Angel Dance: A Shadow Council Case Files Novella: Quest for Glory Part 3 by John G. Hartness

Author:John G. Hartness [Hartness, John G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Falstaff Books
Published: 2017-06-29T06:00:00+00:00

9

“I am happy to join you, but before I do, may I have my pants?” I asked.

Eunice’s laughter was a thing to behold. It swelled from within her copious bosom like a geyser, rippling out from her in waves and infusing the entire room with joy. I smiled as she laughed, but I remained standing. I did, after all, want my pants.

“I am sorry, my son,” she said after a moment of mirth. “Your clothes were either burned horribly or torn to shreds in your fight with the demon. Then there’s the matter of the demon blood eating through much of the fabric, and your own blood soaking the remainder. There really was very little worth saving. We have nothing here to fit a man, much less a man of your size. Your friend Dennis is having some clothes delivered from your hotel. Once those arrive, they will be brought to you.”

“You have spoken with Dennis?” I asked.

“Oh yes, my son,” she said. She reached over to a table between the two chairs and held up my abused cell phone. “I would hand this to you, but I am aware of the lack of pockets in your current wardrobe.” She put the phone back on the table and motioned to the other chair. “Won’t you sit by the fire? I find these tunnels to be a little chilly, and it helps my arthritis to stay warm.”

I moved to the chair and sat, then asked, “If it is uncomfortable for you down here, why not simply work aboveground?”

She waved an arm around us at the bookshelves. “The books, love. I can’t take the books upstairs into the humidity. The Louisiana atmosphere would destroy this old paper in a heartbeat. We are digitizing everything as fast as we can, but it’s not a quick job. So as long as the collected knowledge of the Sisters resides here, I stay underground, and every once in a while, I stoke the fires with another copy of this drivel.” She gestured to a kindling box near the fireplace, where a stack of popular, and well-worn, romance novels stood. “I do, of course, have to read them all multiple times, just to make sure they’re drivel. Wouldn’t want to torch a literary masterpiece by mistake.”

“Perish the thought,” I said, feeling an unaccustomed smile stretch my features. Something about this funny little woman put me very much at ease. I found myself enjoying her company, with her romance novel habit and her arthritis. She was obviously hard at work down here, protecting the accumulated knowledge of her order, but she just as obviously loved her work.

I cleared my throat and drove on toward my initial purpose in New Orleans. “I had hoped to speak with Sister Evangeline,” I said. “Her assistance would be welcome in my current endeavor.”

“Finding the Horn of the Herald?” Mother Eunice asked. My face must have registered my surprise because she laughed again. “When I spoke with your digital friend,” she nodded to my phone, “he told me who you are and what you are doing here.

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