Agent of Light Episode Two: Agent of Light, #2

By Odette C. Bell

Agent Mira's in a world of trouble.

Knight is coming for her, and unless Michael does everything he can, Ms. Day will fall into Knight permanently.

….

Agent of Light follows a cutesy agent and a top soldier battling a hellish plot. If you love your fantasies with action, heart, and a splash of romance, grab Agent of Light Episode Two today and soar free with an Odette C. Bell series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Odette C. Bell
• Release date: Jul 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513017853

Book preview

1

IT BEGINS AGAIN

She’d felt this before, this snaking, biting cold. It coiled around her neck like a collar of frozen nails, biting into her flesh with a whispered curse.

Like a pincer squeezing her between two cold steel beams, her mind felt like it was being flattened.

The thing landed, and she felt the thud reverberate down her shoulder and neck.

The dark around her grew past pitch black to an impossible, sightless pall.

Mira! The words were so far away, like a whisper on the edge of sleep.

Michael?

Bang. Two solid doors slammed shut behind her.

With the cold beginning to chip away at the last scrap of her consciousness, she realized she was alone without any possibility of help.

Alone in the cold, dark silence.

Mira fought back.

…

Mira! Michael bashed the stone door with the hilt of his sword, over and over again: crack, crack, crack. Mira!

The angels were starting to crumble behind him, the concerted effort of his team finally paying off.

But he couldn’t get to her. He couldn’t open the doors.

He jammed the blade of the sword into the impossibly smooth join between the stone doors, searching for purchase, searching for leeway. The sword just skidded off.

An angel loomed behind him. He slashed at it, unwilling to be distracted. It exploded, the sword bringing the final crack to its fractured carapace.

The doors remained closed.

…

Mira groped in the darkness, she searched for anything, any weapon she had left. Her hand closed around a vial of holy water. Hope.

With her last breath, she brought it to her chest, slamming it onto herself with the palm of her hand. The vial broke.

The angel screamed and dropped Mira. She hit the ground.

The darkness pressed in, and she couldn’t see a thing. She could only hear it. It thrashed above her, screaming and tossing.

She scampered away, scuttling backward across the floor like a crab on all fours.

From somewhere deep within Mira, she hardened. The breath had returned to her, and it brought with it desperate resolve. No one else could get her out of this.

She stood. She could still hear it, identifying its location from its wild yelps. Mira took her chance and launched forward with a kick. It connected. Where, she couldn’t tell, but something cracked.

She scampered backward again, ducking out of habit, rolling to the side, not knowing where its counterattack might fall.

She kicked out again, ignoring the pain and weakness in her limbs, forcing her foot forward and up in a powerful thrust.

Crack. That would have been its wing.

She could hear its swipes, sense from which direction they would fall. She ducked and weaved, rolling across the cold stone. It slammed into the ground beside her, plunging its arms into the stone. She could feel them barely an inch from her face.

She lashed out again. This time twisting on her back, angling both legs down, pressed together, aimed at the arm still stuck in the stone. She slammed into it, and it shattered.

It did not regrow. The angel mewed high like a wild animal stuck in a trap. Quick, still on her back, Mira repeated the move, aiming for its chest. She separated her feet, letting both bash into its torso one after the other as if they were horse’s hooves thundering onto a track.

Crack, crack.

The angel began to slow, whining like a klaxon beginning to die. She flipped to her feet and twisted, bringing her feet snapping around in a final, sharp roundhouse kick.

It exploded.

…

Michael stood there, cold. Findor grunted and heaved against the stone door, hands on the two iron handles, trying to pull it open.

The stone began to shift.

Michael knew it would be too late.

…

The light started to return. Though that wasn’t quite accurate; the dark started to leave. Not enough to see anything, but enough to breathe.

Something began to rumble behind her. She turned to see a crack of light, dim but welcome. She ran to it.

She reached the threshold, the light growing, the gap between the doors widening.

…

With a final gut-wrenching grunt, Findor opened the doors.

Out of the darkness within, a figure emerged.

Michael readied his sword. He dropped it.

She fell toward him, hair flicking behind her, face a jumbled contortion of surprise and fear. His arms closed around her.

Mira.

…

Whoa! Not what I expected, a Southern drawl spiked with surprise. Mira pushed herself up to see Davisha lower his gun.

She’d fallen right into Michael’s warm chest, his arms wrapping around her like folds of a blanket. It had taken her a moment to realize where she was and to push herself free.

Now he stood there, arms still open wide like the angel’s had been moments before.

Wow, you managed to dispatch that angel in there? Well, not bad for a rookie. All on your own with no weapons. Findor, have we finally found you a rival? Davisha tipped his hat.

It was no longer as dark as it had been during the fight. Night had receded back into dusk.

A large hand clapped her on the shoulder. Good work, rookie. Findor gave her another pat.

Michael put down his arms, letting them fall loosely at his sides. He didn’t say a thing.

Came to the aid of our embattled captain, ha? Stupid, Findor offered her a hand, but, man, you’ve got balls.

She shook his hand, or rather, she allowed him to shake hers. No, I- I was—

Don’t be bashful. Credit where credit is due.

No, I was on duty. He came and helped me…. Mira found a patch of dust on her torn jacket and attempted to pat it off.

Michael still didn’t speak.

Petra snorted. I don’t think so, kid. This was our assignment. You think the Agency is going to send you against nine Turned?

What? But I got the order—

You made a mistake. Which I guess makes you just stupid. Petra stowed her circular blade in its holster at her side.

Petra, come on, give the kid a break. Findor gave Mira another pat. Sorry, kid, she gets kinda cranky at night.

Anyhow, you alright, rookie? That thing had you by the throat pretty bad. Davisha nodded at her.

Yeah…. Mira brought a hand up to her throat. She stopped. She didn’t want to touch it.

Wonder what the Hell they were up to? Nine at once, that’s pretty nasty. Findor removed his hand and yawned. Still, at least it gets the blood pumping. Anyhow, how did you get here so quickly, boss?

I was in the area, Michael’s voice wavered, but so slightly that no one, save for Mira, picked it up.

Anyhow. We’ve got a report of a satanic ritual up on Eastside. Apparently, we’ve got a host of Winged Ones about to crash the party. Back to work, boss.

Findor, Davisha, and Petra began to move off.

Bye, rookie, Findor called over his shoulder.

Davisha tipped his hat with the end of his gun, and Petra turned around without a word.

That left the two of them.

…

Things were complicated now.

She stood there, still in the shadow of the crypt door, just visible in the light, her uniform torn and covered with dust.

Michael… what… what were those things? She took a step closer to him, her face coming into more light, her cute features contorted with concern.

I… the words didn’t want to come out. I’ve got to go.

Her eyes widened. She wanted an explanation. He couldn’t give her one. Look, Mira. He held out a hand but stopped and let it drop. Just go back home. When this is over, I’ll contact you.

He went to leave.

Michael. Through the falling night, she smiled. Thank you.

Go home, Mira, go home now.

He walked her out of the graveyard, and they parted ways without another word.

If there had been enough light, if Michael had paid closer attention, he might have seen the thin circle of black around her neck, stretching around as if it were a collar – a remnant from the Turned’s long grip. If he had seen that, he would not have left her alone.

…

Mira breathed through the water. It cascaded over her face, washing away the filth and dust of her fight. She arched her back, letting her head drop, her hair closing around her face like a curtain. She sighed.

He’d been so warm.

She lifted a hand to her throat and ran her fingers along it for the 10th time. What were those creatures? Why were they in that tiny graveyard?

Its grip had been so cold.

What would she have done if Michael hadn’t been there? She hadn’t even felt it, went and sat right next to one without the faintest clue.

But he had been there. Mira brushed a hand over her face, the water eddying around and dripping off her wrist.

Had she really stuffed up that bad? Could it be possible she’d misread her orders and walked straight into somebody else’s trap? But Michael had been there. He didn’t appear to know anything about it…. None of this made any sense.

Water always helped Mira think, and she had a lot to think about.

…

Michael sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers against the table before him, no particular beat, just a steady rat-a-tat.

A brilliant job, Agents, against such a terrible enemy, and then to turn around and banish a tribe of Winged Ones – truly masterful work. The Controller stood before his group, his chest full of pride.

Michael continued to tap his fingers.

What occurred with Agent Mira was unfortunate.

His fingers ground to a halt. And what exactly happened?

The Controller arched an eyebrow then cleared his throat. We had… trouble in detecting the creatures—

So you did send her there? Michael’s hand became very still. You sent a rookie into a fight with nine Turned.

The Controller tsked. No, as I said, Agent – we could not detect them, and we are not sure why. All that our sensors picked up was a general disturbance in the etheric field. As you know, we only ever match an agent to an enemy they can manage. This was simply a mistake.

Why—

We have technicians working on that, Michael. Anyhow, no harm done. Agent Mira, surprisingly, performed better than usual. This even goes some way to fixing her abysmal record, a small way, though. Really, it was just lucky you were in the area.

Michael leaned back and crossed his arms. Right.

But this was wrong, and nothing seemed right. It was like the Controller didn’t even care, fobbing it off with some excuse about a mistake with the sensors. Not too long ago, if something as grievous as this had occurred, there would have been a full-scale inquiry.

He itched to go and see her. He’d been shunted straight into the briefing without even a chance to change his torn clothes. Now, as it drew on, he found himself tapping his foot against the side of the table. He hadn’t even asked if she was okay….

In other matters—

Michael rolled his eyes. He was not going to be free anytime soon.

2

SWEET MUSIC

Mira clapped her hands together to chase out the cold. It failed. Rather than chase it out, the cold shifted up her arms with little tingles of pain.

Blahhh! She set about stamping her feet. Ahh, it’s cold!

The early morning fog didn’t answer. It simply continued to furl around her.

The church rose through the fog like a submarine from the depths. It was old, with great gray slabs of stone making up its solid walls. A pair of oaks were planted either side of the arched door, their giant roots knotting under the path, making it uneven and treacherous.

Ehhhh. Mira’s suspicions were confirmed; the place was a dive. Whoever had planted the great oaks so close to a stone building obviously had no appreciation for what big trees meant. Their roots had pushed through the bottom of the front wall, poking through like motionless spears. Crumbled stone littered the grass.

Mira cautiously walked forward, not wanting the place to fall on her. That would be just her luck.

Her teeth chattered. For a late summer morning, it sure was cold. She knocked on the door significantly more times than was necessary, then stood on the spot and rubbed her hands together.

With a creak, the door opened.

There was no one there.

Oh, man! You have to be kidding me! This place is haunted? This was supposed to be a routine call?

The door creaked in an apparent answer.

Just my luck. She shoved it open, hand closing around the prayer scroll in her pack. She usually didn’t carry one; they were hardly ever needed. But since her latest series of mishaps, she’d started to pack heavy. Gone was the cute little utility belt, in its place a large backpack, brimming with everything a rookie could clear.

She clutched the scroll with a stiff, pale hand and sniffed. Better get this over with.

They’d promised her a simple mission, something to ease her back in since last night’s unfortunate mishap, as they’d put it. First thing in the morning, though. She was expected to have one full night of sleep to make up for nearly dying, then get in the car and drive to the country at dawn. If the Agency ever heard of worker’s rights, they’d probably crack out the Holy Arsenal and blow them to Hell.

They’d said she’d be fine; it would just be routine. A Father was missing, strange things were happening at night, and something was digging in the graveyard. The Agency was sure it was a simple case of Infestation, some nighttime creepy-crawly that had set up home in the church. Whatever it was, they’d assured her, it would only operate at night. She would be under absolutely no risk whatsoever if she went there during the day to investigate. Whatever she found would be dealt with by a proper team come the close of day.

Right. Mira unfurled the scroll and began to chant.

There was nothing living in the rafters of this old church, nothing crawling out of its basement at the promise of dusk – this wasn’t an infestation. A little fact Mira was soon to find out.

She came to a stop several feet in from the door and rolled her eyes when it slammed shut with a clap. This place was haunted. And if she was right, it wasn’t anyone or anything doing the haunting – it was the building itself. The door, the stones, the windows, the roof – every part of this building had an ax to grind.

The organ began to play, its ear-splitting tones shaking the dust from the rafters above.

Mira sighed, an organ, great.

From the light streaming in through the large stained-glass window at the end of the hall, she could make out the grand organ. Its keys were being pressed as if by an invisible hand.

Well, the organ sure was a nice touch – it was good to