Geist (A Book of the Order)
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Among the most powerful of the Order is Sorcha, now thrust into partnership with the novice Deacon, Merrick Chambers. They have been dispatched to the isolated village of Ulrich to aide the Priory with a surge of violent geist activity. With them is Raed Rossin, Pretender to the throne that Sorcha is sworn to protect, and bearer of a terrible curse.
But what greets them in the strange settlement is something far more predatory and more horrifying than any mere haunting. And as she uncovers a tradition of twisted rituals passed down through the dark reaches of history, Sorcha will be forced to reconsider everything she thinks she knows.
And if she makes it out of Ulrich alive, what in Hell is she returning to?
the rumpled blankets. It was obvious that the Arch Abbot wasn’t in. Sorcha was frowning and turning about slowly, as if she expected the man to emerge out of the shadows—but there was no one else present. Nor were there any doors apart from the one they had come in through. “Looks like he is not receiving guests right now,” Raed muttered, folding his arms and trying to calm the yammering of his chest; he knew it was related to the Beast’s desire for chaos. Sorcha pushed back the thin blankets
Raed saw a glint of light dance across his face, as if reflecting off of something above them, and then disappear. The trooper was possessed. He began charging through the crowd toward Zofiya, while the Rossin laughed, low and wicked in his head. To reach the Grand Duchess in time, the Young Pretender had to tap into the Rossin’s power—at the same time holding back the Change as best he could. He had never tried this before, but the Bond with the Deacons gave him more control. The Guards facing
still feel it. Rictun’s eyes narrowed. “But not today?” “No, not today.” The Presbyter nodded. “A wise choice, Deacon.” His concerns assuaged, his tone softened. “You and Deacon Faris will submit yourselves to the inquiry by day’s end. There is much to be decided, if the Order is to survive.” “Naturally.” Then Sorcha’s concerns flooded over him. “Presbyter Rictun,” he called. His superior paused at the door. “What of Raed Syndar Rossin? He was a great help to us. He even saved the life of the
broadly and went up the first step. “Watch.” Sorcha did not like the guard dog Merrick had set upon her. Those wide brown eyes followed her as she paced the Pretender’s cabin. Being closeted with nothing more than a girl, let alone a girl who was obviously made nervous by her, was demeaning. Sorcha realized that she had misjudged Merrick; he was a schemer. Making a deal with the Pretender was surely just the beginning of the end. Sensitives, if you didn’t watch them, could easily believe they
to; drink, whore around, smoke. We gave up those inhibitions centuries ago, along with religion.” “Oh, really?” Raed’s grin widened. “Decided the gods don’t exist, then?” Sorcha really wasn’t up to giving a history lesson. “There are plenty of religious orders back in Delmaire. Ours chose to refocus on protecting the world from the unliving.” She flicked his hand off her shoulder, and her glare indicated that he’d better not replace it. “I notice your native pantheon of gods didn’t exactly help