The Theocracy - The Blackened Cross - 1. Chapter 1 (revised)

The Seraphim and the black-blood sat across from each other in a plain white walled room. They were alone. If anyone were to have been in the room with them, they would have seen that the two individuals did not want to be alone in the room together, but we're doing so as their occupation dictated.

Charoum forced himself to look into companion's eyes. Looking into them was like looking into pools of infinite black. Worse yet was the network of varicose veins that tracked through the woman's flesh like connecting tributaries. He knew without needing to look that these veins zig-zagged through her entire body, laying indefinite claim to her, a consequence of the Gehennic plague. He would much rather eat his lemon bar in peace where he wasn't forced to interact with someone who's company he's so greatly disliked. She had a manila folder on the table in front of her.

"You said there was an urgent matter you needed to bring to my attention?" Charoum managed to sound interested, but his wings, which poked out through the holes designed in his jacket, gave a slight flutter of annoyance.

"Yes, I think this is a matter that will interest you greatly, and the Theocracy at large," Sabine Lagerof said with a thick German accent; her skin and hair looked dead white under the fluorescent lighting. She opened the manilla folder. Inside were a small stack of papers and snapshots neatly paperclipped together. “This is from a call we received the other day. I’m not sure it’s a crisis at the moment, but it does raise concerns.”

Charoum sighed. He didn’t want to scan through the photos. He didn’t want to listen to her prattle on about more official business; he didn’t want to add another thing to his plate; he didn’t want to eat his lemon bar in the same room as her. But he was her supervisor, her direct line of communication with the Choir. He didn’t really have a choice, and he resented her for that.

Then he looked down at the pictures.

The first one silenced the lazy chatter in his mind; the second stole his undivided attention. By the fourth he’d lost all appetite for his lemon bar (in his mind lemon bars were perhaps the greatest delicacy made by man).

“Do you think it could be anything greater than a coincidence?” The words, Are you sure you’re not just being paranoid?, hung in the air between them.

“In the grand scheme of things, I think that’s the most likely,” Lagerof said. When she blinked, which she did disconcertingly little, something inside his belly clenched in unappreciation. “I just thought you should be aware of it. I know the Theocracy as a single entity as a particular dislike for The Blackened Cross.”

“Do you think it’s active again?”

“No. They haven’t appeared in forty two years. The last sighting was in the ‘80’s. But I would like to get eyes on the ground.”

“What do you have in mind? Is there anything I can do to help?”

Lagerof’s lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile, and it was perfunctory at that. “No, I can handle it with the resources I have.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I’m teaming two of my agents together. Two agents who I not only think will work together, but who I also think are perfect for a case like this.”

“Those being?”

“Agent Kaufman and Agent Baraq?”

A sharp bark of laughter escaped Charoum before he could clamp his jaw shut. “You can’t be serious?”

Lagerof raised a single silver eyebrow as if to say, Do I look like the kind of woman who would kid around?

“Those are two wild cards.”

“I disagree. Kaufman is my most accomplished agent when it comes to fieldwork and is extremely diplomatic. If it wasn’t for him, I never would have been able to keep the chaos the Butcher of Innocence caused contained. Agent Baraq is raw, being new to the field. I would even venture to say he’s indisciplined. But he has keen insight on occultists and Gehenna’s political hierarchy. Insight that could be invaluable.”

“Need I remind you of the fires you could be playing with if you were to put this duo together?” Charoum dropped the question long enough to let the hum of the air cyclers fill the room. He searched Lagerof’s face for emotion, fell into the depths of those bottomless eyes, and found himself falling into a void. “I am aware of Kaufman’s abilities. I could think of no one more suitable of the task in fact; however, I also know he was just released from the psych ward at Genevieve Hospital. I am not sure I would recommend putting him in the field so soon.

“And then there’s the matter of the Rephaim. Agent Baraq is a loose cannon and should be a consultant at best. He has a history of turning against his betters when they least expect it. He’s done it twice already. The Theocracy took him in, so to speak, my superiors in particular, because they think him too valuable of an asset to throw away. Believe me when I say they are weary of him.”

Lagerof cleared her throat. “I appreciate your concern and wisdom,” she said in a frosty tone that said she appreciated neither. Her eyes bore into his unblinking. “I am aware of Kaufman’s release from the psych ward…six months ago. We’ve been talking for the past month about getting him back into work. He says he’s ready to get back into the field and his analyst agrees. If you look in the file you will see a written statement from analysts agreeing that he is both more than able to return to the field and work with Baraq on a temporary basis.”

Charoum searched through the sheaf of documents. Indeed, Lagerof had told the truth. He skimmed over it. The document was legitimate as far as he could tell. His stomach clenched at the thought of this wild idea of coming into fruition. With the Gehenna plague spreading through both the United States and Europe at endemic rates, resources were dwindling beyond the point the Theocracy could contain. As of this moment the Choir was sitting in their thrones, rubbing their heads together, looking like fools. They are fools, every single one of them, he thought. But he would never say that out of course, not to their face - they’d have his head.

If he was being honest, he could not deny Kaufman’s credibility or Lagerof’s for that matter. He could not deny her skill as a director more than he could deny his prejudice towards her and Kaufman both; black-bloods and death magicians and the Rephaim made his skin crawl alike.

And then he looked through the pictures one more time. Looking at them made him feel nauseous.

He made his decision.

…

Vanus Kaufman hated the early morning meetings. The coffee tasted like crap because no one bothered to make a new pot and the director’s voice made him want to curl up on the floor. She always spoke in that soothing, conciliatory tone as if she were a teacher speaking to a room full of children, not the director of Roc City’s entire Theocracy branch. He would catch himself drifting only to realize his eyelids had grown heavy, then look around sheepishly to make sure he hadn’t been caught dozing. Strange that her voice could be so relaxing while talking about death and dismemberment. At last she closed the meeting with, “There you have it. Now go do your jobs.”

Kaufman could have applauded with relief.

His approval was valid by the sound of rumps scooting off cheap plastic chairs and the smattering of misogynistic and crude jokes coming from the group of he-men sauntering out of the room. He went to the trash bin. Dark steaming liquid with half dissolves grains of sugar sloshed around inside the plastic bin. His stomach groaned with gratitude.

Maybe I can duck out before anyone knows I’m here. Fantasies of crawling into bed and conking out for the rest of the morning came to an abrupt halt when he walked into a wall.

“Sleep somewhere else that isn’t in the middle of oncoming traffic,” said a deep rugged voice that made Kaufman think of tobacco and crumpled beer cans.

Kaufman found himself drowning in the shadow of another. He had to crane his head back to meet the eyes of his assailant. Eyes as yellow as the sun beheld him with mockery and disdain. Kaufman hadn’t seen too many men who stood eight feet tall, with dark red skin, horns sharp enough to impale a man, and a pointed tail that stuck out the back of his pants, but this one was intimidating both in physicality and demeanor. He knew they existed, but the Rephaim kept the party in Gehenna.

Agent Baraq seemed as if he was carved from the primordial stone that had made the citadels of Inferno. Slashes and scars marked the ridge of his jawline, deep and yawning like cracks preserved in clay.

No wonder no one wants to work with you weighed on Kaufman’s tongue. It would have been a shitty thing to say. The scars hinted at a narrative told by pain and suffering with the rest hidden in shadow. They were none of his concern. This was the first real interaction with the Rephaim betrayer and it wasn’t making for a good impression. He could all too easily imagine that tail looping around his throat to squeeze the life out of him. Today was not the day to be adventurous.

He brushed past the fallen angel before the Rephaim could bash his head in with a mighty fist. He didn’t get far.

“Agent Kaufman, Agent Bazzelthorpe? Do you have a minute?” Director Sabine Lagerof regarded them with her pupiless eyes, her head cocked slightly to the side. She wore a smile that was meant to be comforting; it was anything but human looking.

You have to give her credit for trying though, the death magician thought, sliding a fresh mask over his face. The old one went into the trash bin. His stomach quelled at the thought of being in the same room with the Rephaim for a second longer, but the boss needed something from him. It was time to make a good impression after being stuck on the couch for half a year. You say jump, I’ll say how high.

He smiled, adjusting his mask. “Absolutely.”

Agent Baraq glared at him as if to say, This is your fault.

“Something’s come up,” the director said once the two agents were crammed inside her office. Between Lagerof and the Rephaim, Kaufman felt like the adolescent in the room. While she did not reach Baraq’s towering height, she was a constant reminder of his average height.

“There’s a matter that’s come up,” she said in a clipped tone, now all business. “It’s probably of no importance which is why I want you to go ahead and take it off the board.”

Kaufman glanced at Baraq out of his periphery, hoping the Rephaim would be the first to start asking questions. The horned agent merely watched his superior, looking bemused. The bony ridges that branched from brow to forehead and the deep set of his eyes turned his face into a perpetual scowl. No wonder he doesn’t have any friends, Kaufman thought. What a peach.

Lagerof set a manilla folder on the desk. She opened the folder to reveal a police report and half a dozen photos all paperclipped together. “Two nights ago an abandoned church in the Maeville District went up in flames.”

“That’s squatter territory,” Baraq rumbled. “Those streets reek of the plague.”

Lagerof nodded, tapping a lacquered fingernail against the desk. “The homeless and infected often used it for shelter as well as a drug den. It’s not the importance of the building that concerns me, but what the police discovered inside of the building…the reason why they felt the need to bring it to our attention.”

Kaufman flipped through the photos. The first one was printed straight from Google Maps: a small building that had seen better days. Graffiti desecrated the walls. Shattered windows, ripped siding. Holes in the roof. The next photo showed what remained of the church after the Maeville Fire Department put the flames out.”

Kaufman paused in his search through the photos. “What did the police say?”

“They’re calling it a ritualistic murder. I think you’ll agree in the next photo.”

The magician set the first two photos on the desk. His eyes flicked to the side when Baraq’s sausage-sized fingers reached for them. Kaufman’s focus returned to the file.

His reaction was reactionary: The folder leapt from his hands onto the floor. Snapshots scattered everywhere. Traced by the fire and black burn marks, the eye of Hamon winked back at him from the center of the Blackened Cross. Always seeing, always knowing. Also in the center of the cross was a corpse so charred it was unidentifiable. Kaufman reached for it with a shaking hand. An unpleasant wave of dizziness threatened to overtake him. He pushed it away.

“Whoops,” he said, his cheeks burning. “Clumsy me.”

Baraq scowled at him.

Kaufman straightened. He fought the urge to adjust the mask he wore. Lagerof watched him closely. “Were the police able to identify the victim?” He could guess the answer to this one, but the question bought him a few seconds to regain his composure.

“Unfortunately not. As you can see there is nothing of the victim to identify.”

Kaufman passed the photo to Baraq. His hand went to the Good Mother’s torch-shaped pendant hidden behind the lapel of his shirt. Good Mother, help me. “You’re afraid it’s Black Cross activity.” It wasn’t a question.

“That’s what I’m afraid of. I know it’s not a priority with the Theocracy. Their focus is solely on trying to contain the spread of the plague, but as far as our beloved city goes, our city has no desire to see their return. The Blackened Cross was driven out of our borders three decades ago. We haven’t heard a whisper from them since. If it is Black Cross activity we want to sniff it out and keep it from spreading; just as you would any virus.”

“Of course.” Kaufman was very glad he’d decided not to drink the coffee.

“Why do you need the two of us?” The shotgun boom of Agent Baraq’s voice made Kaufman cringe. He’s not even screaming. He offered up a prayer to Elysia for his eardrums. The Rephaim’s head shifted in his direction. “He’s the death magician. Surely he’s more qualified than a lug like myself. I have enough on my plate as it is.”

Now it was Kaufman’s turn to scowl. What is his problem?

He pushed the thought to the side. Whatever the Rephaim’s grudge was against him, it wasn’t his problem. I don’t even know you.

You’re here to do your job, he reminded himself. That’s keeping the public safe from the Blackened Cross.

“You have the most intel when it comes to the workings of the Rephaim.”

Baraq’s bull-like nostrils flared. It wasn’t the answer he’d been wanting. “So that automatically makes it my case?”

“Yes,” Lagerof said. “I think you would both make a good team. All I’m asking is that you both canvas the scene, come back, and tell me what you find.”

“Fine,” the Rephaim said with a snort. “You’re the boss lady.” Baraq turned his head to glower at Kaufman before facing the door. The manilla folder disappeared into the pocket of his oversized trench coat. The scuffed and worn leather hung off his broad frame like a drape. “Are you coming, magician?”

“I’ll be with you in a minute.” Kaufman refused to look him in the eye. Even the Rephaim, who no one liked, disliked him. You’re a death magician. Everyone hates you. It wasn’t the only reason he knew, but it was easier to go on thinking that was the reason.

By the time Baraq squeezed himself out of Lagerof’s office, Van’s shirt was covered in cold sweat. “Why are you really teaming me up with the Rephaim? You know I do better work when I fly solo.”

“I know, but you also have a way with people.”

Kaufman smirked. “Trying to stroke my ego?”

“I’ve tried. I have breasts. Despite his experience in the field, Agent Baraq hasn’t been with us long. He needs someone to connect with. He needs…refinement. No one else will work with him.”

“I can only imagine why.”

“I think you can soften him up given time.” You’re both outcasts hung in the air between them, unspoken but not unheard. “Vanus,” she continued, “I don’t want to give you anything you can’t handle, but I’m not going to lie. Right now you are the only one I can trust to get anything done. The Theocracy doesn’t have the resources to shine the light on this as I would like to. As I said, all I want is someone to look and report what they find.”

“What if this does turn into something? What if I need to do a reading?”

“Then I will request one. Let’s not count our chickens before they hatch.”

Kaufman stood up. He needed to get out of this room, out of this building. He needed fresh air. I need to get this mask off my face. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”

Lagerof’s office had reverted to its normal dimensions. He was almost out the door when she spoke again. “What happened last winter wasn’t your fault. You know that, don’t you, Vanus?”

“Tell that to the rest of the department.”

“Fuck the rest of the department. You are an exemplary agent. There’s no one I trust more.”

“That’s very kind of you to say.” Quit trying to engage me in conversation. Let me get out of here so I can do my job.

“Have you heard from Carlos?” Lagerof asked.

A bitter laugh escaped Kaufman before he could contain it. “You’re not pulling any punches today, are you?”

“Between friends,” she pressed.

“No,” he admitted. His heart did a double take.

She cocked her head to the side. If he wasn’t already used to it, Kaufman would have found the movement disconcerting. “He doesn’t know you’ve gone back to work?”

“Things didn’t exactly end well between us.” Kaufman’s hand reached for the crucifix around his neck. Just knowing it was there, around his neck was a comfort. “If that’s all, I better not keep my new partner waiting.”

“It’s good to have you back, Van.”

Kaufman hesitated only a moment before replying. “It’s good to be back.”