Page 34 of The Wickedness of Man

I could ask Katie to cover for me, but that would mean letting her in on this bizarre situation, and as strange as it all was, and as scared as I felt, the idea of sharing what had happened between Caleb and me didn’t feel right. Katie and I talked about everything, and of course I would tell her eventually, but for the moment, I wanted to have something that was just for me. My sex life—or lack of one—had been absolutely everyoneelse’sbusiness for as long as I could remember: parents, best friend, doctors, priests, boyfriends. This languid pleasure that he’d left with me, regardless of what would result from it later, was justmine. I didn’t have to share with anyone else—anyone except for Caleb, that was.

He's yours, came that insistent voice again.He’s all yours.

I curled onto my side, a smile playing at the edge of my lips as I thought about the way he’d pressed me back onto the bed; how he’d worked so hard to be gentle to me when I could sense the sharp, almost animalistic need rising within him. Instead, he’d kissed me, soothed me. Paced himself. He’d seemed just as surprised and confused by everything as I was. I just couldn’t believe that he’d been here for nefarious reasons—especially when I could feel the connection we’d shared. There had been noill intent. I pinched the bed sheet between my fingers errantly. What if I was just deceiving myself? I had no idea what sex would be like—not really. I knew the logistical side, but the emotions that had come with it were surprising.

I’d heard a girl in my university once say that she knew a guy who claimed he refused to have sex with virgins because he was certain that the very action of taking their virginity would make them fall desperately, head-over-heels in love with him. While I didn’t feel like I was inlovewith Caleb—hell, I didn’t even know his last name—waking up to find himgoneafter such an incredible experience was painful, to say the least.

I considered that maybe he really wouldn’t come back. It certainly looked like he’d taken everything with him, and besides, why should he really care? Maybe to him, I was just a one-night stand. Some crazy girl that had shown him a good time, but… why leave the cryptic message?

No. I knew there was something more between us. That pulse that had grown between us… he’d responded when I felt it change and shift, so I knew he’d felt it, too.

He is yours. He has given himself to you; he is a part of you.

I startled. The voice in my mind, so distant before, was much louder now. It wasn’t just some small thought, but a compelling, deep need. Intuitively, I pressed both hands to my warm abdomen. He was inside of me; he’d given me a part of himself, and now, I could feel it there, like…

Like it had started a chain reaction in me. My whole body trembled with the realization; heat washed over me.

This is all for you,said the voice. Loud, insistent.He is yours.

“Mine?” I whispered. “He’s… mine? But ho?—”

I shouted myself hoarse as power surged through my veins; my heart, my lungs, my stomach. The room filled with a deep purple glow, and I felt myself lift from the bed.

Caleb

Acolyte Seminary rose into view as we passed through the main gates and headed toward the large, five-story building where most of the classes took place. It was built in the style of Renaissance Italian universities with arching cathedral windows, elaborate brickwork, and intricate wrought iron fences and decorations. The organization’s main campus was hidden beneath the religious university, so along the real school housingrealuniversity students was the secretive, and quiteliterallyunderground cult. One that a surreptitious diocese used to control the many agents working alongside me in the shadows to monitor, track, and—more frequently than not—kill demons and other beings deemed monsters by the Church.

I managed to raise my head and look at the building we raced by. We went past my apartment block on the left—well, not so much an apartment as one of the original cramped little dorm buildings that had been constructed back in 1910, a few years after the university opened its doors. Eventually, the buildings had gotten so decrepit, the school had done bare bones renovations and converted them into apartments for agents like me.

While those of us unlucky enough to be listed within the grunt ranks had to deal with inconsistent water pressure, broken window units for AC, and electric heaters that were older than most of us who lived there, the rich kids paying to get an education stayed in the dorms built just over a year ago within easy access to the main building. The special agents got to live wherever they wanted—even off campus—but notably, some of them got suites on the upper floors of the school, where the nuns acted as their maids, cooking, cleaning, and, as the rumors went, sometimes providing additional, off-the-records services that weren’t exactly what you’d expect from women who’d sworn a vow of celibacy.

Sometimes, a rumor was just a rumor, but other times… well, I’d been on campus long enough to have seen just how close the investigators would get with the veiled sisters when they thought no one was paying attention. I’d never seen an investigator get cell time for ravishing a “celibate” nun, but then… that was the benefit of being one of the archdioceses’ pets, wasn’t it?

I looked over to the man on my left. Although Home had clearly been the most experienced agent in the recovery team back there, he hadn’t been the one who was in charge. This asshole, whoever he was, had the pretentious stink of one of those privileged few.

“Fucker,” I muttered, but my words were so slurred, he only glanced at me in confusion, then turned back to the window.

Everything on campus—above and below—screamed opulence. Manicured lawns, quads with real fruit trees and vegetable patches, perfectly cobbled drives, classrooms with the newest, cutting-edge tech, books, and even furniture… no expense had been spared. The university’s funding—and therefore the organization’s as well—came largely from anonymous donors. There were silent supporters within the Church, but also the rich students whose parents wereunwittingly backing the org so their brats could get a supposedly prestigious degree from a Christian university. The look of this place alone could draw rich assholes faster than flies could scout out shit. The waiting list to get in was going on two years long.

The class sizes were purposely kept small to increase the exclusionary atmosphere, and so some families, eager to get their kids to attend such an impressive school, made generous contributions that would bump them up a spot—or ten. The whole while, these idiots slept easy thinking that their donation was being used to ensure their child’s education and to pay for their restaurant-quality meals and luxurious rooms. In the meantime, the Church was passing the money down below to the organization, where teams of recon agents monitored for demonic activity, hunter agents were dispatched to deal with said demons, and special investigators were sent off on ultra-secret missions. Sometimes to collect possible runaways, like me.

In the background of all of this was the diocese, the archdiocese, and the archbishop, a man I’d met face to face only once as a child—but had scared the shit out of me—plus about a billion other internal agents. These agents, however, took care of the minutiae and day-to-day running of the place. Secretaries, janitors, doctors, weapons experts… there were even some scientists that ran a lab only the archbishop himself was allowed inside of.

Not to mention the veiled sisters and those who handled them, plus all of the organization’s other medical staff—as well as its torturers.

So, while these kids attended chapel and classes, and felt good about “earning” that A when their parents paid yet another hefty amount to ensure the grade, beneath their feet was a fortress the size of a small city, dedicated to torture, experimentation, and ritualistic murder. The underground areawas the only place we were allowed to speak of anything to do with the organization, and even there, only sparingly.

Place like this, the walls didn’t just have ears, they had eyes and a mouth, too. No secrets stayed secret for long. I started sweating as we parked in the shed meant to house university groundskeeping vehicles. Instead of getting out, however, the driver pulled the van onto an entirely conspicuous square in the rear corner, turned it off, and waited. A light lit green on the wall, flashing over a TV screen that readstand clearin large white letters.

The elevator began its descent, and I desperately tried to swallow the lump in my throat. The tranq had worn off for the most part, but pins and needles were now jamming sensation back to life in my fingers and toes. I still didn’t quite have control of my limbs. Every once in a while, a foot or hand might twitch unexpectedly.

Home glared over at me.

“Shit should have knocked you out for three to six hours, minimum,” he said as we entered the underground garage. He didn’t elaborate, but I could easily assume he wasn’t happy I was still awake.

I managed a shrug. It didn’t matter; I couldn’t really move still, and now that we were inside, it would take a keycard to get back out again. Only agents on assignment or in good standing were given those, and just like my fake debit card, they could be turned off remotely at any time, which meant mine was likely just a useless hunk of plastic already.

The mechanism that controlled the lift gate moved the vehicle over to its assigned spot beside a row of other vehicles, mostly black. Across from us on the other side of the garage were the cars for the special investigators, diocese, and higher ups. The GPS on those were permanently disabled; even the boxto get the keys for the cars were only accessible with special security cards.

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