The Soul Of Affinity: The Affinity Series, #1

By Devin McCamey

Anton Stone, a scholar and Nordic linguist from Baltimore is out of a job.

 

The True Norse ripped open the sky from their world and marched their conquering armies into northern Denmark in 1997. We won the war and sent the Norse armies packing, but it left a scar on society.

 

Now attacks using magical Nordic affinities are on the rise and causing waves of violent backlash throughout the world. Worse, people with affinities start disappearing at an alarming rate, and no one knows why.

 

Anton joins up with the Nordic Threat Analysis Team (N-TAT) in an effort to understand where the real threat is, and show what it isn't.

 

The team uncovers a mysterious group behind the missing people. Anton must race against the looming danger to understand who is really pulling the strings. But, there seems to be a traitor in his team, and if he doesn't learn his true potential then losing his friends will be the best case scenario.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Devin McCamey
• Release date: Nov 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393977308

Book preview

The Wheels Start to Turn

You're fired Mr. Stone, said a short, bald man in high priced shoes. He went red in the face. "You have been here for two years and not one time did you mention you're one of them!" The berating continued into its twentieth minute. Anton couldn't count how often in that time his boss had fired him, but all it took was once. He tried to get a word in, but as soon as he opened his mouth, the bald man continued his tirade. Anton shuffled his feet and shoved an old rolled up map under one arm.

I picked you up before you even finished graduate school. I brought you in and gave you a great job. All that I asked for was honesty. You didn't even give me that.

But sir, Anton began, but the vein popping out of his boss' temple shut him down.

I don't want to hear it, Mr. Stone. The medical staff came in with the results. It's out of my hands. The department policy is to be upfront about your history, and you weren't. Now I get to enforce that policy. Dr. David Brickell, department head of the Defense Intelligence Agency's Nordic Research Division, didn't sound near as remorseful as his words implied. In fact, he seemed quite pleased with himself. Why did it have to happen today? I'm so close.

Anton had enough of standing there placidly; he had to defend his position. Sir, he forced himself in. I like my work here. I do it well. The whole department benefits from my speed and accuracy. No one translates this stuff near as fast as me. He waved the map around like a wood pointer and indicated a stack of papers on the edge of the desk. See these! Those are all my work, and I've only scratched the surface. The scroll sitting on my desk could help change our view of history profou-

Listen to yourself! David bellowed, and Anton crumpled the map as he dug his fingers into his hands.

You sound like a raving madman. No one finds sweeping changes to history on an old receipt for some goats. And besides, how well you like it here has zero bearing on this.

I work well with the guys here. We have helped your department increase output and improved clarity to the field researchers. I'm sure they'll vouch for me. Anton pressed his luck here. He knew very well that saying the words 'increase output' and 'your department' in the same sentence were fantastic ways to make David happier.

His comment seemed to soften his boss's features slightly, but the man still shook his head. No. It doesn't matter. The higher ups don't care, and I can't have someone like you around here, he said, and Anton bristled.

Sir, he said trying to keep his voice even. I don't want to come off as cocky or boastful, but all the work I've been doing for you has helped me become your top Nordic linguist. Now that I've gotten to this point, why would you want to throw it away? Anton was very proud of himself the day he realized he didn't need to dive into obscure books every time they found something for him to translate. He could just read it.

Your skill isn't in question here, and you know it, Anton, David Brickell spat.

Anton did already know that, and how good he was at the job didn't seem to matter much in the end. As it turned out all of the standard tests, medical exams, and background checks the government performed before they allowed him to translate a single word was as staggering as the mighty bureaucracy of the United States could make it. It also turned out that even with all the red tape, squabbling, inefficiencies, and lost paperwork, they did look at some of that stuff when the results came in.

David started reading off details that the medical department sent him. Here was the answer to the elusive equation, his mistake. The reason he could no longer call the DIA his place of employment.

What was Anton's big mistake? What had he done that had him standing there in front of bald, menacing David Brickell? His DNA test. For one reason or another, the DIA didn't review his results for two solid years. When they did, they noticed one teeny little marker on each of his chromosomes. The scientists called it a vestigial cellular receptor and said that it didn't do anything. The one thing that little receptor did was to get Anton fired.

Anton knew that only a person with Scandinavian genealogy would have that particular receptor, but David explained it anyway. Our scientists use it as a way of cataloging our employee's ancestry to make sure they aren't True Norse, he said. Anton had seen the marker before during his undergraduate studies. He didn't mention that to David because, even though the man was firing him for some vestigial receptor that he had no control over, Anton couldn't get another word in edge-wise.

David finally finished reading the memo and slammed a cardboard banker's box down on his desk. Take your stuff, he said and stapled a slip of paper to the top of it. Anton glanced down at the sheet. His termination of employment notice stared back up at him.

He finally found his voice again, cold and venomous. I just wanted to help people, sir. I wanted to shine a light. The pretense of calm acceptance left him. He grabbed the box and pulled it across the desk.

You're naive. You're compassionate, and that's commendable, but you can't fix prejudice, David said and sat back in his seat, one leg crossed over the other. His posture exuded power and authority. He looks so arrogant and sure of himself.

Anton didn't care. I just thought that I wouldn't find that prejudice here. His icy voice cut his boss to the bone.

Dr. Brickell's expression hardened. Get. Out, he said menacingly.

Ever since the True Norse ripped open the sky over Denmark in 1997, the people feared and despised anyone they thought might be a Norse; even after the earth routed their armies back through the hole three years later. Anton stuffed his map inside the box and turned to leave.

Dirty Norse freak, David grumbled as Anton retreated from the office. Anton pretended not to hear, shook his head, and kept walking. Can't fix prejudice? Just look at yourself. Most of the population believed that if you were Scandinavian, you were as bad as a True Norse. The word Norse had, in the span of a few short years, turned into a derogatory term. The thought of the Norse armies' return drove people to do horrible things in the name of fear and anger.

As he stalked off to the elevators, Anton figured losing his job wasn't the worst that could have happened when they discovered his heritage. Assaults and kidnappings in the street skyrocketed in recent years. If you had a name that someone thought could be Scandinavian, society outed you, and you became a pariah.

He knew that he had the marker in his genes. He grew up in Reykjavik, Iceland as Anton Sorrenstone. His aunt, Rebekka, changed it when he was seven and came to live with her in the states.

He punched the elevator call button, and a memory surged up within him. He still saw the manic and threatening face of the first woman he met stepping off the plane from Sweden. You better keep your magics to yourself, she had said. Watch yourself. Just because your Norse buddies can take on Europe, doesn't mean we'll roll over. This is America. She had leaned in at him and pointed a gloved finger in his face. I bet your daddy is gearing up right now to march into France. Well, you tell him from me, that if I smell one whiff of that blighted magic here, then no conquering force is gonna stop me from killin' ya. You watch yourself, boy. Anton shivered. She had been so close to him; he could still feel her breath and smell the stale flowery perfume she had worn, even almost twenty years later.

Thousands died during the three years the Norse armies terrorized the world. Lightning had struck the heart of the world just as it had rained from the sky. Flames lashed out at the infrastructure of dozens of countries, and no matter how the world tried to fight back, the True Norse's healers could be there in a heartbeat to repair any damage done to them. It was terrifying. It was horrible. It was not his fault, and it was not the fault of the thousands who society had oppressed since then.

The elevator dinged and Anton stepped in to ride it down to the ground floor. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. I'm done with this place. He couldn't stand it. Yes, he had been naive to think that the malice and fear in society wouldn't leak in here. He wanted to learn all he could about where the True Norse came from, how they did what they did, and why. He wanted to vindicate his people. The surge in the thirst for Nordic knowledge is what gave Anton his chance, but the same fear that opened the door for him now slammed it in his face.

His eyes were grim but still held a deep determination as he stalked out of the elevator. Anton walked silently past the security desk and out into the sunlight.

* * *

Cunning and secrets kept him in good company. Dr. Brickell leaned back comfortably in his leather desk chair and pulled out a fat cigar from the black case on his desk. He analyzed the meeting again in his head. Overall, it went quite well. Back when he hired Anton, the young man showed great potential, but after two years of no results, his benefactress to the Vanir royal family decided to cut him loose. She was not one to waste time on a fruitless source.

David sighed contentedly and stared out his large windows. Even though Anton had been a dead-end, all their other plans were coming together. The pace crawled slower than he liked, but as long as he showed progress, she allowed him to handle the operation. He cultivated their resources and performed small-scale tests to moderate success, but a major operation approached on the twenty-fifth that would definitively push the envelope. Everything needed to be in place by then.

He lit his cigar and turned on the vent next to his desk to absorb the smoke. Turning back to his desk, he unlocked his phone and quickly reviewed the dossiers of the team he had picked for the mission. Norse gods were a rare commodity. He managed to compile a good team of mid-level Norse Vanir soldiers and mixed them in with people from the U.S. natives who had complimentary skills. He chose the team based on their affinities so there wouldn't be issues in the operation. David wanted this mission to make a statement, and he planned it carefully.

Vanir soldiers were very well trained but didn't know the earth's climate, people, or tactics. They were from the other side of the tear. He paired them up with people from earth for their local knowledge and they trained together for several months. He wished that he could have put Anton as the cherry on top.

David didn't want just any old earth soldier, though, he wanted the advantage the affinities afforded him, so he had spent the last few months locating as many earth-born Norse men and women as he could. The group was solid and should work well on the mission. It was just a shame Anton hadn't shown any affinity. It hadn't taken David long to realize the more genetic markers a person had, the higher the likelihood they would develop an affinity. Anton had twenty-three markers. There was one on each of his chromosomes, but he showed no signs whatsoever. His genetics afforded him a priceless chance, but it proved wasted.

Dr. David Brickell's official job description was to oversee the search for Nordic knowledge in order to help the U.S. Government be better prepared should the Norse gods return. What he really did was to search for people that developed Nordic affinities and recruit them for his operational teams.

In reality, the Norse gods never left, not altogether. Sure they were beaten back, but that had only hardened their resolve to rule Middgard. Soon after the world finished celebrating the fall of the Norse, small tears opened again, and they sent a limited number of spies through. His benefactress was one of those spies. Their job was to slip into and ingrain themselves deep in each of the world's leading governments and quietly steer it down the path of their choosing. David recruited a network of spies himself, and each one extended his benefactress' reach.

The plan would progress without Anton. He picked another dossier. It upset him that all that work had been for naught, but the mission would continue. He scrolled further down the list of dossiers on his phone and stopped suddenly. There was a young woman who had shown the affinity to control the weather. He pulled up her picture. She looked younger; maybe twenty-two or three. Her gold eyes were inquisitive. David hated inquisitive, but there were things that could be done to rid himself of those meddlesome traits. He noted a scar on her nose and another over her right eyebrow. He made a note to himself to see how she could handle herself in a fight. He lowered his gaze to the description beneath the picture. Her name was Brittany Callahan. It said that she could whip up a large wind out of nothing, or calm a storm by countering their natural forces. She would do quite well here.

He dialed the number of one of his spies. A voice picked up on the other end. Hello sir, it said.

O'Bannon. I want you to locate Brittany Callahan. She's coming with us to Cuba, David said with an evil grin. Setback or no, this was going to be a hell of a thing to witness.

The Good Guys

Tick tick tick tick. The clock on the wall ticked the seconds away until 9:00 o'clock. Anton had arrived early. He was nervous and couldn't help it. He tried to play it cool, but still managed to arrive more than an hour earlier than necessary. He sat there, watched the clock, and tried to keep himself from visibly twitching. It was December now, but the heaters in government buildings were notorious for only working when they felt like it. Old white paint smothered the walls in thick globs and the building smelled of industrial-strength soap. His right knee bounced silently.

At least the sweating wasn't realistic today. Even in his nicest suit, and all three layers on, he was cold. Anton rubbed his hands together to create some friction and blew a breath of hot air on them. It didn't help much. He had spent the last month conducting interviews, taking lie detector tests, medical examinations, and psychological evaluations all in a furious job hunt which landed him with a linguist position on the Department of Defense's Nordic Threat Analysis Team. This time he had disclosed his Scandinavian ancestry upfront, and the doctor said that as long as he was an American citizen, it didn't matter to the medical team. Anton noticed that the doctor still noted it on his file.

The date of December 9th felt like it took years to come and at the same time, it had flown at him like a dive-bombing hawk. He still had not had the chance to meet anyone from the Nordic Threat Analysis Team, and had only worked through liaisons in the civilian personnel offices.

Every morning Anton had gotten up and watched the news. He had seen conspiracy theories and accusations fly. With the state of public opinion, siding with any Scandinavian would have been a professional death sentence.

Mr. Stone, a female voice called from the back of the room. Anton looked up, smiled, and jumped out of his chair a bit too fast to seem normal. A knowing smirk and one raised eyebrow greeted him.

Dr. Moore! Wow. I didn't know you were consulting with the government, he said.

I'm not, actually. And you jumping to conclusions is what I warned you about back at Yale. There's a reason I couldn't give you that A. Oh, and as it appears we're colleagues now, it's Heather, she teased. Her heavy gaudy earrings bounced as she shook her head. He had taken several of Heather's classes during his bachelor program and she hadn't changed a bit since then.

Four years ago, Anton shouted a bit louder than necessary. The man at the front desk briefly looked up from the magazine he was reading. How is it you're still holding that over my head after four years? He laughed and held out a hand to her which she shook.

I had to get it out now. I like to start a new job off fresh, she said and shrugged nonchalantly. Heather feigned flipping her hair but it was too short and too curly. Anton laughed, and she threw him another wicked grin.

So, you're not working with Yale anymore, Anton asked. He put his hands on his hips casually and smiled. He didn't realize how much he needed to see a friendly face after the month he just had.

No. I've been watching the news for a while and after seeing all of the problems cropping up recently, I decided I couldn't just sit behind a desk and teach, Heather reasoned and winked at him.

Anton smirked and replied, Teaching is what you did? I didn't know that. I thought you spent all your time pranking your husband and left us to just kind of figure it out on our own, Anton fired back with a wink.

Well you all turned out alright, didn't you? she said.

You know you'll probably be sitting behind a desk here too, right? Anton asked.

A voice suddenly broke up their conversation. Good you are both here on time. A man appeared in the door behind the security desk in the lobby. My name is First Lieutenant O'Dell. I work for the U.S. Army who, in their infinite wisdom, decided to put me in charge of our little department here. First Lieutenant O'Dell had the sunny disposition of a brick. His square jaw and military haircut did not help his case much.

He strode past the security officer at the front desk who had snapped to attention when O'Dell had walked into the room. LT O'Dell proceeded to ignore him which was quite unfortunate because it looked like the security officer had a strong desire to scratch his nose; he wiggled it incessantly behind his boss' back.

Dr. Moore I have been ordered to tell you that your paperwork has gone through the proper channels and is ready for your John Hancock. O'Dell handed a blue folder to Dr. Moore and while he did so, the security officer rubbed viciously at the itch on his nose. As soon as Dr. Moore took the folder, the security officer snapped back to attention; his nose bright red from the scratching.

Mr. Stone. I also have your paperwork ready for orientation. He handed Anton the other blue folder. It seemed to Anton that the Lieutenant held his grip on the folder a millisecond longer than necessary. They both thanked him, and he nodded back.

He turned to the security officer. Mr. Carroll please give our newest members the ID check out sheet and direct them on their way from here to the conference room. O'Dell spun back to Anton and Dr. Moore and said, It was wonderful meeting you. Mr. Carroll will help get everything sorted out for you and then you'll have a chance to meet your team leader, Sergeant Ward. As he said the word 'wonderful,' his eyes squinted just a bit too much. Anton got the distinct feeling Lieutenant O'Dell didn't like him. However, before Anton could think about it further, O'Dell turned on his heel and left out the door he had come through.

Don't pay him any mind sir, Mr. Carroll said. He's just a by-the-book kind of man. He's not too fond of letting civilians into the organization. He wore a pressed shirt and tie, but the way he wore them looked forced somehow. It was as if he would have much-preferred shorts and flip-flops. Mr. Carroll looked like he would be more at home on a beach somewhere than an office.

Why doesn't he like civilians? asked Dr. Moore.

Well, by my best guess he just likes things to run his way. A group of soldiers has to feel like a family or they fall apart. It's just how they're wired. He tapped his temple. I think he's just afraid you're gonna last just about as long as the ones here before you. They didn't fit in with the way he runs things, Mr. Carroll finished knowingly.

So it's a confidence thing is it? Dr. Moore asked.

No, ma'am. No, it's a family thing. Well, it will be with Ward. You'll meet him in a little bit. The Lieutenant is just, Mr. Carroll stopped, shrugged, and let the thought hang in the air.

Anton walked to the security desk with Dr. Moore. Then why the advertisement Mr. Carroll?

The man grinned widely and pushed his long, graying hair out of his face, Call me Frank. Mr. Carroll is my father. And to answer your question, it's because it wasn't up to him. That's how government works. There's always a bigger fish. He shrugged and smiled again. His bangs fell back down obscuring his vision.

Dr. Moore chimed in, Well at least we have someone friendly to talk to out here Frank.

Anton put on an offended expression, Are you saying I'm not friendly, he asked.

Not a chance Anton. I'm not stepping on that landmine. I know you better than that. She signed the sheet Frank provided her and took the offered ID badge. Anton did the same and Frank walked them over to a side door. He opened it to reveal a room with a large but cheap conference table. A small computer sat on a desk at one end of the room and a piece of plastic covered several wires running up the wall to a projector hanging from the ceiling.

Have a seat, and I'll get Sergeant Ward for you, Frank said.

* * *

It wasn't long after Frank left the room before he returned. This time he carried a large stack of papers. It's mostly legalese, he said as he set the stack down on the conference table. He briefly flipped through a couple of pages near the middle. After a moment he must've found what he was looking for and split the stack in two at that point. He handed the smaller top half to Dr. Moore. Here you go, Heather. Don't worry about all the blanks and stuff. You've got a few weeks to finish in-processing the system. Just fill out the highlighted portions and bring it by my desk out front as you complete it. I'll scan it and send it on up.

He then slid the larger stack toward Anton and said, Since you've been let go in the past from the department of defense, we had to get a few more approvals to bring you on board. Beady wasn't happy about it, but that bigger fish I mentioned before trumped him. Anton looked sheepishly back at Heather who was raising one eyebrow at him that said very clearly Do tell.

Beady? Anton asked looking confused and trying to divert attention back to Frank.

That's uh, Lieutenant O'Dell. You know because he's got those squinty little eyes. Don't let him hear you call him that though or I'll never hear the end of it, Frank replied mimicking the lieutenant. He squared up his jaw and squinted. It wasn't even close to how O'Dell had looked, but it was funny to watch Frank try.

Heather and Anton lifted up the first couple of pages of their respective packets and it seemed as though there was a lot of writing, but only a few blanks to fill in. Let's do it right now, Heather said to Frank and then looked at Anton encouragingly.

Sure, why not, Anton obliged.

Great. How about I give you guys about forty-five minutes to get it all done and be back here, Frank said looking at his watch.

That'll work, Anton replied.

OK. I'll let Sergeant Ward know to expect you back here at 9:45, With that, Frank smiled and left Heather and Anton to fill out their mountains of paper.

* * *

As it turned out, Sergeant Ward was nothing like his boss LT Beady. Where Beady had a broad chest and stiff shoulders, SGT Ward was a slender man that looked like he was made of bamboo. Where Beady spoke stiffly and formally, Ward had a habit of using obscenities as his filler words. One thing they did have in common though was not being too fond of working with civilians. Anton got that idea the longer the orientation brief went on. It seemed that Sergeant Ward's low opinion of civilians came from sloppy work areas and tardiness. To him, being late meant that you didn't care about your work. If you didn't care about your work, then Ward did not want you working in his office. Anton could respect the man for his drive and his knowledge of the inner workings of the department; even with his quirks.

SGT Ward spoke again, and Anton looked up from his paperwork. Now you, Dr. Moore, will be working on the first floor in the laboratory. You'll oversee the analysis of any blood, tissue, or any fuckin'… he paused here looking for the word, DNA samples that come into the lab and make sure that they are processed correctly and the results sent in for documentation. That's where comrade Anton comes into the workflow. It hadn't taken Ward long to come up with a nickname for each of them seemingly at random. Throughout most of the morning so far, Ward had referred to Anton as comrade almost exclusively, and every time he spoke about Dr. Moore, he enunciated doctor with a thick fake Transylvanian accent. Anton had no clue where he got these from.

SGT Ward went on, Comrade; you'll be responsible for recording any results that come your way and researching the origins of any bits of ancient rock with them scribble marks on 'em. You'll also be my walking dictionary and encyclopedia. If we get any tips on where a person with an affinity may be, you'll get to tag along with our field team to go and talk to them. Your primary job in the field is to translate any of these people's mumbo jumbo into information we can use to catalog what kind of affinity they've got.

Anton spoke up, So, what resources do we have for tracking any changes or trends we might find?

Ward glowered at him with a look that showed his low expectations. Obviously, he didn't like questions in the middle of his briefing. "You don't need to worry about that. We have other analysts to handle