Chapter II
The Devil Comes to Play
12 November, 1943
"They always fight. It never matters." He mumbled to himself as he stared out the window, molten orange mist escaping his lips. The view from his comfortable home in Berlin was swallowed up by darkness and bitter cold. He loved the winter. He still did despite his time in Stalingrad. He had been the one to bring victory to the Fatherland.
Lying across his desk was a message, orders from Der Fuhrer. He sighed as he turned and took a sip of his coffee, still steaming in the chill of his home. He settled down with a book to do some light reading before he was to disembark the next day. He nestled his reading glasses at the bridge of his nose and got comfortable. His country needed him and he was to be off again. He thought, no he hoped he would no longer be needed. This is rarely the case for a soldier though, certainly not during war time.
As he began skimming the pages he already knew he wouldn't absorb anything from the book. His mind was outside Moscow. He was to report there by the end of the week. Something terrible had happened yesterday. His orders informed him that a single man had nearly single handedly stopped the German advance. This was hard to believe, but then, so was his existence.
It was odd to him that the very same qualities that made him an outcast as a child were helping his country today. At the ripe old age of twenty-two he was old for a soldier; however those years hidden away in the monastery like an animal felt like they'd happened yesterday. Quite to the contrary he was a national hero now. Were he a drinking man he would never have had to pay for a drink again.
He thought back to how he had come to be in his current situation, how he found himself in Der Fuhrer's good graces. The Bishop had come to their tiny monastery in Witzeldorf in January 1942 and asked specifically for "Brother Wagner." This was odd since he had never had contact with visitors or officials. He was brought into the library to talk with the Bishop.
"Brother Wagner, we live in trying times," the bishop began ambiguously.
"Yes," Kurt Wagner replied carefully from beneath the hood of his robe.
"And you would do anything to help the Catholic Church?"
"Of course, I've dedicated my life to God. Whatever is asked of me I would do without question."
With his reply they Bishop leaned forward and folded his hands together. The look on his face suggested a great weight had just been lifted. The man looked far more relaxed now as he began talking again, "Good. I've been told you have certain…talents. Is this true, Brother?" The Bishop eyed Kurt inquisitively.
"Your Excellency, I'm not sure I understand. I'm just a deformed wretch of a man whose appearance mimics the devil himself," Kurt said, afraid to reveal too much of himself.
"You are too modest! Please, be honest with me. We are in the house of the Lord, are we not, Brother Wagner?"
"Yes, Your Excellency. We are. You are right, I am sorry I was nervous. I hope you can understand I am not used to anyone but my Brothers," Kurt said, feeling quite abashed. "I am a talented acrobat. My strength has been described as above average by my Brothers."
"Surely there is more," the Bishop looked to Kurt knowingly.
"Excellency, my other…talents, I am embarrassed by them. I feel like they may come from a dark place…"
"Nonsense, you are as the Lord intended you to be. You should be proud of what the Lord has done for you."
Kurt was rather taken aback. He had always been ashamed of himself…of what he was capable of. "Do you really believe this was God's will, Excellency?" The sound of hope crept into Kurt's voice.
"I am a man of the cloth, I would not lie. Now please, tell me of your remaining talents."
"I do not understand how they work, Excellency. All I know is that these are truly things I can do." Kurt steeled himself for what could be a brutal backlash to his honesty. "I can…for lack of a better word, melt into the shadows. I can move between them. I have not tried this ability many times. It scares me to be honest."
"Go on, son," the Bishop encouraged, wonder sparkling in his eyes, his mouth half parted as though he were a hungry man looking at a feast.
"The walls. I can walk on them. Well…not so much walk as crawl. On the ceiling too."
"Tell me, son, is there anything else you can do?" the Bishop asked, the excitement in his voice was evident. He did not even try to hide it.
"There is one other thing. If…if I think of a place I would like to be, if I have seen it before…I need only picture it in my mind and I can be there in an instant," Kurt said, laying all the cards on the table. One would think sharing all his secrets with the clergy would ease his troubled mind, but it was quite the opposite. He felt ill and sweat glistened against his dark blue indigo fur. His three fingered hands worked themselves into fists and trembled. He could feel moisture gathering just below his molten orange eyes. His breathing became more ragged. His long, muscular forked tail flicked out for the first time, twitching nervously. He seemed to shrink back physically further into his hood.
"Show me," the Bishop whispered.
"Excellency, I am not even worthy to be in your presence…"
"Nonsense! My son you are a master piece of the Lord's hands! You were created specifically for what comes next! Please, show me of what you speak."
Without a word, but a "BAMF" Kurt disappeared in a swirl of molten orange light and smoke, the smell of brimstone hung in the air. An audible "BAMF" broke the stunned Bishop's concentration on the spot Kurt used to reside. The Bishop looked directly above him to find Kurt hanging from a beam by his tail. Without so much as a gust of wind Kurt flung himself at the ceiling and stuck to it. He crawled towards one of the shadows a bookcase cast. He melted into it and reappeared in the shadow of his original chair. The Bishop starred at the spot Kurt disappeared.
"Excellency," Kurt said softly.
The Bishop nearly jumped out of his skin. He was pale white and covered in a thin sheen of what Kurt could only guess was a cold sweat. "Brother Wagner, the Church would have you serve our country. A man of you…talents is needed, desperately. Please, go to Berlin. Take this with you; it is the address of the building you are to report to. Will you do this, Brother?" the Bishop was talking very quickly. He seemed overjoyed and terrified at the same time.
"If the Lord wills it…"
"He does, Brother Wagner. He does."
"Then I will."
The sound of distant thunder woke Kurt. He had fallen asleep. Snow was falling very fast outside. Thunder snow, this was an uncommon occurrence. Kurt wondered if it meant something significant was going to happen during his time in Russia.
A/N: From the German