Where there is goodness, evil is sure to follow. Where there is light, darkness is never far behind.
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JP Epperson lives in Atlanta, Georgia. She is a lover of all things fantasy and paranormal. When not writing or sitting with her head in a book she enjoys spending time with her husband and two sons. JP is a lover of the outdoors and her second home is a tent in the woods curled up with a book next to a campfire.
Scalding hot water traced the scars along my back as I placed my hands against the stone shower wall. As a warrior angel I have survived several years of battle, but not unscathed. I have many battle wounds—most of which reside on my back and arms. Wounds from human weapons we tend to heal without a problem; wounds by the weapons of angels and demons are not so forgiving.
After weeks of searching for him, last night I finally caught up with the demon I had been hunting. He put up a ferocious fight and my muscles were still aching despite the heat of the shower but I would be getting briefed on my next case soon so reluctantly I reached out and turned off the faucet.
Just before I stepped out of the shower, I froze. The air changed, and I knew that I was no longer alone. Don’t ask me how I knew because I couldn’t tell you. Not really. There was no pop, or bells; no flash of light, breezes, or anything like that. It was as if there was just the slightest shift in the air. I braced for attack, reached my right hand behind my back, and unsheathed a sword that wasn’t there a moment before. My heavenly relics—my weapons—are always there when I need them and never when I don’t. Where they go when I am unarmed, I have no idea. All that matters to me is that they are there when I reach for them.
With my left foot, I kicked open the glass door and stepped out into the empty bathroom, dripping wet. Utterly naked but for my sword. I peeked around the door and slowly entered my bedroom.
“What do you want?” I said to the empty room, making my voice as calm as possible.
“Relax, Beauty, I’m completely unarmed,” said a humored voice without a face. “You’re looking just as scrumptious as the last time we faced each other.”
A dark-haired figure walked in, full of ease, and leaned against my bedroom door, crossing his feet. He had an apple from my dining-room table in his hand. I spun my sword, placing the tip of it into his throat the moment he walked through the door. He brought the apple to his mouth, rubbed it against his shirt, and took a big bite, looking as though he didn’t have a care in the world.