian Michaels. It was Saturday, so he wasn't sure the good pastor would be at the church, but it was worth a visit to see. Hopefully, it goes better than the last time I was there.As he neared the church parking lot, he noticed Adrian leaving the building, but he wasn't alone. Rhychard let go of the throttle and coasted into an office plaza across the street to wait. He didn't want to confront the pastor in front of witnesses.Adrian Michaels was a tall man with perfectly manicured black hair and a slender, muscular build. He had

Buttercup stood in the kitchen in front of a pan of sizzling bacon. She wore one of the long button-down dress shirts Rhychard forgot he even owned. They apparently hadn't found pants for her because as she stretched to reach for some plates, the shirt rode up her thin legs exposing the bottom curves of her firm ass, the flesh slightly paler than the rest of her body. Rhychard's eyebrows went up as he shifted in his seat, but he didn't look away. He couldn't no matter how much decency said he should. She had showered and finished scraping the remaining makeup off that had plastered her face. The transformation was stunning. Her obsidian hair hung straight and loose down her back in a soft waterfall instead of the hair-sprayed curls that had before sat there like a crude bird's nest. Her bronze skin was clean and alive now even if a bruise decorated it here and there, and she had gentle eyes and thin, soft lips that appeared as if they would hold a natural smile.:A real flower, is she

Kendalais had spent quite a bit of time describing the power of the sword. It was the one weapon the Guardian had made in the beginning. He was a god of creation, not destruction. Yet, he made one for every Warrior he planned on calling and imbued it with the power to detect the Unseelie with a blue glow and radiating heat. Iron is deadly to the faerie, so the Guardian made the swords out of bronze and empowered them with magic that would not only detect the Unseelie but destroy them, as well. He also gave the blade the power to remember. The Warriors passed the Guardian Swords from Warrior to Warrior as each one died and the Guardian called another. Somehow, the sword held the soul of the dead Warrior. The Guardian knew when a Warrior was about to die and called the next, so they would be there to retrieve the sword. It could not fall into the hands of the Unseelie, for they would turn one over to the Destroyer who would then convert it and turn its power against the Seelie. When it w