Author’s Note: Constructive criticism is always welcome, as are suggestions to the development of the succeeding chapters. I do not guarantee that any feedback will be included in the story, but proper credit for any contributions will be given if it is.
“Good morning, ma’am.” The policeman’s voice was shaking as he held the door open. Not surprising, Agent Kimberly Walters thought to herself. The poor bastard had probably never seen anything so incredibly violent and disturbing in his life.
“Good morning,” she replied curtly. She did not want to seem rude or arrogant, but she had not enjoyed being pulled from another important case halfway across the world only to be brought here. She had had very little sleep and she was understandably upset, being driven straight to the site from the airport, without even being given a chance to change her clothes. Her normally perfect and flowing red hair was unkempt, she could swear she had eye-bags bigger than her luggage and she had a minimum of makeup on. The higher-ups obviously thought this case incredibly important.
Putting on her sunglasses, she stepped out of the car and let her leather shoes dig into the soft clay and sand. She muttered a soft curse. She stood up, straightening her brown pantsuit and fixing the collar of her white blouse underneath. The strong wind blew her fiery red hair back. She checked her watch. Seven in the morning; “Perfect,” she thought to herself sarcastically. She silently hoped that the Agency had gotten them a damn good motel nearby. A ghost town in the middle of New Mexico was not her idea of a perfect getaway. The sweltering heat was unbearable, she noted, as a bead of perspiration made it down her face.
She was surrounded by police vehicles and a local CSI team, but most of them had been ordered to stay back. The Agency had implemented a lockdown on this case quickly. Security was tight coming in and no information had been given to the media.
“Where are they?” came a deeper voice. Agent Rogan, her field partner, stepped out of the car. At 6’4”, he towered above her 5’6” frame, and dwarfed everyone else at the scene. He wore his textbook shades and black suit rather well, as he was a muscular man, with short, cropped hair like most agents had in the Agency…basically a walking cliché.
“Over there,” the police officer pointed, his finger visibly shaking. “at the abandoned church. The sheriff’s over there.”
Agent Rogan and Agent Walters made their way in the direction that the police officer had pointed out. Rogan stepped closer to Walters to make sure no one would hear. “So, what do you think?”
Agent Walters raised an eyebrow. “Of what?”
“Of this weird case we’ve been assigned.”
“It’s a job, just like every other job we’ve done…just another case.” She replied shortly.
“Come on, Kim. You’ve got to be kidding. The brass pulls us out right in the middle of a case in Turkey, lands us right in this hellhole, and for what…some weird murder that the police can’t handle? This is crap. We’re supposed to be maintaining national security and running counter-terrorist operations, not running down cultist freaks and psychos.”
“It’s just another case,” Agent Walters muttered. She could tell that Rogan was rolling his eyes, but he seemed to let it go and did not press the issue further. He was just as tired as she was, and he probably didn’t have the energy to go into a prolonged discussion, though she was sure she would get an earful the next day. Rogan always worried too much, he always had. The Agency surely would not have assigned them this case if it wasn’t important, especially considering that they had been pulled off another case just so they could look into this. Still, Kimberly had to agree that this murder was far stranger than any she had ever seen, at least, according to the report. A ritualistic killing, a violent and bloody rampage that had pretty much decimated the small ghost town, and the lone survivor and primary suspect to the macabre act had barely said a word. For all his worrying, Kim knew that Rogan was absolutely right. This seemed like a case for the FBI, not the Agency.
She saw the Church at the far end of the town, but as soon as she and Agent Rogan walked past the fence that marked the ghost town’s border, she felt as though the air suddenly became thicker, and it seemed much more difficult to breathe and move. She started to feel the hair on the back of her neck rise, and a shiver came running down her spine. If something seemed off about this case before, then now something felt downright wrong…the moment that she took one step into the town she wanted to step back. It just felt…sinister.
One look at Rogan told her that he was probably feeling it too, but she kept the overwhelming sense of dread to herself, knowing full-well that Agent Rogan would only deny feeling it, whatever “it” was. In that brief moment, Agent Kimberly Walters realized why the police officer who had greeted them was spooked.
Much of the town looked exactly like what Kimberly Walters expected a ghost town to look like…but something seemed off. Many of the buildings were intact, but some of them had great holes punched into them, and these were obviously not from dilapidation. Perfect circles of the same size, they all were, and their borders were sharp, as if somebody had used a perfect surgical instrument to cut into them. The edges were singed, as well. The ground was crisscrossed with burn marks as well, as though made by a flamethrower.
It only got worse as she came closer to the run-down church. It wasn’t much of a building anymore. The roof was mostly gone, as were much of the walls. The façade was relatively intact, though, and at the steps she saw three police officers standing over a man sitting on the top step. The man was hunched over and he held his dark-haired head down, his elbows resting over his knees. Judging by his build, Kim could tell that the man was probably 5’9”, give or take an inch. She couldn’t make out his face, since he kept his head down. He had a sleeveless shirt on, torn and burnt in some places, and the blue jeans he wore were also in a similarly rundown state.
They stepped into the churchyard and approached slowly. Rogan flexed his fingers. Kim knew that he was getting testy.
As they came closer, the police officer in the middle took a step forward to greet them. His lips were shaking and sweat rolled down his slightly pudgy face. “Good day, sir, ma’am.” He attempted to tip his hat to them, but his hand was shaking so much that he basically shook it instead.
“Sheriff Jim Armstrong,” the sheriff said, introducing himself. “We’ve been waiting for some time. They told us they were sending experts…”
“And they’re here,” Kim interrupted. “My name is Agent Walters, this is my partner, Agent Rogan. We’ve been called in to take over this case,” Kimberly said, reaching into her coat pocket to produce her badge. Agent Rogan did the same.
The sheriff nodded, wiping the sweat off of his brow with a white handkerchief. Agent Rogan placed his badge back into his coat pocket and pulled out a small notebook and a black pen. “So,” he started, “what’s the victim’s name?”
“Lancaster…Vincent Lancaster,” The sheriff replied. “…some businessman or something or other,” he continued, scratching his head underneath his hat. “From what we can tell, he wasn’t even supposed to be here. We’ve got his limousine parked behind the old tavern back there,” the sheriff said, pointing to a rundown building down one dirt road that came from the main avenue. “Car’s a bloody mess, driver’s mutilated beyond recognition, and Lancaster per se, well, we can’t find any trace left of his body. Bout the only thing we did find was…” he paused, gesturing nervously towards the man sitting on the church steps. “…him.”
Kimberly tilted her head to have a look over the sheriff’s shoulder. “Who is he? A survivor? A witness? Or a suspect?” Kimberly asked.
“We don’t know…” the sheriff said, the fear and uncertainty in his voice apparent.
“What’s his name?” she continued.
“Matthew…” Sheriff Armstrong answered.
“Matthew---what?” Agent Rogan asked, clearly annoyed at the lack of any real answers that the local law had been providing.
“That’s all he’ll tell us,” the sheriff responded. Agent Rogan opened his mouth to make a comment, but the sheriff continued. “He’s the one who gave us the name Lancaster; couple of ID’s found in the limo confirmed it…he hasn’t really said much else. He knows a lot more than what he’s saying, that’s for sure. But whatever happened…he’s not talking. Anyway, the deputy will show you inside.”
“I’ll take a look,” Rogan said. “K---Agent Walters,” he said sternly, keeping himself from mentioning his partner’s first name as standard protocol required, “why don’t you see if you can extract anything useful from Mr. Matthew.”
One of the police officers nodded and led Agent Rogan into the Church. Agent Walters stepped closer to the silent man at the top of the church steps. He did not move. Kimberly bent down, trying to get a good look at his face. “Excuse me, sir?” she said softly, trying to get his attention.
Matthew, or whatever his name was, stirred slightly, but did not lift his head. “Sir?” Kimberly tried again, but there was no further response.
“Matthew?” She said, finally, hoping that the sound of his name might finally get her somewhere, as she bent down further, removing her sunglasses and looking at him.
Finally, slowly, with a deliberate movement that seemed to slow down time itself, Matthew lifted his head, and met Kimberly’s gaze with his own. Any facial features were lost upon her the moment she looked into his eyes, into his sparkling, deep brown eyes, and Kimberly suddenly discovered she couldn’t breathe. She felt fear grip her very being, as if she were paralyzed to the spot. Her mouth opened but she could make no sound, her lungs could find no air, and even her heart it seemed had stopped.
It must have been only a few seconds, but Kimberly could have sworn that staring into this man’s eyes had been like staring for hours into something terrible, but at the same time, incredibly powerful and overwhelming.
“Walters!!!” came Rogan’s voice. She shook her head clear of the cobwebs. “Quit daydreaming! You should take a look at this.”
How long Rogan had been calling her she could not tell, but Kimberly was relieved that he did. She was sweating. She shot a quick and cautious glance back at Matthew, but he was hanging his head low again, and for that, Kimberly was very relieved.
She sprinted up the stairs, keeping some distance between her and the strange young man named Matthew, and came to the church’s main door. The left door was closed and in place, while the right had been broken at its hinges and hung well enough ajar so as to leave enough room, so she simply stepped around it and into the church.
The glaring light of the sun poured through the massive hole in the roof, and bathed the gory and macabre scene in full light. Kimberly Walters held a hand to her mouth as she bore witness to what could only be described as a horrifying site. It was unlike anything she had ever seen.
The church floor was bathed in blood, as were the walls. What stained-glass windows were left intact were streaked with blood as well. High-velocity blood spatter was everywhere, and the point of origin was clearly a broken stone altar at the center of the church.
On the stone floor surrounding the broken altar were carved symbols that Kimberly assumed were occult in origin. This had been the sight of a brutal crime, no question about it. There was no body in sight, but the amount of blood was evidence enough. Anybody who had lost that much blood was surely dead.
Agent Rogan took out his cellular phone and dialed. Kimberly could barely hear him call in the Agency’s own forensic team as she took in the gory bloodbath. “I need some air,” she said softly. She stepped outside with Agent Rogan and was greeted by Matthew, looking over his shoulder at the two agents.
The two agents looked at Matthew for several seconds, and Kimberly again felt a familiar sense of dread and intimidation as their gazes met. She felt a power inside of him, an immense force that seemed to crush the very air around her. She snapped out of it quickly though, as Thomas placed a hand on her shoulder. “Come on,” he said, breaking her out of her reverie. “Let’s establish an HQ at the motel.”
She nodded.
Thomas Rogan had seen many things over his years of service…and some of those things had been incredibly violent. Beheaded prisoners of war taken captive by terrorists, civilians mutilated by car bombs, and the like, but this was different indeed. A sense of dread crept up over him, and he sensed that it had affected Kimberly too. In the five years they had worked together, Thomas had never seen her shaken, until now.
He pointed to one of the deputies and then to Matthew. “Cuff him, he’s coming with us.”
“O-okay…” the police officer muttered, his hands violently shaking as he placed the man in cuffs.
“Escort him to our car…” Agent Rogan said, as he and Kimberly walked by. Kimberly avoided looking at Matthew altogether.
To the surprise of both agents, Matthew spoke “A pleasure meeting you, Thomas, and especially you, Kimberly,” his voice was smooth and deep, resounding and charming. Kimberly could only describe it as honey to the ears. At the same time, it sent shivers down her spine. His voice saying her name resounded in her head. Kimberly gasped suddenly, holding on to a nearby stone banister as if her knees had given way.
“What’s wrong?” Rogan asked, noticing her.
“Oh…” Kimberly tried to recover quickly, “…nothing, nothing at all. Just tired from the trip, I suppose,” she lied.
The deputy led the cuffed Matthew down the steps and to the edge of town where a patrol car was waiting. Rogan’s eyes went wide with realization. “He called me Thomas, and you, Kimberly….” he paused, before asking ominously, “Did we ever tell him our first names?”
Kimberly answered after finally managing to breathe deeply. “No, we never did.”
The two stood silent. Thomas suddenly grew very nervous at how this man had uncovered their names. He shot a glance at his partner, and could tell that she was visibly shaken. In fact, while Kimberly was indeed wondering as to how this man had come to know their names, she had an even bigger mystery on her mind…hearing Matthew say her name had done more than just send chills down her spine…she had gasped and nearly fallen down, but not from shock or fear.
Her panties were dripping wet. She had had an orgasm.
“This is absolutely outrageous!!!” the portly man exclaimed, slamming his open palm down hard on the solid oak table.
“Calm down,” the woman across from him said, her Chinese accent slight but obvious.
“I will not calm down!” the man kept shouting, this time waiving both his hands in the air, “to even consider the idea that we perform an Ascension ritual on one who isn’t one of us…”
“He is one of us,” the man at the head of the table interrupted, his voice cold and calm. “Let us not forget that.”
“He most certainly is NOT!!!” the irate man shouted, emphatically slamming both his fists this time onto the table with a loud thud. “He is nothing! A lowly Vassal and nothing more! What are you thinking Azazel?”
The silver-haired man at the head of the table shot a stern look at the portly man. His steely gaze seemingly pierced into his soul almost instantly, and for the first time in what felt like an hour, the pudgy man suddenly became quiet, his lips and hands shaking ever so slightly. It was the look of fear. “The name is Gerard Winters, Jeffries, and I would appreciate it if you refrained from shouting out my Truename in anger.”
“Of course, of course,” the overweight man apologetically replied. “What I meant to say, Gerard, is that I do not think a Vassal is worthy of the Ascension ritual. It is unprecedented! The ritual hasn’t been performed in over six thousand years! Talking of Ascension, well, it all seems so extreme…”
“These are extreme circumstances. And I for one think that the boy might actually be of use,” another man stated, his tall and lanky frame towering above all the others at the table. He tilted his head forward and looked at each of the other nine people at the table. “He comes to us, after all, highly recommended by Azra…”
Another look from the silver-haired man cut his sentence short.
The tall dark-skinned man coughed and corrected himself. “…I mean, Lancaster clearly thought highly of his protégé. It’s rare that one of us choose only one Vassal, but Lancaster was impressed enough with this man that he gave him the Power and entrusted it to him entirely.”
“And look where it got him,” another woman exclaimed in a deep Russian accent. “He’s dead, and his Vassal wasn’t able to protect him. Had he bestowed his Power on more than one Vassal, he might still be alive.”
“Still,” another voice spoke with a clear English accent, “we all know that Lancaster was one of the strongest, if not the most powerful of all us, save you, of course, Gerard.” All members at the table nodded at his statement. “From what I can tell, the bloke died because he got careless, not because he chose the wrong Vassal. If what our sources tell us is true, this young chap was the only reason Lancaster lasted as long as he did to begin with.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are going around in circles,” Gerard said confidently. “In any event, an Ascension ritual should still be far from anyone’s thoughts. But, nothing has changed, my friends. An ancient threat is fast approaching, we saw what it did to Lancaster, and despite the fact that he was one of the most powerful amongst us, he was still taken by our ancient foe. We need soldiers to fight for our cause. Lancaster is gone, and I understand everyone’s apprehension at appointing one who has known of our existence for such a short period of time. But we cannot let this tragedy weaken our order.”
“I just don’t see the point in HAVING to even consider the Ascension.” Jeffries said.
“The point is, my dear Jeffries,” Gerard said calmly, “is that we NEED a tenth member. The balance of our power must be kept. Word of Lancaster’s death will undoubtedly reach the ears of all our kind, and with a power vacuum that large, we risk revealing ourselves to the world if our people start to fight over his seat upon the Order.”
“Then we announce that we no longer need a tenth member!” Jeffries exclaimed.
“You know that we keep to our ways for a reason, Jeffries. There can be no debate regarding this…someone NEEDS to take Lancaster’s place, eventually. And with the Collector on the prowl once more, it has to be soon.”
“Still,” the pudgy Jeffries started again, this time making sure he sounded as non-threatening and as calm and collected as possible, “he lacks experience. Why him?”
Before Gerard could reply, another voice rose. “Even if we do choose to let him Ascend, what good will it do us?” the Chinese woman spoke, “The fact of the matter is we are still in danger.”
“And why do we need Lancaster’s protégé?” a French man interrupted. “If he left himself open and the Collector killed him, then it is proof that even his power was no match for this killer.”
“You forget, my dear Jacques Deveraux,” Gerard said calmly, “that Lancaster carried a power that none of us possess.”
“A power that did not stop the Soul Collector,” came the reply, Jacques’ accent thick and heavy.
“I agree,” Gerard conceded, “But by all accounts you are forgetting the one most important fact.”
All at the table leaned in close as Gerard broke into a sly smile. “This boy survived the encounter with the Soul Collector. Even when wielding the power of a lowly Vassal, he survived. In the end, you are correct in saying that despite his talent and power, he was unable to protect Lancaster; but consider his potential. If he is as powerful as Lancaster thought he might be, then maybe with the right training he can track down the Soul Collector, and with any luck, kill him. You are correct, my dear Jeffries, in that the boy has little experience, but what he lacks in this, he surely makes up for in talent. All we need to do is help him along. I propose, my dear kings and queens, to ‘Anoint’ him.”
Silence befell the table. “Anointment?” said the Chinese woman, more an expression than an actual question.
“Is there something wrong, Miss Li?” Gerard asked.
“No…no…it’s just…”
“It’s just we haven’t ‘Anointed’ anyone since the medieval ages,” completed the man with a British accent.
“True, Mister Cunningham,” Gerard said calmly, “but you must also consider that we thought this ancient foe was vanquished in those dark times. Clearly, that is not the case.”
“But,” the Russian woman began, “if we ‘Anoint’ him, he will receive all of our powers…”
“No, Miss Zarapova, he will receive a paltry fraction of each of our powers, and with any luck, it will be enough to kill the Soul Collector.”
“Even so,” the Russian woman continued, “he alone will not be able to kill the Soul Collector. Lancaster was unable to do it, and he was one of the strongest!”
“Lancaster was undoubtedly unprepared…and he will not be alone,” Gerard answered. “We will each give him one of our Knights to serve in a last Crusade against the Soul Collector.”
They all fell silent once more.
“Let’s say we do Anoint him, and let us say he does kill the Soul Collector, what then?” Jacques asked, finally.
“Then we allow him to Ascend among our ranks,” Gerard replied. “I think it would only be fitting, wouldn’t you?”
“But giving him all that power…” said one man in Spanish accent.
“…is not an issue, friends.” Gerard assured them. “The Anointing ritual grants him a small portion of our power. He cannot Ascend to our ranks unless we allow him to anyway. And say we allow him this privilege, what exactly do we lose? We Ten will be complete again and we shall finally be rid of this Collector once and for all. In that case, his powers as one of the Ascended shall never come full circle until he has developed such higher powers after hundreds of years. Even if he does prove to be unsuitable for the role, we can strip Lancaster’s power from him easily.”
The eight others fell silent for what seemed like an eternity.
“Fine…” Jeffries finally conceded. “But he is in the hands of Agency Alpha right now. It will take me a while to use my contacts to spring him out. That stupid organization keeps sticking its nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“You worry too much, Jeffries,” Winters said confidently. “If my guess is right, our young Matthew is quite capable of springing himself out without arousing any suspicion.”
“Impossible. No Vassal could ever develop the Power to do such a thing in such a short amount of time,” the French man exclaimed.
“Then let this be a test of his abilities, Jacques,” a woman with an Indian accent said.
“An excellent idea, Miss Leone,” Gerard Winters added. “Let this be a test, indeed. If the boy makes it to us without incident, then we know he has the potential to be one of us. Let us anoint him and send him with our appointed Knights after the Soul Collector. If he succeeds, he will rise to take his place amongst the Order of Kings. Are we are all agreed?”
The other eight nodded. “Good,” Gerard Winters clasped his hands together and smiled. “It is settled then.”
A few hearty handshakes and a few glasses of wine later, Gerard Winters was left alone in his conference room. His eight guests had left one by one, all to return to whatever lives they had decided to live. The room was silent and still dark, the only sound coming from the wall clock’s ticking.
The silence was broken eventually by the heavy wooden panel doors opening. Gerard tilted his head up to see the tall shapely woman step into the room. In the dim lighting of the room he could barely make out her beautiful features, sparkling blue eyes and platinum blonde hair. “All your guests have departed the building, Mister Winters.”
“Good…cancel all other appointments tonight, Miss Baxter. It seems my meeting has taken more out of me than I originally thought.”
“Very well, Mister Winters.”
Gerard smiled. Sharon Baxter was a good secretary, a good assistant, and above all, a worthy Vassal. But it was not Sharon’s abilities as a secretary, assistant or Vassal that Gerard Winters was interested in at the moment. An evil, sly grin crept across his face.
Sharon Baxter smiled as well. She knew that look very well.
“Kneel, slave.” Gerard said calmly and coldly.
Sharon did not hesitate. She opened her blouse and hiked up her skirt, both actions revealing her lack of underwear. She gave a coy smile as she knelt down and unzipped Gerard’s pants, before engulfing his member with her mouth.
Gerard clasped his fingers and smiled wickedly, not even bothering to look down at the sultry siren that was even now sucking him off.