Free Fear of Mystics (Saga of Mystics Book 2) by Chris Walters Page A

pain receptors.  He will get through it in no time.”
                  There was something odd in the way that Jack phrased that. Ted pondered for a moment, but really didn’t have the time to think about it. “Okay, let’s mount up, team!” he called out.
                  Rich, Emma, Antwon, Anthony and Cliff all boarded their bikes. Natalee was already on hers and waiting down by the gate.  That girl had been given point once, right after the Event, and never looked back.  One could always find her at the front of the team. Ted was very proud and fond of his niece. He would bring up the rear for now, though that would sometimes change throughout the trip. He boarded his bike and looked back in the direction of his home.  Kayla was standing in the alley, her hand raised to say goodbye.  He blew her a kiss and made his way down the road to the gates, following his team.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
                  Fishing had always been his church. Eric Fine stood in the stream, the water flowing around his waders. It was his most Zen moment.  He cast his fly far across the stream, letting it float, seeking to lure its prey. With a flick of his wrist, he lofted the fly high and out again, alighting softly on the moving water. He felt the presence of the intruder, long before he heard him. It raised the hair on the back of Eric’s neck to be interrupted during his peaceful early hours.
                  “What is it?” He said, testily.
                  “Forgive me, Lord Marshall.” Came the quivering voice of one of his men. “One of the bandits has returned and General Summers sent me for you.  He said you would want to hear this.”
                  “One?” Eric queried.
                  There was a pause, a stunted moment that told Eric there was more here than he had initially assumed. “Yes, Lord Marshall.  Just one.”
                  Eric heard the man tramp through the brush away from him, as he turned and made his way to the Creekside, stopping to take his string of trout out of the water and carry them with him.  Fish in one hand, pole in the other, he made his way back to downtown Manitou Springs. He wondered to himself why there would be only one. It had to be conflict, maybe even the one the Bluffs called The Hermit.  For only one man out of five to return, something drastic had to happen.  For Summers to interrupt his fishing meant something dire.
                  Eric handed the line of fish to his aide as he entered the headquarters building, placing his pole gently into its place beside the door. As he removed the waders, he saw an anxious Andy Summers quickly striding toward him.
                  “General.” Eric said as a form of greeting and also to set the tone.  Andy was a naturally anxious man. Often, Eric had to change the mood through the tone he set.
                  “Lord Marshall,” Andy began. “One of the men returned…”
                  “Why, yes, Andy. The fishing was fine today.”
                  Andy ignored the unspoken reprimand. “You need to hear what he had to say.”
                  “Interrupted my fishing?  Don’t be silly! It is never an interruption.” Eric gave Summers a cold glare.
                  “Forgive me, sir. I would not have interrupted…”
                  Eric waved off the explanation. “The point has been made. What is going on with the men?”
                  “Man.” Summers answered. “We have a new threat.”
                  Eric walked into the back room to see a shaken man, sweating heavily from the journey.  Eric couldn’t remember his name. Was is Shawn? No, Steve maybe? He had clearly come with all haste.
                  “Tell me.” Eric ordered. The man told a tale of a group