The Agency

By D.G. Speirs

The intrigue of espionage and the wonders of magic combine in a tale that launches the world of the International Agency of Magic - run by its distinguished director Embry Eskyll. The IAM agents work in a world where magic is a real, if not accepted, part of everyday life. But just as those agents catch a lead about a shadowy organization that threatens the balance between the Gifted and everyone else, they are directed to deal with a newly emerged mage, Riley Dean - a teenage orphan with a history of bouncing between foster home and institutions.

Distracted by their new task, the IAM is caught flatfooted when the perceived threat becomes very real. But why does the Director, amidst all the chaos, seem so focused on Riley and his training? Agents Winter, Remo, and their team travel around the globe in their pursuit of arcane terrorists even as they work to understand the purpose of this magical prodigy.

Based on the graphic novel from Think Alike Productions, this telling expands on the world created on the pages of the groundbreaking comic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.G. Speirs
• Release date: Mar 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9780985811594

D.G. Speirs

D. G. Speirs (1961- ) is a writer living in Florida. Born in New York, raised in California, he's been a traveler all his life. He lives in Orlando with his wife, Pam, and their two cats, George and Harry. He is working hard to ensure that second date on his bio doesn't get filled in anytime soon.

Book preview

Foreword

I always loved magic. The idea of having the ability to make something out of nothing always intrigued me. I began writing The Agency (comic book) in 2014, the same year I met D.G. Speirs. We immediately bonded over our love for fantasy and our shared admiration of world building. We knew that at some point we would end up playing in the same sandbox. I knew even then that I trusted him and his vision, and that together we could enrich the world of The Agency in a way that could only benefit the characters and the reader. So, in conclusion this is the culmination of those events, as if through magic two strangers came together to walk the same path. To those who are about to embark on this journey I say this: Believe in your magic and no one will be able to stand in your way.

Ruben Romero

Prologue

Most people’s image of President Andrew Shepard is the confident lion, silver-maned, tall and passionate. He would stand on a rally stage, jacket off, sleeves rolled up as he delivered speech after speech about his vision for a brighter American future. Almost every person who heard him remarked that they felt like he spoke directly to them. I’d idly speculated at times about whether Shepard himself had the Gift, but never detected even a latent trace. People saw in him strength and hope, even after tragedy befell him on the campaign trail. Shepard was the real thing, a natural leader.

He chose to make me the first openly practicing mage to be a member of a presidential administration. Technically, the official title was Special Advisor to the President on Mystical Matters. A part-time role, to be sure, but still, that appointment raised an outcry from factions across the political spectrum. President Shepard stood firm against their opposition. He merely told them the time had come to be open to the idea of what was possible.

People may see Andrew Shepard as the most powerful man on the planet. I knew better. He was one of its most vulnerable as well.

- Mage in America:

The Memoirs of Embry Eskyll (2011)

Chapter 1

The adventure started in late February. Eskyll had settled down with a cup of tea in his office at Georgetown University. On the docket was a riveting evening of dissertation proposals from the doctoral candidates in the Philosophy department. He hoped for one as original as the previous year’s group. Someone there had drawn a parallel between the Tao Te Ching and cotton-candy colored animated ponies. After a long day, Eskyll could use the laugh.

He had just started reading one about the absence of metaphysics within physics when someone entered without knocking. Eskyll looked up, surprised at the interruption. A pair of gents in matching black suits and earpieces leading to a hidden radio inside their coat studied him. A bulge under their jackets signified sidearms as well. One pulled out his credential wallet - Secret Service. Before Eskyll could say anything, the other agent handed him a note. It was short, only three words on official stationery with an ornate seal on the top.

Cadet needs you.

They drove the mage through the drizzle in one of those anonymous black SUVs you see everywhere in D.C. and think nothing of. A car in front, one behind, and in the center Eskyll as the precious cargo, passing by with lights flashing. The caravan dodged around traffic and pulled into a parking garage, then drove to the lowest level. As Eskyll exited, one agent opened a non-descript door. Inside was a chamber guarded by a stone-faced marine dressed in fatigues and carrying an M-16.

The Secret Service agent walked over to a panel and slid in a card key, then pressed his hand to the panel. The light above the door guarded by the Marine flashed green, and it swung open inward. The agent indicated for Eskyll to follow him. As they entered, the door swung shut silently behind them. For a moment, the space was black. Then overhead lights switched on to reveal a long narrow tunnel. This way. The agent moved at a quick clip. Eskyll stretched his legs out to keep up. If Cadet needed him, something was dire indeed.

At the far end was a second Marine. She guarded another door, made of polished metal, and quite narrow — not much wider than a locker at an athletic club. The guard snapped to attention as they approached. Eskyll tried to smile. It wasn’t returned.

The same two-point entry system opened this door. As the Secret Service agent pressed his hand to a wall plate, the door slid aside silently. Eskyll expected another hallway, or maybe a staircase. But inside was a tiny elevator, barely larger than a dumbwaiter.

He did a quick calculation regarding mass and volume, then turned to the agent. You’re kidding.

No, sir. The Secret Service agent gestured for him to step inside.

As he sighed and slid inside, Eskyll made a mental note to make his coffin a bit roomier. What next?

You’ll know. Good luck. The door slid closed. The light overhead switched to red as the elevator rose quickly. It slowed to a stop, and the light flicked off. In front of him, Eskyll felt a rush of air as the door slid aside. Muffled voices came from just beyond. He reached forward and found a handle, turned it to the right, and pushed. A doorway opened, and Eskyll stepped from behind a grandfather clock straight into the Oval Office.

The President stood behind his desk, hands on the credenza, head down as he looked toward the South Lawn, a white handkerchief crumpled in one hand. A red-haired woman in a dark blue dress stood next to him, one hand on Shepard's shoulder. Eskyll did a quick read on the room. Fear, grief, anger tinged with panic. He widened the field and found the urgency was only centered here. It wasn’t widely known yet. Given the nature of this building, that wouldn’t last. Eskyll took off his overcoat, laid it on one of the couches in the room, and pushed the secret door closed. It shut with a soft click.

Shepard heard it and turned. His face was pale, eyes red-rimmed. Embry, you came.

Of course, Mr. President. How can I—

Please, find my daughter.

Grace? The shock sent him scrambling into an extensive read of the entire building. Grace was not on the premises. Eskyll pushed out further, but he couldn’t locate her aura anywhere in the District. Not good.

The woman turned. Eskyll recognized her at once. Stephanie Worrell had been part of Andrew Shepard’s staff in Maryland when he was Governor. After his wife’s death during the campaign, she’d rarely left his side. There were rumors of intimacy between them, but Eskyll brushed those aside for now. What’s happened?

The President's daughter didn’t return from school this afternoon.

What? Was her secret service team ambushed? The news has been quiet—

She put up a hand to stop him. Grace never showed up at school this morning, either.

At all? Eskyll checked his watch and frowned. But that was almost ten hours ago. No one from her school contacted you?

The school assumed she had an excused absence due to some White House function that we had neglected to advise them. It’s happened before.

Shepard sighed. That's my fault. Grace has always been curious, so when a foreign dignitary visits, sometimes I let her stay on short notice.

Eskyll sympathized with the president. He fought to maintain a connection with Grace after Mary’s death, even amidst this circus. But not today? The president shook his head. I’m not sure I get this. You say Grace is missing, yet no one else in the building is worried. If her secret service detail was taken out, wouldn’t there be an all-points response—

He caught the change in the atmosphere, like the buzz just before a lightning strike. Shepard’s eyes looked haunted. Worrell shook her head. Grace’s protection detail isn’t missing. They returned to the White House on schedule, just as they were supposed to.

Eskyll glanced back and forth between the two. Now we get to the reason why you called for me.

Always perceptive, Embry, noted the President. Tell him.

First off, Grace wasn’t with them, noted Worrell. The other has to do with time.

Time?

She nodded. They don’t know what time it is.

Hairs rose on the back of my neck. No, Ms. Worrell. I’ll wager they know exactly what time it is. It’s just not the same you or I perceive.

Her eyes grew wide. How did you—

Know? You called me, remember? This is what I do. Eskyll started to pace, working to organize his thoughts. Did anyone make a note of how far off current time the First Daughter’s protection detail was?

Somewhere near six hours. Why?

Eskyll swore a silent oath. With that much lead time and anyone Gifted who was halfway competent with a gateway spell, Grace Shepard could be almost anywhere. You were right to call me, Mr. President. It does appear someone has used the arcane to attack on your daughter. But time is of the essence. Even now, the trail grows dimmer. I need to see her detail, right away.

Shepard looked grim as he nodded and said, Stephanie will take you.

The mage grabbed his coat as Worrell directed him toward the door. He paused and looked at it. You realize the risk of traipsing me through the West Wing? There will be people less than pleased if they discover you’ve brought me in to help.

We’ll deal with that as we need to. As she reached for the handle, the door opened, and a short black man with a shaved head and goatee walked past, staring at a folder.

Andrew, here's the latest markup on the infrastructure bill— David Rogers, the White House Chief of Staff, stopped in his tracks when he nearly ran into Eskyll. He raised his head until their eyes met. The words came out as a growl as he ground his teeth together. Who let this man anywhere near the Oval Office?

Eskyll didn't need a read to catch the anger radiating from Rogers, or the fear behind it. Those with the Gift know superstition is always their greatest obstacle. The mage glanced at Worrell. I rest my case.

Rogers pivoted on her. Is this your doing? Are you nuts?

Worrell tried to put a hand on his shoulder. David, slow down for a second—

I will not slow down!

David, I need him. President Shepard’s voice cut through his Chief of Staff’s tirade. Now, close the door.

Rogers stopped and stepped away from Eskyll, then closed the Oval Office door, leaving the curious staff members to speculate about the rest of the discussion. As it clicked, he took a deep breath and, with his back turned, asked, What could you possibly need him for?

Grace is missing.

Rogers turned around slowly. His eyes were wide in shock. Excuse me? How did that happen?

I am working to find out, said Eskyll. But as I explained to the President, time is of the essence. With your permission, sir. Ms. Worrell, shall we?

We headed off into the West Wing. As the door closed, he heard the President try to explain to his closest advisor an attack he didn’t fully comprehend. Eskyll figured he had maybe fifteen minutes before the two of them sent every police agency in the world chasing after Grace Shepard. How many agents in her detail?

Three. Two men, one woman.

And when they returned, did anyone check the school. No scratch that, stupid question. Undoubtedly first place you looked. What about Grace’s tracker?

Her what?

Oh, come now. You folks had to have some GPS sewn into her clothes or backpack. What does it say?

There were two. One’s not reading anything. And the other… Worrell pointed upstairs.

He focused for a moment, then cast a retrieve spell. A small stuffed panda appeared in his hands with a tag around its neck. Eskyll studied it carefully then passed it over to Worrell. Zipper pull?

Worrell nodded. For her backpack. She left it behind in her bedroom.

Give her credit. The young lady was resourceful enough to want her privacy from this fishbowl and worked toward that goal.

What good does that do us if it gets her killed?

I prefer to think it means she will have courage in the face of whatever danger presents itself. That may be the factor that turns the tide. Eskyll studied the panda again. Two trackers, you said. And the other does not register anywhere?

That’s correct. Maybe the agents know where it is.

They arrived at the office of the Secret Service detachment. The three agents waited in a conference room. As he watched them through a window, Eskyll did a quick read. Mild curiosity, slightly amusement, otherwise calm. That concerned him. A normal baseline for agents like these was a heightened sense of alertness about their environment. It was suppressed in all three. Someone had done a number on them.

Who do we have here?

Worrell pointed them out. The older one is Colby. He is the team leader. The young hotshot is Lopez, and McEvoy, the younger female agent, she was Grace’s shadow inside the school.

Eskyll paused to clear his thoughts and allow himself to be open to any coming from the three agents. He placed countermeasure protocols in place to prevent any outside intrusion. Right. Let’s get this done.

The three stood as they entered. Colby looked to Worrell. Ma’am, good to see you again. And this is--?

Mr. Eskyll is a special adviser to the President, Agent Colby. He’s here to ask you a few questions about your duties.

Doesn’t everyone today? noted Lopez with a grin.

Colby crossed his arms, his face wary. Ma’am, sorry to ask, but is Mr. Eskyll here cleared to ask about Buttercup?

Eskyll raised an eyebrow and leaned toward Worrell. Buttercup?

Grace’s code name.

Ah. Makes perfect sense. Eskyll uttered a calming spell under his breath. His voice took on a subtle tone, a secondary harmonic that caused people to feel a sense of well-being. It was a simple Grade 1 conjuring, but it has gotten him out trouble more times than he could count. He gave them a professional smile and started. Please relax and take a seat. I only have a few questions. First, how are you all feeling?

The trio glanced at each other. Fine, sir, said Colby.

Perhaps a bit confused, added McEvoy. Eskyll noticed she was focused on Worrell, or instead, on Grace’s panda in Worrell’s hands.

Eskyll took it and brought it to the woman. How are you confused, Agent McEvoy?

We've heard the conversations in the hall. People are talking about Buttercup. I have to think something must be wrong with her at school. The woman’s hand went to the locket around the panda’s neck. Maybe we should be there, not here.

Relax, chica, there's no reason to worry.

Eskyll glanced at Lopez, who’d interrupted. Why do you say that?

We're supposed to get her in, what? He checked his wristwatch. Three hours?

Right, agreed Colby. Unless they send another team to do it.

Why would they do that?

Lopez tapped his forehead. Duh. You have us locked in here for some loco reason.

He looked them over. The two men seemed defiant, McEvoy disconnected from the conversation; her hand stroked the tracker around the panda’s neck. Eskyll took off his watch and shook it. Hmm. That’s weird. It seems to have stopped. He handed it to McEvoy. Could you reset it for me?

She looked up at Eskyll, reluctant to put down the stuffed animal, then she popped the stem out and wound it back six hours. As the agent handed it back, their hands touched for the briefest moment. Eskyll got a glimpse of confusion, then calm, then chaos again, swinging around in a loop.

Thank you, Agent McEvoy. Please excuse me, this will only take a moment. Eskyll waved Worrell over.

What did you find?

They are still under the effects of the spell.

How bad is it?

He showed her his watch. You were right about the time frame. McEvoy seems to be the key. It’s not good, but I have some hope. Give me the room for a few minutes. I’ll signal when I’ve finished. Worrell closed the door behind her as Eskyll faced the agents. He uttered a spell that dimmed the lights and intensified focus around the clock. I need you to look at the clock on the wall. Concentrate on the second hand as it sweeps around the face. Feel its rhythm. As it does, let your thoughts drift back to the first time you met Grace Shepard. Don't say anything, watch the second hand and think about Grace Shepard. Watch and focus. Watch and focus. Watch and focus.

As Eskyll gently droned on, he began another probe into the deeper recesses of the agents’ minds. Their focus on Grace Shepard helped him identify the spell applied – a Memory Mask. The spell works by substituting the memory from one section of time to another. They usually could be reversed since the spell normally targeted a small, fixed period of remembrance.

This was different. Some mage had cast a powerful spell, brutal and destructive, that chewed through dynamic short-term memory and replaced it from a time six-hours earlier. But unlike most Memory Mask spells, which were self-limiting, this would loop back on itself continuously. In their minds, time was not linear, but a continuous loop, erasing itself over and over. The underlying memories quite possible were lost forever.

He approached the point on their minds where the spell would loop back on itself. Eskyll could only hope the original underlying memories were not erased permanently. If he could restore them, they might recover some clues to how the kidnapping occurred. Also, a spell this complex might contain some touch of the mage who had worked this hex. True enough, Eskyll didn't need to look far. There was a small shadow at the edge of the false memory, like a stitched-on label. He peeled through the enchantment and examined the darkness. It reeked of a foul essence Eskyll recognized at once.

Elifor.

When President Shepard first named him to his circle of advisors, one attacker was particularly strident. He claimed Eskyll was the embodiment of evil, that his presence was proof not just President Shepard, but the entire government had fallen prey to demonic influence. One memorable claim was Eskyll made everyone smell of sulfur (for the record, Eskyll preferred Old Spice). This self-proclaimed complainer-in-chief was the Reverend Octavius Elifor. His threats bordered on sedition - he came within a hair's breadth of calling for Shepard's assassination. Most people wrote him off as a kook, not knowing Elifor had learned the value of hiding in plain sight; no one would question that you were the very thing you campaigned against.

Over time, Eskyll detected the signs of another with the Gift, working against the aims of the government. Soon, he realized with a shock that person was Octavius Elifor. Not only that, his connection to the Cruxis came from twisted sources rather than the light. He trained himself to be a dark mage and intended to use those powers to harm President Shepard.

On two occasions, Elifor attempted to put plans into action. As soon as Eskyll detected the spells, he disarmed them at a distance, long before they could hurt the President or anyone else. After his second try, Eskyll decided a more permanent solution was needed. He placed a quarantine spell around Elifor, a magical ward that prevented him from any cast that might harm the President.

He had been so pleased with himself at the elegance of that construct, so smug about his ability to protect the President by himself that Eskyll was ignorant to any blind spot. He’d severely underestimated Elifor. The man must have deduced his cage and realized he couldn't kill the President. Once he understood that, Elifor decided hurting the one person Shepard held most dear in this world would work just as well.

This was my fault. I should have shut down this threat once and for all.

As he stepped back and cleared his sight, the mage’s voice had the tiniest touch of uncertainty. Thank you, agents, for your help. Now let me help you. Eskyll muttered an incantation and swept a hand aside. Within each mind, the Memory Masks shattered into a thousand crystal shards. The psychic rebound caused him to stumble, and Eskyll fell to his knees.

Worrell rushed into the room. Eskyll!

Eskyll held up a hand to stop her and concentrated on McEvoy. Quickly! What do you remember?

The woman looked startled. Her hand grasped the pendant around the panda. We pulled out through the gates. Then the air seemed to swirl... She trailed off. There were tree branches…a foul smell, then…nothing. Her face contorted in fear. Oh my God, Grace! We lost her!

The other agents on her team moved in to comfort her. Eskyll leaned back against a wall and fought a wave of nausea. Branches and a foul scent gave him a lead, but not a good one for Grace Shepard’s well-being.

Worrell left to bring in a debriefing team and returned with a glass of water. Eskyll’s hand had a slight tremor as he downed it. Did you learn anything? Eskyll nodded. Good. You can lead a team to go after the kidnappers.

Slow down. I didn't say I had details. I restored your agent’s memories. She only had brief, vague impressions of the kidnapping. Nothing specific.

Then you don't have anything.

Hardly. Has the van been examined?

Top to bottom.

Did they find any tree branches in it? Any vegetation at all? Any odd smells?

No one mentioned any.

I’ll need to see it myself anyway.

I can arrange that. Anything else?

Yes, but the President will want to hear this himself.

Worrell hesitated. Very well. She led Eskyll back through the West Wing. They managed once again to avoid reporters until the pair reached the Oval Office.

President Shepard appeared not to have moved from his spot near the credenza. In contrast, the Chief of Staff seemed determined to wear a groove in the carpet from his pacing. Andrew, this is not just stubborn. It’s stupid. We need to call in everyone - a full law enforcement response.

Eskyll cleared his throat to interrupt them. That would be a mistake.

Rogers rolled his eyes. Not you again.

With all due respect, Mr. President, Mr. Rogers is wrong. A show of force like that is the worst thing you could do.

Rogers walked over and stood toe to toe with the mage. Look, don't you have some magic dice to roll somewhere else?

Eskyll schooled himself to remain calm in the face of his storm. No, sir. No saving rolls, crystal balls, or any other fakery. Any more than you need to put on a sweater and sneakers to deal with the day’s issues. Rogers’ brow furrowed, and he appeared ready to start another tirade. Eskyll put up a hand to stop him. Before we get into a contest trading insults, let's not lose sight a girl's life is at stake. The mage stepped around him and walked to the desk. Your daughter’s detail doesn’t remember any specifics of the kidnapping. It was wiped from their memory.

Like I said, Andrew, this man is useless—

Eskyll cut him off. But I was able to determine a few impressions about the attack, some clues as to how it happened. More importantly, I was able to get a read on the person who cast this spell on your agents. He's a mage like me, except aligned with the forces of chaos. People used to call them sorcerers. Nowadays, the preferred term is dark mage.

Dark mage? Rogers scoffed. Right. Does he have a name?

Octavius Elifor.

Worrell’s brow scrunched together. The radio preacher? He's said some nasty things about Andrew in the past, but he seems harmless enough.

Trust me, Elifor is far from harmless. He has a grudge against the President. Eskyll paused. And me.

Really. The word fairly dripped sarcasm onto the carpet. Rogers crossed his arms. And why exactly does he have a grudge against you?

Because I stopped him from killing the President.

The room went so quiet you would have thought Eskyll had cast a silencing spell. It took a dozen breaths before anyone dared to say a word. Naturally, it was Rogers who crossed the barrier first. He looked at Eskyll as if the mage had grown a second head. You're kidding.

No. Twice, in fact.

All three stared in varying degrees of surprise and shock. President Shepard shook his head. And I’m just hearing about this now?

More importantly, you’ve been aware of a known threat to the President and didn’t share it with the Secret Service? Worrell’s face was ashen. Eskyll, do you understand how wrong—

Ms. Worrell, this is not the type of threat they train for at the academy. Yes, he made two previous attempts to use the arcane to harm the President. Worrell started to protest, but Eskyll held up a hand. Which I stopped before he ever got anywhere near. After I detected the second attempt, I made it so he couldn't harm President Shepard again.

I think we all see how well that worked, snarled Rogers.

It did, actually.

Excuse me?

Elifor didn't directly attack the President. It’s just, well, magic is often like the law. There may be a way around things it if you explore deeply.

Worrell shook her head. You want to split that hair now?

We can finesse my spellcasting at a future review. This is about what and, more importantly, who we're dealing with right now. Mr. President, I assume you wouldn’t have trusted Grace with anyone less than the best agents on her protection detail.

Shepard nodded. You know that, Embry.

My point is, you now know how easy Elifor went through them. By their accounts, he took out all three in just a few seconds.

Rogers scoffed. Only because he caught them by surprise. Now that we know what to look for—

Really? So, if you know ahead of time, you can stop someone with the Gift from doing something.

Of course.

Like what I’m about to do to you?

What?

I’m going to move you across the room.

No, I can’t let you do that.

Oh? And how will you stop me?

Now wait, you—

Eskyll cast a relocation spell to swap Worrell and Rogers. A slight pop in the air sounded as they moved past each other and dropped in place. As they landed, Rogers looked at Eskyll, mouth working again without words. The mage had a momentary impression of a largemouth bass, hooked and reeled in. As I told you, Mr. Rogers, this man is just like me. The entire Secret Service is out of their depth against him, especially if he sees them coming. Eskyll looked to President Shepard, who had turned back to the credenza. He was staring at a picture of his family from the night of his nomination. Eskyll spoke quietly. Mr. President, since the day you asked me to serve this country, I've had your back. I faced this mage before and beaten him. Believe me when I say I can find Grace for you.

Andrew Shepard traced a finger over the picture, over his daughter’s smile, then looked over at the mage. You stopped him before?

Yes, sir. It's why he did this. He couldn't get to you, so he wants to hurt someone you care about instead.

Shepard put the picture down with care, then turned to face the mage. Very well, Embry. Find Elifor. Only this time, stop him so he can never hurt me or anyone else ever again.

Rogers opened his mouth to protest. Mr. President, this man is not a field asset—

Do I need to repeat myself? This was no longer a father filled with fear. He was the President of the United States, ready to call on the full resources of the government if he needed to. His goal was simple: recover the most precious thing in the world.

The Chief of Staff looked cowed. No, sir, he stammered.

How much time will you need?

Eskyll made a quick calculation. Elifor’s greatest power will be at the full moon, so I need to find Grace before then. Ten days—

Five.

But sir—

President Shepard shook his head. Stephanie, explain it to him.

Worrell walked over. We’ve been lucky to keep this quiet so far. But soon, someone will tell someone else a little detail about Grace’s detail, a reporter will pick up on that, and once they realize Grace isn’t at school, it will snowball on us fast.

Rogers shook his head. Not to mention we’ll need resources on hand that can react if you succeed. He glanced at the President. "Or when you don't. Just be glad we’ll give