Daniel Taylor - Demon Heart

"I can't stand it anymore," James grumbled to himself. Wiping the sweat and dust from his forehead with the back of his hand, he sat down heavily on a stone block. It was stuffy and dark inside the pyramid, his nose itched constantly, and he was thirsty. They hadn't yet found what they were looking for. In fact, thus far they had found absolutely nothing - nothing except a ton of dirt. Maybe the scepter wasn't even in this tomb. Maybe it wasn't anywhere near Cairo! The Guild must have made a mistake in deciphering the hieroglyphs. Could anyone believe what was written on a 1,000-year-old clay pot, anyway?

A scepter capable of making anyone your loyal subject, that would be something, James considered. The first thing he'd do would be to send his archaeology professor - the one who made his students toil like slaves in ancient Egypt - straight to hell. James wanted badly to be back at his hotel, freshly showered and nestled in his soft bed. Every muscle in his body ached.

He had moved a bit away from the group in order to enjoy his lunch break in peace, and now he found himself alone in an empty room. Outside, the sunlight was too hot for him to bear. In any case, James didn't want anyone nearby while he wallowed in memories.

Groaning, he pulled a lantern emitting a glaring circle of light closer to him, gulped the last swallow of water from his canteen, and took several folded pieces of paper from his breast pocket. They were letters from Anne. James had read them so many times that he knew them by heart. Just touching them gave him a sense of normality, of home. Anne had been the girl next door when he was a child, and he thought of her often. It wasn't that long ago, really, just a few years. He wished that he could turn back time - he would have done so many things differently.

Imagine, he read, in just a short while Peter and I will be married. I'll be Mrs. Taylor, the wife of a future doctor! It would be lovely if you could come to the wedding ...

As always, his heart skipped a beat. Sighing, he lowered the letter. Anne was lost to him. Since her wedding, she scarcely ever wrote to him. James loved those letters. Anne was his only connection to a world that had no demons, watchers, or other terrible creatures - except in myths.

As James scratched his head, shaking a layer of grey sand and dust out of his brown hair, he thought about how he hated this dry, barren country, and wished he could return to Little Peak. Although the town was situated in the middle of California, where the temperatures were often sizzling hot, there was at least a bit of green, flowing water, and, above all, the people he missed so badly. His parents still lived there. Like him, they worked for the Watchers' Guild, although they were no longer in active service; they left that to younger members or those who had received special training.

The mission of the Guild was to protect humanity from all things evil. The watchers were regular people, but acted like angels on earth: Although they were as vulnerable to injury as anyone else, they possessed certain special skills. They could even generate spheres of energy to protect themselves. The best thing was that they could "beam" themselves from one place to another. This was known as "dematerializing and rematerializing," "translocation," or simply "teleportation."

"I miss you, Annie," James whispered.

He wished he could have told Anne who he really was; instead, he had had to play the role of a spoiled rich kid who, thanks to the wealth of his parents, was sent off to a fancy boarding school rather than attending Little Peak High with her. In fact, he had been sent to the Guild School in the town of Avalon on Santa Catalina Island, just off the coast of Los Angeles. This was the best possible training ground for a future watcher. The island was owned by th

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