Propates lowered a gold necklace over Paeder’s head. It was a simple design with a small lapis lazuli amulet engraved with magical sigils. “In the final stage, the necklace will be broken down and fused to your spirit. You’ll feel a different pain then, unlike anything you’ve ever felt. In that moment you will cease to be human. You’ll become, for lack of a better word, an angel of Argus.”
“How long will this take?”
Propates glanced over at Otto.
“That depends on you,” Otto responded. “No matter how willing you are, your body is going to fight this. If it doesn’t fight very much, you’ll probably be done in an hour. If it fights a lot, we could be here for up to eight hours. Based on what I know about you, you’re an animal. Which means your animal nature is going to fight back. I hope you didn’t have plans for dinner.”
“I’m ready.” Paeder sneered at Otto and tightened his grip on the emeralds.
Propates closed the door to the chamber and motioned for Otto to start the flow of gases. Filmy green vapors twirled through the air, slowly sinking around Paeder.
To his credit, he lasted an entire five minutes before the screams started.
***
Six hours later, Propates stepped into his apartments and closed the door to the world. Personal time was something of a commodity in his life. With each passing day, as the Activation approached more and more quickly, preparations and politics stole more of his time.
Even now, away from work, he was not alone. Three acolytes were assigned to his quarters: a cook, a masseuse, and a general assistant. It was humbling to admit he couldn’t do everything himself but he was simply too busy trying to save the world to eat properly.
“I can’t wait for this nonsense to be over,” he mumbled to himself. He waved the acolytes away and bypassed the food laid on the dining room table. Brushing off their protests, he walked straight to the bathroom and locked the door. He leaned over the bathroom counter and studied his reflection in the mirror. He looked for signs of the young farmer he used to be. There was nothing left of that boy. The parts Wisdom left undamaged were destroyed by years living amongst the shadows of the Black Sea.
Something tingled at the back of his consciousness. The faucets spun open, hot water flowing freely. Steam flew up, fogging over the mirror.
“What do you want?”
From behind the shroud of steam, a voice came. “We have much to discuss, Propates.” It was noticeably inhuman with a grating, chalk-like undertone.
“If you have something to discuss, there are proper channels. I don’t care what you do with the rest of humanity but you will show me a proper respect if you wish to maintain our allegiance. Now, say what you will and get out of my sight.”
The voice murmured something inaudible, as if it was conferring with someone else. Then, it spoke again. “We show you respect. We let you believe the lie that we never see you naked, that we don’t watch you as you sleep. We allow you your comfort because it benefits us. Perhaps it is you who need to show us some proper respect. Why are you sending an agent after my child?”
“You’re being ridiculous.” Propates exerted his will and the mist covering the mirror dissipated. In its absence was not a reflection of the room, but a blackness that continued on with no apparent end, broken only by faintly luminous bodies. Though he’d only heard one voice, dozens of glowing red eyes stared back at him. “He is not your child, any more than he’s Richard Wilkinson’s. Josh isn’t a person. He’s a tool. An important cog in a complicated machine that has fallen out of place. We need to put it back in place before the machine falls apart. My agent is not going to kill him. He’s going to retrieve him. Now, if there’s nothing else…”
The voice murmured something else. The luminous bodies shifted, huddled together, but most of the eyes remained on him. After a moment, the voice spoke again. “We are glad our need for each other is coming to an end. We have never forgiven you for stealing the Edimmu. There will come a time when you must make restitution for your betrayal.”
“Your threats don’t frighten me, demon, no more than they ever have. As long as you’re imprisoned in the Axeinus, I have nothing to worry about. Now, our conversation is done. Do not contact me this way again.”
With another exertion of will, Propates broke the connection to the Axeinus. Once again the mirror reflected on the bathroom. He closed his eyes, more exhausted than ever.
Chapter Fourteen
August 5th
Two days after the attack in Toronto, Wisdom appeared in London. No one was exactly sure of the time of his arrival. One of his London secretaries, a middle-aged woman named Shirley, found him in the morning working in his office.
“Dear God, sir,” she said. “You know everyone’s been looking for you.”
Wisdom looked up from a folder filled with black and white photos. “The search for Wisdom continues, eh? The subtext is amusing. Be a doll and get Elaine on the phone for me, would you? She should be in Hong Kong.”
Shirley nodded and left the room.
Wisdom turned back to the photos. They’d been taken by Ms. Ryerson. She was tracking men with ties to the Council. One was Otto Siegmar, a bioengineer from Germany. The other was Lucius Vitalli. He was an Italian businessman now living in New York. Lately, Lucius had fallen off Ms. Ryerson’s radar, which made Wisdom nervous.
He’d been busy himself spying on a third member of the Council. Paavo Rothschild was the liaison between the Council and the Bilderberg Group. Despite what the swarms of the paranoid believed, the Bilderberg group was not involved in a diabolic plot to overthrow the world. Having been a member of the group since its inception, he knew all too well what their real purpose was.
Yesterday, Paavo and Otto had met in Munich. The first time through these events, Wisdom had learned about the meeting afterwards. This time he wanted to be there when it happened. Somehow, events had changed again. Security around the meeting was increased with extra surveillance-blocking technology installed. It appeared they knew their location was compromised.
Several minutes later, the intercom beeped.
“Yes?” Wisdom slipped the photos into his desk.
“Elaine is on line four. I thought you should know, sir. There is a Mr. Icke in reception. He says he has an appointment with you.”
Wisdom groaned.
“Didn't I put a contract out on that wackjob? Oh, never mind. Just tell him I'm in the middle of something and I'll have to get back to him. Hmm, better yet, escort him to Meeting Room Six and have Sylvester and Kyle pay him a visit. Let's end that whole business once and for all.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wisdom,” Elaine said once Wisdom put the phone on intercom, “thank God you’re alive.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve lost faith in me.”
Elaine sighed. “After everything you’ve told me about traveling through time, I’m not sure what I believe anymore. If even the past is subject to change, absolutely nothing is absolute.”
“You should be able to relax for a few days. Are the children secure? Be careful what you say on these lines. I can’t guarantee they’re secure.”
“Of course,” Elaine said. She was in Hong Kong with a group of look-a-likes. They’d been hired to make the Council believe all the Anomalies were there. Energy emitters designed to mimic the use of EFHB were activated at irregular intervals. “Everyone is secure here.”
“History tells me it’s vitally important no one find the Anomalies at least until next week. You'll know everything you need to by then.”
“Is that when it happens?”
“Yes,” he said. “That’s when the Djinn shows up.”
***
Josh pressed the bandage firmly against the inside of his elbow and stepped onto the elevator. After a fourth day of tests and bloodletting he’d developed a new-found loathing for doctors and needles. In the elevator with him were two Chinese men speaking Mandarin in hushed tones. Both were dressed in nearly identi
cal dark suits. Only their ties were different.
There was no one in the lounge but the television was on. On the screen, was a thin, black woman with a thick accent. She walked down the aisle of a talk show studio audience asking the crowd if it was possible to ever really know someone. This led to a story about a woman who, after five years of marriage, found out that her husband was actually her biological father.
“Good to know trash TV isn’t confined to North America.” Josh turned the TV off and headed toward the cafeteria.
The lights flickered up and down the entire length of the hallway. A feeling settled over him. He looked up and down the corridor. It was empty. He clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly, searching the fitful shadows in each doorway. Then, near the end of the corridor, something caught his eye. Movement. He took a step forward and peered closer at a half-open door. In the last few days he’d passed by it many times. A closet. He’d seen the middle-aged janitor pull cleaning supplies and a mop from there.
‘Something’s wrong.’ The door was open, just a crack. Previously, it had always been locked. Worse, the light that pulsated above from the rows of fluorescent bulbs did not touch the darkness on the other side.
The door swung slightly more open.
In that second, rational or not, he decided it was not his imagination. Someone was watching him. He charged toward the unseen watcher, fists at the ready and jaw clenched. Then he saw movement again. A flash of gold light, like sunlight off a ring, hit him in the eyes. He slowed. He stopped, head throbbing.
The door swung open even further and a voice, at once familiar and alien, hit his ears.
“Remember,” it said.
And he did.
***
Four summers ago, life in the Wilkinson house changed completely. After the death of Tommy Delonki and the shooting in Lebanon, Josh found himself jumping at shadows. He barricaded his closet door at night and consistently slept with his weapons – a knife under the pillow and a baseball bat beside the bed.
One day after school, he walked in on his mother. She sat on his bed holding the baseball bat across her lap.
“What exactly do you think is going to attack you?” She asked the question with barely concealed worry in her voice.
Josh could only shrug in response.
“The world is not a scary place, Joshua,” she said. “I don’t want you living in fear for the rest of your life. What happened in Lebanon was terrifying. And the way those savages killed poor Tommy, well, I can see why you’re frightened. But you’re home now. You’re safe.”
Josh blushed, his face heated and eyes watery. He couldn’t tell his mother what had really happened to Tommy. He couldn’t tell her about the monsters with wings or the horrible things he’d done to protect Tommy. He just shook his head and learned how to better hide his weapons.
A week later, his father was shipped off to a seminar in Greece.
Therese decided it would do Josh some good to get away from Ottawa for a while, so they flew down to Windsor to visit her brother. Eugene Froese was older than her by two years. Although brother and sister remained close, they rarely saw each other. Josh barely knew his cousin Travis. What happened in the woods that week put a wedge between them. They never spoke again.
Josh and his mother landed at Windsor airport where they were met by Gene and Travis. While brother and sister hugged, cousins stood by, bonded by feelings of discomfort.
During the car ride from the airport, Josh’s mom talked and laughed with her brother while Travis hid by playing his Nintendo DS. Josh looked out the window and watched the rain fall on the gray city.
The Froeses lived on the east end of Windsor in a neighborhood of wartime homes and bungalows. They ate well that night. Gene’s wife had cooked a feast. The food put Josh in a better mood. By the time they were on dessert, he found he was actually smiling for the first time in weeks.
“I have to say, Travis,” Therese Wilkinson said. “It actually looks like you’re turning out okay. You gave your mother more than her share of headaches when you were younger.”
Travis grinned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Gene and his wife, Margaret, shared a quiet but genuine laugh. “Yeah, he’s a perfect angel. In fact, the last time you guys were down, didn’t Travis get Josh arrested?”
Josh looked up from his pie, startled for a moment. With everything else in his life, he’d completely forgotten. “That’s right! I was thirteen. You and those damned friends of yours convinced me there was a Windsor by-law prohibiting bathing suits.”
“Hey, I was the injured one,” Travis said. ‘I had to see you naked. It took three months of therapy to stop the nightmares.”
“He’s still no angel,” Margaret said. “But he’s doing better in school.”
“Volleyball team still kickin’ butt, too.” Gene beamed with pride. “You should see him on the court. Moves like a tiger.”
Travis grinned and hung his head in modesty.
“Josh is quite the athlete, too,” his mother said. “Oh I know what you’re thinking. He used to be so skinny and gangly but in the last six months or so he finally hit his stride.”
Josh groaned. “Dear God, mother. You know that never gets any funnier, right? I’m a runner. Cross-country. She throws in that ‘hitting my stride’ crap all the time. It’s so weak.”
After learning he was a runner, Travis invited Josh to join him in the morning for his daily run. Josh agreed, happy for the chance to work his muscles. They ran down to the banks of the Detroit River, then along parkland paths all the way downtown. Josh was surprised at his cousin’s endurance. Halfway through the 10k run, most people would have been winded. Travis barely broke a sweat. Josh, as usual, barely felt the exertion. His body was fueled by willpower. He never tired. It seemed in his cousin he’d found an equal.
For the next three days, they repeated the pattern. Then, on Friday night, Travis invited Josh to a party his friend was throwing.
Ignatio – Iggy to his friends – came from a rich Italian family. They lived in a sprawling mansion in South Windsor, in a neighborhood filled with luxurious houses. It was a pool party filled with thin girls in small bikinis and fit guys, mostly volleyball players or other athletes from Travis’ high school. For several tense minutes, Josh was reminded of the bush party, the one where he had watched Tommy Delonki die. Then he caught the attention of two girls and his mind was otherwise occupied.
Hours later, Travis appeared, his knuckles bloodied and chest covered in scratches.
“What the hell happened?”
Travis shook his head and looked over his shoulder. “Nothing. Nothing much. Some perv watching us.”
“Travis nailed him!”
Josh looked over at the thin olive-skinned Italian slurring his words by the pool. Iggy hadn’t changed much since the first time Josh had met him two years ago.
Josh felt tense. “Is he still here?”
Travis shook his head again. “I don’t think so. It’s dark back there. I was just getting a drink when I saw something moving behind the pool shed. First I thought it was just an animal. Then I saw something shiny. Like gold in sunlight. Wasn’t sure if it was a watch or something else. I started walking toward it. That’s when I saw him. Some jerk was back there watching us. Anyway, I shouted out to him. He started to run away and I just booked it. I ran at him and started punching.”
“What did he look like?” Josh found the whole thing unsettling and very familiar.
“I’m not sure. It’s kind of a blur. I remember seeing him, remember running and hitting him, but it’s strange. When I stopped hitting him he was already gone. Guy must move pretty fast, whoever it was.”
The next day they were both too hung over to go for the morning jog. Then, that afternoon, they were both kidnapped. The Froeses decided to take their guests on a picnic in Ojibway Park.
***
Josh felt his knees buckle and threw himself against the corri
dor wall for support. This flash of memory was different from the other ones he’d had recently. Rather than bubbling up from behind a wall of sludge, this one felt like it was being sucked out of his marrow. His head throbbed and all the strength in his muscles dissipated.
“What the hell are you doing to me?” He forced himself to stare into the darkness, to see what was in the closet down the hall. Once again, he caught a flash of gold and memory overwhelmed him.
***
Ten minutes into the picnic, Josh began to feel something. Fear. He kept looking over his shoulder, scanning the woods, not sure of what he might see, hoping he wouldn’t see anything. ‘Come on, Josh,’ he told himself. ‘This isn’t back home. There are no Edimmu here. Nothing is going to come running out to get me.’
That’s when he saw it. The glint of gold.
He froze, staring at the reflection. He dropped the piece of chicken he’d been holding and slowly slid off the picnic bench.
His mother looked annoyed. “What is it, dear?”
The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels Page 95
