Crowns and Collusions: Keeping the Faith, #1

By Kit Bladegrave

In one random moment, I learned that I wasn't the normal orphan girl I thought I'd been all these years. Nope. I'm a wizard. Want to complicate matters even more? The priest who's befriended me and mentored me all these years is a member of the Order of the Angel's Blade. What the eff even is that?

I've got so much to learn. First and foremost, how to harness the powers I didn't know I have. Second, to research the history of my kind. To find out what happened to my parents. To…
Ugh. The list goes on and on and on.

And now a half-demon has appeared on the scene, complicating matters even more. And a hellaciously wicked angel is hellbent on seeing me dead if I don't do his bidding.

I sure wish I was that normal orphan girl that I used to be for all those years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: KitBla
• Release date: Nov 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223611936

Book preview

1

The soft fading rays of sunlight were a tease. The temperature outside had dropped over the last few days. Winter was rushing in. It wouldn’t be long ‘til the small town of Rolling Hills would be covered in a few inches of snow. The cold wasn’t something that had ever bothered me, not really. The cold meant fewer people were out and about. It meant bundling up in my tiny studio apartment under a pile of blankets and blocking out the rest of the world.

It meant remembering how I’d survived that first winter in the orphanage and how I’d learned my life was far from over.

I moved closer to the windows while the sunlight continued to fade. From this side of the old stone church, flat empty fields stretched as far as I could see. In the spring and summer, they were filled with wheat. Now, they were barren, with only a scattering of dried brush here and there leftover from the season.

Welcome to the middle of nowhere, Kansas, I murmured to myself.

It’d always amused me that there wasn’t a hill in sight. Who was the idiot that came up with the name of this town? They’d probably been drunk or simply found it amusing that people would come here expecting soft, rolling hills, and all they’d find were flat plains. What I wouldn’t sometimes give to see mountains every day. Or the ocean.

I supposed I could leave, but this place had become my home. That, and I owed quite a bit to those who’d kept me alive and put up with my shitty attitude while I was growing up. I owed it to them because they gave me a job and a chance to have a life.

Maybe one day I’d leave. But for now, this was home.

Faith, the pews aren’t going to pick themselves up.

You never know.

Oh, I do know.

Steps thudded softly behind me, muffled by the thin, dark grey carpet. A man’s face appeared beside my reflection in the window. Leo Weston was the priest at the local church aptly named Rolling Hills Sanctuary. He was tall and lean with a deep red beard that I’d always thought was more suited for a Viking than a priest. The hair on his head was cut short, but at one point, it had been much longer. There were pictures tucked away of him when he was younger, before he’d become a priest. I was fairly certain he had a number of tattoos as well though he’d never admitted it. I hardly saw him wearing anything other than the black slacks, shirt, jacket, and that white collar.

During the almost twenty years I’d known him, though, some of his red hair had started to turn white, especially in his beard. The crow’s feet around his eye were more prominent, too. Those, he claimed, came from putting up with me.

In truth, he was probably right about that. I could’ve been worse as a kid, but I’d run away a few times. I’d never made it past the boundaries of the town. Where would I go? I had no one outside of these few streets. Back then, how big the world was had terrified me into stopping before taking one step too many. Leo would always find me standing by the sign welcoming travelers to Rolling Hills— population two thousand and seventeen. He’d never said a word. He’d simply wait for me to turn around. Even when I grew older, leaving town wasn’t appealing. I’d stayed within its borders, content. Besides, here I had a home and a job and a small family of sorts.

Out of everyone who’d helped me over the years, Leo was the one I owed the most to.

Feels as if winter’s coming early this year, he mused.

I’m okay with that.

I never understood why you enjoyed the cold so much.

I shrugged and turned away from the window. It’s comforting, especially those quiet moments right after it snows. There’s no sound, nothing. It’s peaceful. I could get lost in those moments, you know? I sometimes do.

Such a poet at heart.

I have my moments.

He chuckled and moved through the rows of pews with me. There were two sets of them that flanked the church. It wasn’t a massive structure but quainter and more suited to the small town it’d been built in. The inside was the same stone as the outside, which meant it was usually drafty. I tugged my burgundy cardigan tighter around me and was glad I’d worn an extra pair of socks under my knee-high black boots. The pews were made of cherry and gleamed under the soft overhead lights. Four twisted iron chandeliers hung from the ceiling, with a much larger one residing over the altar.

The rear wall of the church, behind the wooden altar, was made up of all stained glass. The images had struck me with awe the first time I’d seen them. They didn’t depict any religious scenes. Instead, they were a myriad of colors and shapes that created a vast landscape of green rolling hills dotted with trees. There was a strange magic to the images. I never grew tired of admiring the work. Leo had told me they’d been a part of the church since its original construction. There was nothing churchy about them that I could see, but I was glad they were here.

The altar itself rested a few steps higher off the main floor. The steps and the platform were done in stone. There was a simple chair up there for Leo to sit on during mass and a podium for him to speak from. The simple wooden altar, bearing a cross on the front of it, sat in the middle.

I picked up another few songbooks and tucked them into the pockets of the benches. The last mass on Sundays was in the evening and had ended about an hour ago. It was part of my job to clean up after each gathering and put everything back the way it was. I never attended mass. I hung out in Leo’s office or the archives below while the services took place. Leo had never pushed me to attend, which I greatly appreciated. Unlike other priests who’d visited the orphanage I’d grown up in, he let me have my beliefs. The few I had certainly didn’t involve being a part of the church in this regard. The others had scolded me for it.

Leo had accepted it and moved on without a fuss.

Picking up the church after services on Sunday wasn’t the fun part of my job here, but I didn’t mind it. Despite not wanting to attend mass, being in the sanctuary alone in the soft quiet was soothing in its own way.

A draft blew through the room. I shivered and tucked my hands deep into the pockets of my cardigan. I’d definitely be making some hot chocolate once I left for the night.

Are you heading home then? Leo asked once the pews were picked up, and we stood together near the rear of the church close to the exit.

There was a door to the right that led to a covered sidewalk and on to Leo’s private residence. It was a one-bedroom stone house that matched the style of the church. I’d spent many nights in that tiny kitchen of his, sipping on tea or coffee, whiskey when I was old enough. We’d laughed, I’d cried, and he’d helped me understand that losing my parents didn’t mean I was alone forever. Or that I’d never get to understand who they were. They’d always be a part of me. I just had to look close enough to find them.

Leo had been a mentor and a friend. He still was. Hell, he was there for me the night of my first breakup. I’d been twenty and dating one of the few eligible guys in town. He’d cheated on me, not that I was surprised. Amused at the memory and how it was the first time I’d heard Leo curse brought a chuckle out of me.

What’s so funny? Leo asked.

Nothing at all. But no, I was going to stay a little longer. I’m still cataloging the new boxes that came in last week.

Rolling Hills Sanctuary might’ve been a small-town church tucked away in the middle of Kansas, but it boasted a rather large archive of some of the oldest texts in the country. I wasn’t sure how they all wound up here, but they did. The door to the left of the altar led to a short corridor. Going straight would dump a person in Leo’s office. The door to the right went to a set of stairs that led to the basement level beneath our feet. That’s where the archives were.

The church might’ve been little, but that basement level stretched the entire breadth of the grounds. Shelves upon shelves of books, boxes, and even scrolls of aged parchment filled every inch of that place. And every few weeks, more shipments would arrive needing to be examined, notes made for them, a slip written up to tuck in the filing system, then they’d be stored with the others. Crazily enough, I could have sworn the basement was smaller when I had first started here. But that was impossible. I always told myself it was merely a trick after some good organization.

Becoming a keeper of the archives of sorts wasn’t a job I’d ever thought I’d have. When I’d turned eighteen, the orphanage had to let me loose. I’d been terrified of what I would do. But Leo had shown up that day and told me he had a job waiting if I wanted it.

That was seven years ago.

Leo had even helped me find a suitable place to live in town. He knew the landlord and had negotiated a deal for my rent. The landlord, Teddy, was a nice man, too. He was a huge part of this town and took care of those he called friends. I did some odd jobs around the office at the apartment building, too, now and again, which helped balance out what he discounted from my rent. I wasn’t about handouts, not when I could work in one capacity or another. With my lower rent, I made enough money to even put some away each month. I wasn’t sure what I was putting it away for, but it was nice to know it was there if I needed it.

You work too much in that dusty basement, Leo scolded. You’re young, and it’s a Sunday night. Shouldn’t you be out trolling the bars for handsome young men?

Trolling the bars? I said through a laugh. Really?

What? It’s been a while since you’ve talked about going on any dates. I don’t want you to forget that there’s life outside of those archives.

I know, but there aren’t exactly a lot of options in a small town where you know everyone. And you’ve dated just about every single guy around who isn’t a drunk or a creep. Also, there are only two bars last time I checked, so trolling them would take only, eh, an hour, maybe? Why are you so worried about me having a life anyway? I have a life. I like my life.

He huffed but shook his head. Fine, fine, he said, throwing up his hands. I’ll leave you be.

Good. Night, old man.

He narrowed his eyes at me, then laughed. Lock up when you leave, and don’t stay too late, hmm?

I waved off his worries and headed for the door to the left of the altar. The other one closed with a loud click behind him. I flipped off the overhead lights, leaving the church illuminated only by the few streetlights in the small parking lot. I made it three steps into the hall—

Then the knocking came.

Pausing, I glanced over my shoulder. The two knocks had been soft, but I was sure I’d heard something. The old heating system groaned when it came on, but I’d never heard knocking. I waited for a beat, then turned around.

The knocking came a second time. The soft rapping turned into loud banging that got my heart racing. Someone was at the front door. Knowing Leo never turned away anyone when they needed help, I figured I’d let the person in so they could get out of the cold, then go and fetch Leo.

Halfway down the aisle, the knocking stopped, and I did, too.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.

Deciding I should get Leo first, I fumbled for my cell in my butt pocket. I had just pulled it out, and something heavy slammed into the doors hard enough to make them rattle in their frames. I jumped back, and my phone tumbled from my hands. Whatever was out there crashed into the doors a second time. I clapped my hands over my mouth, terrified to make a noise. I had to get my phone and get to a room with a lock. That was what instinct said I needed to do.

Whatever was outside that door was trouble and not of the spiritually in need kind.

But a cold draft flooded the church and froze me in place. I couldn’t get myself to move, not even when the doors rattled again. Not when the wood creaked under the strain.

Not when it splintered and threatened to buckle.

I wanted to run, but inexplicable fear kept me pinned. Why couldn’t I run? The cold draft became a gusting wind that shouldn’t have been possible. The doors splintered more. Through the cracks in the wood, a hulking figure stared back at me from the other side.

A hulking figure that growled like a wild beast.

I turned, wrenching my body while my feet still wouldn’t lift off the floor. Teeth chattering from the freezing cold, I attempted to find my voice and yell. But all that came out was a croaking sound.

The doors exploded inward, and the beast stepped inside the church.

My eyes went wide. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t. Monsters like that didn’t exist.

No, not a monster.

Demon.

The figure stalking into the church had to be seven feet tall. Curved black horns adorned his head, and claws tipped his fingers. He took another step forward, and the streetlight lit up his face. His lips were pulled back in a snarl baring sharp fangs. And his eyes were pitch black. He had tattoos covering his neck and trailing up his cheeks. More banded around extremely muscled forearms. He wore a t-shirt with black pants and combat boots. The image he presented confused me enough to shock me out of my fear.

Until he growled again. Then my mind shouted at me to run.

With my feet finally able to move, I bolted for the rear of the church.

The demon’s steps shook the floor. Pews were tossed aside as if they weighed nothing. They smashed into the walls, shattering on impact. Inches from the door leading outside, hands closed around my shoulders. Claws dug into my skin. I yelped, the last shreds of hope shattering that this was a nightmare. The sharpened points buried themselves deeper. The demon yanked me away from the door, and I slammed into one of the few pews still in its place.

The impact had to have broken bones. It did knock the air from my lungs, and my head throbbed. I rolled off the seat and onto the floor, thankful it was carpeted.

Upset it wasn’t plusher to cushion my fall better.

The demon’s boots—demons wear boots?—appeared right in front of me. I pushed upright, crawling away, but he snagged me by my sweater and hauled me up with one hand. His other wrapped around my throat, strangling me.

Those black eyes sucked me in. Screams filled my ears, and the sensation of hundreds of hands grabbing at my legs sent shivers down my spine. I kicked, landing a few solid hits, but the demon didn’t so much as flinch. His throaty cackle pricked my skin. He brought me to within inches of his fanged mouth.

Where is your priest? His growling voice stabbed at my ear drums.

I clawed at his arm, his hand, anything I could reach.

His grip tightened around my neck, and black spots filled my vision.

Where? Or I break your pretty little neck.

I spat in his face. His lip lifted in disgust, then, with his free hand, he backhanded me. Pain exploded. Had he broken my jaw? Worse? Beneath the pain came another, stranger sensation. A buzzing started in my ears. No, not buzzing. Crackling of some kind. Was it from the hit? How badly had this demon messed me up? The crackling became louder, but I was feeling it, too. It was a continual flicker of static rolling over my skin as if someone had rubbed their socks on the carpet and was touching me repeatedly.

The demon pinched my chin between his fingers, keeping his damn grip on my throat. Where is he?

Leo. Why is he after Leo? I couldn’t