The devil's Pact - S01 E418

Story 9 hours ago

The devil's Pact - S01 E418

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 418

Noel Heinrich – Unalaska Island

The wind was cold, whipping off the Bering Sea as we stood on the lichen covered rocks of Unalaska Island, one of the larger islands of the Aleutians. I gripped a pair of binoculars, scanning the sky to the southeast, looking for Mark Glassner's plane. It would be easy to spot, since it was being escorted by a squadron of F-22 Raptors and accompanied by several C-130s and a KC-130.

“Where is his plane?” Davin asked. “I'm freezing my dick off.”

I glanced at the heavy-set, shivering, African American. “Why didn't you wear a jacket?”

“Didn't think it would be this cold, Noel. It's May for Christ sake. He better show up soon!”

“Maybe they had a headwind,” I suggested. Mark was flying back from Japan, and his flight path should take him over the Aleutians pretty close to where we were. We knew what time he took off from Tokyo; he should be flying over any minute now.

Mark had to be stopped. Soon. America was a shadow of its former self. Once we were strong and independent—we had freedom. Now most of the Country meekly did whatever he said. They were just drones, happy to follow his commands. There was no passion, no heart or soul anymore, just polite people. Mark had robbed the Nation of its will. Despair had broken my heart.

For sixth months we have been trying to kill Mark, and failed every time. He was powerful. He had more tricks up his sleeve then any of us were ready for. Even in the chaos of the plague, our best attempts had failed. We came close in February to taking out Mary, but we only managed to kill a few of their bodyguards.

Every day our cause grew more desperate. If one of their Thralls – and that was three-quarters of the country at this point – saw a person using magic, they would immediately call the Warlock 1-800 number and turn you in. Many of us lost loved ones during the Plague because we couldn't heal them without exposing ourselves. And despite our careful precautions, they were tracking us down one-by-one. Alison and Desiree, with their commando squads, were roaming the nation, capturing or killing any Warlocks they found. Ten of us had already been eliminated by those two whores.

“There they are,” Wyatt said. He was my old mentor from my FBI days, as well as my second-in-command of the Patriots. He had been very successful in the private security market, and his fortune helped to bankroll our operations.

I grabbed my binoculars and spotted the approaching planes. We wouldn’t have much time. The brazier was already lit; a greasy, black smoke rose thickly into the air. Drawn around the brazier was a circle and a pentagram along with many Hebrew markings—a summoning circle.

“Aerials, I summon you!” I shouted, mouthing the formula we found in De Operatione Daemonum. “Cloak your forms in smoke and appear before me!”

The smoke twitched, swirled about, forming into a black vortex. It grew wider and wider, then crashed into an invisible wall—the edge of the circle. A piercing, roaring howl grew and grew, full of anger and frustration as it pounded against the wall. The vortex swirled faster, then begun to break apart into smaller and smaller vortexes, contracting and shaping into vicious beings. The air crackled and eyes formed, white-yellow lightning. There were dozen of them, howling and chittering like monkeys as they swirled about the circle.

“Release us!” they boomed like thunder in one voice.

“I have a task for you,” I answered, putting all the authority and confidence I could muster into my voice.

“Release us! The pain!”

“No! You can rot in that circle!”

“What is your task?” their multitude voice snarled.

I pointed to the sky. “Take down Mark Glassner's plane!”

Muttered hisses crackled in the circle. “Agreed! Release us!”

I swiped my foot through the circle, breaking the plane. The Aerials, like a swarm of vaporous monkeys, shot into the air, cackling with laughter. There were innocent people on his plane, but I hardly felt any guilt. Anger had burned away my conscience. Freedom had its price. I was more than willing to pay it.

In fact, I already had. My hands could still feel the garrote.

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