Old Dogma New Tricks
The Elven Prophecy™ Book Two
Theophilus Monroe
Michael Anderle
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2021 LMBPN Publishing
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
A Michael Anderle Production
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LMBPN Publishing
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Las Vegas, NV 89109
First US edition, May 2021
ebook ISBN: 978-1-64971-757-3
Print ISBN: 978-1-64971-758-0
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Author Notes - Theophilus Monroe
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
Books by Theophilus Monroe
Books By Michael Anderle
Connect with The Authors
The Old Dogma New Tricks Team
Thanks to our Beta Team
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If We’ve missed anyone, please let us know!
Editor
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Chapter One
I was supposed to preach in about five minutes.
And I couldn’t get off the toilet.
No, it wasn’t anything I ate. I’d finished my business a while ago. I literally couldn’t stand up.
I sighed. It was the day after leg day.
Layla had made me do about a thousand lunges and squats, and that’s not hyperbole. My lower half was so sore that sitting down on the toilet had been challenging enough. Getting up again was going to be damn near impossible.
I just got off suspension as a preacher. Our former bishop, now in jail for drunk and disorderly conduct, had blackballed me for what he thought was heresy. His replacement, Philip Schwartzerdt, was more progressive, and with a unanimous vote of support from my congregation, he’d had me reinstated.
Good news, right?
But there was a problem. I mean, other than my current bathroom predicament.
How in the world was I supposed to preach again when a legion of otherworldly elves was preparing to launch an assault on Earth?
Don’t get me wrong; I still had my faith. But the existence of elves, not to mention magic, was a truth that would rattle people to the core. Not that our beliefs were incompatible with such things—at least I didn’t believe they were—but accepting it required a bit of an open mind.
What in the world could I preach that would prepare people for something like that? I had something prepared, but I wasn’t happy with it. It felt insufficient.
Still, given all the time in the gym, all the time training with Layla to fend off legions of magic-wielding elves, not to mention going to work at my second part-time job as a bartender, I didn’t have a lot of time to devote to sermon prep.
It wouldn’t matter what I’d prepared, I suppose, if I couldn’t get my ass off the toilet.
I looked to my right—handicap rail.
Thank God we were ADA compliant. Usually, older facilities like ours can get away with not following the rules since most of the requirements apply to new construction, but I always thought it was important to provide accessibility. Since most of our congregation was north of sixty, it made sense, too.
I gripped the rail. It didn’t help much, mainly because it was back day the day before it was leg day, and the muscles I needed to pull myself up were sore, too.
I grunted, hurled my body off the toilet, and fell on the floor.
The bathroom floor. Gross, right?
I checked my watch. I needed to wrap this up.
I closed my eyes and focused.
Magic. I could use a little magic.
I mean, I was still a novice when it came to this sort of thing, but I’d used magic to fly. All I had to do was clear my mind and visualize it.
I took a deep breath.
Ew. Thankfully, a skunk doesn’t know its own scent. Not pleasing, but tolerable. I tried not to think about it.
I envisioned myself standing up. Precision was difficult. When it came to magic, I tended to overdo it. I went from neutral to fifth gear, no problem. It was the level two, three, and four magic I struggled with. I have always had difficulty with moderation.
Rise, I told myself. I mean, I was a preacher. All I had to do to make other people stand was open my palms, move my hands up just a few inches, and people always obeyed. It was almost like magic. What I needed now wasn’t much more than that. Keep it small, Caspar, I told myself. No more magic than I need to get back to my feet.
I saw myself, in my mind’s eye, standing up. Yeah, my pants were still around my ankles, which looked ridiculous even in my imagination.
Somehow I’d have to bend over and pull them up.
One problem at a time.
I opened my eyes. I was floating in mid-air above the toilet.
“Shit!” I exclaimed, trying to keep my voice down.
My magic failed and I fell, my right foot splashing in the john…which I hadn’t flushed.
I’m not one of those name-it-claim-it preachers. I don’t believe in that, but I had to wonder if I hadn’t just said “shit,” maybe my shoe wouldn’t be in the middle of a bunch of it.
Somewhere up in the heavens, God was looking down and laughing his divine ass off at my expense.
I didn’t have a lot of time to deal with it.
After removing my foot from the toilet, I bent over at the waist, straining my hamstrings.
I caught my waistband with my middle finger—a small but noteworthy success.
I pulled up my pants, flushed, remov
ed my shoe, and washed it off the best I could in the sink.
I put it back on my foot, which was a challenge all its own. I had to lean against the wall, cross one foot over the other leg, and try to slip it on.
Thankfully, these were loafers and didn’t have laces.
I lowered my foot and squished, feeling the delightful sensation of toilet water between my toes.
I sighed.
This was what I got for letting Layla work my ass off at the gym.
Don’t get me wrong; I love her. She’s the first woman I’ve loved since my divorce. And she’s an elf princess, which, in a way, adds a little allure to the relationship. I don’t know—it’s exotic and a little taboo. There’s an extra thrill in that.
Despite everything I loved about her, there was something about the door of that gym that turned her into something else. It was like a magic portal that changed her from a sweet, empathetic, attractive female into a total monster.
She was an exercise freak and pushed herself to the absolute limits. It was impressive. I’d be okay with it if she hadn’t taken it upon herself to train me, too.
I was sure she’d get a kick out of it when I told her this story.
Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.
No one could ever know about this other than God Almighty, and that was only because He was all-knowing. Sometimes God’s omniscience was embarrassing. I mean, you’d think He’d respect someone’s privacy. Just because He could see all and know all didn’t mean He had to creep on me in the bathroom.
I washed my hands; I’m not a barbarian. I’d end up shaking a lot of hands in short order. I added a pump of hand sanitizer for good measure. After the handshaking, I’d have to use it again since I was reasonably sure that at least a few of the folks in the congregation were non-hand-washing Neanderthals.
I quickly vested up since Holy Cross was an old-school church. Wasn’t my style, but it wasn’t my place to mess with people’s traditions, not without a good reason. Not as long as they gave people comfort.
I had a long white robe and a purple stole. Purple because it was the first week of Lent, and that was the prescribed color of the season.
I did a double-check in the full-length mirror before stepping out into the chancel.
People started applauding. Were they cheering me?
I don’t think I’d ever heard anyone clap in our church. The denominational powers that be discouraged it. We shouldn’t praise people, we should praise God; that was what they said. Clapping was irreverent.
But they were applauding my return.
The last time I was there, just as I was starting my sermon, Doris had a stroke. She was one of my favorite members. She was an older lady, not theologically trained or well-educated, but she had the kind of faith that could move mountains. Compared to me, she was a spiritual giant.
At the time, I didn’t know what had happened. I’d been stabbed by a magic blade and the mysterious elf who had since become my girlfriend had healed me somehow, not leaving so much as a scar. But that blade had connected me to Earth’s magic. When Doris collapsed, I’d healed her before the paramedics arrived.
That particular event was, oddly enough, what my former bishop had used as cause to suspend me. He didn’t believe it was a miracle. In truth, I didn’t think it was either, but in his mind, I’d healed Doris by the power of Satan. Yes, because that’s the sort of thing the devil likes to do. Human sacrifice. Ritual orgies. Healing old ladies from strokes. Makes sense.
I had resigned myself that my career was likely over, and if my former bishop, Matthias Flacius, hadn’t gotten himself into alcohol-induced legal trouble that triggered a review of his decisions, I wouldn’t be a minister anymore. I wouldn’t be standing there in front of my congregation, awkwardly receiving their applause.
Ironic, I thought. I mean, why cheer me on for something they believed God did?
I raised my hand and lowered it slowly, a universal gesture meant to signal it was time to sit down and shut up.
“Thank you,” I said, smiling. “It’s great to be back here with you all, and I thank you for your support and prayers.”
I cocked my head. “Did someone lock the doors?”
“Yes, Pastor,” Doris said. “The minister who filled your place in your absence insisted we lock them to prevent interruptions.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. No wonder this church didn’t look at all like our community. Holy Cross was located in a part of the neighborhood that was seventy-five percent African American, but there wasn’t a single person in attendance who wasn’t white.
“Someone open the door,” I said. “We welcome everyone.”
“But Pastor,” said Jim, one of the elders, “it’s probably just a beggar looking for a handout.”
“Then let them come,” I said, meeting Jim’s concerned stare with a determined one. “Blessed are the poor.”
No one was applauding now. There was nervousness in the air. In my experience, a lot of Christians talked a good game, gave a lot of money to good causes, and supported ministries that were supposed to care for the poor. But like a lot of people, they’d rather throw money at a problem than get their hands dirty. They’d rather not get involved in the lives of real people who have genuine problems.
Another knock on the door, louder this time.
“Is someone going to open the door?” I asked again.
No one moved.
I walked down the aisle. The whole place was silent. I unlocked the door, and the click of the latch echoed throughout the sanctuary.
I swung open the door.
A nice-looking man stood there. A black man. He had a look of desperation in his eyes. He grabbed my hand and knelt in front of me. “Please, man of God!”
“Stand up,” I said. “I’m just a man.”
“But you are a healer, man of God!”
I bit my lip. I turned and saw Doris, who was beaming with pride. I surveyed the rest of the room and saw looks of concern mixed with curiosity. I turned my attention back to the visitor and smiled. I gripped his hand and helped him to his feet. “Like I said, sir, I’m just a man.”
“But you wield the power of God!” the man declared.
I looked at the congregation again. Their expressions hadn’t changed. Funny how news of my supposed “miracle” had spread. No wonder the visiting minister who’d handled services during my absence kept the doors locked. It wasn’t just to keep the poor out; it was to keep the miracle-seekers at bay.
“In the future,” I told the man, “don’t kneel before anyone but God.”
The man smiled at me and nodded. “Only trying to show respect to a man of God.”
I returned the smile as best I could. “Sir, would you like to join us for worship?”
“No, Pastor,” the man said. “But I was hoping you could help my daughter.”
I cocked my head. “What’s wrong with your daughter?”
The man reached out the door and waved his hand. A few moments later, a woman appeared, pushing a young girl in a well-used and outdated wheelchair. The child couldn’t have been more than twelve. She smiled at me sweetly.
I smiled back at her. “What’s your name?”
“Grace,” the girl told me.
I smiled. “I love that name. It is by grace that we are saved.”
The girl turned to her mom. “I like him!”
“Can you help her, preacher?” the man asked.
“What’s your name, sir?” I asked.
“I’m Cecil, and this is my wife Shanda. You’ve already met Grace.”
“What’s wrong with her?” I asked. “Why can’t she walk?”
“The doctors say spina bifida in the top part of her back,” Cecil said. “But God can heal her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, nodding. “Do you need assistance with her medical bills? Maybe a better chair?”
“You’re the one they call Caspar. You’re the healer, right?” the man asked.
“That’s my name. I’m just a regular preacher.”
“Not true,” Doris piped up. “He healed me!”
I glanced at Doris. “I don’t know what I did, Doris. And this young lady. Sir, I’m sorry, but…”
“Please, Preacher. Just try! We’ve been coming every week, hoping to find you here. We’ve got Medicaid, but there’s only so much the doctors can do.”
I bit my lip. I really didn’t know what I could do, but if there was a chance, if I could use my magic to help this girl, could I turn her down? To have the ability to help but not use it would make me worse than my former bishop. I had to try.
I prayed I wouldn’t make things worse. My propensity was to overshoot magic-wise.
I nodded at Cecil and Shanda and placed my hand on Grace’s back.
I took a deep breath.
I released it.
I didn’t know a ton about Grace’s condition. I knew what it was, more or less, but it wasn’t as important to understand her problem as to visualize her healthy and whole. That was how I’d inadvertently healed Doris. I’d remembered her as I knew her, full of life and vigorous for her age. I focused on this girl, her spine normal, running and playing with other children. I imagined her jumping rope, playing hopscotch.