by Rick Heinz
If he returned home to Italy a failure, his mother and older sisters would be expelled from the Unification and disgraced. While he could survive and forge his own path, his family would perish without the rationed quantities of blood the council shipped them. He wanted to free them. His mother, Maria, had sacrificed everything to bring the seven of them into this world. Yet only he, the youngest, was the first to ignite the flames of sorcery hidden in his lineage. Without his success, his fate-bending witch sisters would have no choice but to continue down their path of blooded addicts or die. No. I need to break this cycle.
Servants whispered among themselves, debating whether they should start cleaning while there was still someone in the room. The boldest of them began sweeping at the farthest end of the chambers from Gabriel, leaving a wide circle around him, and then left the room.
The sound of metal against concrete echoed throughout the chamber, followed by a muffled scream. Two sharp pings, one . . . two. Gabriel spun around to look at the stairs. The torches in the room began to wisp out and flare up suddenly as if they were trying to fight for life. It was the servant who was in the room earlier, only now adorned with two cold-iron nails in its bare feet. One . . . two. Gabriel took a step back and readied himself. I’m useless to them, so they are going to have me killed? Not today.
“Indeed. Not today.” The voice was raspy and seemed to come from the shadow tied to the servant by the nails. Without much light in the chamber, however, that shadow seemed all-encompassing. “What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving, how express and admirable in action, how like an angel in apprehension. How like a god!”
Sparks flew from the candles, and electric arcs danced from each to the next. With every movement, the shadow danced around the room. “The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust?” As if to make a point, demon blood still etched in the circles gave off an amber glow of warm coals before turning to ash and flowing upward. “Man delights not me—no, nor woman neither—though by your smiling, you seem to say so.” The servant took a low bow, craning its head to look up at Gabriel. Its eyes were a mix of green and gold that illuminated themselves from within. With a twirl of its hand, it conjured a letter, sealed with the symbol of the Society of Deus. The personal occult group of Warlock Vryce that either joined or was created by the Unification for this ritual. Gabriel wasn’t sure of its origins entirely.
“There are few visionaries left in the world. True architects worthy of mentorship. You will join the others at Walsh Tower, Gabriel. Failure is a matter of perspective. I will give you the chance to succeed, or die.” The eyes quickly faded back to a dull brown. The servant, clutching his feet with panic, struggled with the choice to pull out the nails or not. He looked at Gabriel as if he were the source of his current torment.
“Wrap those up and take some aspirin. You’ll be fine. Better off than everyone else who was in here,” Gabriel said. He broke into a trot up the spiral stairs leading out. Finally, recognition. This is not over yet.
CHAPTER 8
Sunrise over the Twin Cities brought hues of purple with red streaks that cascaded onto the reflective glass of downtown, creating a rather scenic mural. Delilah Dumont took in the quiet moment outside her favorite coffee shop as the morning’s first customer. The heat from her obsidian macchiato along her thin hands served its purpose to fight back the cold air. Her head nodded and jerked back up as she fought off fatigue. She had just come to accept the bags under her eyes as part of the job. Trying her best to shake it off, she made sure that the nails and hammer were out of sight in her bag. Unfortunately for the servant, Primus Vryce required arcane rituals for possession. That reminds me, I need to give that servant a raise. I may be ruthless, but that doesn’t mean I don’t pay my people well.
Delilah pulled out her tablet and set to work while she waited. Her notification list informed her of her tasks for the day:
Meet with JJ Bollard—deliver containment protocols.
Blackmail the mayor’s wife.
Test Stockholm procedures on society soldiers.
Lunch.
Prep media cover stories.
Acquire weapons-grade nerve gas agents.
Set plan in motion to destroy human life as we know it.
Sleep.
Attend to Boss’s dry cleaning.
Well, at least it’s a slow day. Delilah smiled as she reflected upon the upcoming day. The Unification Proclamation was filled with ancient people. Her talents navigating modern-day bureaucracy made her an invaluable employee. After all, juggling a worldwide conspiracy was not something best suited to those who had a hard time understanding the concept of e-mail. Later tonight she would have to meet with dignitaries from a variety of organizations that had signed the Treaty of Unification. The list seemed endless.
Scores of centuries-old occult organizations collectively made up the Unification. The Freemasons, the Illuminati, the Brotherhood of Skulls, and the Order of the Eastern Star were some of the most prominent. A wry grin crept onto Delilah’s face as she fondly recalled outmaneuvering many immortal creatures to bolster the Unification’s ranks before her master recruited her to make their own society. Each one fell in line in order to use the Unification as their own individual means to instrumentality. And they will soon all be dancing to my master. Delicately managing inflated egos was one of her specialties. She pondered what the world would be like today if everyone did exactly as she instructed.
Delilah slammed back the rest of her drink and decided to stand while waiting for JJ. He was always a prompt fellow. Unlike the rest of the creatures she would meet with later, JJ was at least one other human, like her, who embraced the wonder of the hidden world. A healthy résumé of multiple secret societies and the prestige of an artifact hunter. His résumé is perfect. Too perfect . . . She began fingering a crimson coin with the law of thermodynamics on it, her own symbol of the Society of Deus. Right now we are just one cog in the machine of the Unification. Not for long.
It was one of her many jobs to vet applicants sent by the council to the Society of Deus. She chuckled at the thought that she was the closest thing the creature had to a friend. After exhaling and watching her breath, she closed her eyes and thought back to how much she owed Vryce for her second life.
A white Lexus pulled up in front of Delilah exactly on schedule. She looked inside to see JJ, gave a curt signal to her security team down the street, and stepped into the backseat. As the sun’s rays cast a wonderful canvas of paint on building glass, gazing at JJ Bollard’s polished head would be like looking into a mirror. His stocky shoulders and frame marked him for a soldier. Delilah reminded herself to track down the exact composition of his ethnicity at some point. She took in his islander skin tone and eye shape with admiration. JJ did not fit the demographic of the area.
“Morning, Mr. Bollard. Are we ready to begin?” Delilah asked. “Driver, head around the city counterclockwise at five miles above the speed limit. Stay on Hennepin and shadow I-94.” She reached into her bag, moving aside the cold-iron nails, and pulled out a sealed envelope. “You will be allowed to read the contents of this letter containing your offer. Afterward, it must be burned in my presence.” She handed it to Mr. Bollard in the passenger seat. His car is impeccably clean, a man of taste after all. Or with much to hide. “As you have been informed, Primus Vryce would like to officially thank you for your past five years of service. Without you and your associates’ funding for the construction of the new Twin Cities, it would have never happened. As the prime investor in his vision and the Unification, Primus Vryce is willing to offer you title and membership within this city once the new world order has been established. Your reward is that of a ridari, a ranking officer in the military, and command of your own legion.” Delilah looked back to ensure her security team was in their proper position. Satisfied with the results, her shoulders dropped, and she relaxed slightly.
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“You have nothing to fear from the likes of me, my dear. But I am disappointed. I had hoped to speak with the warlock himself. I’m just going to assume such pleasantries are not going to be granted to me just yet? Guess money really can’t buy everything.” Bollard straightened his cuff link and smiled at Delilah. “Most of these buildings I’m seeing now do not exist on any map. You’ve managed to insert alternate Google Earth images in their database. I can see the signs of your impressive skills, Lady Dumont.”
“This city has become something of a libertarian paradise. Everything you see is built and controlled by private enterprise, using shell companies that are controlled by one of the pillars of the Unification,” Delilah said. To JJ, “pillars” would mean one of the secret societies that signed the treaty. It also means I have many societies that owe me favors. “For over a decade, the populace of the Twin Cities was groomed to accept energy independence, local gun rights, and an absence of government control. Unlike Texas, we’ve managed to keep it subtle here. Thanks to the honorable donations and influence to our society, every officer is now a full member in our ranks. Those who caused difficulty were transferred to other cities.” She rapped the glass on the left side of the car with her knuckles and pointed outward. “You may be disappointed that the warlock is not meeting you in person, but look outside to see your money in action. Every building code has been upgraded to support the most robust construction practices in the country, certifiable bomb shelters hidden beneath their facade. Thanks to your funding, we were able to keep the cost to private enterprise low. Everybody answers to the call of money, Bollard. Even centuries-old warlocks,” she said.
“Everyone except your warlock,” said JJ. “It has been over nine decades since he last made an appearance in person to the Council of Death Lords who are organizing all of this. You do know he can’t go jamming iron nails in everyone’s feet, right? My partners are understandably worried. It’s why I was flown in with them last night. So much rests on the warlock’s shoulders. Without absolute success in the coming ritual, the idea of one world, one nation, one unification will spiral out of control. Globalization of mankind has been in the making for a while now, but only with the resurrection will our plan come to fruition.” JJ kept eyeing his driver, enough that Delilah inferred that the gentleman in front was recording any reactions in her demeanor for later study.
“Let the Council of Death Lords be nervous. That apprehension does not fall on Vryce’s shoulders. There are no less than ten concurrent rituals around the world. Each led by its own warlock, converts who have done more than drink demon blood. Soul stealers of the highest regard, sacrificing everything it meant to be human for the resurrection. Their divinity, their holiness, and their sanctity, to practice the paths of left-handed sorcery.” She paused to push up her thin spectacles, subtly forcing JJ to maintain eye contact. “There is no room for you here if you even think to question our master.”
“I assumed you felt quite strongly about this. If you want another mind-washed soldier who just says yes, I’m indeed afraid I have no place here either,” he said, tossing the envelope on the seat between them.
“In order to rip open the gates, rescue Lazarus, and then cover it up, the tools of the demons must be utilized, an unfortunate hypocrisy for those who would do the lord’s work. Should not the death lords of the council be more concerned with the recent events in Japan? Rumor has it, the emperor’s family pulled their support and assassinated the Unification’s puppet there?” Vryce has given everything he’s loved for his vision and this world. Our loyalty to ascension will not be questioned. Delilah pushed back her sleeve and put her bare arm next to Bollard’s face. “If you doubt us, take my blood as sacrifice.”
JJ looked at her arm and gave a deep laugh. “You can take that back, Ambassador. I’m on your side. The coming days are not going to go smoothly. Do we honestly believe with all the world’s religions and fanaticism, that rivers of blood will not be flowing? Besides, just like you, I’m not blooded.” He pulled back his coat and revealed a holstered custom-made gun. “That doesn’t mean I haven’t killed countless Faustian junkies in my years. The rogue ones always think they can summon a demon and get away with it.” He paused as he signaled the driver to pull over. He grabbed the envelope and got out of the car.
“We have not even made it halfway around the city,” Delilah said, while following him.
“Neither of us have time to waste. I am here to stay.”
The sunrise was in its full morning glory, shining through a mirrored city that was designed to be a fortress. And even more secrets underneath. “You’ll find the security protocols inside, and further instructions,” Delilah said. “Time will be on my side today it seems.”
JJ broke the seal on the envelope and reread every line multiple times. More than a few times his eyes widened. “Vryce is very . . . thorough,” he said.
“Actually, I wrote those. As long as the Unification does its job in Chicago, I’m confident our location will be victorious.” She held her rustic brown bag in front of her with both hands and admired the city while leaning on the car, waiting for JJ to finish.
“I stand corrected, then. It is you who should run this city when it is over. I for one would gladly stand by your side. In all our time working together, I have always enjoyed your professionalism and discretion in all matters,” he said, stepping close to her.
“That is in the cards for neither of us. We are both lacking in power and age.” She reached out, accepted the letter, and proceeded to burn it from the bottom. The flames danced along the edges, taking on a multitude of colors, before consuming their prey. “One last order of business, for old times’ sake. Do you have any connections that might assist me in obtaining several canisters of nerve gas?” She smiled and curtsied, looking more cute than professional in her green dress and brown scarf. Bollard’s slight blush let her know she managed to cut through his demeanor.
“I might. I just might. But I want a tour of your prison—the real one, below the city. The council wants access to your technique. I can trade that and a meeting for me. In person,” he said.
“Tour and technique. A meeting is not mine to grant. You’ll have to prove your usefulness to Vryce, personally, for the meeting.” She offered her hand to seal the deal.
“Done.” Bollard refused the shake and took a deep bow instead. “My lady.”
Delilah’s security detail pulled up and both parties left their meeting place. She pulled out her tablet and updated her daily list. Perfect, I get to cross off two items. I might be able to get an extra hour of sleep today.
Check. Aaaannnd check.
Meet with JJ Bollard—deliver containment protocols.
Blackmail the mayor’s wife.
Test Stockholm procedures on society soldiers.
Lunch.
Prep media cover stories.
Acquire weapons-grade nerve gas agents.
Set plan in motion to destroy human life as we know it.
Sleep.
Attend to Boss’s dry cleaning.
CHAPTER 9
Walsh Tower, a fresh building finished only recently, stood between Minneapolis and St. Paul. Like most modern-day construction, it could be viewed as an eyesore compared to its surroundings. It was still impressive on its own. White marble columns stretched up four stories tall. Floodlights shone upward, adding a regal element to the building. Manicured landscaping, cultivated rock gardens, and an impressive array of fountains dominated the surrounding grounds. In any other city, the impressive headquarters of Walsh Construction Company would seem more fitting. Here, the Gothic architecture of St. Paul mixed with the fresh steel construction of Minneapolis and its skyways made the tower seem overly lavish. Gabriel judged the building as an outcast. They should fire the architect.
Gabriel had received his instructions a few days ago. Three days had passed since his combat in the certamen circle, and the few wounds he’d received had nearly healed. He opened his e
nvelope and pulled out his security RFID key pass. I would not have expected the great ritual to feel like I was working at an IT firm. Gabriel kneeled down to tie his shoes while he prepared his best cocky demeanor, and then he read the timeline in the envelope.
December 1, 9:33 p.m. Meet with Roger Queneco
at Walsh Tower.
December 1, 10:17 p.m. Take elevator down.
He adopted a swagger as he walked into the marble palace. It came surprisingly easy to him.
Security was impressive to say the least. Filling the cavernous lobby was an entire SWAT team of the local finest, each bearing a Masonic Fraternal Order of Police patch. People maintained a fast power-walking pace as they rushed to elevators. Everyone in this building today would be a person in the employ of the Unification one way or another.
“Aha! There you are!” The shout came from a little man, lanky with oily hair and an ugly handlebar mustache that seemed out of place on his face. He took steps over to Gabriel and extended his hand. “Roger Queneco at your service. Do you prefer Gabriel? Or Mr. D’Angelo?” Roger spoke at a clip, causing Gabriel to replay the words in his head in order to keep up.
“Gabriel is fine.”
“Good, good, D’Angelo it is. Primus Vryce has chosen me to relay instructions for your operations here within the society. Only a handful work directly with him, so you should count yourself fortunate.” Roger gave a wicked grin, revealing his vampire fangs, and shook Gabriel’s hand longer than normal.
Gabriel pried his hand away and looked down at him. “Charmed, I’m sure. You’re telling me that you work directly for Vryce, then?”
“I’m both his apprentice and his herald. Your rejection must have really burned. How did it feel to fail so badly? Did . . . it make you cry?” Roger rose up on his toes with a curious look and studied Gabriel closely.
Taking a step back, Gabriel held up his hands. “I have a thing against vampires getting near my neck. What is it you want?”