Agents of Shadow Read online

  “With the sacred symbol of our order,” Father Paul had spoken with his arms raised high and his eyes looking upward, “we now commit the final act that fully draws the dark power of our brother, Brian Wells, and deems him worthy of his sacrifice for our purpose, that we may serve our dark father, who reigns through us always.”

  Brian, who would have otherwise kept his bearing completely still, had broken his military stare to glance at the priest. The use of the word “sacrifice” had caught him slightly off guard, but before he could completely comprehend the meaning behind the terminology, his fellow agent, the one who just called him brother, had immediately driven the dagger through the center of the bloody pentagram, deep into his heart. A confused look had overcome his eyes, which he had held on the priest’s smiling face as he had collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath.

  The priest had provided no explanation to the dying agent to ease his passing; he had merely ended the ceremony with one final statement: “Thank you for your service, Agent Wells.”

  When the dim light in Brian’s eyes vanished, the young agent had pulled the dagger from his lifeless body and had handed it back to the priest. “What do we do now?” he had asked.

  Father Paul had begun cleaning the blade with a dark cloth soaked in a foul smelling chemical. “I’m going to give you the address of one of our hidden facilities. There is a furnace there used for disposal. You are to take the body there, remove the heart, burn it, and recover the ashes. Then burn the rest of the body and deliver the ashes to me.”

  “What are the ashes for?” the young man had asked, completely intrigued by the entire process.

  “It’s a precaution,” the priest had answered casually. “We apply the ashes to our virgin sacrifices before the ceremonies. It prevents interference from any unwanted outsiders.”

  The agent had looked at Father Paul quizzically, who was not paying much attention to him, now having been preoccupied with tending to his bleeding hand. He had poured a greenish powder, from a small sack he retrieved from his robe, onto his wounded palm, and had pressed his right hand against it, closing his eyes in meditation.

  “Do you expect interference this time, Father?” he had asked considerably.

  “There is very little reason to believe so,” he had answered. “The ones who meddled in our affairs during the last series of Dark Years were soon dealt with. And our success so far, with no interference whatsoever, indicates that any possible survivors of our so called ‘witch hunt’ are scattered and broken. These Keepers of White are resourceful, but they are an endangered, if not extinct, cult… simple wisps of a brotherhood that died out ages ago. However, they were able to demonstrate their psychic ability to locate our potential virgin candidates before. The Cursed Ashes must be produced from one of our own, bound by blood. If applied to the forehead of the virgin sacrifice, it will resist their attempts to track her. Though it’s highly unlikely that there are any Keepers left who would attempt to stop us a second time, it doesn’t hurt to be cautious… just in case.”

  “So, not that I care… I had fun doing the dirty work, but you kill one of your own agents and cut out his heart… all for a just in case?”

  “In order for the Agents of Shadow to complete a Cycle,” Father Paul had explained, “we have to perform the thirteen sacrifices during a particular timeframe that’s referred to as a Dark Year. Each sacrifice must be done on a particular night, at the exact hour of that night. If the agents of the Primary Circle miss one sacrifice, if it’s not done at the appropriate time…”

  “The whole thing is fucked, and you have to start over.”

  The priest had opened his eyes and had begun to dust the green powder from his hands, having shown a diagonal scab on his palm that had been a fresh wound only moments before. “We have waited a long time for this, my friend. Though the Cycle has been known to have been completed a few times in the history of mankind, it is very rare. Dark Years do not occur very often. I would be very disappointed if we should fail, now that we’ve gotten so far. Make no mistake, I would cut out the hearts of a hundred of my agents for a just in case, if it will increase the likelihood of my success.”

  The agent had not commented on the priest’s display of his own ambitious nature; instead he had become somewhat tickled by the realization that he had more in common with the head of the Primary Circle than the old man would probably have admitted. “Now,” Father Paul had dictated, “if you would like to one day share in this success, I suggest you do as I instruct and bring me my ashes.”

  “Yes, Father Cunningham,” the agent had replied.

  “And whenever we’re out of earshot of anyone outside our Agency,” the priest had concluded, “you may address me by my true name.”

  “Yes, Senior Arnett,” the young man had obeyed.

  Chapter XIV

  And the boy had done as he was instructed. Father Paul inspected the ashes carefully within the tin box and felt satisfied that his decision to test his agent’s regained loyalty was not a mistake. He knew the boy had his own personal ambitions, but in the past two days, he and Diana were easily able to convince him of the benefits of his being in a symbiotic relationship with the Agency. They held a strong interest in the usefulness of his talents, and he needed the Agency in order to get what he wanted. Now, having delivered the Cursed Ashes in such a timely manner, proved that the lad understood this relationship.

  Now, all they had to do was wait. In less than two weeks, Father Paul would be applying the ashes to their next candidate in order to keep their ritual hidden, and shortly thereafter would sacrifice her to the dark lord, gaining even more focus and power, and coming one ritual closer to unlimited power. In the meantime, they would continue to rely on their assigned agent to fulfill his role in the matter.

  The thought that they were already nearing the fifth sacrifice excited him. They’ve not even gotten halfway through the Cycle, yet they’ve never gotten further. He knew it was best to focus on the plan, one day at a time, but he secretly enjoyed fast-forwarding time in his mind, to the final sacrifice, when he and his colleagues would become as powerful as the Master himself, and together they would rule over all. Everything was falling perfectly into place.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important, Father,” a familiar voice spoke from the doorway, breaking the priest’s train of thought.

  Father Paul looked up from his desk and smiled upon recognition of his sudden visitor. “Stephen! It’s good to see you so soon after our last meeting. I gather you took me up on my offer to attend the Bible Study session tonight?”

  Professor Madsen returned his own smile to the priest as he approached the desk. “Well, like you said Father, I’ll get a chance to meet our next candidate. I’m sure she’s a promising one.”

  “She is,” Father Paul affirmed, rising from his seat behind the desk to shake Madsen’s hand. “She’s quite stunning in appearance. I doubt that many young women that compare to her attractiveness prove to be as chaste as she. But she’s not as much of a motivated go-getter as your student was. Just a department store clerk. So you shouldn’t have any scruples this time about losing a contributing intellect in today’s society.”

  Professor Madsen ignored the jesting jab at his own ego. He had known Father Paul, or rather Senior Arnett, for a very long time. They were comfortable enough to make jokes with each other without one finding the other too offensive. “I see the young man in question has brought you a gift,” he noted, eyeing the open box of ashes on the desk in front of him.

  “Yes,” Father Paul answered. “It appears Diana was able to remind him of his place in the Agency quite well. Everything is going to work out quite well, Stephen. Don’t you agree?”

  “It does look promising, Father,” Madsen agreed. “With the other members in the Primary Circle, we can have full influence over the masses once the Cycle is complete.”

  “Exactly. The Master chose us well, my friend. Senator Homan is already making plans for
his campaign in the next election, and when he’s placed into office, he will appoint Judge Dickson into the Supreme Court.”

  “At this rate, I should follow suit and apply as Secretary of Education,” Madsen chuckled.

  “Why joke?” the priest suggested. “What better way to influence the masses than by molding the national curriculum? That aspect will be easy. The people are very distraught that our educational system ranks so poorly compared to other nations. Radical changes in that department will be welcomed if we sell it well. As long as we produce better statistics in the average testing scores, no one will take notice of the questionable material that we will slowly add.”

  “Diana,” the professor added, “will continue with recruitment, and of course seducing her own clients into mindless minions to do our dirty work. And you, Father?”

  “Religious influence of course,” the priest smiled. “Though I once favored entrepreneurship, I’m actually warming up to this ‘priest’ gig. I won’t be the pastor of St. Elizabeth’s forever. Eventually, I’ll be ordained as one of the bishops of the diocese. In time, cardinal…”

  “Perhaps you’ll find yourself running the Vatican one day,” Professor Madsen predicted with a sarcastic tone.

  “Well,” Father Paul laughed, “let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Still, you never know what the future might hold.” The two friends shared a quiet laugh together.

  But the moment died down unnaturally quicker than they would have liked, when Father Paul’s vision focused on another man, whom they hadn’t noticed before, standing in the doorway. His posture immediately tensed, which signaled Professor Madsen to turn around to take notice of the man as well. “Yes?” the priest acknowledged, trying to mask his surprise and irritation. “May we help you?”

  The man was dressed in dirty jeans that were ripped at the kneecaps, and a camouflaged jacket that extended down below his waist. His dark hair, that reached his shoulders, was uncombed and as filthy as his peppery, grey, bearded face and hands. Professor Madsen noticed the muddy complexion underneath his fingernails, which looked like they hadn’t been trimmed for quite some time. He entered, limping a little, with his muddy, Walmart-special work boots clomping on the linoleum floor. They were unlaced, and they slid up and down his feet as he hobbled, adding to the annoying thumping. “I was just lookin’ for the bathroom,” he answered the priest innocently, with a slur in his speech.

  “The bathrooms are in the main lobby of the church, son,” Father Paul suggested. “This is my private office.”

  “Church is locked,” the man answered, looking around sporadically as if an invisible fly was pestering him.

  What a sorry looking, waste of life, Professor Madsen thought, trying to hide a smirk. He was somewhat entertained by the man’s antics. “Well,” he said, “there are no masses scheduled this time of day. If you really need to relieve yourself, you might try the gas station down the street. They have public restrooms. It’s only a mile north of here; a quick drive… if you have a car.” He couldn’t hold back his smirk any longer, especially after his clever, hidden poke at the man, who was obviously homeless.

  The haggard man ceased his attempts to trace the invisible fly and made eye contact with Madsen. The professor’s smirk disappeared immediately when he took notice, for the first time, of the man’s powerful looking blue eyes as they squinted at his. They were the only feature that did not seem pitiful. It produced a contrast with the man’s despicable nature that was beyond the ability to describe in words. Suddenly the man’s throat produced a sound that was a hybrid between a laugh and a congested cough. Madsen wouldn’t have been surprised if the man was using all the money he panhandled to support a disgusting smoking habit. “Do I look like I own a freakin’ BMW to you, buddy?” he retorted. “You ‘spect me ta hop a mile down the road with this bum leg o’ mine? Maybe, you’ll be kind enough ta let me borrow yours, assumin’ you’re a good Christian and all.”

  “And how do you know I own a BMW?” Madsen demanded with a light-hearted laugh.

  “It’s the only car in the parkin’ lot outside. Guessin’ it’s yours, bein’ dressed so proper like you are.”

  “Something tells me, sir,” Madsen answered, “that you don’t have a driver’s license. Besides… I just had the car cleaned.” The professor’s smirk reemerged.

  Again the vagabond squinted his eyes at him. “Y’know, you’re a pretty rude guy,” he noted as he snorted what sounded like a large glob of phlegm up his nose. “Rich guys are always rude.” The man released his stare of contempt as his eyes began to search around the room, as if he were a building inspector.

  Madsen found this bantering to be particularly amusing. There were few things more gratifying than an inferior mind attempting to engage in a verbal battle of wits with an intelligent man of study like himself, and putting that inferior mind in his place. He placed his hands in the pockets of his trousers in a relaxed manner, indicating that he wouldn’t even come close to breaking a sweat with this one. “Perhaps my rudeness is in response to one who would enter a private office without knocking, to unwelcomingly eavesdrop on our conversation.”

  The man continued to search the office walls. “Hey man,” he appealed, “I was down the hall lookin’ for a freakin’ bathroom, when I heard laughter comin’ from this room. Thought maybe yous could point me in the right direction.” Then he shook his head as if appalled by the professor’s insensitive accusation. “Eavesdroppin’… Christ!”

  “Well son,” the more cordial priest jumped in, not wanting to agitate someone who did not show promising stability, “we usually don’t allow public access to the facilities here except during Mass and Confession hours. Are you a patron of St. Elizabeth’s?”

  The man shook his head. “Sorry Father; I don’t stay in one town for too long ta be a member of anythin’. But I did come ta Mass last Sunday.”

  Father Paul sighed. “Well, if it’s an emergency, I can make an exception just this once and unlock the bathroom in this building, but then I’m afraid you’ll have to be on your…”

  “I can wait,” the homeless man interrupted, scratching the top of his head with his long, dirty fingernails aggressively, as if his scalp suffered the worst itch ever known to man. “I don’t need ta go potty, Father. Just wanted ta wash up before the prayer meetin’.”

  “Prayer meeting?” Father Paul repeated with a false puzzlement.

  “Yeah,” the man confirmed. “I’m here for the prayer meetin’. You said at church that there was a prayer meetin’ ta-night, right?” He moved closer to the desk near Professor Madsen, who suddenly faked a cough as he subtly moved away to the far corner of the office behind the priest. He didn’t want to make it too obvious that he preferred not to be near the filthy bum, who probably reeked of cigarettes and beer.

  “Oh, the Bible Study session! Yes, of course.”

  “Yeah… Bible Study… prayer meetin’… whatever. Just thought I’d check it out.”

  “Okay,” Father Paul answered with slight hesitation. “The session takes place over at Shepherd Hall across the parking lot. It’s not for another half hour, if you don’t mind waiting outside.”

  “I don’t mind,” the man complied dreamily, now fixing his gaze on something behind the priest on the back wall.

  “I’ll be over that way shortly to open the doors for everyone,” the priest continued. “You can wash up in the bathroom there.”

  The vagabond didn’t respond. He stood motionless, staring intently at whatever object had caught his once wandering eyes. “Are you alright, son?” Father Paul inquired.

  “Never seen nothin’ like that before,” the man spoke with a whispering awe.

  “Beg your pardon?” Father Paul asked, turning behind him to discover what the man was looking at.

  “That statue on yer shelf, there. What is that, a werewolf or somethin’?”

  “Ah yes,” the priest smiled as he focused on the artifact in question. “Something I found to be very inter
esting.”

  “Wouln’t think ta find somethin’ pagan like that in a priest’s office,” the man pondered.

  Father Paul extended his hand to the statue on the shelf. “It can actually be interpreted as a religious item, if you consider what it represents. Can you see the sword that pierces the creature?” The man said nothing; the priest went on, not waiting for an affirmative response: “It’s righteous faith overcoming pagan folklore. Or, if you’d rather, a depiction of good defeating evil. I’ve always admired the detailed sculpting of the artwork, as well as the interpretative symbolism.”

  Though he had a statue just like it in his own office, Professor Madsen couldn’t help but find his eyes drawn to the artifact as well. He never tired of studying the thing, being one of the few humans on Earth that understood its true meaning. He was reminded of the time he had also lied about its origin to Jamie Partell, when she first noticed it on his desk and also took an interest.

  When the homeless man remained silent, and still did not offer further comment on the statue, Father Paul turned back around and was rather distraught to find that the intruder was standing very close to the desk, and his eyes were now fixated on the open tin box containing the ashes. “A very interesting statue indeed,” he remarked as he quickly snatched the box off the desk and closed the lid.

  The man looked up innocently at Father Paul. “Is it Ash Wednesday again already?” he asked, fervently scratching his head again. “I thought that was in February…”

  Father Paul eyed the man with a disapproving, “don’t touch” look; the same that parents often give to their toddlers when they reach for the cookie jar without permission. “These are my mother’s ashes, son; I’ve only recently acquired them.”