Scions and Sleuths

“Harris, take a look at this,” FBI agent Lane said to his partner, holding up the photograph.

“What do you have there?” the brunette asked, taking the picture from his hand. The image depicted a middle-aged white gentleman with chestnut hair in a grey sweater-vest. “Yeah, this resembles our latest vic. But not quite the same guy.”

“Check the back.”

“‘Gas station in Texas. Position fortified. Do not engage.’” She frowned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“No idea. But that’s not the only one. Our perp has an obsession with guys who look like this.”

“That seems obvious. A dozen men fitting this description have been killed in the last six months.”

Lane looked at another photograph. “This is the guy who was killed up in Wichita.” He frowned. “Ah, shit.”

“What is it?”

“This other picture. That’s the guy who was killed in Provo. They were killed the same night. There’s no way a single perp did this.”

“Damn. So there’s at least two killers. Let’s keep looking.”

Well, that sucks, Harris thought to herself. One of the techs at the Bureau had suggested the possibility that it was more than a single person perpetrating these killings. She’d favored the lone serial killer theory, figuring that the death of the man in Provo had been an accident. Pedestrians were struck by hit and run drivers all the time, after all. But that looked less likely now.

She combed through the apartment, until finally she found something interesting. “Lane. This photo here. Does the guy on the left look familiar?”

“Holy shit,” Lane said as he took a look at the picture of nine men. “T-That’s the John Doe we found impaled on the lightning rod on the State House in Annapolis!”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too. Look, the tattoo on his forearm. You can see it clearly here.” The one on the body had been obscured by some kind of brand. The killer in that case had taken the time to heat some kind of metal in the shape of a dragon and press it over the tattoo. Of course, he’d also taken the time to impale the living victim on top of a lightning rod during a storm, so not a whole lot about that case had made sense. Harris had almost been relieved when that shadowy Agency had pulled jurisdiction on the case.

“Looks like an angel of some kind.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s the Archangel Michael.”

“Michael? Wait. Would he be called Saint Michael?”

“Yes, why?”

“There’s something else I found. One sec. Yes, there it is. ‘The Scions of Saint Michael Triumphant’. That’s the name of some church group this guy belonged to.”

“You think maybe this group is responsible for the murders?”

“Could be. Hey, here’s another picture. Another boring white guy in a sweater vest. This one’s in Maryland.” He swore again. “Well, this pretty much cements it. ‘His incarnation is under the protection of a Dragon. Ware yourself when approaching.’”

“Okay, this is starting to make my head hurt.”

“Yeah,” Lane agreed. “We’ve been at it for fourteen hours. Let’s head back to our hotel rooms. We’ll look at this with fresh eyes in the morning.”

“Sure thing,” she said. “I’ll scan the group photo and have an APB put out on the men in it. Maybe one of them can shed some light on what’s going on.”

** * **

“What?” Harris asked, groggily answering the ringing phone.

“Get dressed and packed. We’re wheels up in an hour.”

“Lane, what the hell?”

“We got a hit on one of our Scions. He was spotted in West Virginia, driving towards Maryland by a state trooper.”

She groaned. “Well, at least it’s worth my time. Okay, I’m getting up.”

A quick shower later and she was getting into the car, a large paper cup of hotel coffee in hand. “We had time to stop somewhere on the way,” Lane said to her. “No need to drink that swill.”

“The clerk made a triple strong batch for me. I can’t taste anything but the acid from my stomach, but I feel the caffeine.”

He gave her a wary look. “Okay, then.”

On the plane to Maryland, Harris looked out of the window to the storm below. She could have sworn she saw something in the clouds as the lightning flashed. Something big, its wings nearly the same size as those of the plane above it. Its head peeked out of the clouds, and on its neck looked to be a man dressed in spiky metal armor. That was impossible. So impossible, that the sight of it caused her to wake with a start.

“I’m not sure how you can possibly sleep after having that much caffeine,” Lane said to her from his aisle seat. She wasn’t sure how to answer him, and definitely didn’t want to talk about the weird dream, so she said nothing.

The rest of the flight was uneventful. But when they landed, they received more news. “They found the Scions’ target. Unis are already making their way to the gallery where he works.”

“Good,” Lane had answered. “Let’s get our car and head there immediately.”

They drove through the rain towards the gallery, with traffic infuriatingly slow. Eventually, though, they reached the plaza where it was located and headed inside, where they were met by a smiling man in a sweater vest. “Well, now, the police officers said that the FBI was on its way, but I didn’t imagine it would be you, my girl” he said with a grin.

Harris blinked. No one had called her that since college. It had been the assistant manager at the Missouri Southern State University bookstore where she’d worked to help pay for her schooling. “…Jerry?” she asked, looking at his name tag, which read “A Man of Wealth and Taste”.

“Bingo! Give the girl a prize. You know, most people don’t recognize me outside of the context they’re used to, but I could tell right away you’d figure it out given time.”

“Where are the officers?” Lane asked, seeming to ignore – or possibly not even hear – the conversation.

“I sent them away,” Jerry said with a shrug. “They’re not qualified to handle what’s coming for me. They’d only have gotten themselves killed.”

“What’s coming for you is a serial killer, or a group of them,” Lane said. “Even underfunded police departments have officers who know how to help keep you safe.”

“I doubt the local police academy teaches you how to deal with magic wielding clerics sent by a vengeful god – or at least one of his disciples,” Jerry said. “In truth, Agent Lane, you yourself are probably out of your depth here. Agent Harris, though, there may be hope for her yet.”

Lane rolled his eyes. “This is a serious matter, sir. We must insist you get away from the windows for your own safety and –” He was cut off as a bolt of light shot through the window, shattering it.

Jerry caught the light in his hand, rolling his eyes. “I am the Dawnbringer, you see,” he calmly explained to Harris, who was staring at him. “Anyone foolish enough to use my own power against me deserves what he gets.” He snapped his fingers, and the bolt of light shot from his hand, lancing the blonde man out in the parking lot through the shoulder.

A bolt of flame flew through the window, striking Jerry and sending him flying. Harris took cover, dragging Lane behind the wall with her. She drew her weapon and looked over to where Jerry had been flung. There was a bit of smoke wafting up, and it looked like the painting he’d slammed into was ruined. “Jerry, you okay?!” she called out.

“I’m fine, my girl,” he coughed. “This piece of modern art broke my fall.”

He stood up, and several more projectiles flew at him – another fireball, but also three large shards of ice. He held up his hand, and a wall of light popped up, blocking them. “What the hell is going on?” Lane asked.

“Shoot now, questions later,” Harris told him, popping around the corner and taking a shot with her Desert Eagle.

Lane looked at Jerry, agape as the man conjured a lance of light and threw it. “You heard the lady, my boy. Now pick your jaw off the floor and try not to die.”

Lane looked and there were at least a half dozen men outside, dressed in white cloaks. “Surrender now, Satan, and we promise to not harm your minions! In the name of Saint Michael, we only wish to slay you and send you back to the Pit where you belong.”

Jerry looked much younger as Lane turned back to him. “No can do,” he called back casually. “It’s my duty as assistant manager to protect this gallery and its staff from trespassers, and you’re now here after hours. Go home, though, and I promise not to press charges or contact the authorities.”

“Then let their deaths be upon your conscience!” the Scion shouted back. He began chanting, focusing the spell the others were weaving. He prepared to unleash it, a focused beam meant to pierce even Jerry’s powerful shield.

But just as he was ready to unleash the magic, something fell from the sky. It was a figure in fine silver chain mail bolstered by spiked plates in multiple places. In his hands, he was wielding a partisan, a type of long spear with bladed wings at the base of the tip. His plummeting attack drove the spear through the back of the Scion’s neck, killing him and causing the spell to backfire, sending the other casters flying.

“Sorry I’m late,” the spear wielding man said, wrenching his spear from the corpse of his foe with a dull popping sound. “I was waylaid by several cherubs on the way here.”

“No help for it, my boy,” Jerry called back. “You got here in the nick of time, anyway. There are more coming from the sky. Go. Agent Harris and I can handle the rest down here.”

Drake nodded and then leapt into the sky, disappearing into the clouds, which had to be at least a thousand feet up. That was too much for Lane, who fainted. Harris grabbed him and dragged him into cover, then began firing on the recovering Scions. “We’re gonna have a long talk about this later, Jerry,” she shouted.

“That’s fine, my girl. Now just tell me if you run out of ammunition.”

The fighting lasted several more minutes, but in the end, without their leader, the Scions were unable to hold against Jerry’s magic. They quickly routed, and were all snatched up by men and women in black suits driving unmarked Suburbans.

Before she could talk to Jerry and find out what was going on, the suits took Harris and her unconscious partner into custody and drove them to a nondescript building somewhere in Washington DC. Once inside, they were separated, and she was taken through a set of doors labeled “Section 13 – Restricted Access”.

As they walked down the corridors, she passed a number of cells. Each of these held a creature of some kind, getting more disturbing as she walked. The last few contained what looked like angels and demons!

And then they reached the end, with a final cell marked “Subject 13”. They opened it and shoved her inside, into the darkness.

Lights came on, blinding her at first, but she soon made out the form of the large desk. Sitting in a high backed chair, beneath a placard that read “The Firstborn of the Gods” was a man Harris recognized.

“So, my girl, you said you wanted to talk,” Jerry said, the sheer presence of his true form filling her with awe. “I figured it’d be best if we did so in person, no?”