The Sword of Michael - eARC Read Online Free

the same time in two different voices: “We never worry about you being too pure, Marius. It’s the other we watch for.”
    “Thank you, my friends,” I said. “Is there anything else I should know right now?”
    “Yes,” Tigre said. “This is more than it appears.”
    “And…?” I said.
    “Just remember that.”
    Burt cawed and tilted his head. His eyes flared briefly with the white Light of the Spirit within him. “I’ll remind you if you forget.”
    They always did.
    “With love and gratitude, my allies,” I said.
    “He’s always so formal, huh?” Burt said.
    Tigre laughed. “See you on the Other Side, Marius…”
    Yes. They would. I entered the tunnel and flew back to my body, settled into it and opened my eyes in my healing room.
    This would be more than it appeared.
    It always was.

Chapter 4
    Maryka Owen was tall and willowy in a granola way. Long blond hair pulled into a ponytail, a muslin blouse over faded jeans and bright green Birkenstocks. Her big toes were each painted blue with a gold star in the middle of the nail. The other perfectly formed toes were tipped with standard red. I notice those kind of things. Small details are essential in my work. It had nothing to do with how attractive she was. Really. I serve the Divine Feminine, the Goddess in all Her incarnations, and there is a Goddess in every woman.
    Really.
    “C’mon upstairs,” I said.
    She smiled and followed me upstairs to the healing room. I waved her to the armchair on the south side of the room. I sat in the chair facing east, where I wasn’t aimed directly at her. My senses work well both directly and indirectly. Having her in my peripheral vision helped me see her energy more clearly. She eased into the chair, graceful and tall, about five ten or so, the same as me.
    She had nice energy around her. Her auric colors were full and fluid. Very open, which can be a good thing or a bad thing. Most of the time it was a little of both. Being so open meant she was receptive, intuitive, maybe a little psychic; it also meant she was easily influenced and extremely sensitive to energy permutations around her, whether positive or negative.
    I let her settle for a minute.
    “So what can I help you with?” I said.
    “I read that article about you in the Star-Tribune ,” she said. “It seems…strange…that you’d be so open about what you do and what you believe. I mean, this is a big city that’s really a small town, you know? I’ve seen you around in Lyn-Lake and Uptown, even sat by you once in Gigi’s.”
    “Gigi’s? I love that place.”
    She tilted her head to look at me. She had cornflower blue eyes with long natural lashes. No make up at all, not that she needed any. Distracting to say the least.
    “Me, too,” she said.
    “Next time I’ll recognize you,” I said.
    I felt rather than saw the shift in her energy as she studied me with a sudden intensity.
    “Does it bother you that people know what you do?” she said.
    “No,” I said. “I believe in what I do. I serve the community. The more people who know what I do and what I can do to help them, the better.”
    She nodded. “I believe that. It just seems…strange…to be talking about demons and ghosts and lost souls like it’s just a regular thing.”
    “It is a regular thing,” I said. “It’s part of the natural order of life.”
    “That’s a good way to see it.”
    “That’s just how it is,” I said. “So what about this part of life can I help you with?”
    She took a deep breath. “It’s my father.”
    “What about him?”
    “He’s come back from the dead.”
    “Oh,” I said. “How do you feel about that?”
    A blank look. “How do I… feel about it?”
    Asking the right questions is an essential part of learning on the shamanic path. Education is part of my job. It’s not all casting out Dark Forces or being the finder of lost children.
    “Yes,” I said. “How do you feel about him coming back? Assuming it’s him. Is he