A Knight of the Sacred Blade by Jonathan Moeller

with her Christmas cards. 
    “Yup,” said Katrina. “I have them right here with me. You can have them just as soon as the driveway’s shoveled.”
    Ally rolled her eyes. “Mom. I have homework to do.”
    “The best way to prepare for mental exertion is with physical exercise,” said Katrina.
    Simon folded his hands in his laps. “You kids heard your mom.”
    Katrina smiled at him. “She sent you a card, too.”
    Simon blinked and leaned forward. “She did? Can I see it?” 
    “Sure,” said Katrina. “After the driveway’s shoveled.”
    Simon sighed. “Let’s get the shovels, kids.” 

    ###

    That night Ally dreamed of her confrontation with Paulsen.
    But this time Paulsen’s eyes were bottomless black pits, windows into the void. He grinned at her, and the walls of the classroom exploded, revealing a yawning black abyss.
    Clawed shadows boiled from the darkness, hissing her name.
    Ally awoke trembling and drenched in sweat, and did not sleep for the rest of that night. 

Chapter 5 - The Speech

    Anno Domini 2012

    “Ten years, Goth,” said Senator Thomas Wycliffe, straightening his hair. He heard the rumble of the crowds through the curtains. “It’s taken ten years to set this up.” 
    The creature that used the name of Goth Marson stood in the corner, a dark shadow in his black jacket and sunglasses and bushy black beard. Aides and technicians scurried back and forth through the broad concrete corridor, and most pretended not to see Goth. Those few who did glance at the Senator’s bodyguard shuddered and hurried on their way. 
    Wycliffe laughed. “Talkative as always. Well. You may think this a waste of time, but in ten minutes, you’ll think differently.” 
    Goth said nothing. 
    Excitement fluttered in Wycliffe’s gut. Ten years of work, ten years of effort, ten years of plotting would come to fruition tonight. If everything went according to plan. If his experiments and conclusions concerning the Voice granted by Marugon’s lessons in black magic had been correct. 
    Wycliffe grinned. If not…well, he could always start over. 
    But if it worked, he would be the ruler of the United States of America within the year. 
    Applause broke out. Wycliffe titled his head and listened. 
    “Senator?” A technician in black touched his elbow. “The opening speeches are done. They’re ready for you.”
    Wycliffe smiled. “Yes. They are, aren’t they?” The technician blinked, then smiled and nodded. “Let’s do this, shall we?” 
    The technician led him up the ramp, through the curtain, and into the cavernous arena of Chicago’s United Center. Lights glared off the polished floor and threw a maze of tangled shadows over the ceiling. Huge video screens hung from the ceiling, facing the seats, alongside the championship pennants from the Bulls’ long-past glory years. 
    Wycliffe’s eyes wandered over the seats as the technician led him to the podium set at center court. Thousands upon thousands of people filled the seats. When he had announced his candidacy for the House of Representatives at the capitol in Springfield fourteen years ago, nine people had been present. 
    One of them had been the janitor. 
    He had come a long way, indeed. His smile widened as he took in the banks of TV cameras. 
    “Ladies and gentlemen,” said the man at the podium, an odious state legislator whose name Wycliffe could never remember, “for our keynote speech of the evening, may I introduce to you a man who has served the State of Illinois for over fourteen years, a man whose commitment and devotion to the people of Illinois is beyond question, may I introduce…Senator Thomas Wycliffe!”
    Thunderous applause rose from the packed seats. Wycliffe put on his crowd smile and climbed up to the platform. He shook hands with the insignificant legislator, the attorney general, the Chief Justice of the state Supreme Court, the lieutenant governor, the governor, and the horde of other important personages