Chapter Twenty-SevenTHE YEAR OF THE SNAKE
Drake reached out to touch Lori, blue light zigzagging from the crucifix on the wall to his hand and back to her.
She was filled with radiance and felt the release of the burden from her heart—but the pain was still there. Would it never go away? It seemed like the old pain was gone only to be replaced with a new one.
“Don't, Drake,” she moaned. “I'd rather live with the familiar anguish.”
“It won't be quick and easy,” Drake said. “It wasn't with me. Hold tight, sweetheart. Seamus will say a prayer. An Irish prayer is so powerful.” The leprechauns played at his feet.
“I won't be condemned to a canker growing through my soul where the Devil claimed me, too.” She gasped. Drake seemed without pretense for the first time. Lori collapsed and sighed
