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to the area. They apparently thought the crooked walls and mildewed brick of the rehabbed buildings were “quaint” and had “personality”. I preferred my living space to be clean and square. I just thought the Bridge Street area was old and mildewed. It’s all in how you look at things I guess.
    The Church of the Twined Hands sat forlornly in the shadows of the two multiple-storied buildings of stark stainless steel on either side of it. In sharp contrast, the church was built of timeworn golden rock and was only about three stories high, with a tower that rose above the church, extending another three stories. Its windows were round, in the architectural style of churches from the early nineteenth century and filled with golden glass.  Like lace on a hemline, gargoyles of various shapes and sizes banded the entire roofline. Some of the ugly, little creatures had dark, static eyes and didn’t look like they’d moved in centuries. Some of them, however, had roving eyes of red fire. Most of the creatures had claws the length of my hand and teeth that could rip the Viper apart with little effort. I was glad they slept soundly on their assigned perches that night and prayed they’d stay that way. Like rats, gargoyles are not my favorite things.
    As I pulled open the heavy, iron-studded front door of the church, I thought I caught movement along the roofline and my eyes shot heavenward even as I threw out my sensing power. As my power came back to me laden with raw, frigid evil, my hand tightened on the carved, iron handle of the door and my spine stiffened with fear.
    Somewhere out there evil watched. A deepening sense of cold filled me as I closed my eyes and concentrated hard on trying to identify the source of the evil. With the gathering cold, I became aware of the foul odor of rot, like putrefying flesh on a decaying corpse and I knew that, whatever it was, I didn’t want to meet up with it.
    Just as suddenly as I’d sensed the evil force it disappeared. I hoped that meant it had gone away, rather than the all too possible alternative. Which was that it had somehow sensed my probing power and had cloaked itself.
    I continued into the church and closed the door firmly behind me...entering a world of warmth and subdued, golden light.
    Deaver had promised to meet me in the church office and the only direction he’d given me was that it was located on the second floor. Looking around in the semi-darkness, I spied a wide stone staircase built into the wall just to the right of the entrance. I climbed the stairs to the dimly lit hallway of the second floor.
    As I reached the second floor, I noticed that the staircase continued to climb into the darkness above and I briefly wondered what secrets the darkness held there. A cold, energy-infused breeze flowed downward from the shadowed space, caressing my skin and pulling my hair back from my face. The whispery breeze was filled with magic and left me feeling as if I’d like to keep ascending those stone stairs to see what was waiting in the darkness beyond the muted landing. Remembering why I was there, I turned away and started down the dimly lit hallway. But I decided I would ask Deaver what lay beyond the second floor when I spoke to him. It might bear checking out in the near future.
    There was only one office space on the floor that appeared to be occupied and, as I walked toward that well-lighted room, my ears picked up an unidentifiable clicking noise that seemed to be coming from inside. Aside from the faint, unidentified sound, the entire floor felt deserted and was eerily quiet.
    My nose wrinkled in self-defense as I neared the church office. I quickly realized that the sulfurous odor I was picking up was coated with another, sickly sweet smell I couldn’t identify. The small hairs on the back of my neck rose to attention and I fought off a chill of apprehension as I reached to knock on the doorframe of the open door to announce my presence.
    As soon as my