 
The Possession

Book Seven of the Adventure Chronicles

by

Jeffrey Allen Davis

Smashwords Edition

Copyrighted Material

© 2018, Jeffrey Allen Davis

This book is a work of fiction. Places, events and situations in this story are purely fictional. Any similarities to actual persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the store of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is available in print at most online retailers.

Cover Art by Nathan Bonner

Cover Layout by JL MacDonald

Christian Fiction

http://jeffreyallendavis.wordpress.com

http://gcdpublishing.wordpress.com

Unless otherwise noted, all Bible verses are quoted from the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible.

To My Teammates in Namido Judo STL

Thank you all for making me feel

so welcome.

The LORD shall cause thine enemies that rise up against thee to be smitten before thy face: they shall come out against thee one way, and flee before thee seven ways.  Deuteronomy 28:7 (KJV)

The Possession

# FOREWARD

I've been a martial artist for 30 years. I started with boxing training from a retired Navy SEAL. I then branched into Tae Kwon Do, freestyle wrestling, kick boxing, Brazilian Jujitsu, and Judo. I was the cut-man for an MMA team, and as I got older, I took on more and more training responsibilities for new guys, while limiting my competition experiences. I've seen a lot of people come and go in martial arts. I've seen people quit after a few low color belt ranks, and I've seen people quit a month after getting a black belt. I can usually spot the quitters after a few classes with them. Sometimes, I spot them on night one. I make it a point to not treat them like future quitters, but instead celebrating all of their successes, even if they may be few in number.

My Judo club's training methodology is "aliveness". Aliveness favors basic instruction in technique, then use of progressive resistance sparring to perfect the techniques and teach strategy while conditioning the body for quick strength and endurance. Aliveness is not repeating patterns on a compliant partner ad nauseum. Aliveness pressure tests techniques for effectiveness. There isn't much room for debate about good vs. bad techniques in this method. Good techniques win matches, and bad techniques don't. Aliveness is not an easy way to train, but it is the only effective training method for martial arts. I don't promise black belts to my students. I promise them hard work and lots of humbling experiences. Whether or not they stick it out long enough to earn a black belt is up to them as individuals.

When Jeffrey Davis first came into my school, he brought his stepson for judo lessons, and eventually joined the class himself. When his stepson quit, I figured Jeff would be soon to follow. Jeff didn't share the same theological views as the leaders of the school, he was badly out of shape, overweight, training with highly athletic young men less than half his age, and he lacked the fighting instinct that separates successful students from those that just dabble in the art for a while. But Jeff has something that few people have. He has a true love for the martial arts. He also has a level of perseverance that I have only seen in full contact fighting champions. I thought Jeff would quit, but Jeff doesn't know how to quit. Instead, Jeff worked harder for his yellow belt than anyone in the history of my club, and he kept going.

After earning his yellow belt, and winning a small number of sparring matches, Jeff's dedication, perseverance, and drive to improve in every class resulted in the club naming him Senior Student of the Year at our annual awards banquet.

Jeff has a love of martial arts that pours through his writing onto the pages of the books he lovingly crafts for the world. I wait with baited breath to see how his own experiences with martial arts training influence his writing, and I look forward to taking the journey of reading this book with all of you. Thank you for supporting and encouraging my student. He deserves all the success that comes his way.

-Samuel "Shmuly" Pilkinton

Head Coach, Namido St. Louis

# Prologue

December 15, 1997

Tuesday, 8:52 PM

The late model Ford Mustang pulled to a stop in the alley behind the dorm.

"What are we doing here?" demanded Shirley.

Bill leaned in and kissed her on the neck, running his fingers through her bottle-blonde hair. "I thought we could have a quick make-out session, babe."

She rolled her eyes at him and grabbed his wrist, pulling his fingers out of her hair. "I have to be home by nine. If I'm late again, my dad's gonna lock me in my bedroom for a year!"

He sighed in exasperation. "Exaggerate much?"

She shook her head, her eyes staring daggers at him. "Only a little. He's already threatened to do a little surgery on you if he catches us doing this again."

His shoulders fell in defeat. "Fine. That's somethin' I definitely don't want t'happen."

She smiled at him and turned his face toward her and kissed his lips. "Sorry."

He put the car into drive and commented, "Nine o'clock is a crazy curfew for an eighteen-year-old." He pulled out of the alley and back onto the street where her house stood merely a thousand yards behind the college.

She shrugged. "I have a reputation to keep."

He chuckled. "That you're the minister's little virgin?"

She glared at him. "My father's church wouldn't take kindly to finding out what we've been sneaking around and doing!"

"Who's gonna tell'em?" returned Bill. "I don't want'em t'know that the daughter of the minister of the biggest church in St. Charles County has been sneaking around with the public school troublemaker."

Her face softened. "That's what attracted me to you in the first place."

He shook his head. "Maybe I don't want to be a troublemaker." He pulled his car up to her parents' two-story house, shifting it into park. "Maybe I wanna show the adults I can be something more than they expect of me."

She smiled at him. "I'll believe that when I see it."

He opened his mouth to respond when a loud POP sounded from the back of his car. He swore, glancing in the rear-view mirror. "Great! I just fixed the exhaust on this thing!"

Shirley looked into the mirror on the side of her door. "You just have a flat."

He groaned as he reached under his seat, popping his trunk. Opening his door, he climbed out. "Perfect weather for changin' a tire."

She opened her door as he started digging in his trunk for a jack. "I've got to get inside. I'll see if Dad'll let me come back out and keep you company while you're fixing it."

"Okay," he responded as she jogged toward her front door.

She had reached the base of the steps—noting quietly that her father's car was gone—when she heard her boyfriend demand, "What's this?"

She turned to find him pulling an arrow from the tire. He stood, looking around. His gaze moved beyond Shirley, settling on something on top of the house. His eyes widened just as another arrow struck him in the right one, sending him falling backward to slide lifelessly down the side of his car.

Shirley opened her mouth to scream just as a shadowy figure dropped in front of her. The hate-filled orbs regarded her without mercy as it drew a short-bladed sword from a sheath at its hip and, in one motion, swiped her head from her shoulders.

* * *

As the murderer used its blade to carve the Japanese word for fornication into the back of the girl who had just been killed, it was keenly aware of the neighbor who was watching from the next house. The being smiled as the number 7, which only it could see, faded from the minister's daughter's forehead.

The owner of the body of the killer, a willing participant, asked, "Aren't we going to end the old woman, too?"

Of course not. She'll call the police and tell them about us. By the time the minister and his wife arrive home, the police will already be here. After three deaths from this same school, they will send someone to investigate. Finally, we will come to blows with the Woman of Prayer and the ninja who is her friend. At last, we will avenge our fallen brethren.

# Chapter One

December 16, 1997

Wednesday, 6:28 AM

In St. Louis's neighboring city of St. Charles, MO, off of North 94, sat the complex known as Country Club Apartments. On Glenn Abbe court, one of the apartments, 1830, housed a special tenant.

The loft had been converted into an office. On the wall over the computer were the tenant's framed high school diploma and bachelor's degree. The bookshelves were lined with books on Theology, History, and Devotionals. On the computer desk, next to a high school grade book, a massive study bible stood open to Isaiah, chapter six. On the other side of it, a notebook kept the owner's notes from her prayer time.

On the walls of the living room and the hall were pictures of friends and family, ranging from high school and through college. A small Christmas tree stood on a table next to the unlit fireplace. Next to it, on the same table, was a Nativity Scene, each piece carefully arranged around the manger.

The bedroom was sparsely furnished, with a wooden cross on the wall over the bed and an alarm clock on the table next to the bed. The clock switched to 6:30 AM and the radio came on, filling the room with words of praise.

Shawna Weston's hand gently clicked the "dismiss" button before she sat up in the bed, stretching and looking out the window with a smile. The bright, morning light that was streaming in could almost trick someone into thinking that it was warm outside on this December morning. Climbing from the bed, she continued singing the Steven Curtis Chapman song that had just been playing as she headed toward the bathroom.

After a quick shower, during which she finished out the song and another, she wiped the steam from her mirror and brushed her teeth, still humming a Christian tune. She brushed her hair next and then got dressed in her slacks and blue, button-up shirt. After applying a light amount of lipstick and mascara, she ran up the stairs into her office, grabbing her briefcase and stuffing her grade book inside. Then she knelt over her chair and prayed.

Coming back down the stairs, she grabbed her tan, heavy coat from the closet and put it on. She had just reached for the doorknob when she felt a sudden urge to grab her umbrella. A glance at the sliding glass doors that led to her balcony revealed only the bright sunlight streaming in, showing that there was no chance of rain.

Her eyes narrowed in confusion, but she was convinced that she was supposed to take the umbrella. Glancing upward, she smiled and nodded. After grabbing it, she stepped out the door and locked it behind her.

* * *

Midtowne Market, off of Elm Street, was bustling as Shawna's silver, late model Dodge Caravan pulled into the parking lot. She climbed from the driver's seat, taking note of a homeless woman digging through the dumpster next to the store.

Heading inside, she ordered an Asiago cheese-covered bagel from the bakery. Then, remembering the woman outside, she ordered a second in another bag. After grabbing two single-serve bottles of orange juice, she paid for her purchase and left the store. Coming to the dumpster, she noticed the woman still digging.

"Excuse me?" asked Shawna.

The woman looked up at her with a start. "I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I didn't think anybody could see me back here."

"I just wanted to give this to you," stated Shawna, handing her one of the bags and orange juices.

The woman eyed the food as if it were gold. "Oh, thank you!"

"I hope you like cheese," smiled Shawna.

The girl's head bobbed enthusiastically. "Yes!"

Shawna returned to her van, climbing in and heading off to work.

* * *

The front yard of Living Waters Christian High School was bustling on this sunny, frigid December morning as Shawna pulled her car into the teacher's lot and parked. As she climbed out of her vehicle, she was again overcome with the urge to grab her umbrella. Glancing at the sky, she saw not a single cloud.

But she knew that she was supposed to bring that umbrella, so she grabbed the bag with bagel and juice in her left hand, using the other to take the umbrella. She headed for the side entrance of the building.

She stopped as she noticed a note taped to it, saying, "Please use front entrance."

Her eyebrows raised in an arch as she turned toward the front of the building. As she passed students, some of them greeted her warmly. Some of them were indifferent. Some of them looked at the umbrella that she was carrying in her right hand and rolled their eyes, a few mumbling about how weird she was.

One of the students, a shy girl by the name of Justine Madeline, walked by, her dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail and two of her school books tucked into her arms. "Hi, Justine," commented Shawna. "How are you, this morning?"

Justine looked at the ground as she passed. "I'm okay."

Shawna stopped for a moment as the girl continued on her way. Something had caught her eye. But now, she could not place it. She turned to glance at Justine's back, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary now.

Suddenly, the overwhelming desire to open that umbrella shoved itself toward the front of her mind and she followed that still, small voice just as the sprinklers turned on and began dousing everyone in the school yard with freezing water.

Screeches filled the front grounds as the students and some faculty lunged at the front door. Shawna stood patiently at the bottom step, waiting for everyone else to enter first. She glanced upward and whispered, "Thank you."

She followed the last of the teachers, the math teacher, inside. He glanced at her as she flicked the water off of her umbrella back out the door just before closing it. "Why does it always seem like you know what's going to happen before it does?" he asked her.

She smiled. "I guess I'm just blessed, Mr. Garrett."

She walked past him as he took off his blazer, heading toward the back of the building. She passed the library, waiving at the students who were checking out books before class. Then she walked past the teacher's lounge, noting that it was empty.

Approaching the utility room, she noted that Mr. Harris, the assistant principal, was scolding two students. Next to them were the controls to the sprinkler system. That, and the fact that the two students were both bone dry, helped the pieces fall into place.

Shawna stopped when she noticed what appeared to be glowing numbers etch themselves on each of their heads. One boy, whose head brandished the number five, was yelling, "My old man's gonna kill me!"

The other one, with the number 3, yelled words that would make a sailor blush.

Mr. Harris, himself a Sunday School teacher, leveled a finger at the latter boy and said, "I'll not hear anything like that from you again, Johnson."

The two boys looked at Shawna and then Mr. Harris did, as well. "I have it under control, Ms. Weston," he said as he noticed her umbrella. He cocked an eyebrow, shook his head, and turned back to the students.

With one last glance at the two students, just as the numbers—which the assistant principal obviously could not see—faded away, Shawna marched quickly to her room, the History class. Setting the bagel and juice on her desk, she hung the umbrella from her coat rack. Dropping to her knees in front of her chair, she prayed, Lord, what are you trying to tell me?

# Chapter Two

Wednesday, 9:57 AM

Special Agent Derek Brewster sat at his desk in the St. Louis field office, reading through the file on the St. Charles County murders. Three of them, so far. He ran his fingers through his cropped, brown hair with a sigh. He hated having to examine the deaths of teenagers and children.

A knock sounded from his door, always seeming so loud in the small room. "It's open."

The door opened and Patrick Ross's goatee-decorated face leaned in. "My office in five." Pulling back out of the room, the team leader closed Derek's door.

Brewster sighed again, gathering his papers back into the folder.

* * *

By the time Derek arrived at Ross's office, Agent Jason Gibbs, a veteran of the bureau, was already there. He sat in one of the office chairs opposite Ross at the desk. The man always made Derek feel a little uneasy. His eyes were always alert, as if they did not want to miss anything.

"Did you bring the file?" asked Agent Ross.

Derek nodded and dropped it on his supervisor's desk. "Four deaths in just over a week."

Gibbs picked up the file and started to finger through it. "What do they have in common?"

"Until last night, they were all beheaded. And three of the four had Japanese words carved into their backs," responded Derek.

"What's different about last night?" asked Ross.

"There were two deaths last night," responded Brewster. "But only one of them was beheaded. Shirley Crank, the daughter of Bruce Crank, the pastor of Joy Church in St. Peters. The boy, Bill Meyers, was shot in the eye with an arrow."

"Skilled killer," commented Gibbs. "Given the way young Mr. Meyers was dispatched, he obviously was more of an inconvenience to the killer's main target."

"What did the Japanese words say?" asked Ross.

Gibbs stopped on a page in the folder. "The first, Joel Frost, had thief carved into his back. The second, Robert Duncan, had holiday carved in him. Ms. Crank had fornication carved there."

Ross leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in thought. "The St. Charles police department has asked us to help in the investigation. After three deaths, it's safe to say we have a serial killer here."

Derek nodded. "The three . . . beheaded students are all students of Living Waters Christian High School. Maybe we should speak with the principal there—see if any of the students have noticed anything strange. Maybe express how important safety precautions are."

Ross nodded. "You and I will head over there. Gibbs, you head to the coroner's office and have a look at the bodies."

The three of them climbed to their feet and headed out.

* * *

" . . . and so," Shawna was saying in her American History lecture, "we see the use of the term unalienable rights. Can anyone explain what that means?"

A girl in the back of the room, Rose Winston, raised her hand. After a nod from Shawna, she said, "Rights that we are born with and not given to us by a governing authority."

Shawna nodded. "Exactly. If we look just three words earlier in the document, we see that these rights were given to us by our Creator, and not the Crown. The purpose of the Declaration . . .."

The intercom interrupted her with an announcement by the assistant principal.  "Students and teachers, you are instructed to immediately attend a mandatory assembly in the gymnasium. That is all."

Shawna glanced at the speaker over the door and cocked an eyebrow. Then she glanced at the empty desk of Shirley Crank and understood exactly what the assembly was about.

With a sigh of resignation, she said, "Alright everyone. Line up at the door."

* * *

Maria Clark, the coroner, looked through the file as Jason Gibbs examined the headless body. "Was the word carved post mortem?"

She nodded at him. "The neighbor saw the killer doing it after he killed her."

"What was the cause of death?"

She looked up at him incredulously. "Generally, separating someone's head from her body does the trick."

His eyes narrowed. "Wait, you mean the beheading was not post mortem?"

She shook her head. "No."

"But he drugged her or knocked her out to give him time to do it, right?"

She stepped forward and motioned him toward the neck . . . or what was left of it. "Not at all. It was a clean cut. No jagged edges." She made a swipe of her hand through the air. "One clean cut."

Gibbs examined the wound in awe. "How strong would someone have to be to do this?"

Maria shrugged. "That's not my area of expertise. I would guess it'd depend on the sharpness of the blade. I've seen videos of terrorists in the Middle East using knives to saw a head off. But one swipe? I don't know . . .."

* * *

Shawna sat with the other teachers on the stage, watching the middle-aged man in the suit approach the podium. An overhead projector had been set up and a screen was open for whatever it was that they were going to show, but the machine was not on yet.

The man cleared his throat and spoke into the microphone. "I'm Agent Ross, with the St. Louis branch of the FBI. As you all know, three of your fellow students have been murdered over the past week and a half. Due to the coincidences of the killings, we believe that we're dealing with a serial killer."

Mr. Harris raised his hand. "What leads you to this conclusion, Agent Ross?"

"Each student was beheaded and had a Japanese word carved into his or her back," responded Ross.

A student raised her hand. "But wasn't there a second person killed last night? A different way?"

Ross nodded. "Bill Myers. However, considering the way that he was dispatched, we think that he was merely killed as an inconvenience. Ms. Crank was the true target."

'Dispatched?' thought Shawna.  'Inconvenience?' Seems such a clinical way of describing something as horrible as murder.

At that moment, she noticed Justine Madeline in the front row of the audience, moving her head to the side to try to get it away from Barry Johnson, who was tugging her ear. Shawna stared daggers at him and, when he realized that she was watching him, he stopped touching Justine, looking back at the history teacher with a sheepish grin.

Ross stepped up to the overhead projector. "Last night, we had a witness." He turned on the projector.

Shawna's heart fell into her stomach. Dressed head to toe in black, the artist's rendering showed a figure with a short, straight sword, covers for the back of the hands and split-toed boots.

Another agent—this one younger and wearing jeans and a polo-style shirt—stood from a chair behind the senior agent. He obviously had a microphone on his collar. "This is obviously not your everyday street wear. If anyone has any idea of who may own this kind of uniform, please talk with one of us after you're dismissed.

"We suggest that you all travel in pairs. This killer is singling out, thus far, attendees of this school. Keep your eyes peeled at all times and try not to leave your house, if at all possible, if you're not coming here or with your parents."

The principal dismissed the students and they began to file back to their classes. Shawna stood from her folding chair and stepped up to the projector screen, still baring that all-too-familiar figure.

The older agent stepped forward. "Excuse me, Miss . . .?"

Not taking her eyes off of the drawing, she responded, "Weston. Shawna Weston. I'm the History Teacher."

"I'm Agent Ross," he said, extending his hand. Still examining the screen, she absently shook his hand. "This is my associate, Agent Brewster."

She glanced at the younger agent and blushed. His brown eyes seemed to look into her very soul. His brown hair was neatly trimmed and well-kept. His jaw was firm and his smile warm and friendly. He was handsome, to be quite frank.

Ross cleared his throat. Shawna and Derek jumped in embarrassment. "Ms. Weston? The picture?"

She ran her fingers through her brown hair and looked back at the screen nervously. "It, uh, it looks like a ninja."

Ross glanced at Brewster, who was regarding Shawna curiously.

"A . . . ninja?" asked the junior agent. "Like from the eighties martial arts movies?"

She nodded.

"I would think it's just a man in a ski mask," suggested Ross.

"You might think so," responded Shawna. She stepped forward and pointed at the hands of the figure, leaving a shadow over its abdomen where her arm blocked the light. "But a ninja wears gauntlets over the backs of their hands like this." She pointed at the feet. "And split-toed boots. They're called tabi."

"Know a lot about ninjas, Ms. Weston?" asked Agent Ross.

Shawna chuckled. "I have a dear friend who is one."

The two men stared her in unfiltered shock.

"I'm serious," added Shawna. "He lives in Springfield and goes to SMSU."

Brewster sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Couldn't . . . uh, couldn't she have just tied in her memories of those movies with what she saw last night?"

Shawna cocked an eyebrow at him. "Was she the one who suggested those features on the picture?"

Ross nodded. "I listened to her description as she gave it."

Shawna glanced back at the screen. "How old was she?"

"I'd say in her seventies."

"And you think that a woman in her seventies . . . her sixties when the movies came out . . . would have been a fan of ninja movies?"

"You have a point," said Derek. "Who would we talk to about something like this?"

Shawna smiled. "It's about a four-hour drive to Springfield."

# Chapter Three

Wednesday, 6:02 PM

Jamie Raleigh grabbed his Bible from the kitchen table as he glanced at the clock over the stove to see the time as 6:02 PM. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the room, bringing his attention to the nearly-full coffeepot on the counter by the sink.

He shook his head with a chuckle. His roommate, Buster, would always make a full pot and drink only one cup, knowing full well that Jamie did not like coffee. The rest usually went to waste. The young minister-in-training never believed in wasting food. Coffee seemed to be a different thing, altogether.

As he switched off the pot, the doorbell rang.

He glanced curiously in the direction of the living room.  Who could that be?

Several steps brought him to the front door. Two men could be seen through the window in the door, standing on the front porch. One of the men, middle aged with a salt and peppered van dyke, wore a suit and tie. The other, slightly younger with dark hair and a serious expression, wore slacks and a button-up shirt. He also carried a manila folder.

Jamie opened the door, regarding the men with a friendly smile.

The man with the van dyke spoke first. "We're looking for Jamie Raleigh."

Jamie's eyes narrowed. "I'm Jamie Raleigh."

The two men examined him curiously. "The ninja?"

Jamie chuckled. "Well, I don't wear my uniform out on Wednesday nights."

The older man laughed good-naturedly and Jamie could have sworn that the other one had to fight to keep from cracking a smile.

The one with the van dyke reached into an inner pocket of his blazer, producing a wallet that he opened to show an identification card. "I'm Agent Ross and this is my associate, Agent Gibbs. We're with the F.B.I.. Would you mind if we have a moment of your time?"

Jamie examined the ID. It seemed legitimate. "F.B.I.?" He examined his watch to find that five minutes had not passed since he had checked the time in the kitchen. "Uh, sure . . . come on in."

Ross entered with Gibbs following and closing the front door as Jamie asked, "Could I offer you guys some coffee? My roommate always makes too much and leaves it."

"Coffee sounds wonderful," replied Ross.

"None for me, thank you," added Gibbs.

The three of them entered the kitchen and the two agents each took a seat at the kitchen table. "Were you heading out?"

Jamie grabbed a mug from the cupboard. "Chi Alpha."

"I'm not familiar with that fraternity," said Gibbs.

Jamie poured the coffee. "That's because it's not a fraternity. It's a college ministry. We usually have the meetings on Thursdays but, since tomorrow's the last day of finals—and most people will be leaving for the semester—we voted to have it tonight, instead."

"A Christian ninja?" asked Ross, as Jamie sat the cup in front of him.

Jamie smiled as he turned to grab the sugar and a bottle of powdered creamer. "Well, my sensei was a Christian, my fiancé' . . . our clan's leader . . . is a Christian, and about sixty percent of the rest of the clan are Christians. I'd say I'm in pretty good company."

He sat the creamer and sugar in front of the agent. "I'll just let you dress up your coffee the way you want it."

Ross poured some of the sugar into the cup. "Thank you."

Jamie sat in one of the empty chairs. "But, I'm guessing you guys didn't come here to discuss my religious views."

"I'm sorry to say that we didn't," commented Gibbs as Ross took a sip of the coffee. "We're investigating a series of murders in St. Charles, near St. Louis. Have you heard about it?"

Jamie sighed. "I have. It's all over the news. Do you have any leads?"

Ross turned to Gibbs, who opened the manila folder and produced a sketch. The figure, dressed head-to-toe in black, looked very familiar. Jamie chuckled ruefully. "This is why you came to see me?"

"Until last night, nobody had seen the killer," explained Ross. "Last night, a neighbor saw this person standing over the body of the last victim."

Jamie ran his fingers through his light brown hair. "It could have just been a person wearing a ski mask."

Gibbs pointed to the arm coverings and then to the split-toed boots. "She was very adamant about these."

Jamie glanced up at the agent. "My first uniform was purchased for me, by my sensei, from a mail order company that had Chuck Norris as a spokesman. They supplied the uniforms for a number of the eighties martial arts movies. You can buy any of this online now for under fifty bucks."

"Well, can you drop from the roof of a two-story house, land on both your feet and take a woman's head from her shoulders in one swipe of a sword?" asked Gibbs.

Jamie's eyes were saucers. "What?"

Gibbs nodded. "That was how the last girl was killed."

"One swipe?" asked Jamie. "Really?"

"Could you do that?" asked Ross.

Jamie sighed. "With a sharp enough sword, I could. But it took years of specialized training to get to that point."

"Do you have any finals tomorrow?" asked Ross.

"I have a religion final in the morning," replied Jamie. "But nothing after that."

"Why don't you come to St. Charles and give us a hand?" asked the senior agent. "We could use an expert."

Jamie's eyes narrowed. "What makes you think I'm an expert? We still don't know if you're dealing with a ninja."

"Shawna Weston, the History teacher at the Christian high school where three of the four murdered teens go, recommended that we come and see you," returned Gibbs.

Jamie cocked an eyebrow. "Shawna did?"

Both agents nodded.

Jamie stood. "I have a plane ticket to leave from Kansas City tomorrow night for Tokyo. My fiancé's been there this whole semester studying. I haven't seen her in four months."

Ross leaned forward. "Tell you what . . . if you give us until Sunday, we'll set you up in a hotel in St. Charles and put you in Business Class on a flight then. We're staying at the place near Walmart so we're closer to what's going on."

Jamie shook his head. "I wouldn't need a hotel. I have family in St. Charles. I was born there."

"But we'll be investigating late at night," responded Gibbs. "You wouldn't want to disrupt them."

Jamie sighed. "Let me call Yoshi."

* * *

"Hello?" came a sleepy voice from the other end of the line.

"Hey, gorgeous," said Jamie. "What time is it there?"

He could hear her rummage around with something.  "9:15 AM."

"And you're still in bed?"

"I was studying until one in the morning," responded Yoshi with a chuckle.  "Like you have never slept in."

"Hey, would it upset you if we waited a few more days for me to head to Tokyo?" asked Jamie. At the sudden silence on the other end of the line, he added, "Yoshi?"

"Why?" she asked.

"I have the F.B.I. here," responded Jamie.

"The F.B.I.? What did you do?" He could not miss the smirk in her voice.

"Became a ninja."

"I am most aware of your training. Why are they there?"

"There's a serial killer operating in St. Charles. He's killed four teens so far."

"What does that have to do with you?"

"Apparently, he's dressing in a ninja uniform and using a ninja sword to behead his victims in one swipe."

More silence. "Yoshi?"

"St. Charles? So Shawna told them about you?"

He sighed. "I'm sure she was just trying to help."

"I know. I also know that you should go."

"Are you sure?"

"We have been apart since the summer. We can survive another few days."

"Okay."

"I just hope that I do not smother you to death with kisses when you finally get here."

"I hope you do," he responded. "I love you."

He could hear a smile in her voice when she responded affectionately, "I love you, too."

* * *

"Barry!" yelled Melanie Johnson, calling out to her teenage son. "Dinner's ready!" She seated herself next to her preteen daughter and glanced across the table at her husband, Mark. "We'll wait to pray until he gets down here."

Mark nodded. "Hurry, son!"

An R-rated word came blasting down the stairs.

"Do you want your mouth washed out?" yelled Melanie back up the stairs.

"Sorry, Mom," she heard her son call out. "I dropped my math book on my foot."

"You can say a lot of other words than that one if you drop a book," was her response. Looking at Mark, she added, "If he isn't taking the Lord's Name in vain, he's giving that other word a workout."

The three of them waited patiently for a few minutes. Finally, the daughter, Paula, asked, "Mom, can we eat? I'm hungry."

Melanie sighed. "I'm going to go find out what's keeping him."

She climbed to her feet and jogged to the base of the stairs. "Barry! What's keeping you?"

There was no answer.

"Barry?"

Still no answer.

Her eyes narrowed in frustration as she ran up the stairs and down the hall, coming to a stop in front of Barry's door. She reached up and gently tapped with her knuckles.

A quick rustle of movement was followed by silence.

She took hold of the knob and turned it, pushing the door open.

Then she screamed.

Her son's head sat on his desk, the lifeless eyes staring at her in horror. His body lay in front of the window, an Asian word carved into the bare back. The curtains swayed in the breeze.

* * *

Shawna jumped to her feet with a gasp, her grade book falling from her lap and onto the floor. She set a trembling hand on the wall to steady herself. Another murder had just happened. She was sure of it.

The number 3. "Barry Johnson!" she gasped. Running across the room to the stairs that led to the loft and her office, she took the steps two at a time and rushed to her desk, throwing herself into the chair and opening her Bible to Exodus, Chapter Twenty.

# Chapter Four

Wednesday, 7:58 PM

The lights of the ambulance projected on the walls of the house and its neighbors in pulses of red and white. Agents Brewster, Ross, and Gibbs climbed from the black SUV, heading to where the St. Charles police officers were talking with the weeping parents of the newest victim.

The police chief, Matt Jordan, was talking with an elderly neighbor, who was animatedly gesturing at an open upstairs window of the Johnsons' house.

"Why don't you go talk with the police chief and that witness, Brewster?" ordered Ross.

"You got it," responded Brewster as he headed in that direction.

As he got in earshot, he caught what the elderly man was saying. " . . . jumped out of the window!"

The chief sighed and put his pen and notepad back into his pocket. "Mr. Thomas, I don't have time for this."

"I'm telling you, he jumped out of the window, flipped in the air, and landed right there!" The old man flourished his hand, moving it from the direction of the window, moving it in a circle to emphasize the flip, then ended by pointing at an area in the yard close to the drive-up mailbox.

"I'm sorry, Chief?" asked Brewster. "Could I ask the man a question?"

Jordan rubbed his eyes with another sigh. "You're wasting your time."

"You may be surprised."

The elderly man looked at Derek expectantly.

"What did the man look like?"

The older man squinted. "It's the strangest thing. He was dressed all in black and had these coverings over the back of his hands. And his boots had two toes."

Brewster's eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry. Two toes? How could you have seen that?"

The man pointed across the street. "I was standing right over there, taking out the trash. And I see real good for my age."

Derek started to say something else, when he noticed a familiar face in the crowd of onlookers. "Excuse me," he said to the officer and witness as he headed toward the History teacher.

Shawna Weston had her head bowed and her eyes, overflowing with tears, were closed as she silently mouthed words. "Ms. Weston?"

Shawna opened her eyes with a start. "Oh," she said with a sniffle, "Agent Brewster. I hadn't noticed you get here."

"You were . . . praying?" asked Derek. "I guess you really couldn't see anything with your eyes closed like that."

Shawna wiped her eyes. "Only what God shows me."

"Uh, yeah," said Derek. "What brings you here? How did you know about this? It hasn't been released to the media yet."

Shawna looked shyly away from him. "I don't think you'd believe me."

He folded his arms across his chest. "Try me."

She took a deep breath and released it. "The murderer has a theme."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Really? Enlighten me."

She held up her hand, one finger extended. "The first Japanese word was thief. 'Thou shalt not steal.' He was a known kleptomaniac." She looked him straight in the eye as she continued, lifting a second finger. "Then holiday. 'Remember the Sabbath and keep it holy.' Robert Duncan spent every Sunday morning working at his parents' grocery store." She lifted a third finger. "The third was fornication. 'Thou shalt not commit adultery.'"

"You think the killer is basing this on the Ten Commandments?" asked Derek. "How could a girl having fornication carved in her have anything to do with adultery?"

"Jesus said that looking at someone lustfully is the same as committing adultery with them," explained Shawna. "It was common knowledge that Shirley Crank and her boyfriend were sexually active, much to her father's embarrassment."

Derek rubbed the back of his neck. It was obvious that Ms. Weston was a little . . . off. He wanted to ridicule her. But the way that she locked her gaze with his as she talked made him realize that she was being truthful . . . or at least she believed that she was being truthful.

And the eyes that she locked with his were so pretty . . ..

She continued, unaware of his thoughts. "Barry Johnson had vain carved into his back. 'Thou shall not take the Lord's Name in vain.'" She shook her head. "The boy was always getting in trouble at school for swearing."

Derek snapped to attention at this last revelation. "How did you know what was carved into his back? The governor's translator just got here!"

"Am I wrong?" she asked.

He pulled the walkie-talkie from his belt. "Gibbs!" he said into it. "Has the translator told anyone what the Japanese word on Barry Johnson's back said?"

"Yes," buzzed the senior agent's voice from the speaker, "it was 'vain'."

Derek switched the walkie-talkie off, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Shawna. "How the Sam-Hill did you know that?"

Shawna's full lips pressed together in firm resolve. "God told me."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding me? I don't have time for this nonsense!"

Shawna's expression changed. Was it pity? "I didn't expect you to believe me." She turned to walk away. After a few steps, she turned back to him. "By the way, I hope your Grandmother's hip is feeling better."

Derek looked at her in shock. He opened his mouth to speak but no words would come out.

She sighed and walked away.

* * *

Shawna dropped her purse onto the couch with a sigh. Sitting next to it, she looked up. "People think I'm weird."

Her shoulders fell as she rolled her eyes. "Okay, it bothers me more that he thinks I'm weird." She shook her head. "It was so much easier being around people who knew about me. Jamie, Yoshi, Buster, Amy . . . if I said something like I told Derek tonight, they accepted it as fact."

Her eyes narrowed. "So, I'm on a first name basis with him? He didn't call me by my first name." She rubbed her eyes and turned to kneel over the couch. "Lord, I've gone three years without so much of an interest in dating. Why him? He isn't even a believer."

# Chapter Five

Thursday, 2:23 PM

Jamie's Chevrolet Cavalier exited Highway 70, turning left onto First Capital Drive. He glanced down at the Christmas card that Shawna had sent him, noting her address again. It had been awhile since he'd been to St. Charles but he remembered that Country Club Apartments was near a fast food Italian restaurant.

His stomach rumbled. He could use a plate of Fettuccine. He glanced at the clock on his radio. Shawna would still be at work until at least four. He had time to stop and eat. Maybe check out the hotel that the F.B.I. agents had set up for him.

In the opposite direction on First Capital, his aunt and grandmother lived in a house and apartment, respectively. His grandmother tended to worry easily, so he decided to not let her know that he was in town this time, given the reason for his visit.

Of course, a serial killer seemed tame to him when compared to fighting a ninja clan or battling otherworldly beings. But his grandmother never saw it that way. And he definitely didn't want to worry the sweet, elderly woman.

* * *

Derek Brewster stepped into the secretary's office. "Excuse me," he said, "is the principal available?"

She looked up from her computer screen with a smile. "Oh, Agent Brewster! I'm afraid the principal is out today. But the assistant principal, Mr. Harris, is in."

"That's fine," responded Derek. "Could I speak with him?"

She picked up the phone on her desk and pressed a button on the base. "Mr. Harris? Agent Brewster, from the F.B.I., is here and would like a word with you." She waited for him to say something, then continued, "Okay, I'll send him in."

She hung up the phone and gestured to a door to her left. "He'll see you now."

He nodded. "Thank you." He walked up to the door and opened it, stepping inside.

Mr. Harris's office was immaculately kept, with his papers stacked neatly in appropriate trays. Even his bookshelf was alphabetized.

The assistant principal was typing something on the computer. He looked up at Derek with a smile. "Please," he said, gesturing toward a chair on the opposite side of the desk, "have a seat."

Brewster nodded politely and sat.

"So," smiled Mr. Harris as he leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms, "what can I do for you?"

Derek crossed his own arms with a sigh. "I was wondering what you could tell me about your History teacher."

Mr. Harris cocked an eyebrow. "Miss Weston? Well, she graduated from Dallas Baptist University at the top of her class, finishing her Bachelor's Degree in only three years. She's strongly involved in her church and, quite frankly, one of the most intelligent people I've ever met." He smiled at Derek. "She's also single."

Derek's eyes shot up to meet those of the assistant principal. With a blush, he cleared his throat. "Actually, she asked me about my grandmother's hip. She had no way of knowing that she had to have it replaced a couple of months back."

Mr. Harris smiled. "Yes, that would be our Miss Weston."

"So you're used to this type of thing from her?"

The assistant principal leaned forward. "Let me tell you a story." He picked up a picture frame and handed it to Derek. The girl in the photo had flowing blonde hair and friendly blue eyes with a matching smile. Judging by the clothing, the photo was recent. The girl was probably in her late teens.

"She's pretty," commented Derek.

"She's my only daughter, Melissa," responded Mr. Harris.

Derek glanced back up at the other man. "What does this have to do with Miss Weston?"

The assistant principal leaned back in his chair and looked upward, lost in thought. His next words came from the mouth of a face that was filled with remembered pain. "I've known Shawna since she was in college. I recommended her for her position here. You see, I was the principal of a small elementary school that was tied to a Baptist church in Dallas for many years. I also taught Sunday School for college students at that same church. She was in that class. I remember her always being ready to pray with anyone and her knowledge of the Bible was incredible.

"When my daughter was thirteen, she was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. We were told that it was inoperable and, over the course of three tests, it kept growing. We begged God for a miracle. But my wife and I felt, without a doubt, that we were not to tell anyone else at our church about the tumor. This went against everything that we'd ever been taught but we obeyed."

"She's still alive?" asked Derek. "Your daughter?"

Mr. Harris smiled, a single tear tracing its way down his left cheek. "The night before the fourth check-up, we were having a somewhat depressed dinner, when we heard a knock at our front door. Imagine my surprise to find Miss Weston standing on our front porch with a bottle of olive oil. I didn't even know that she knew my address.

"She told me that she felt led to anoint our daughter and pray for her." Mr. Harris looked pointedly at Derek. "Remember that we hadn't told anyone from our church about the tumor, so Shawna had no way of knowing.

"Anyway, I allowed her in and she walked directly into the dining room, opened the bottle, used the oil to trace a cross on Melissa's forehead, and began praying." Mr. Harris shook his head. "I can't begin to describe the feeling in that room as she lifted words of praise and supplication to the Lord." He shivered. "Everyone was in tears.

"After the prayer was over, she hugged Melissa and my wife. She told us everything was going to be okay." He shook his head. "Then she gave her farewells and left." He focused his gaze on Derek. "We went to bed that night and I slept better than I had in months."

Mr. Harris climbed to his feet and began pacing behind his desk. "The next morning, we took her to the doctor for her next test. After checking the results, they ran the tests again." He smiled. "Every trace of the tumor was gone." The principal glanced Heavenward. "God had answered our prayer as only He could."

"So," said Derek, "you're saying Shawna's some kind of faith healer?"

Mr. Harris sat back in his chair. "I'm not suggesting that she's some televangelist who will send you a healing cloth if you mail her fifty dollars to help pay for her private jet." He folded his arms across his chest. "I'm suggesting that she's the real deal who does what the Lord tells her to do and doesn't make a public spectacle of it."

* * *

Shawna sat quietly, grading the test in front of her. The subdued whispering of the students usually did not bother her. However, they were getting louder. "Okay, guys," she said aloud, "quiet down. There are still people taking their tests."

The whispering quieted to almost nothing. Then the loudspeaker spoke.

"Attention, Students. Due to the recent . . . tragedies . . . the school board has decided to cancel school tomorrow. Please stay safe with your families."

A collective cheer went up from the students. Shawna could hear the same cheer coming from the surrounding classrooms.

She sighed in frustration. Four deaths and the students were happy about a day off of school. And it would have been the last day before Christmas break, anyway.

The sound of whispering floated to her ears. She looked up toward the back of the room to see John Morgan, the second student who had set off the sprinklers the previous day, speaking with Tanya Ogle, her blue metallic-colored bangs barely covering the number 1.

"My parents are gonna be gone all weekend," she was saying to him with a flirty wink

Like the day before, the number glowed on his forehead. "My parents couldn't care less where I am." He quietly crinkled a piece of paper and tossed it at Justine Madeline, who sat quietly, her hair down and covering her eyes but trailing off to leave her mouth and nose uncovered. The girl, her lips moving silently, did not even register that the paper wad had hit her.

Tanya flipped her hair, grabbing a mirror and looking at it. "What do you think?"

Obviously realizing that he was not going to get a rise out of Justine, John smiled at Tanya. "It looks great. Why did you color it again?"

She shrugged. "You know how much I love my hair. Now it glows under a black light."

His eyes narrowed. "You're puttin' me on."

She shook her head. "Am not. I'll show you tonight at the party."

The numbers on their foreheads flared, then disappeared.

Shawna released a breath that she did not know that she had been holding, just as the bell rang to announce the end of the last class of the day.

# Chapter Six

Flashback

July 17, 1992

Friday, 7:26 AM

She opened her eyes. She was lying in a comfortable bed, surrounded by a see-through canopy. There were no windows in here and the only light was coming from several torches in sconces on the walls. Each wall was made of worked stone.

She climbed out of the bed, a shiver running up her spine as her feet touched the stone floor. To the side of the bed, a table held a box and a note. She picked up the note and read it:

Beloved One,

Though I adore the childish clothing with the bird on the tunic, one must really understand that it is not truly fitting for a queen. Please accept the gift in this box as a token of my affection.

Yours Always,

Tarent

She wracked her brain to remember how she had gotten here. She remembered a party. At . . . Deck's house? She had argued with . . . Jamie?

She sat on the edge of the bed and cradled her head in her hands.  What's wrong with me? I don't recognize these names. Who am I?

Tears began to form in her eyes.

You are loved by the Creator of the Universe. She started at the voice. It had not been verbal. But it had been real, nonetheless. "I'm loved by the Creator," she whispered back. The Creator loved all of His children equally. She knew that. But He had different purposes for each of them. And she knew that, to come to terms with what His Will was for her, she would soon go through a Refiner's Fire.

She reached out and picked up the box from the table, lifting the top off of it. A red robe of pure velvet lay inside, decorated in a number of moons and stars. She instinctively knew that this was the beginning of her test. Would donning the robe be a failure of the first part?

She looked down at her top . . . the note called it a tunic. But that was not the proper word. There was a cartoon bird on this . . . shirt. Yes, that was the word.

Looking back at the robe that was in the box, she concluded that the Creator's will would be done, regardless of what she did here. With a sigh of resignation, she set the box on the bed next to her and pulled her shirt off . . ..

# Chapter Seven

December 17, 1997

Thursday, 4:43 PM

The three FBI agents sat around the table in Ginghams restaurant, each nursing a cup of coffee and looking at his notepad.

"So the Johnsons' neighbor gave an identical description to the one given to us by the neighbor of the Cranks," commented Ross.

Derek nodded. "Right down to the drop to the ground from an unusual height."

Gibbs sat his notepad on the table with a sigh. "What did you say about Ms. Weston being there?" he asked Brewster.

The junior agent cleared his throat. "She suggested a pattern."

Ross's eyes widened. "Really?"

"She thinks that the deaths are related to the Ten Commandments."

Gibbs's eyes narrowed. "If you tie them into New Testament interpretations, I guess that makes sense."

Brewster's eyes regarded the older agent's face hopefully. "That's how she explained it."

Gibbs took a sip of his coffee. "She seems to know exactly what we need each time we speak with her."

Brewster's face fell again. Was it too coincidental? Deciding to change the subject, he asked, "When are we supposed to meet this expert of yours?"

Ross set his coffee cup on the table. "He's supposed to meet us at the hotel at six. He wants to take care of some other business first."

* * *

Jamie knocked on the door to the apartment.

From somewhere inside, he heard a familiar, feminine voice shout, "Just a sec!" He smiled as he heard the light footsteps padding to the door. After two clicks that he figured were locks, the door opened to reveal the pretty brunette that he had dated in high school. Her brown eyes settled on him and widened. "Jamie!" She threw her arms around his neck with a smile.

He returned the embrace. "You were the first person I wanted to see when I got here," he responded.

"Come in!" she said as she grabbed his wrist, gently pulling him inside and shutting the door. "What brings you across state?"

"You don't know?"

Shawna stared at him blankly for a moment, her smile fading. Then she slowly nodded. "Agent Ross and Agent Gibbs asked you to come here to help with the murder investigation."

He nodded. "Because you told them about me."

"You seemed to be the best person to suggest, given the situation."

He chuckled. "I don't mind helping."

She nodded. "I know. I'm sorry you're having to put off the trip to . . . Japan? . . . for a few days."

"How did you know . . .?" Jamie stopped himself. "Never mind."

She smiled. "How is Yoshi?"

"She's good. She's going to be able to run the toy corporation from our house in Sera, after we get married."

Shawna gestured to her couch. "Sit down. I want to hear all about the wedding plans!"

He sat on one end of the couch and she sat on the opposite end, tucking her bare feet beneath her. "There's not really much to tell," he responded. "We've set the date for May of 1999."

"Why wait so long?" asked Shawna. "You graduate in May of 1998."

He nodded. "But she doesn't graduate for another year."

She chuckled. "And you both want to have your degrees before you walk the aisle."

He nodded. "My mom and dad want us to have the wedding here."

Shawna cocked an eyebrow. "In Saint Charles?"

He nodded again. "I have a lot of family here and Yoshi has some childhood friends who live across the river in St. Louis County." He cocked his head to the side. "She said you turned her down to be a bridesmaid."

She looked down at her lap with a sad smile. "It doesn't seem appropriate, considering our past."

"You're my friend," he returned. "And hers. We really want you there."

She looked up at him. "I will be. Just not in the wedding party."

"You are, at least, going to be in Buster and Amy's wedding this summer?"

She rolled her eyes with a smile. "I have to be. I'm the Maid of Honor."

"It's the second time you've held that title, after Dave and Laura's wedding."

She climbed from the couch. "Can I get you something to eat?"

He shook his head. "I ate at that Italian place up the road."

She stuck her tongue out in a playful gesture of gagging. "You'd rather go to an Italian fast food restaurant than have me cook for you?"

"It wasn't so bad," he replied. "The pizza sauce was pretty good."

"At least take a glass of orange juice," she said over her shoulder as she headed into the kitchen, which connected with the living room.

"Okay," he responded. Looking around the room, his eyes settled on the small Christmas tree on the mantle over her fireplace. "Small tree," he commented.

She laughed. "Mom got me that. It's just me, so it's not like there are lots of presents to go under it."

He took in each picture on the wall. Without exception, he recognized everyone in them. "Are you seeing anybody?" He immediately regretted asking the question.

She sat two glasses on the counter and poured the juice. "No. Between work and church, I really don't have much time."

He nodded uncomfortably. He had wondered, ever since they had broken up during their Senior year of high school, if she was meant to be alone. He hoped not.

She handed him the glass. "How are Buster and Amy doing?"

He smiled. He knew she spoke with her cousin almost every day. "Tomorrow, Deck and Elvara are coming to get them for a couple of weeks."

Her smile faded. "They're really going to go to Thera as missionaries?"

He nodded. "Does that bother you? I thought you were okay with it."

She sighed. "I . . . I know it's God's plan for them. I just . . . I've been remembering my first time there. A lot."

"It was a pretty difficult time for all of us."

"No, not after you rescued me."

Jamie's eyes widened in shock. "You're remembering your time with . . . him?"

She nodded. "I think God's wanting me to understand something about it. I've often wondered just what all he did to me when I was brainwashed."

"Do you think he . . .?"

Her eyes matched his. "No!" She looked down at her hands, examining the glass . . . the way the juice inside trembled slightly. "I can tell that I'm still a virgin. But that doesn't mean that he didn't do other things to me. I need to know, if God ever means for me to be with somebody, that I've saved all of myself for him."

* * *

Derek slid the key into the knob and turned it. As the click announced that his door was now unlocked, he heard a voice call out to him.

"Are you the other F.B.I. agent?" He looked down the hall to see a brown-haired young man, maybe a year or two younger than him, walking in his direction from the elevator.

"Yes," he responded. "I'm Agent Brewster. Can I help you?"

The other man approached him and held out his hand. "Agents Ross and Gibbs asked for me to come."

"Oh, the expert," responded Derek. He appraised Raleigh as he shook his hand. He looked to be in relatively good health. He probably worked out regularly. Something about the glasses seemed out of place on this so-called ninja.

"The name's Jamie Raleigh," said the youth. "And I'm at your disposal."

"All right then," replied Derek, "let me grab my flashlight and we'll head to the scene of the latest murder."

* * *

The shadow dropped silently onto the balcony of the second story apartment. Through the vertical shades that blocked the sliding glass door, the two allies could see the woman of prayer sitting at her kitchen table, her grade book open as she silently went over one student's test.

"Are you sure we should deal with her now?" asked the host. "We still have five more to take before my release and reward."

She has accomplished her goal, replied the presence within.  She got the ninja to come here. Once we've ended this prophetess, we will be able to avenge the deaths of my two followers . . . Tarent and Ladvia.

The host reached out, gently touching the cold glass of the sliding door. "And you'll let me go to this other world with you? Thera?"

Of course, replied the presence.  You will be all powerful there.

The host tried to get a good look at the teacher who was sitting at the table. "But Ms. Weston isn't like those other hypocrites. She really does seem to love all of her students."

She is too dangerous to be allowed to live! The host could feel the infernal heat of the presence within.  It is obvious that you will not have the strength to kill her. It matters not. I will go in without you. You will wait here until I return. Meditate on why I'm leaving you at the moment.

The host sat on the frigid wood of the balcony, eyes closing as the mouth opened under the mask. The presence began wafting forth from deep within . . . like a black cloud of tar. The stench of burning sulfur filled the air as the cloud seeped through the slightest cracks between the door and its track . . ..

* * *

The CD player began belting out the Newsboys' song, Shine. The upbeat synthesizers that announced the beginning of the song brought a smile to Shawna's tired face. She loved the song, despite its somewhat strange lyrics. It was clean and cheerful and glorified the Savior and that was what really mattered to her.

She counted off the mistakes on the paper that she was grading. "Three mistakes gives you an eighty-five, Justine," she said aloud, writing the percentage on the upper right corner of the first page.

She glanced into her living room, taking note that she had left her mug of tea on the end table next to her couch. With a sigh, she climbed to her feet and padded over to grab it.

She had wanted to go with Jamie to help with the investigation. She was confident that there was something going on that was much more than a mundane murderer. Something otherworldly . . . not of flesh and blood. But she did not want to seem too eager. First of all, Derek already thought that she was certifiable. That was not how she wanted him to view her. And, second, from a worldly perspective, she did not want them to begin wondering how she was coming up with all of her information.

She leaned over the end table and slid her fingers into the handle of the cup when she was suddenly overwhelmed by the stench of rotten eggs.  Yuck!

The ever so slight sound of metal against wood—the sound of a knife freeing itself from her cutting block—caught her attention next. The sizzling of something burning was overshadowed by the still, small Voice ordering her to DUCK!

Shawna dropped to the floor as her butcher knife sailed overhead, burying itself—up to the handle—in the wall over the fireplace, narrowly missing the small Jesus statuette that stood on the mantle. Turning so that she was sitting on her rear on the floor, she took in her attacker and her eyes bulged in horror.

What was standing next to her kitchen counter was unlike anything that she had ever encountered before. It had the countenance of a man, with the same basic layout, although no specific features—aside from glowing red lights for eyes and a cavernous hole for a mouth—could be discerned. That mouth closed into a straight, gray line as its ethereal hand reached out, grabbing a steak knife from the cutting block. As it took aim at her, the hand faded and reformed itself and she realized that it was translucent. The mouth curved into a wicked smile as the eyes flared.

She could feel its words, rather than hear them.  YES! I WILL SEND YOU FROM THIS WORLD! LOOK ON ME WITH FEAR! LOOK ON ME AND DESPAIR!

Then her Constant Companion spoke opposing words into her mind.  Greater is He who is in you, than he who is in the world!

All fear fled as Shawna leapt to her feet. The being who was threatening her lowered the knife, as its form slightly shimmered.

"IN THE NAME OF JESUS OF NAZARETH, WHO CONQUERED YOU AND YOUR KIND WHEN HE STEPPED FORTH FROM THE TOMB, I COMMAND YOU TO LEAVE HERE!!!" Shawna's words were strong and sure. Her eyes glared at the thing. "I AM WASHED IN THE BLOOD OF THE LAMB AND I STOMP ON YOU, UNCLEAN SPIRIT!!!" She slammed her right foot on the carpet for emphasis.

As the being stood, frozen in place, its red eyes faded to barely noticeable pinpoints of light.

"We will stop you, by the glory of my King!" asserted the prophetess. "But, for now, leave this apartment and never return, demon!"

A ripple rose through the creature as it shivered in place. Finally, it faded from sight and the knife fell to the kitchen floor with a clang.

Behind her, she heard something moving on her balcony. With the courage that could only have been given to her by the Creator Himself, she ran to the shades and pulled them aside to see a figure, dressed from head to toe in the familiar uniform of the ninja, leap over the ledge and drop one story down. The person landed on both feet and ran into the darkness of the night.

She placed her hand on the wall next to the sliding door and closed her eyes, resting her forehead on the cool glass. "Thank You, Jesus." Then she opened her eyes again and glanced in the direction of the fireplace, her eyes settling on the handle of her butcher knife. A black handprint was burned into the wood, she realized as a shudder ran up her spine.

# Chapter Eight

Thursday, 7:15 PM

Jamie climbed from the black SUV. Looking up at the sky, he could barely make out the stars, as they were drowned by the light from the streetlamps. He had no doubt that anyone could have had a good view of the killer making his escape.

The young ninja glanced at Derek, climbing out of the driver's seat, and asked, "He saw him jump from a window in the front of the house?"

Derek nodded. "The neighbor insisted on it."

"Which window?"

Derek pointed to one right over the front door. It was on the second story. "He said the killer jumped out of the window, flipped in midair, and landed over there." The junior agent was pointing to an area of the yard that was at least thirty feet from the house, almost at the street.

"Could we go inside?" asked Jamie. "I'd like to judge the distance from where he would have had to have jumped."

Brewster nodded. "The family's staying with relatives . . . understandable, really."

Jamie nodded uncomfortably. "I can understand that."

They made their way to the front door and Derek produced a key and let them in. He led Jamie to the stairs and the two of them headed to the second floor. At the end of the hall, they stopped in front of a room with crime scene tape across it.

"I just want to warn you that they haven't cleaned up the blood," stated Brewster.

Jamie nodded. "I've seen more than my fair share of blood in my life."

Derek tore the tape from the door and opened it. The familiar, sickening coppery smell wafted out. Jamie sighed and stepped into the darkened room. He heard Brewster flip the light switch and the room was bathed in soft light. Jamie's jaw set in anger as he noticed the blood covering the carpet in front of the computer desk, along with the computer, itself.

"His mother found him," said Derek simply.

Jamie nodded. "I can't imagine the horror that she must have felt, seeing him there."

"She was inconsolable."

Jamie sighed again, then turned to the window. "The killer jumped from this window?"

Derek nodded. "Apparently just before the mother entered the room."

Jamie walked to the window and slid it open. Looking out into the yard, he commented, "It's definitely well lit. I don't doubt that the person would have been seen."

"Do you think it was a ninja?"

Continuing to examine the distance from the house, and choking back the slight speeding of his heart due to his acrophobia, Jamie answered, "If it was, he wasn't a very good one."

Derek walked over to stand next to Jamie. "Why do you say that?"

Jamie took a step back from the window, barely covering a sigh of relief. "To the clans that were trained in assassination, the darkness was their ally. They would never have done this in such a well-lit situation. And you said that the last murder was easily seen?"

Derek nodded.

Jamie glanced back out of the window. "Whoever this was, he wanted to be seen."

Derek looked out the window. "Could you jump from here to the road?"

Jamie chuckled. "Even if I weren't scared of heights, I wouldn't be able to make it without help. Some ninja could hide small gliders on themselves . . .."

"The neighbor said he did a flip in the air," interrupted Derek.

Jamie judged the distance from the house and the street. "Only one?" He shook his head. "Jumping from this window and landing that far out in the yard isn't humanly possible. That's nearly thirty-five feet. The record is an Olympic athlete who jumped just under thirty—and he had a pretty good running start."

Jamie jumped at a ringing sound that came from Derek. The agent snapped open a pouch on his belt and produced a cell phone. Flipping the mouth cover open, he answered, "Brewster."

Jamie watched Derek's eyes widen. "Yeah, Jamie's here with me. We'll be right there." He snapped the phone shut.

Jamie regarded the agent curiously. "What?"

"Ms. Weston was just attacked in her apartment."

# Chapter Nine

Flashback

July 17, 1992

Friday, Noon

The morning had gone quietly. She had answered a knock at her chamber door to find a plate of fruit for her to eat for breakfast. Before eating, she had felt inspired to talk to the Creator of the Universe, who had told her that He loved her. Instinctively, she had known to bow her head and simply speak.

The conversation, which took place quietly within, had revealed her name . . . Shawna. She also came to a much stronger conclusion that she was going to go through that Refiner's Fire—which would lead her to her ultimate destiny. Other than that, she had learned nothing else.

After eating the delicious –but unfamiliar—fruit, she had climbed back into the bed and closed her eyes.

She now opened them with a start at a man's voice. "Beloved." The man who stood over her was significantly older than her. A long, gray beard grew from his face and he wore a robe similar to the one that he had given her, although his was white.

She examined him closely. Though he was smiling, the man's eyes examined her as a hungry man might view a steak. His lips parted and a pale tongue came forth to lick them. He bowed to her, outstretching a silk-gloved hand. "Beloved," he repeated.

Her breath caught in her throat as pinpoints of light glowed deep within his eyes. She could not force herself to look away. "Be . . . beloved?" She climbed from the bed, and took a hesitant step toward him.

"Yes, I am Tarent, Lord of Skull Keep." He kept his hand steadily outstretched. "And your betrothed."

In the back of her mind, this seemed inaccurate. Her heart belonged to another. But, she had ended that relationship with . . ..

As she looked into the piercing, magnetic eyes of this man, she could not think of the name of the other boy. It did not matter.

Her hand met his. Under the glove, it felt cold and rough. But, at that moment, it was life, itself. She would NEVER willingly break that grip. This Tarent was now her whole world.

He brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed it. She wanted so much more from him. A base desire shoved itself to the front of her mind, one that involved the removal of the robes.

As if reading her mind, he flashed a toothy grin. "All in good time, my love. It must come after the wedding."

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing her lips to his. Though she unnaturally ached for him, she knew that he would not take her in that way . . . not now. For now, she would be content forgetting her past, getting lost in the hellish warmth of his embrace.

A blending of light and darkness . . ..

# Chapter Ten

December 17, 1997

Thursday, 7:46 PM

Jamie outdistanced the F.B.I. agent as he charged up the stairs outside of Shawna's apartment. He passed her neighbor's door—with its single decoration of a Santa Clause holding his belly as he silently laughed—and skidded to a halt outside of his ex-girlfriend's apartment. Pounding on the door he yelled, "Shawna! We're here!"

He could hear footsteps run to the door just before it was flung open and she flung herself into his arms.

Jamie hugged her back. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she responded. "I chased it off."

"It?" asked Brewster.

Shawna and Jamie glanced at the F.B.I. agent, who was regarding them curiously. Jamie was startled as Shawna quickly extracted herself from his arms.

"I . . . I'll show you inside," commented the prophetess.

Jamie waited for Shawna and Derek to step inside before he followed. Was that jealousy in the agent's eyes? And the way that Shawna had jumped away from him?

His eyes widened with joy at the realization. It made sense. With Shawna's revisiting of her suppressed memories from Thera and her fear of Brewster seeing her being affectionate toward him. She was interested in this man! And, judging from Derek's look of jealousy, the feeling may just be reciprocated.

"I haven't moved anything since it left," Shawna was saying.

"You keep saying it," responded Derek. "Was it some kind of animal?"

Shawna stopped and looked the agent in the eye, her own eyes betraying her worry at what she was about to say. "It was a demon."

Derek's shoulders slumped as he rolled his eyes. "You dragged us away from a crime scene for this?!"

Jamie stepped around Derek and sniffed the air. "Did you burn eggs?"

Shawna, not taking her eyes off of Derek, answered, "No. It smelled like sulfur."

"Sulfur?" asked Derek. "Like brimstone?"

Shawna nodded, still trying to keep eye contact with him.

He doesn't believe her, realized Jamie.  I can't really blame him. If we hadn't been through so much with her . . ..

His thoughts were halted when he noticed the handle of the knife sticking out of the wall over the fireplace. "Did it throw that knife at you?"

Derek broke eye contact with Shawna to glance at Jamie in irritation. "You're not buying this, are you?"

Jamie pointed at the wall above the mantle in frustration. "Look!"

Derek followed Jamie's gaze to the knife. "What the . . .?"

The two men walked up to the handle, which they could both now see had a hand print burned into it. Derek pulled a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of his coat and put them on, then grabbed the handle of the knife and pulled.

It would not budge.

"What's this wall made of?" he demanded.

"Brick," replied Shawna. "It's a chimney."

He cocked an eyebrow at her, then leaned down, sticking his head inside the cold fireplace. "You never use it?"

Shawna shook her head. "I had specifically requested an apartment without one. They're less expensive. When the property manager realized that they'd given me the wrong floor-plan, he said they would just charge me for the other one if I didn't use the fireplace."

Derek reached into his coat pocket again, this time producing a small flashlight and switching it on. Flashing it up the fireplace his eyes widened. "Whatever threw that knife put it completely through the brick! The blade is sticking halfway through."

Jamie smiled at Shawna's vindication. "The strength that it would have taken to stick that through layers of brick would have been tremendous."

Derek straightened to his full height and sighed. His eyes searching Shawna's again, he finally said, "Maybe you should start at the beginning."

* * *

Shawna had made the two men some hot tea as she had relayed everything from her day, even mentioning the party about which she had heard the students speaking at school. Now the three of them were sitting around her small kitchen table.

Derek shook his head in frustration. "So, you're telling me that a demon is behind this? Like Exorcist-type stuff?"

Shawna nodded.

"Why?"

Jamie finished a sip of his tea and set it on the table. "The goal of a demon is to corrupt. He's corrupting a human host, all the while killing adolescents who it feels are not redeemed, sending them to an eternity of Hell."

Derek had picked up his tea to take a drink but now put it back down. "A Christian ninja?"

Jamie chuckled. "I think I had this conversation with your two teammates when they came to recruit me for this case."

Derek pulled his phone from his pocket and flipped it open. Dialing a number, he waited until someone answered on the other end. "Ross! Ms. Weston overheard some of the students talking about a party tonight." He waited while the senior agent said something. "Yeah, apparently the parents are out of town."

Jamie glanced across the table to find Shawna staring intently at the agent. He smiled.

She glanced at him and mouthed What?

He just shook his head.

Derek continued. "It's the only lead we've got. If this guy's killing students from this school, it might be too good an opportunity to pass up." He nodded, as if the agent could see him. Then glancing at Shawna, he whispered, "What's the address?"

"5059 Castle Douglas Drive," she responded.

He repeated the address to Ross. "Yeah, we'll meet you there." He closed the phone and glanced at Jamie. "Feel like a little stakeout?"

Jamie stood. "You bet."

Derek looked at Shawna. "Given what you've been through tonight, I'm inclined to bring you with us."

She smiled shyly. "I'm safe from demons here."

"But there was a possible ninja—of flesh and blood—working with said demon," said Jamie. "I agree with him. You're coming along."

* * *

As the SUV pulled into the subdivision, Jamie glanced back at Shawna. She had headphones on, probably listening to Contemporary Christian music. Her eyes were closed and her lips moved silently as she prayed.

"Isn't this St. Peters?" he asked the agent.

Derek nodded. "From what I understand, students from as far out as Wright City go to her high school."

"I guess it's a good school," commented Jamie.

Derek glanced in the rearview mirror, apparently checking to see if Shawna was listening. "What's up with you and Sha . . . Ms. Weston?"

Jamie cocked an eyebrow at him. "We're just friends."

Derek took his eyes off of the road long enough to glance at Jamie. "You were too affectionate to be 'just friends'."

Jamie chuckled. "Shawna and I dated for a while in high school but God had other plans. I'm marrying the jonin of our clan in a year and a half."

"You guys seem to talk about God a lot," said Brewster.

Jamie nodded. "He's seen us through more than you can possibly imagine."

Derek turned on to Castle Douglas Drive. The houses were all large and quite beautiful in this subdivision, with beautiful Christmas lights shining from most of them. "My mom's big into Jesus, too. I guess there's something in the Bible about not dating someone who isn't a Christian?"

"Yeah," responded Jamie. "Paul instructed the church to not be unequally yoked." He looked at the agent. "He said it was like the light having communion with darkness." His eyes narrowed. "I think that was in one of his letters to the Corinthians." He jerked his head toward the back seat and suggested, "Shawna could probably tell you which one."

"No!" snapped Brewster, a little too quickly. He cleared his throat and said, "I . . . was just curious." He frowned. "As I said, I was raised by Christian parents. But I stopped going to church in high school."

Jamie shrugged. "That's kind of how it happened with me, too. My mom prayed for me for a long time. I think the only reason she agreed to let Master Funakoshi train me was because he was a Christian, too. But all the parental—and sensai-ish, if I may coin a word—proselytizing in the world won't do a thing if Jesus doesn't make Himself real to you."

"So, Shawna was a Christian when the two of you started dating?"

Jamie's eyes narrowed in thought. "She strongly professed to be. But I don't think that God really made Himself real to her until the following summer."

"How do you know?"

Jamie glanced over his shoulder at Shawna, still praying. "I think you should ask her about that, sometime."

The SUV came to a stop in front of a two-story, brick house with beautifully kept hedges. "Well, we're here."

Jamie looked around. "Where are Agents Gibbs and Ross?"

"They should be here soon," responded Brewster. "They were at the hotel when I called."

# Chapter Eleven

Thursday, 9:23 PM

The Ricky Martin song, about living the crazy life with an amoral woman, blared through the house. The overhead lights were all off, leaving the living room, which was the designated dance room, illuminated only by a strobe light that sat on the coffee table.

The hostess of the party was not here, however, as Tanya and John had moved up the stairs and into her bedroom and were now kissing passionately on her bed.

A black light in this room illuminated John's white shirt . . . and the blue metallic hue of Tanya's hair shined, as well, giving her the appearance of some obscure anime character.

She pulled back from him and he ran his fingers through the hair. "Wow, this is hot," he whispered breathlessly.

"Didn't believe me that it'd glow, did you?"

"No, but it looks freakin' awesome!"

She leaned back down, their lips meeting again as his hand slid under the back of her shirt . . ..

* * *

Shawna's head lay on the cool glass of the back-passenger's window, the lyrics of In the Light, by DC Talk, singing to her from her headphones. She looked toward the front seat to find Jamie and Derek talking animatedly. They were so similar in build and attitude. Derek reminded her so much of Jamie when she had first talked with him about Jesus during the Waruiyatsu invasion. He was skeptical but not hostile. Not truly an atheist but more of an agnostic who had a preconceived, non-Biblical view of God.

Maybe that was a good sign for Derek. After all, Jamie had come to a saving faith that weekend. If Jesus could save a ninja . . ..

Exhaustion at what she had been through that night began to overtake her and she let her eyes drift closed.

The numbers one and five shoved themselves into her mind. In the sleep-misted fog of her mind, she tried to remember what was so special about them. She had seen the two numbers earlier in the day. But where?

Her eyes opened in horrified realization. "We have to get in that house!" she snapped as she grabbed her door handle with her left hand and pulled the headphones off of her head with the right.

Jamie whirled around in his seat. "What? Why? What's going on?"

"There are at least two students in there who are in danger!" She flung the door open and leaped from the SUV, not bothering to close her door.

* * *

Jamie's eyes caught the widened eyes of Agent Brewster as Shawna charged across the street. "I know you can't go in without probable cause, or something like that. But I'm not an agent." He opened his door. "Call your partners! I'm going with her!"

He did not give the agent time to react as he jumped out of the SUV and slammed his door. "Shawna!" he yelled. "Wait up!"

She stopped and looked at him impatiently. "They're going to kill Tanya Ogle and John Morgan!"

Jamie reached her side and they jogged, side-by-side, toward the front door. "Why those two?"

"Tanya's vain and worships her appearance, so she's breaking the First Commandment," explained Shawna, huffing as they moved. "John consistently disrespects his parents, saying all sorts of horrible things about them, despite the fact that they spoil him rotten."

They came to a stop at the door. A Will Smith song blared from within.

"I doubt they'll be able to hear the doorbell over that music," suggested Jamie.

Shawna pressed the button anyway. The two of them could not hear it outside.

Jamie shook his head and grasped the doorknob, turning it and pushing the door open. He grimaced as the music got much louder.

He stepped in first and motioned for her to stay behind him. They were in a dark hallway. Off to their right, they could see that more than a dozen adolescents were dancing in the living room. A strobe light flashed in pulses, giving the two young adults a view of the celebration every other second.

Shawna looked over the students. "They're not here," she yelled to Jamie, unheard by the students over the music.

He looked down the hall, noting another room up ahead to the right, the light from which illuminated the base of a set of stairs leading up to the second floor. "Maybe in there?" He looked back at her. "Or upstairs?"

She nodded and they moved down the hall, glancing in the kitchen and taking note of six students, all boys, drinking a suspicious amber liquid from disposable cups. One of them, a basketball player by the name of Billy, saw the two of them and, when his eyes settled on Shawna, he nearly choked on his beer.

"Drink much?" asked another basketball player, this one named Peter.

"More than he should be at his age!" snapped Shawna. As they had moved away from the living room—and its blaring stereo—these boys heard her loud and clear.

"Miss Weston!" This one's name was Jack.

"You six kids pour that beer out and get home before I call your parents!" ordered Shawna.

The six boys hastily emptied their cups into the sink and charged out of the room. The two adults watched them run past the living room and disappear out the front door.

Their eyes met. "I guess we're heading upstairs," commented Jamie.

* * *

Derek saw the front door to the house open and six youth charge out. He could hear them yelling some rather unkind things about Shawna.

Was that all of the students at the party? he wondered.  Surely not.

Movement to his left caught his attention. He thought he saw a dark, human shape disappear behind a small tree. But that could not be the case. There was no way that a person could hide behind this particular tree. He could have wrapped one hand around the trunk.

"You must need some coffee," he suggested to himself with a chuckle.

Then the human-sized shadow materialized from behind that tiny tree and shot toward the party house. He realized, to his shock, that it was moving far faster than any person that he had ever seen. It was as if it appeared next to the tree and then was in the yard of the house. His eyes were saucers and his breath caught in his throat as it leaped from the front lawn up to the side of the house, next to a second-story window.

He reached for his door handle, taking his eyes from it for a fraction of a second as he grabbed his gun from the console between the seats. When he looked back, that upstairs window was open and the shadow was nowhere to be seen.

"Shawna!"

* * *

"I've gotta drain the lizard," commented John.

"What?" demanded Tanya. "Now?"

His lips widened into a sheepish grin. "When nature calls . . .."

She rolled off of him with an angry sigh. "Fine. Go. You've killed the mood, anyway . . .."

He climbed from the bed and leaned over to kiss her, but she turned her face from him. His shoulders slumped and he turned away from her and opened the door to the room. Music wafted in from downstairs as he stepped into the hall.

I'm gonna be a virgin forever, she thought as she pinched a few strands of her hair between her thumb and forefinger, taking comfort in the softness.

A loud thud echoed down the hallway. Her eyes shot toward the door and she quietly climbed to her feet and padded to the door of her room.

When she glanced into the hall, her heart fell into her stomach.

A shadowy figure was standing over the still form of her boyfriend, carving something into his back with the blade of a sword.

Her lips trembled as she noted the oval form of his head, laying five feet away. As her heart crashed against the cage of her chest, she struggled to control her breathing. Various thoughts shot through her head as she backed away from the door, slowly closing it and hoping beyond hope that whoever had just murdered John had not noticed her.

She turned to her window and ran up to it, sliding it open. A blast of icy air blew in but couldn't make her shiver any more than her terror was already doing, at the moment. She started to climb out when a sliver of rational thought shoved itself forward.  What am I going to do, jump? She looked at the ground, frustrated by the lack of soft snow on this frigid, December evening.

The sound of footsteps moving toward her room tore her attention from the ground outside. Without a thought, she ducked under her bed a fraction of a second before her bedroom door swung open.

Her terror-filled eyes watched as a pair of feet walked into her bedroom, only illuminated by the light coming in from the bathroom at the end of the hall. This person was dressed in completely dark colors, not standing out in the black light.

She covered her mouth with her right hand to stem the sound of her breathing, which—to her—sounded like a tornado under the bed. She lost sight of the feet as they stepped into the shadows at her window. She could only guess that the person was looking out to see if she had been able to strum up the courage to jump.

The steps moved to her closet door on the far side of the room as the person flung it open, grasping things and throwing them out into the center of the room in an apparent attempt to see if she was hiding in there.

Then the room went silent. For what seemed like an eternity, the only sound that she could hear was the pounding of her heart in her ears. She illogically feared that the being could hear it, too.

She kept her eyes on the doorway of the room, praying to see the feet walk out of it. Then, her eyes glanced to her side to find that a small amount of her hair was spilling out from under the bed, glowing metallic blue in the black light.

Something dark closed around it.

Her piercing scream rattled the window as the figure jerked her, by the hair of her head, out from under the bed. She grasped at the hand, screeching in terror the whole time, and dug her fingernails into it but her assailant did not seem to notice. When her upper torso was clear, she looked up at the figure, its hate-filled eyes glowing almost supernaturally in the black light, as it reared back with its sword.

Then a four-pronged, metal star buried itself in the being's shoulder.

* * *

Without a word, Jamie plunged into the room, punching the murderer in the stomach. As the opponent doubled over, he was surprised by the high-pitched sound of its grunt.

He heard a click behind him and the room was suddenly bathed in light. Having trained in ninjutsu since childhood, he was able to avoid squinting and was able to get a full look at the killer.

The hips were wider than he had expected and the waist was much narrower. Their adversary had an hour-glass figure.

"You're a woman!" he gasped as the killer drove her fist into his surprised face. He stumbled back a few steps, cursing himself for letting his guard down.

Her fist shot out again, this time blocked easily. A front kick was also blocked. As was a spinning back fist. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shawna helping the girl out from under her bed.

The killer did, too. She tried to lunge around Jamie but he moved to intercept her, trying to punch her in the face. In an instant, the woman was out of his reach, having moved to the side of the room opposite the bed in the blink of an eye.

"The Lord is my shepherd!" Shawna yelled firmly from behind him. "I shall not want! He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters!"

The mysterious woman covered her ears with her hands as she leaped through the open window.

Jamie shot to the window and watched as the killer disappeared into the night.

Derek burst into the room, gun drawn. "I saw him come in through the window at the front of the house. Where is he?"

Jamie glanced at Shawna, who was comforting the adolescent girl with an embrace. "She got away," he replied.

# Chapter Twelve

Thursday, 10 PM

The red and blue lights illuminated the front lawn, along with the two black F.B.I. SUVs. Derek had called Tanya's parents and they were on their way home, cutting short an impromptu, romantic weekend in Chicago. Each of the students had been required to call his or her parents before the agents would allow them to leave.

John's parents had just arrived a few minutes earlier and now held each other tight as his mother wailed her anguish for all to hear. Shawna's heart went out to the woman.  If only he could see just how much you really do care about him.

A few of the students—those whose parents had not arrived yet—were still present. One of them, a senior boy named Joel Jakes—who wanted to be a minister after college—was talking with Tanya, each sitting on opposite ends of the couch.

"We've been raised in the church," she was saying to him. "We knew not to do some of the things we did. Do you think, with us getting interrupted before we . . . you know . . . did it, he's okay? I mean, in Heaven?"

Joel smiled at her. "Even if you had, he'd still be there.  My god wouldn't send John to Hell. He was a good person at heart, even if he'd never asked Jesus into his heart."

Shawna's eyes widened as a number 2 flared into life on his head. She moved quickly to the couch and sat between the two of them. "We can't say for sure where he is, sweetie," she said to the distraught girl. "But you both need to understand that it takes much more than being a good person to make Heaven. It takes a saving faith in Jesus."

Joel crossed his arms. "That's so judgmental. Jesus loves everyone."

She placed a hand on his shoulder, fighting the urge to stare at the number on his forehead. "He loved them enough to warn them about Hell."

"I'm so sorry, Jesus," wept Tanya. "How could I have done all this? If I had been listening to my parents about You, I wouldn't have had this dumb party." She buried her face in her hands. "And John would still be alive."

Shawna gently lifted Tanya's face by the chin. "His death is nobody's fault but that killer's." She forced herself not to smile as the number 1 faded from her forehead.

* * *

Jamie watched as the coroner wheeled the cart with the headless body of John Morgan out the front door.

"You saved Tanya," Derek commented.

Jamie shook his head. "But not him." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "And, if the killer is correct in her assumptions, his death isn't the worst part."

Ross stepped forward. "So you said this is a girl?"

Jamie nodded. "I was really close to her." He rubbed his finger over his bottom lip—which had been split by the woman's punch—and the faintest frustration at how his wound would affect his greeting kiss from Yoshi fluttered through his mind. He cursed himself at such a selfish thought.

"How could a woman decapitate someone in one slice?" asked Gibbs.

Jamie glanced at Derek, who rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, obviously not wanting to try to answer that question.

Jamie shrugged. "Training and a really sharp sword." It was technically true, although he left out the part of the training coming from demonic origins.

Shawna stepped up to the four men and said, "Since her parents are going to be driving back from Chicago, I'm going to take Tanya to my place to spend the night. She shouldn't be here alone."

"What if the killer follows her to your home to try to finish what she started?" asked Gibbs. "You'll be placing yourself in danger."

Jamie smiled. "As long as she stays in that apartment, she's safer from that killer than she could possibly be anywhere else." He folded his arms across his chest as he added, "Besides, until this is all over, Shawna's couch is my new best friend."

* * *

Before leaving the house, Tanya had packed an overnight bag and had called her parents' car phone to let them know that she was spending the night with her history teacher. Shawna had also admonished Joel's parents to not let him out of their sight until the killer was caught. Her overprotectiveness had seemed odd to Jamie but, considering the other deaths that had happened, Joel's parents had taken it as simple, good advice.

Now the group entered Shawna's apartment. Jamie noted Derek gently place his hand on Shawna's shoulder. "I'll be out right outside in my SUV if you need me."

She smiled shyly at him. "Nonsense. You can sleep in one of my recliners. I'm going to take the other one so Tanya can have my bed."

Derek glanced at Jamie, who asked, "What am I, a chaperon?"

Shawna blushed and turned away.

* * *

The girl climbed in her bedroom window, not the faintest sound coming from her as her feet touched the shag-carpeted floor. "We failed," she whispered to her demonic partner.

No, there is still time.

"But Tanya went to Ms. Weston's apartment," responded the girl as she pulled off her top, leaving her upper torso covered only with her undergarment. "You've been banished from there and I can't beat that ninja alone." As if to emphasize her last remark, a fresh squirt of blood shot from the shuriken wound in her shoulder.

True, responded the demon as it grasped the wound with its intangible hand.  Her faith is much stronger than I remember from her time on Thera. The hand flared a bright red and agonizing heat shot up the girl's arm as the wound was cauterized shut.

To her credit the girl barely gave any indication that the pain bothered her, only sucking a sharp breath through her clenched teeth as she pulled the mask from her face and tossed it onto her desk, next to the computer. "I don't understand how she's so strong in her faith."

When Tarent took her from your world, explained her companion, she was like many of your classmates. She thought she was redeemed, despite having many ideas—just below the surface—that contradicted what her Bible said. Tarent knew that our Enemy had destined her for His service and hoped to corrupt her before her heart had truly been opened by the Spirit. He—like his mentor, Ladvia Darkheart—failed to understand something about the followers of the Nazarene.

She plopped into her computer chair with a humph. "And what's that?"

Nothing can snatch them from the Hand of their God once He has decided to save them. If they are destined for His Kingdom, then their hearts will irresistibly be opened to Him.

The girl sighed. "So, I'm destined for Hell?"

Which is why we must get you to Thera . . . so that you can find a way to extend your life, just as Ladvia and Tarent did.

# Chapter Thirteen

Flashback

July 19, 1992

Sunday, 3 PM

Shawna sat in her betrothed's study, waiting patiently for him to meet her for their daily magic lesson. Over the course of the past two days, he had taught her how to draw lightning from the atmosphere around her and level it into a beam that could blast through rock. She could also channel it to flow through metal.

On top of that, she could now melt steel in her bare hands.

Tarent had explained to her that such powerful magic should be well beyond the grasp of someone so young (he told her that she had not reached her eighteenth year, as of yet). But he showed her much praise as she mastered each lesson. "We will claim the populace of Thera as our subjects," he had proclaimed.

She did not care to be a ruler. She just wanted to please him. Each day, he had greeted her with a gentle kiss on the back of the hand, although she could tell from the hunger in his eyes that he wanted much more from her. Still, he had exercised tremendous strength of will whenever she would attempt to be more passionate in their affection.

"We are to be wed on the midweek day," he had told her. "Our wedding night will be magical, indeed."

She just hoped that she could please him on that day, too.

As she waited for him to join her, she thought of the Other One who had told her that He loved her. As she had been so caught up in her studies, she had begun to ignore Him. Something seemed to make her feel that He would not approve of what she was learning. She stared at her hands. "Why should I care about what He wants from me?" She held her right hand aloft in front of her face, reveling as sparks jumped between her fingers. "I can level a hilltop with this hand."

And, with but a small amount of faith—like a mustard seed—you can move mountains.

She gasped, jumping to her feet. It had been the first time that her heart had heard that voice in two days. "He loves me," she said, staring defiantly skyward. "Tarent adores me."

Tarent deceives you.

"He's going to teach me how to live forever!"

Only I can give eternal life.

At this, the door opened and Tarent entered, followed by his swordsman, Talon. The warrior stood just inside the door as Tarent stepped up to her and took her hand in his two gloved hands, pulling it to his lips and gently kissing it.

A flash of hunger passed through her. She wanted him . . . NOW. She glanced at the warrior, who watched them without emotion. His passionless gaze made the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. Perhaps, after the wedding, Tarent would send him away as a gift to her.

"Beloved one," said Tarent, his strong voice always so out of place in such an old face, "are you ready to learn how to be immortal?"

She smiled. "I will have the gift of Eternal Life?"

His eyes narrowed. "Yes, of course."

Counterfeit. The word simply sprang into her mind.

Tarent tilted his head to the side. "Something troubles you, my love?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head with a forced smile. "No. I'm just looking forward to today's lesson."

He released her hands and her heart fell in disappointment. Glancing at Talon, the old wizard gestured toward the door.

The leather-clad warrior turned, stepping out into the hall. A moment later, he pulled a bound man . . . maybe twenty-five years of age . . . into the room. The man was gagged, his terror filled, hazel eyes taking in the old man as tears ran unchecked down his cheek.

"This man was arrested for failure to pay taxes," explained Tarent.

Talon released the man, who fell to his knees in a gesture of supplication. Tarent placed a gloved hand on the man's shoulder. "Oh, would you like to beg for your life?"

The man's tear-streaked face looked up at the older man hopefully. He cautiously nodded, so Tarent pulled the gag out of his mouth.

"Please, my lord," whimpered the man. "My family is starving. We simply couldn't spare anymore coin."

Tarent smiled at the man. There was nothing warm or friendly in the gesture, at all. "So, your family is burdened?"

The younger man opened his mouth to speak but seemed to choke on the words.

Tarent removed his left glove and Shawna had to fight to keep from recoiling in horror. Where there should have been the soft, pink flesh of a man, there were only dark green scales. The fingers ended in startling, onyx claws.

She understood why he wore the gloves.

He glanced at her, noticing that she was staring at his hand. "Do not fear, my love. After our wedding night, my human hands will be restored."

She tore her eyes from his hands and looked up at his eyes, nodding absently as she felt her will swallowed by his.

His eyes turned back to the man, still cowering before the wizard. He placed that scaly hand over his head and began murmuring archaic words. A soft, white glow began to shine from the younger man's skin. As Shawna watched, the glow moved up his arms, leaving the flesh gray where it no longer shined. The desiccation of the skin seemed to move along each limb as the man's clothes, already baggy on his thin frame, seemed to loosen even more. Within seconds, the combination from all over the man's body had pooled into the man's head, now flaring with a light so bright that she could barely look at him.

What she could make out was the man's eyes bulging as his cheeks stretched across his cheekbones, his tongue lolling out as his formerly dark hair bleached to a stark white.

"Do not worry for your family," Tarent told the man, although Shawna doubted that he could hear the words. "They will now have one less mouth to feed."

With that, the glow in the man's head emptied itself into Tarent's hand with an audible POP. As her betrothed stepped backward, his eyes closed in euphoric bliss, she could not help but watch the shriveled man, his milky eyes barely able to fit in their sockets, fall to the floor with a final gasp.

Shawna watched the deceased man for several moments, her eyes not even blinking.  Am I capable of doing something like this?

Tarent sacrificed this man to lengthen his life, said the One. I sacrificed Myself so that My children can live forever.

"Beloved?"

She tore her eyes from the body and glanced at Tarent, who stepped toward her and placed that scaly hand upon her shoulder. "Look at me, Shawna."

Something in her screamed at her to not listen to him. But her eyes betrayed her and locked with his. "You must understand," he began, a slight red glow slowly forming in his iris, "we are the important ones."

She could feel her revulsion slipping away. "We . . . are . . . important?"

"Yes, the peasants serve us. Without us to lead them, they would descend into chaos. This man's death means nothing to us."

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, her conscience was screaming at her. But the voice of her beloved was louder, still. "On our wedding night, I will give you a peasant to drain. It will be my gift to you as you add her remaining years to your own." He brought his face closer to hers and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. "I assure you that it will be the most rapturous experience of your life."

She felt her lips curl into a smile, although the emotion that should have controlled that reaction was nowhere in her heart.

# Chapter Fourteen

December 18, 1997

Friday, 2:34 AM

After all was said and done, Derek had watched as both Shawna and Jamie had drifted off to sleep. He had stayed in the recliner, watching them both—Jamie in the other recliner and Shawna on the couch—for some time, wondering how they could sleep at a time like this.

Shawna's faith was strong, he realized. That was for sure. And Jamie Raleigh, this ninja from Southern Missouri, obviously trusted her enough to believe that they were safe in this apartment.

Derek leaned his head back into the soft cushion of the chair and closed his eyes. His mind instinctively went back over Shawna's involvement of the last few days. She had told them about Jamie. She had explained the killer's motive and, in order to gain his trust in what she was telling him, she had asked about his grandmother. She had been attacked by . . . something in her apartment—something strong enough to throw a butcher knife through brick. She had predicted the location of the next attack and had been instrumental in saving at least one life.

If he had not known better, he would have thought that she was insane and, possibly, the killer.

But he had seen the killer after she had gone with Jamie into the house. And there was definitely something otherworldly about how she had moved. How she had jumped . . ..

His eyes popped open. "There's no logic here," he whispered to himself. Not wanting to awaken his two companions, he climbed from the chair and padded to the base of the steps that led to the loft.  I hope she doesn't mind, he thought, his gaze lingering on Shawna as the moonlight that streamed in through the shades of her sliding glass door bathed her in its glow.

She really is beautiful.

He shook his head to clear it and headed up the stairs. At the top, he found a home office. The back wall was lined with bookshelves, each packed with books. In the moonlight, he saw books on Theology, Church History, Education, World History and one shelf that seemed to have the sole purpose of holding bibles. He walked up to this shelf and read each spine. Various study bibles and topical bibles lined the shelf. One that stood out was a smaller one. Its maroon cover seemed out of place among the black and brown, faux-leather bibles. It also did not claim to be anything but a HOLY BIBLE.

Derek reached up and took hold of the cool cover and pulled it from the shelf. He turned to his left, finding a desk and chair and seating himself in it. He reached out to a small lamp on the desk and turned it on. Opening the bible, he looked at the dedication that had been written within:

"Shawna,

It's been fun having you here. Be sure to come and visit me. You've been an awesome foster-sister.

Love,

Alexandria"

It was dated in 1990. He examined the bible that he held. The binding was peeling and the cover was pulling away from the inside. He glanced back up at her shelves, examining her larger bibles curiously. Each was so much newer than this one. Why had she kept this copy?

He opened it back up and flipped through the pages, noticing dated notes scratched throughout. Some of them were nearly as old as the dedication from this Alexandria. Some of them were recent.

He stopped on a page in the Book of Acts and, highlighted in orange . . . which stood out from the yellow highlights that she had used everywhere else on the page, was Chapter 16, verses 16 through 18.

Derek read the section curiously. A girl, possessed by a spirit of divination, followed the Apostle Paul and his companions for many days, crying out that they were "servants of the most high God, which shew unto us the way of salvation."

Apparently, Paul got tired of the girl following them and constantly yelling. He commanded the spirit to come out of her . . . and it did.

His eyes narrowed. Using the Name of Jesus, someone other than Jesus had cast out a demon?

He stood from the seat, looking over the railing and into the living room below. Shawna lay on the couch, sleeping peacefully. There was something so pure about her. She was so different than the way that television portrayed Christians. She was not some hypocrite who only wanted money and who did everything she said not to do.

He thought of his parents, to a night when he was seventeen-years-old. He had been out on a Friday night and had come home quite inebriated. The only thing that he remembered about that night was finding his mother, kneeling over the couch, praying for his safety. Of course, she had lectured him for being out an hour past curfew. But he remembered the joy that she had at seeing him walking down the hall, safe.

My parents weren't hypocrites, either. He realized, tears misting his eyes.  How could I have been so blind? He looked at that bible in his hand. Despite its tattered cover, with bits of the fake leather flaking off, it was like water to a drowning man.

Derek Brewster knelt over that chair and closed his eyes. "I . . . I'm not sure what to say here, God." The tears now overflowed as he whispered to his Maker. "It's been so long since I prayed." He took a deep breath. "It's just that I've always put myself and my own abilities before You. I didn't think that I needed You." He looked upward. "But I do. We all do. Thank You for showing me that." He closed his eyes tightly. "Thank you for saving me."

* * *

Jamie's eyes opened and he noted that there was a light coming from the loft. He glanced at the couch to find that Shawna was laying there. A look at the other recliner revealed that Derek was gone.

Then he heard the junior agent's whispered words floating down from above. And Jamie smiled as he realized that he had a new brother . . ..

# Chapter Fifteen

Friday, 8:43 AM

RIIIIINNNNNG!

Jamie opened his eyes with a start. The phone rang a second time as Shawna sat up and stretched.

A glance at the other recliner revealed that Derek had finally come downstairs and gone to sleep. A familiar Bible lay in his lap.

He smiled as Shawna climbed from the couch and headed toward the kitchen, where the phone was attached to the wall next to the sink.

She looked at him curiously as she picked up the cordless receiver. "Hello?"

She closed her eyes and rubbed them groggily as she nodded with a yawn. At the end of the yawn, she said, "Yes, she seemed to sleep well. " She placed her hand over the mouthpiece and whispered to Jamie, "It's Tanya's dad."

He nodded. "I gathered as much."

She walked back around the kitchen counter to step back into the dining room and then into the living room, padding down the hallway and opening the bedroom door, peering inside. Jamie watched Shawna smile as she continued, "She's still sleeping. I'm sure you'll understand that last night took a lot out of her."

She waited for Tanya's father to say something else to her, then said, "Of course. When she wakes up, I'll feed her some breakfast and bring her right home."

The man on the other end said something else, to which she replied, "Think nothing of it. We were glad to help. Goodbye."

As she headed back to the couch, she clicked what Jamie assumed was the off button. As she climbed back onto the couch, she folded her legs under her and grabbed her blanket, snuggling under it. "Sometimes I wish I hadn't agreed to not use that fireplace."

He glanced at the wall above the mantle. The knife had been removed, leaving a hole in the wall. "It wouldn't be safe to use now, anyway."

She sighed. "I'm probably not going to get my security deposit back, am I?"

He smiled. "Well, I guess you could cover it like you do nail holes."

She chuckled. "That would take a lot of toothpaste."

Derek stirred with a sigh but did not awaken.

Shawna glanced at him. "What's he doing with my old Bible?"

Jamie rolled his head around, feeling the tension popping. "You might want to ask him that."

* * *

The smoky aroma of fresh bacon filled the air, accented by scrambled eggs and biscuits. Jamie sat at the table, Tanya across from him and Derek to his right. "We really could've just stopped somewhere for something on our way back to Tanya's house," commented the ninja as Shawna sat a jar of strawberry jam in front of him.

"I'm going to feed all three of you before I send you away," she responded. "How often do you get a home-cooked meal?"

Jamie chuckled. "With Buster Goodman as a roommate? The word restaurant is forbidden in our house."

"Our maid cooks for us every day," suggested Tanya, just before she leaned over the plate of bacon and inhaled appreciatively. "But she only cooks sausage, not bacon."

Derek sliced the top of a biscuit off with a butter knife. "For me, it's been too long." He used the knife to put some butter on the bottom of the biscuit, then added a slice of bacon and some eggs., finishing off the impromptu sandwich with the top. He took a bite, engulfing half the sandwich, and chewed contentedly.

Tanya smiled as she took a much more reasonable bite of bacon. "A man with a healthy appetite." She glanced at Shawna. "That's a really attractive trait."

Jamie cocked an eye at the teacher, whose narrowed eyes settled on her student as she said, "He's too old for you."

Tanya smiled even more. "I wasn't thinking about me." Suddenly, her face fell and her eyes overflowed with tears.

Shawn kneeled down next to her and embraced her. "Oh, sweetie, it's going to be okay."

"I just . . . I can't believe I'm talking about this and Jack just . . . last night . . .." She buried her face in Shawna's shoulder and wept.

* * *

"Who were all of the kids who were here last night?" asked Mr. Ogle of Agent Ross, the two of them sitting on the couch in the living room that had housed the party the previous evening. "Tanya has definitely got some explaining to do."

Ross pulled his notepad from the front pocket of his shirt and handed it to Tanya's father. "These are the names that Ms. Weston gave us. We were hoping that you could tell us if you know any of them."

"How the Sam Hill should I know them?" demanded Mr. Ogle with a dismissive waive of his hand.

Agent Gibbs stood next to the couch. "You don't know your daughter's friends?"

"I'm a busy man," responded Mr. Ogle. "I have too many responsibilities to keep tabs on every person my daughter hangs out with."

Mrs. Ogle stood from a recliner that had been pushed against the wall next to the Christmas tree and walked over to them, taking the notepad from Ross. "Tanya should be our first responsibility," she said to her husband.

"For crying out loud, Martha!" he snapped at her. "She's old enough to drive!"

"But not old enough to drink, Mr. Ogle," stated a deputy who was just coming down the stairs. "And, yet, they had a keg in your kitchen. Do you know who's going to be held responsible for that?"

Mr. Ogle leaped to his feet. "We weren't even here! Instead of accusing me, why aren't you out there finding the monster who slaughtered that boy in our hallway upstairs?!"

Ross climbed to his feet. "We're working on it. We know that it couldn't have been anyone on this list, as the teacher—and her friend—who saved your daughter's life said that they saw the killer leap out your daughter's window and run off."

At this, the front door opened and Tanya, her face clear of makeup and her eyes puffy and red, stepped cautiously in, followed by Ms. Weston, Agent Brewster and Jamie Raleigh.

* * *

The warmth that rose in Jamie's heart at the sight of Tanya's mother folding her daughter in her arms and weeping was quickly covered with anger as her father started shouting at her.

"What were you thinking having a party here while we were gone, young lady?!"

Jamie opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by Brewster. "Mr. Ogle, calm down! Your daughter was almost killed last night! Now is not the time to snap at her!"

Shawna stepped in between the two men and, looking her student's father in his rage-filled eyes, said, "Mr. Ogle. You almost lost your only daughter last night. And her boyfriend's parents did lose their son. You are within your right to punish her for breaking your rules but, for now, please see this as a God-given chance to see the precious person that your daughter has become. She needs you now, more than ever."

Jamie glanced at Tanya, still hugging her mother. She opened her tear-stung eyes and looked at her father.

As man and daughter's eyes met, the rage drained from his face and he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around his wife and daughter. "Oh, how could I have been so blind?" he wept. "You've been right here and I've missed you growing up."

* * *

The three agents and ninja followed the four deputies and the CSI agents from the house. "Are you sure we should be leaving Ms. Weston in there?" asked Gibbs.

Jamie looked back at the house with a chuckle. "Praying with people is what she does best."

Ross cocked an eyebrow at him, then glanced at Derek. "What kept you guys this morning?"

Derek shrugged. "We had breakfast."

"You?" asked Gibbs. "I thought your breakfast was always caffeinated."

"Shawna spent a lot of time cooking it," returned Brewster. "It would've been rude of me to not accept."

Ross smiled at the junior agent. "So, it's Shawna now, is it?"

Derek blushed. "Sorry, sir.  Ms. Weston."

Ross patted Brewster on the shoulder. "Don't be sorry, son. I've seen it, too."

Derek rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Seen what?"

The door opened and Shawna stepped out. "They're going to need some major counseling. But they'll be okay."

Jamie nodded. "That's good."

"Are they . . . safe?" asked Derek.

"Some police officers are going to stay in the neighborhood, just in case," replied Gibbs.

Derek glanced at Shawna, who nodded. "The reason that the killer wanted her has been taken away. She's definitely safe."

* * *

The girl's foot connected with the training bag with a THUD, followed by the protesting creak of the chain that was hanging it from the ceiling. Her open palm slammed into the bag, just above the place where her foot had just been.

The bag shook with the strain.

"I thought you still had another day of school before Christmas Break," came a man's voice from behind her. "What are you doing here?"

The girl spin-kicked the bag, sending it swinging widely. "They canceled class today due to the murders, Master Smith."

Her sensei stepped forward and steadied the bag. "I appreciate your dedication but you should be with your parents, then."

She took a deep breath and released it. "My mom and her husband are in Japan for Christmas."

Master Smith's eyes widened. "Without you?"

She shook her head. "I chose not to go. Ever since she left my dad for that guy, I haven't been able to stomach being around either of the hypocrites."

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Your mother loves you. I could see the pride in her eyes when you aced your black belt test."

She turned and stepped toward her sports bag, lying in the floor at the base of the chair that she had commandeered. "Her pride isn't in me. She's only proud of how I make her look." She pulled a bottle of sports drink from the bag and sat in the chair. Screwing the lid off, she continued, "She does all this volunteering at our new church and never lets on that Dad never cheated on her. He would have done anything to save their marriage, even when he knew that she'd been cheating on him."

As she took a long drink, he asked her, "Why aren't you living with your father, then?"

She swallowed what was in her mouth. "The judge wouldn't let me. He told my father that the only way that he would ever give primary custody to the male parent is if the mother could be found unfit. I've spent five years living under David's roof, listening to him trying to pretend that he's my father and that he had nothing to do with breaking up my parents' marriage. I have every physical necessity met. But a hug every once in a while? I only get those from my dad."

Master Smith nodded with a sad smile. "He pays for your classes and has always taken a great interest in how well you do. I could see the pride in his eyes when you got your black belt, too."

She nodded. "This is supposed to be my mom's Christmas with me but I didn't want to share a hotel room in Japan with the two of them. I wanted to spend the holiday with my dad but David is punishing me by telling me that I can't."

Master Smith's hazel eyes glistened. "I never knew your home life is so bad." He glanced down at the open gym bag and something caught his eye. Reaching down, he pulled a teddy bear from it. The bear's face was covered in a ninja mask.

She looked at the plush animal nervously. "What . . . what are you doing?"

He smiled meekly. "I'm sorry. I don't just normally reach into people's bags like that. The bear just kind of intrigued me." He glanced down at it. "Why the mask?"

She shrugged and sat the bottle in the chair beside hers. "I like ninja."

The front door opened and the two of them were surprised to see Joel Jakes walk in. He bowed haughtily at Master Smith and said, "As you probably know by now, school was dismissed for the day, so I'm going to get in some more practice."

Master Smith shrugged. "Are your parents out of town, too?"

Joel shook his head. "No, my dad's at a conference on tithing in St. Louis that's sponsored by that Meyers lady."

The sensei sighed. "The dojang is always open to you guys."

The girl glanced down at the bear to note that its eyes were faintly glowing red. She followed its line of sight to the young preacher-wannabe, only to see the number 2 etch itself on his forehead.

We have a new target, she heard her ever-present companion, now inhabiting the innocent children's toy, say.

Leaping to her feet, she snatched the bear from her startled teacher's hand and stuffed it in the bag. "I've gotta go!"

"It wasn't me, was it?" asked Joel.

"Always, Joel," she said as she ran past him and out the front door.

# Chapter Sixteen

Flashback

July 22, 1992

Wednesday, 12:03 PM

Shawna watched in shock as the strangely familiar people threw off their disguises. Had the first one to speak been correct? Was she being wed against her will?

She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head. It was so hard to think!

"Yeah!" she heard the smaller boy yell. "Besides, she's Jamie's girl!"

Her eyes snapped open at that name.  Jamie? The one who had spoken first—this Jamie—looked so familiar. Even from this distance, the worried eyes looked so kind . . . the defiant posture looked so righteous.

Tarent did not seem to see any of that. "Well, it would seem that I have underestimated you all," he growled between clenched teeth. "I will not make the same mistake twice." Glancing at the guards who were sitting near this group of adolescent martial artists (what is a martial artist?), he ordered, "Kill them!"

The room erupted in chaos. She watched the newcomers—all of whom looked so familiar—in confusion. Despite being outnumbered by Tarent's forces, they were fighting admirably. One of the girls with the group, this one a dark-haired girl with eyes that almost seemed elven, battled her way through groups of warriors with ease, her twin swords working in flawless harmony.

"Ninja-to," said Shawna. "That's what their swords are called." Why did she know that?

A sharp pain shot up her arm as Tarent grasped her wrist with inhuman strength, tugging her toward a door that led from the hall, the priest following closely.

After they had run for a few minutes, Tarent pulled her to a stop and yelled at the priest, "We'll perform the ceremony here. Quickly!"

Shawna looked at Tarent in confusion. "How did I know what their sword was called?"

Tarent placed his silk-gloved hands on her shoulders. "You are . . . LOOK AT ME . . . you are confused, beloved." He reached up, gently, but firmly, forcing her chin up so that she was looking him in the eye. That red glow shined from within, drawing her into his will, as he continued, "They want to stop us from being together. We are only moments away from overcoming a centuries-old curse."

She could not look away from those eyes. Her passions began to rise within her. She was moments away from fulfilling the passion that she had possessed for this man since the moment she had laid eyes on him.

She could not speak. All she could do was numbly nod at him.

Tarent glanced at the priest and snapped, "Hurry! I do not know how long my guards can distract them!"

"Not long enough," came that familiar boy's voice as a four-pointed, metal star buried itself in her betrothed's shoulder. She watched in shock as he stumbled backward, grasping his shoulder as tar-like blood stained the arm of his robe.

"Get Shawna under some cover!" she heard the boy yell, just before someone tackled her roughly to the floor.

Before the tall, dark-haired boy (Buster?) covered her head with his arms, she caught a glimpse of the priest retreating away from them. As her vision of the spectacle was obscured, she could hear Tarent yell, "COWARD!" and a crunching of stone, followed by the scream of the man as his voice faded.

Shawna struggled to free her face from Buster's arms.

"What are you doing?" demanded the boy. "Hold still!"

She managed to free her eyes and take in what was happening. Two more of Tarent's guards were locked in combat with two of the adolescents. These two were young, and the names Alex and Max forced themselves into her memory.

Then The One spoke into her mind.  They are here to rescue you.

Her eyes trailed to Tarent. The boy, this Jamie, was beating him relentlessly. "No," she whimpered. "NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

Her hand shot up, grasping the wrist of the boy who was holding her. "ELEKTROS!!!!" A small jolt of electricity shot from her fingers and up his arm. He yelped and fell to the floor, unconscious. She could have killed him with the attack. But she could not force herself to do so.

Glaring at the boy who was pounding her betrothed, she yelled, "STOP!!!"

The boy stopped. Looking down at Tarent, the boy's eyes widened as he seemed to notice—just for the first time—how badly he had beaten the wizard.

Remorse? For his enemy? Shawna thought back to how Tarent had drained the man of his life.  Tarent wouldn't feel that way if the roles were reversed. She shook her head to clear it as the boy, who was holding her barely-conscious betrothed up, glanced at his companion at her feet.

She fought the rising tide of emotions that were fighting in her heart and held her hands aloft, willing flames to form within them. The hellish glow extended out from them and she could feel the heat through her robe. Tarent had not taught it to her. He had told her that he had mentally placed spells within her mind when he had brought her to his keep, however. Perhaps this was one of those.

Her eyes settled on the adolescent . . . this Jamie. "Release him or die."

The adolescent watched her in bewilderment . . . and was that sadness? "Shawna . . . no."

She could listen to no more of this. If he would not release her beloved, she would incinerate him. She willed the flames to grow stronger, filling her from deep within. She could see Tarent mouthing words to Jamie but she could not hear them through the inferno that was burning within her.

Jamie's free hand balled into a fist as he yelled something at Tarent, who simply chuckled while responding.

The two younger warriors—Max and Alex—said something and Jamie's fist crashed into Tarent's face just as Shawna reared back to throw her flame.

At that moment, a door seemed to open in her mind.  Tarent really was using me. That thought came unbidden to her as the weight of everything that had nearly happened came crashing down on her.

In the chaos of her mind, she dropped to the floor, letting blessed darkness overtake her.

# Chapter Seventeen

December 18, 1997

Friday, 4:27 PM

Shawna shook her head to clear it as she rose from the floor next to her bed, where she had been kneeling in prayer. Although the cursed amulet that Tarent had worn had prevented him from truly dying with Jamie's attack, his mental control of her had been severed She was left in a state of confusion until Jesus had truly saved her days later during the final battle with the wizard.

She looked up with a smile as a single tear traced its way down her cheek. "Thank You," she whispered to the Lord. Tarent, in his desperation to break his curse, had carefully avoided any sexual contact with her, no matter how much she had tried to throw herself at him.

She was pure for her future husband, whoever that may be.

Suddenly, the number two forced itself into her mind. Her eyes widened and her pulse quickened. "Joel!"

Leaping to her feet, she ran out of her bedroom and into the living room, where Jamie was napping on the couch. "Jamie!"

He sat up, looking at her in shock. "What?!"

"We've got to get to Joel Jakes's house!" she yelled. Looking around frantically, she demanded, "Where's Derek?"

Jamie pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes. "He went back to the hotel to write a report."

She ran to the phone and picked it up, hastily dialing 411. "Operator? I need the phone number for the Country Inn in St. Charles, Missouri."

* * *

Jamie screeched in pain as Shawna's van squealed around the corner without slowing down. "The seat belt's cutting off my circulation!" he growled. "Slow down!"

"She's going to kill Joel Jakes!"

"Why him?"

"Joel wants to be a Prosperity preacher, like his father," she explained. "He preaches a god who needs our prayers to accomplish anything. He misses the whole point of what prayer is and has created a god in his own image, breaking the Second Commandment."

Jamie ran his hand along the shoulder strap in a vain attempt to loosen it. "Oh, I wondered how she was going to find someone who was breaking that one."

The van screeched to a stop in front of a ranch-style house on Boone Avenue. "Derek's not here yet." Shawna slapped the steering wheel in frustration.

Jamie unlatched his seatbelt and opened his door. "I'm going up to have a look around. Wait here for them."

She placed her hand on his arm. "I don't think you should go alone."

He smiled at her. "God'll have His hand on me."

She cocked her eyebrow at him. "Buster always says that. What if it's God's plan for you to die?"

He pushed the door open. "Then it's my time and nothing's going to stop it." He started to climb from the van, then stopped. "Do you think it is?"

She shrugged. "The only time He's ever given me any indication that someone's time has come was when we were on Ladvia Darkheart's ship on Thera."

He took a deep breath and released it, then climbed out of the van.

"Don't forget your sword," she said to him.

He grasped the handle to the side door and slid it open, grasping the sword and pulling the blade from its sheath. "Hopefully, I won't have to use it." He glanced toward the front of the house. "What if this is another one of your students?"

Shawna's eyes widened in realization. "It is! And I know who!"

* * *

The target's bedroom was in the back of the house. She jumped quietly over the fence, looking at the two windows on the second story of the back of the house. "Which one?" she asked.

The one on the right, responded her companion.  Just so you know, the prophetess and her ninja friend are here.

"What?!" She looked around frantically. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

We must end them. She will not rest until she has completely cut off our connection. And you cannot defeat him without me.

Her hands clenched into fists. "I couldn't beat him with you."

There's no need to be so hurtful, responded the demon.  I underestimated them. It will not happen again. But you must focus on the task at hand.

"Killing Joel?"

Not yet. She is expecting that. You must kill the young FBI agent, first.

Her lips curled into a smile. "She's got the hots for him. Sending him to Hell would really hurt."

His death will not result in another companion in the Lake for our master. Their Master redeemed him last night. But we need to cause her as much grief as possible. So, while she and the ninja are distracted here, let us go to the agent.

* * *

The SUV turned onto Boone Avenue. "How does she always seem to know where the attacks are going to happen?" asked Gibbs.

Derek, from his place in the back seat, shook his head. "I can't say."

Ross, from his place in the front passenger's seat, turned to look at the junior agent. "'Can't' say? Or won't?"

Derek took a deep breath and released it. "Ross, you wouldn't believe me if I told you. I wouldn't believe me, if I hadn't seen some things with my own eyes."

A thud from the roof caught her attention. Derek and Ross pulled their guns, looking upward.

The straight metal blade of a sword came through the roof, impaling Derek's left shoulder. The younger agent howled in agony as the blade pulled itself free, bringing forth a fountain of crimson as the shadowy attacker flipped onto the hood of the vehicle.

Ross turned around, aiming the gun at the figure, whose malice-filled eyes narrowed. In the blink of an eye, that sword had shattered the windshield, slicing the steering wheel cleanly off of the steering column.

Gibbs slammed on the breaks. Through the agony in his shoulder, Derek watched as the figure back-flipped off of the vehicle, landing effortlessly thirty feet up the street.

"That's not possible," whispered Ross, his wide eyes locked on the figure.

"I told you that you wouldn't believe it," hissed Derek, his teeth clenched in pain.

Ross opened the passenger's front door. Calling back to Derek, he ordered, "Get some pressure on your wound."

"Ross!" snapped Derek. "Don't!"

Ignoring the junior agent, Ross climbed from the vehicle, his gun steadily trained on the figure who had just attacked them. "Drop the sword!"

Before he could blink, the woman was standing in front of him. An audible crack was followed by white hot torture shooting up his arm as she snapped his wrist, causing him to drop the pistol and howl in pain. She turned and effortlessly flipped him to the ground.

Ross stared up at her as her blade glinted in the streetlight. But before she could bring it down on him, the POP of another pistol went off and the woman's inhuman voice growled. Leveling malevolent eyes on Gibbs, his gun still smoking from the shot that had narrowly missed her, she covered the fifteen feet between them in an instant, her blade aimed at his neck.

The clang of metal striking metal surprised everyone present.

* * *

Jamie's ninja-to, crafted by Deck Pendragon, barely stopped the killing stroke a centimeter from the neck of Agent Gibbs.

With every ounce of strength that he could muster, he pushed her blade back. "Run!" he ordered the agent.

When Gibbs leveled the gun at the woman again, the girl's right hand let go of the sword, grabbing the pistol and crushing it.

In shock, Gibbs stepped back, tripping on the curb.

She's holding my ninja-to at bay with one hand, realized Jamie.  What else can she do?

As if to answer his question, a lightning fast kick slammed into his chest, sending him flying backward. The world flipped head over heel and he had not hit the ground yet when he realized that she had broken at least two ribs.

He landed on the street, sliding along the pavement several feet before coming to a stop, fifteen feet from her. He shook his head to clear the haze of fire that was shooting from his ribcage, forcing himself to focus on the killer.

Her eyes settled on him and an almost perceptible shake of her head could be seen as she grasped the handle of the back door of the SUV, tearing the door from its hinges and tossing it across a nearby yard, where it crashed into a parked car.

Shawna was right, Jamie thought.  The killer wants Derek.

The masked woman tore her eyes from Jamie, not seeming to care that he was climbing unsteadily to his feet and ignoring the torture in his chest. She glanced in the SUV at Derek and leveled the sword at him.

"Justine!"

* * *

Shawna ran up to Jamie, helping to support him as he grimaced, favoring his left side and breathing shallowly. She glanced at the girl, who had stopped in her tracks as her wide eyes now met those of the prophetess. "How . . . how did you know?"

Shawna took a hesitant step toward the girl. "Ever since this started, I've seen numbers on the foreheads of your targets," explained Shawna, "as if the Lord is warning me in advance. It was how we were able to get to Tanya's house in time to save her. And how we were able to know you were going to try for Joel."

The girl reached up and pulled the mask from her face. Her pretty, brown eyes looked at Shawna, who noticed what she had expected to see—what she had seen the morning of the sprinkler incident when Justine had passed her on the sidewalk—glowing on her forehead . . . the number 6. "That doesn't explain how you knew it was me."

Shawna took another step toward her. "You've had a number on you, as well. I noticed it the other day. But I only got a fleeting look at you."

Justine's eyes narrowed and Shawna noticed Derek climb from the opposite side of the SUV. Ross had climbed to his feet and was cradling his injured hand, while Gibbs was slowly making his way around the back of the vehicle to his partners.

Shawna's student shook her head. "That can't be. Only the victims are marked. We have to take ten of them to open the portal to Thera."

That's right! Don't let her confuse you!

"I'm not the one who's confusing her, unclean spirit," declared Shawna.

A faint shadow of a head moved away from that of Justine, settling on her right shoulder and leveling pinpoints of red at Shawna.  You can hear me?

"You seem surprised."

I have underestimated you, woman of prayer, declared the demon.

She shook her head. "No, you've underestimated my God. I would be powerless against you, if not for Him. But you know of my God and, like all of your brothers, you tremble at the Name of Christ."

Justine took a step back, as if she had just been punched. "You . . . you were going to kill me, too?"

Don't listen to her. It's you and me . . . together. You'll be all powerful on Thera. You'll rule nations! Unlike your mother, the people of that world will adore you!

Justine closed her eyes in rapture.

She believes me, woman of prayer. Shawna knew that the demon was not speaking in such a way as to let Justine hear her. Tears built in the teacher's eyes.  How can you weep for her? For your enemy?

"She's not my enemy, monster," responded Shawna with a sniff, reaching up to wipe her eyes. "You are. Your master is." She took a deep breath. "She's just a pawn, like every lost person."

Justine opened her eyes. The dark irises were surrounded by red as the fixed themselves on her.  And now my pawn will send you to be with the God you love so much.

Justine reared back with the ninja-to and charged at Shawna. Shawna stood her ground as Justine quickly shortened the distance between them.

Then a thunderous BOOM echoed through the neighborhood and Justine went down with a cry of pain. Her body slid to a stop in front of Shawna, who glanced to her right to see Derek, his good hand holding his gun, aiming it at the student. Blood poured from a wound in Justine's leg.

To Shawna's relief, he had not intended to kill. She dropped to her knees, placing a hand over Justine's head. "In the Name of Jesus of Nazareth . . ."

A cry—equal mixtures of Justine and a voice from the very pit of Hell—issued forth from the girl's mouth. "NOOOOOOOOO!!!"

" . . . who shed His precious blood for the salvation of His Elect . . ."

Justine struggled with ungodly strength to move, but Shawna's faith held her fast.

" . . . I command you to leave this vessel, you unclean monster! In the Name of the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords, COME OUT OF HER!!!"

Another peal of rage issued from her mouth, beginning with the deep tone of the demon but, as she vomited it forth in a fountain of black mist, the wail reached Justine's high-pitch.

The mist floated above Justine, who looked up at it in tears. "Please don't leave me," she whimpered.

Shawna stood, glaring at the spirit. "Leave her . . . and never come back!"

You and I will have a reckoning one day, woman of prayer. You cannot protect them all from me.

She smiled at it. "You're right. I'm not the only one He uses to protect them."

The mist dissipated, leaving behind the stench of rotting eggs and Justine's weeping.

Derek stumbled over to her and sat on the ground next to Jamie. Ross followed suit, as Gibbs climbed back into the SUV and could be heard radioing for an ambulance.

The ninja and the junior agent looked at each other and managed a chuckle. "She really didn't need either of us, did she?" asked Derek.

Each chuckle sent sharp pains into Jamie's chest. "You'll get used to it."

"I'm not sure what we're going to tell our superiors about this," commented Ross.

Shawna sat next to Justine and stroked her hair. "Tell them that she's mad. She'll be ranting about being demon-possessed. That'll be enough. A psychiatric hospital will be much better for her than a lethal injection."

Justine wept bitterly, as Shawna's next words were addressed to her. "I won't give up on you."

# Epilogue

Friday, 8:27 PM

The white and red lights of the ambulances blended with the blue and red lights of the police cars, bathing the area in a rainbow of flashing color that seemed so surreal to Shawna. She had just finished giving her statement to one of the officers and now stood in the center of where the vehicles were parked, unsure of where she should go.

She glanced at Jamie, whose shirt was open and his chest taped as he sat on a stretcher. She walked hesitantly up to him. "How are you feeling?"

He looked down at the dressing over his wound. "I'll live." He looked up at her. "What did you tell the officer?"

Shawna shrugged. "Just what I said. I told them that she's disturbed and not in her right mind. Agent Gibbs backed my story."

Jamie nodded. "I did, too. I can't imagine that she would have had it in her to kill anybody if she hadn't been influenced by that demon."

She smiled. "Thank you."

"For what? You were the hero here."

She reached out and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for always being there. For being a good friend."

He placed his hand on top of hers. "Any time."

She turned and glanced at Derek, sitting in the open back door of another ambulance fifteen feet away. He wasn't wearing a shirt at all and the bandage on his shoulder was not as soaked with red as she would have expected. "I guess the wound wasn't as bad as it looked."

Jamie cleared his throat. She turned to look at him and he smiled, gesturing with his head toward the junior agent. "Maybe you should go and talk to him."

Shawna leaned forward with a smile and quickly kissed Jamie on the cheek before turning and walking in the direction of Agent Brewster.

He looked at her, his eyebrows arched, as she approached. "Hey there."

She smiled shyly. "Hey. You look none the worse for wear."

He looked down at his shoulder. "Yeah, I'll live. I'm just glad that I didn't have to kill your student."

She nodded. "Me, too." She forced herself not to look at the chiseled muscle of his chest, forcing her eyes to the ground.

"How do I thank you?" His voice brought her eyes up to meet his.

"Why would you thank me?" she asked. "You brought Justine down. If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't be standing here."

He cleared his throat. "That's not what I mean. I mean, how do you thank someone who has shown you a whole new world?"

Her eyes met his. "The question is . . . What are you going to do with that knowledge?"

He stood from the ambulance and stepped toward her. "Well, first I'm going to thank Jesus for hanging on that cross for me."

She blushed at his closeness, letting out a nervous chuckle.

"Next," he continued, "I'm going to ask this prophetess in front of me out to dinner."

Her eyes never leaving his, she replied, "Well, I'll have to check my schedule . .."

He cut her off by pressing his lips to hers. All thoughts of conversation fled at the warmth that spread from her heart to her head. He was gentle and, if she was honest with herself, a little unsure of himself.

It was so cute.

He finally pulled hesitantly back.

Her breath husky, she declared, "I think I can pencil you in." Then she grasped him by the back of the head and crushed her lips to his.

* * *

Jamie watched Shawna and Derek with a smile. Looking Heavenward, he nodded. "Buster's right, Lord. You do rock."

THE END

# Prelude to Justice

April 22, 1999

Thursday, 8:37 PM

Maori Kabayashi sat on the roof of the apartment building where she resided, watching the stars. Each night, she would start to count them and then lose interest when she reached a thousand or so. It was enough to realize that the vastness of the universe . . . with its limitless stars and planets . . . had all been in the plan of a creator.

THE Creator.

She took a deep breath and released it. The smell here was different. She had been all over the world since inheriting the legitimate businesses and fortune of her former employer, Hiroshi, the head of the Yakamura Yakuza family—and the only man that she had ever loved. But the countryside of Germany was different. The smell was different. As long as she was not in one of the cities—like Berlin or Munich—the air was the cleanest that she had remembered . . . besides the mountains of Japan.

Her home.

She climbed to her feet and walked to the edge of the roof, peering down at the streetlamp below, her mind drifting back to her training.

The scars on her back . . . those that came from her father when she failed at a task . . . still sometimes hurt.

She wiped a tear away. She had a new family now. Brothers and sisters all over the world who were united under One Father. She knew that her new Father had a task for her, but she did not know what it was.

"Lord, what am I doing?" she whispered. Looking skyward, she continued, "What is Your plan for my life?" She chuckled. "I wish You would talk back to me, sometimes."

A scream shattered the night. Her eyes darted to her right, trying to decipher the source of the sound.  Where are you?

Another scream burst forth from the darkness. Almost as soon as it started, it stopped abruptly.

But not before she pinpointed the alleyway from which it had come.

Maori leaped from the roof, catching the light post below to slide down and slow her descent. As she landed on the sidewalk, her feet carried her speedily along the street until she came to that dark space between the sandwich shop and the bakery.

Peering into the darkness, she saw two men kneeling over a woman. One was pulling her undergarment down her legs from under her skirt, while the other held a knife to her throat, its blade glinting in the moonlight.

A faint whimper escaped the girl's throat as she whispered, in German, "Please don't hurt me."

Maori breathed a sigh of relief.  At least she's still alive.

"Don't worry, sweetie," whispered the one who had just disrobed her below. "You just stay real quiet and you might walk home tonight." Curiously, he was speaking in English, with what sounded to Maori like a Celtic accent. She wasn't sure if he was Scottish or Irish. Either way, the girl probably could not even understand him.

Maori had heard enough. Stepping out of the shadows, she said, in flawless German, "Well, boys, it's going to take two of you for one of her?"

The two men's heads snapped up at her. She smiled at the shock on their faces. Here were a couple of guys who were used to women . . . probably men, too . . . fearing them. And now this young, Japanese woman just steps out and challenges them.

She folded her arms across her chest and her smile faded. "Let her go."

They glanced at each other. The one with the knife said, "What'll we do, Mark?"

The one called Mark climbed to his feet. "We make it a 'two-fer.'" He grinned at her, his teeth surprisingly white in the scant moonlight wafting down through the buildings. "Come to join us, darlin'?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Oh, the two of you couldn't handle me."

"Don't let her go, David," ordered Mark, as he walked toward Maori, his swagger filled with overconfidence and not just a small amount of liquor.

As Mark came within striking distance, Maori dropped her hands to her side. She did not want to tip her cards to this man. It would make the ending so much more satisfying.

Mark gave her another grin. "Gonna make me work at it?"

Her lips curled into a malicious smile. "I'm sure you've always had it so easy, Mark. Perhaps a little work would do you some good." She had now switched to flawless English.

His eyes narrowed. "You're Asian. But you speak German and English?"

She shrugged. "Among others."

His eyes widened and his grin spread. "A smart looker. This is going to be fu . . .." His words were cut off as her foot slammed into his nose.

A satisfying crunch signaled that she had broken it. Her thoughts fell back to her childhood, when her training went beyond the warrior men of her clan. She was to be the greatest warrior of the Waruiyatsu ninja. More than training in taijutsu, the normal unarmed art of the ninja, she had been trained by masters of many different martial arts. That kick came from the art of Wing Chun. Invented by a woman so that she could defeat a warlord in one-to-one combat, Maori often found it useful when fighting larger opponents.

Mark leaned against the wall of the alley, spitting the blood that was running into his mouth. "How did you . . .?" His eyes regarded her with tears of rage. "I'm gonna tear yer heart out, lassie!"

"Lassie?" responded Maori, her head cocked slightly to the side. "I guess that means you're Scottish." She shook her head. "Pity. You've fallen as far from the honor of the likes of William Wallace and John Knox as anyone possibly could."

Mark lunged toward her. Stepping to the left, she fell into a crouch, extending her right foot and swiping his feet from under him. He went sliding across the pavement, slamming his head into the brick wall on the other side and knocking him senseless.

Maori turned calmly to look at the other man, who was now standing and holding his would-be victim with a trembling arm, while the other held the knife to her throat.

"Stay . . . stay back!" he ordered.

The corner of her mouth turned up. Obviously, David was not the leader of the two. "They say that, if you have to resort to violence, you've already lost. What do you think, David?"

A succession of shallow breaths was his only response. His eyes locked with hers and she could see even them tremble.

"If you let her go now," she added, "you can save yourself from the pummeling that your friend just received."

The knife fell from his hands and he turned, bolting into the shadows. She listened as his footsteps faded.

The girl in the skirt dropped to the ground, weeping. Maori was at her side in an instant, once again switching to German. "Are you okay?" She examined the girl's neck, noting with relief that the blade had not harmed her.

"Thank you," wept the girl. "I shouldn't have come this way. I just wanted to get home before curfew."

Maori helped the girl to her feet. "Come on, I'll walk you home." She looked around the alley, her eyes settling on the undergarment. "You might want to grab your underwear."

* * *

The girl's mother had been extremely thankful, offering to cook for Maori. She had graciously declined, hoping that she had not sounded rude. Though training in multiple languages had been an integral part of her upbringing, making her a better assassin, it was sometimes difficult to get the inflections correctly. The woman had not seemed offended, so Maori dismissed her concerns.

She stopped at the door to her apartment. Closing her eyes, she willed her hearing to sharpen. Other than the low hum of the baseboard heater within, as well as the steady ticking of her alarm clock, there was nothing within.

She opened her eyes and unlocked her door, stepping inside.

It was normal for her to be concerned. Her former clan had left her to die in the mountains of Japan. Sometime between her rescue at the hands of Hitori and her departure from the yakuza family, the Waruiyatsu had seemingly become aware of her survival.

It was also, due to this, that she had come to the conclusion that she had changed, somehow. They had attempted to poison her on two occasions. Once, she had defeated three former members of her clan . . . but not before one of them had put a poisoned bo shuriken spike in her shoulder. The second time, they had left a Sydney Funnel-Web spider in her luggage, which had bitten her hand deeply when she was unpacking in a hotel room.

Neither time had she experienced any symptoms. She was immune to poison. Part of her, to prove it to herself, wanted to purposely ingest some toxin. But she kept thinking back to something that Jesus had said to Satan during his forty days in the desert. "Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God."

She closed her front door, flipping the light switch and bathing her living room in a soft light. Glancing at her phone, she noted that the answering machine was flashing.

She had a message.

She pressed the button as she sat on the couch next to the phone. The voice was a woman's and it was in Japanese.  "Maori? This is Yoshi." She smiled at the sound of her dear friend's voice.  "I'm not sure what time it is there. I apologize if I'm calling too late. Please call me back when you can."

She picked up her phone and dialed the international number that would connect her to her friend in Springfield, Missouri, in the U.S..

"Hello?" This voice, a male's, was also familiar.

"Jamie? It's Maori."

"Hey!" he replied.  "How've you been?"

"Happily looking forward to your wedding!"

"I should hope so," he responded.  "Here's Yoshi."

Her grin took in both ears as the young woman whom she had been trained to kill—but had become her dear friend—came on the line.

"Maori?"

"Yes, future Mrs. Raleigh?"

"You ARE still coming to the wedding?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Maori declared with a chuckle.

"That is good. I want you to be my Maid of Honor."

Maori's smile faded. "I beg your pardon?"

"I've given it a great deal of thought and realized that you probably understand me better than most. So I wanted you to be my Maid of Honor."

Maori's eyes narrowed. "But I've also known you much less time than most of your other friends."

"But the vast majority of my friends are men and Shawna, while not begrudging my relationship with Jamie, feels that being in the wedding party would be inappropriate, as she used to date him. Also, she will be bringing a date, so . . .."

Maori had been told of Shawna Weston. Often, she had wanted to visit the prophetess and see if she could give her an idea of what God wanted from her. Although she would definitely go to the wedding, knowing that Shawna would be there filled her with elation.

"Maori?"

She snapped to attention when Yoshi said her name. "Yes, I'd be honored to be your Maid of Honor. But only if you let me plan the bachelorette party."

Yoshi chuckled.  "Okay, but no exotic male dancers."

Maori laughed at that.

* * *

Maori lay awake, staring at the stream of light that came in her window and stretched across the ceiling, bending down the far wall toward the floor.  Is my place to be in the United States, my Lord?

The feeling of peace that filled her after she silently asked that question was confirmation enough. She smiled as she closed her eyes and let sleep overtake her.

# Acknowledgements

Thanks to Jesus, my Blessed Savior.

Thanks to Sam Campbell and L.J. Capehart for all of their input.

Thanks to my wonderful parents, who are with the Lord.

Thanks to my beautiful wife, Vickie, for her support during the long hours of writing. Thanks to my daughter, KK, for the calming effects of her hugs. Thanks to my stepson, Jay, for reading–and enjoying—these books. Thanks to my stepdaughter, Bree, for reminding me that I have to laugh every once in a while.

Thank you to the members of Namido STL, who have given me insight into what it truly means to be a martial artist.

Thanks to D. Isaac, B. Goodman, E. and K. Griffiths, A. Emmons, T. Thompson, D. Middleton, S. Black, J. Don Davis, L. Isaac, K. Corbett, E. Hall, J. Hall, L. Ringstaff, J. King, J. Decker, W. Clardy, D. Goodman. You've all been lifelong influences.

# About the Author

Jeffrey Allen Davis is an award-winning novelist, armchair conservative pundit, and travel agent. He lives in St. Charles, MO, with his wife, daughter, and two stepchildren. A licensed minister, Davis's fiction tends to take place within a Christian worldview, even when the story is not overtly religious.

Visit him online at http://jeffreyallendavis.wordpress.com.

# The ADVENTURE CHRONICLES

Invasion of the Ninja

A group of teenage martial artists defends a southern Missouri school from an invading ninja army.

Klandestine Maneuvers

The members of Adventure, along with some new faces, face an influx of racists who have come to Sera to terrorize the town's only African-American family, the Robertsons.

Gateway to Thera

Half of the members of Adventure are thrown into a fantasy world where they must save Shawna Weston from a cursed wizard and find a way back home.

The Quest for Yoshi

Shawna's nightmares lead Adventure back to Thera, where we are treated to a flipped "damsel in distress" story and our heroes are forced to seek out and battle a witch who may be descended from the Old Testaments' priests of Ba'al.

Buster's Legacy

A cursed object from Thera finds its way to Earth and causes havoc, forcing Adventure to join forces with the Renegades to stop it.

Full Circle

Did the Yakuza order the murder of one of Adventure's friends? Jamie and the others are forced into an investigation that leads to the solution of a year-old mystery and introduces us to a new hero.

The Possession

After graduating from college at the top of her class, Shawna Weston has peacefully settled into her new job as the History teacher at a Christian high school. But when a serial killer begins taking the heads of her students—a serial killer who may, in fact, be a ninja—she suggests that the investigating FBI agents contact her old friend, Jamie Raleigh, to assist them.

If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review at the store of your choice. Your reviews matter.

# ALSO FROM JEFFREY ALLEN DAVIS and GCD Publishing

Lily's Redemption

Novelist Thomas Bradford has lived with his young daughter, Melissa, in Central Missouri since the death of his wife. He is surprised when feelings begin to stir in his heart for Kassandra, a new attendee of his church. But a man from her past threatens to destroy the peaceful life that Thomas has worked to build.

The Ultimate Failure

Allen Tiernon is a new Christian and wanted to tell his atheist friend about his new faith. Unfortunately, the discussion went tragically wrong and Allen finds himself having to discuss his ultimate failure in a statement to the police. This free short story is available on most e-readers.

A Family Squabble

After the death of Yoshika Funakoshi, Jamie Raleigh must decide what he's willing to do to keep leadership of the Funakoshi ninja clan within the founding family, with himself as its last surviving member. This free short story takes place after Gateway to Thera and is available on most e-readers.

# COMING SOON

I Am Justice

Maori Kabayashi was trained to be the greatest assassin of the Waruiyatsu ninja clan, a role that she played with success until she found herself with a conscience. A chance encounter with one who would have been her enemy led her to Christ. After travelling the world in search of God's plan for her life, she finds herself back in Missouri for the wedding of her dear friends, Jamie Raleigh and Yoshika "Yoshi" Funakoshi. But is her reason for being here so much more than a mere wedding?

Guest starring your favorite characters from the Adventure Chronicles, we now see a new hero born . . . one who would be a protector of the "Gateway to the West."

# ANTHOLOGIES from LION'S SHARE PRESS

Metahumans vs. Robots

The war between good and evil rages on, but new combatants have risen to take up the fight.

The fate of mankind rests on the shoulders of a chosen few.

On the side of good are the metahumans, men and women gifted—or cursed—with extraordinary powers. Now they find themselves pitted against machines intent on destroying the human race.

Metahumans vs. the Ultimate Evil

On the side of good are the metahumans, men and women gifted—or cursed—with extraordinary powers. Now they find themselves pitted against a variety of situations and foes. Witches, demons, monsters, and abominations plague the heroes this time around with magic, mischievousness, murder, and mayhem.

Who will ultimately prevail: the ultimate good or the ultimate evil?

# 
