A Wizard of the White Council by Jonathan Moeller

reached into the back seat. His Sacred Blades lay across the seat, while his guns had been hidden on the floor. 
    “What are you doing?” said Dr. Francis. 
    Arran fiddled with the gun belt. “If I adjust this, I believe I can conceal it beneath my coat.”
    Dr. Francis’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel. “Is that really necessary?”
    “Yes.” Arran slid out of his coat and looped the holster over his shoulder. He grunted in satisfaction. “Marugon’s agents are in this city. I will not meet them unarmed.” He reached back and pulled his Sacred Blade into the front seat. “I can claim this is a cane…”
    The weapon trembled in his hand.
    Dr. Francis glanced at him. “What is it?” 
    Arran spun around in his seat, scanning the traffic. Cars and vans and trucks of all descriptions shot past. The Sacred Blade’s trembling faded. He sighed and tucked the sword between his knees. 
    “What is it?” said Dr. Francis. “You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost.” 
    “It…” Arran chewed his lip. He knew from speaking with Dr. Francis that she did not believe in spirits or magic or a higher divine power. It was a delusion common to many on Earth, he had noticed. She would think him mad if he told her the truth. “There…was one of Marugon’s minions nearby. I’m certain of it.”
    “How?” said Dr. Francis, frowning.
    Arran closed his eyes. “They are called the winged ones, though the people of my land call them the winged devils. It is an apt description. For they are devils, wicked and murderous and lustful. The winged ones kill for pleasure, torture for entertainment. And women.” His hands clenched as he remembered the horrors he had seen. “There are no women among the winged ones. They kidnap women instead and rape them. Once the child is born they kill the woman.” 
    Or, more precisely, the newborn winged demon tore its way free from its mother.
    “That’s absolutely dreadful,” said Dr. Francis.
    Arran tapped the hilt of his sword. “I’ve killed two of them with this blade. And I almost died from my wounds the first time.” He looked her in the eye. “That is why I cannot go unarmed. For my protection, yes, but I am bound to fight the winged ones wherever I might find them.”
    Dr. Francis stared out the window. “People have been disappearing, you know.”
    “What?”
    “Always women, almost always poor. A single mother with four or five kids. Or a prostitute. Sometimes a homeless woman, or a visitor from out of town. The police think it’s a serial killer, someone like the Cleveland Strangler or Jack the Ripper.” She shook her head, expression angry. “But the police aren’t any good. They’ve never been able to catch this killer. Or killers, if you’re right.” 
    “The winged devils are predators,” said Arran.
    “If you’re right, if Wycliffe brought these people here…God. To think he’s going to be vice president.”
    They drove in silence for a while. 
    “Where are we going?” said Arran.
    “My university,” said Dr. Francis. “It’s Wednesday. I have a class to teach this morning, and one in the afternoon yet.”
    “Perhaps I should attend,” said Arran. “I might learn more your nation.”
    Dr. Francis laughed. “I doubt it, unless you wish to observe the habits of lazy students. All my classes deal with ancient history, most of it on other continents.” Arran considered attending anyway. He wondered how this world had come to have guns, cars, radios, soda, cash registers, and the countless other wonders he had witnessed. But he could indulge his curiosity later. 
    “I shall go exploring,” said Arran, “and see if I can learn more of this man Wycliffe.” 
    Dr. Francis sighed. “Just try not to kill anyone.” She braked, signaled left, and turned. “But I thought your main task was to find Alastarius?” 
    “It is,” said Arran. He thought for a moment. “But I have not the slightest idea where to look. I can find