American Craftsmen Read Online Free PDF

moves, Endicott’s sword was out of its box and in his hands. He forgot his mission, forgot himself, forgot everything except perhaps God. With main force and little method, he started destroying all things within reach.
    Gnarled hands tried to restrain him; Endicott had forgotten Macha. The old man bellowed with surprising strength. “I do not care who fuck are you!”
    Endicott wanted to toss Macha aside and get on with the Lord’s work, but he noticed that the man was no longer alone. Two young goons with semiautomatic pistols stood at the doorway.
    Macha chuckled and coughed. “You leave now, maybe I let you live.”
    Meanwhile, the undead limbs and heads were crawling and rolling toward Endicott, as if to smother him in their sheer mass. He was outgunned, outmanned. As for spirit, Macha didn’t have much personal juice, but the chamber’s black-light force seemed to flow through him. Endicott couldn’t take him in a straight-up duel of power.
    But Endicott would not leave this room without ensuring its destruction. Even if Macha were telling the truth, Endicott couldn’t live knowing its evil continued.
    Only one weapon left, the distinct spiritual strength in which the Endicotts exceeded all others. The power of command.
    He prayed at Macha’s goons. “ In the name of Jesus, I compel you. Shoot each other.”
    Each goon turned toward the other, hands shaking, shooting, but shots flying wide. The old man’s voice rose to a shrill cry. “Stop it. Shoot him. Shoot the American!” The force of the place aided him; the goons stopped shooting at each other.
    Now another commanding prayer, one which Endicott had no assurance of being answered. He prayed at the heads, hands, and feet. “ In Christ’s name, attack these men.”
    With unnatural speed, these soulless things somehow obeyed, crawling and rolling toward his three enemies, wrapping around their feet, biting at their ankles. But the goons’ hands had ceased to shake; soon, their wills would be their own.
    Endicott had one more prayer, a completely silent one outside his usual expertise. Extinguish flame. The fires under the alchemical vats snuffed out. He prayed his enemies wouldn’t notice.
    Endicott faced his enemies, sword out. One of the goons was slowly aiming toward Endicott; the other was still struggling. Both blocked his exit. The writhing arms and legs on the ground seemed less lively and affectionate.
    The gas under the vats continued to hiss. Time to go.
    Waving his sword, Endicott charged the goon with the better aim. If he got a shot off, show over. “ Fall! Fall and…” Macha started to say something nasty; Endicott slashed at him with his sword as he plowed shoulder first into the goon. Macha dodged the blow; Endicott spun off the goon and tumbled onto the hard floor of the sitting room.
    The old man screamed, “Die, die, die!”
    Endicott suddenly felt slower, weaker. But such poorly planned craft could not stop him. In a second, he was up, and running for the stairs.
    Endicott reached the stairway and raced up with grasping arm and pumping legs, sword gripped down at his side. The room tugged at him, wanting him to stay. “After him! ” cried Macha.
    The tramp of goons’ feet on stone echoed behind him. No more time. “ In the name of God, flame on! ”
    The explosion rumbled through the stone. The concentrated gas acted as catalyst for other chemicals in the room, which added their destructive force in rumbling crescendo. A furnace of flame roiled up, impelled by alchemy and the dark spirit of the place, reaching for Endicott with the dying screams of his enemies. His clothes were on fire. He was on fire.
    Oh God, out, out, out! He burst out of the passageway and rolled on the antique carpet, then lay there, exhausted. For these gifts I give thee thanks, Lord.
    He prayed for healing, but that wasn’t his strong suit. His painful burns weren’t that severe. Just get me through the day, Lord. Caretakers and security men were