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Chapter 1

Postcard - San Francisco Fire, 1906


I’m okay.

But e-communications aren’t secure. Gargoyle mail is safer.

It seemed a run-of-the-mill pagan ritual. An abandoned church. Moonlight streaming through dusty stained glass. But it had a Silicon Valley twist. Candle apps for candles. Networked PCs marked the directions. Techno-nerds encircled a silver pentagram painted on the rough, wooden floor.

And they knew I was coming.

Unfortunately, I didn’t know. I was exposed, vulnerable, ignorant.

Pigeons fluttered in the rafters, and the lights went out. The engineers charged, lifting me off my feet, and moved toward the altar. There was a power surge – from me, I think.

The church came down in a horrible, tearing crash of breaking beams and shattering glass. Does it make my crime less awful that the church was deconsecrated?

I don’t think so either.

I also don’t know how I escaped, but so did a technomancer. And I can’t trust I’ve stopped their spell until I stop him.

They say cyberspace has a guiding spirit. God help us if it’s true.



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