The Order is in chaos. Members from around the world have been flocking to headquarters. Danny’s analysts were right. What happened in Brooklyn was just one of many incidents. Unfortunately, they didn’t have you, so our numbers are diminished.
Rebuilding has been a nightmare. The influx of new people has caused us to reevaluate our use of space. A new family residential wing is being created in the east building. Since we wrecked the command center, I promised Danny a complete renovation. Between the new space and having Cecilia back, he’s content.
We’ve managed to conceal the roles Charles, Ian, and Miriam played, but I suspect it won’t last for long. The Circle has assumed leadership and Dakarai is boss. It shouldn’t surprise you that he was made for the role.
Mikael.
Poor guy hasn’t stopped crying. His visions are constant, and while he doesn’t tell us what he sees, it’s horrific enough that he won’t speak to anyone other than me.
I don’t cry often. It’s just not in my nature. But when I think back to that night, to when you said goodbye, I lose it. Imagine me curled up under a blanket in bed with my teddy bear. Sometimes it’s the only way I sleep.
My free time is spent digging for clues and chasing down leads. Charles had a fat bank account that was being padded by funds he siphoned from the Order. He was involved in shady shit. If you hadn’t incinerated his body, I’d have had him revived so that I could kill him myself. I still can’t figure out what Miriam and Ian were getting from all of this.
At the request of almost everyone, I’ve moved out of my room and into an apartment in Quasimodo’s Tower. Dakarai told me that more than a few people wanted to confine me since I’m Scary Jordy.
Insert Jasper-like eye roll here. There’s no way anyone can confine me, supernatural or otherwise. They know I’m here at my choosing.
It’s not so bad. I have a small, one-bedroom apartment on one of the underground levels and have access to a small gym and a library. Food magically appears in my fridge.
Mikael comes by a few times a week, and when he’s not in a trance or crying, we play board games and watch television.
I thought about leaving. Packed my bags and everything. But I can’t. I don’t know where I’d go, and I’m afraid I’d become that bad person I came here to escape.
I miss you so much. Half the time, I expect you to show up with coffee at five. Sometimes, when I’m working out, I laugh out loud because I remember how you whined about this thing or the other, then how you mastered it, how your face lit up when you finally ducked a punch. And the way you cheered and hugged me when you hit me in the stomach. I wasn’t faking, by the way. That hurt like hell.
I never told you how much you mean to me. After so many years of building a wall around myself, I looked at you, and I felt. I didn’t have a chance, not with the way you just kept at it. Badgering me, smiling, grumbling, and pushing back. You weren’t scared of me, and you didn’t treat me like a monster. You liked me as a person, as a man.
I’m sorry I didn’t hug you and tell you that you’re the best thing in my life. I hope you know that.
Everyone thinks I’m crazy. I keep telling them that you’re not gone. You’re just… someplace else. I can’t explain it, but I know you’re not dead. Sometimes, at night, I can feel you in my room. Creepy ghost, like you promised.
They say it’s wishful thinking. That I can’t let go and am creating a narrative in my mind that keeps you with me. I know they’re wrong.
I’ll write again tomorrow.
Love, Jordy
My head hurts from another night of drinking too much and watching bad movies with Mikael. Spending time with him while he’s lucid is what keeps me going. The Order could survive without me. Mikael wouldn’t. He’s too raw and freaked out by the new people. They don’t understand him and treat him like a sideshow freak.
The only routines I keep are going to the gym and writing in the thick leather-bound journal. It started as an outpouring of grief, but now I write to Jasper every day.
Yesterday, I told the team that she’s still alive. No one believes me. Only Mikael does, but he doesn’t talk about her very often.
I’d like to talk about her.
I open my laptop and scroll through my emails like I do every night.
Spam. A Nigerian prince wants help.
Spam. The dating site I’ve never heard of says I have fifteen matches.
Spam. Make my penis larger for monthly payments of $9.99. I’m good, thanks.
Mikael. He’s too tired to come over but will visit tomorrow.
Now that I have nothing to do, no plans, I give up on caring about anything. My beard is itchy as hell, and when I drag my ass into the bathroom, I can see why. Probably haven’t shaved in a few weeks. I go through the routine of showering, scrubbing off the sweat and grime of today’s brutal workout and the mess I made rearranging the heavy furniture in the apartment. When the hot water starts to run out, I dry myself off, lather my face with shaving cream, taking my time to make sure I don’t cut myself.
My reflection reveals a different man — someone younger with possibilities and a future he might actually want.
The real me, the one that’s exhausted and tired of life, throws on a pair of shorts and climbs into bed.
The illusions are strong tonight. I swear I can hear her walking into my room, feel the bed shift when she sits next to me. Feather touches run through my hair. I like this one, so I hold on to it as I begin to drift into sleep. I hear her voice in the wind.
Find me.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MATILDA REYES IS THE AUTHOR of the Vespers Chronicles. She lives in south Florida with her husband and dog, the mighty #DogJonSnow, and dreams of snow days. She will read just about anything but has a particular love for fantasy, adventures, and thrillers. Some of her favorite writers include Jim Butcher, Karen Marie Moning, Christopher Moore, and Brent Weeks. Matilda loves to interact with her readers on social media. Please let her know your thoughts on the book, your personal head canon, and more.
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Excerpt from The Circle
Jordan
BRIGHT HALOGEN LIGHTS CAST a sickly glow on the men and women that comprised the Order of Vespers’ elite squad of assassins as they walked through their headquarters. During the late hours of the night, they’d returned from their latest mission. Days with little sleep and nights with more action than they were used to handling had their energies flagging. Their rubber boots barely made a squeak against the nauseatingly pea green linoleum floor as they trudged their way to their offices. As they reached the nearest intersection of corridors, an older man with scars crisscrossing his neck, rolled his shoulders, and let out a sigh of relief.
One of the women, Aurelia, laughed. “Is someone feeling their age, Hernandez?”
“I may be old, but if I recall correctly, you were struggling to keep up with me,” he replied, the smile on his face taking the sting out of the rebuke.
“You were pushing so hard that I didn’t want to embarrass you,” she cracked. “Let’s settle this. Jordan, what’s the verdict? Who’s more pathetic?”
Fighting a smile, their boss, Jordan McAllister, shook his head. “I’m not getting involved. Race it out or something, children.”
The squat, muscular man patted Aurelia’s shoulder as he passed. “Sounds like a plan to me. Lunchtime at the track tomorrow. Great idea, boss.”
“Uh-huh,” Jordan drawled. “Before you all disappear, gather up in the conference room.”
Groaning, they filed into the long, rectangular room at the end of the corridor, not bothering to sit, and waited for him to speak.
Jordan stifled a yawn. “The rescue of the Salas family was a success. They’re in the medical center now getting checked out and will be released into the care of the resettlement
team in the morning. My gut tells me that they’ll want to live here within the Order.”
“The younger child is afraid to go outside. The parents are terrified. They’ll stay,” said Aurelia.
“Thankfully, they’re no longer on my to-do list. A few administrative notes: I want reports on my desk no later than Friday morning from team leads. If you’re scheduled to work tomorrow, come in an hour late. I’ll cover that time. If you’re off, go home and sleep well. Thanks, everyone.”
Jordan waited until the room was nearly empty before leaning back against the wall and letting his shoulders sag. Exhausted or not, he wouldn’t rest until he’d ensured that the team had gone home and the overnight crew checked in with him. These were all tasks he could have easily delegated, but he was loathed to give up anything that kept him occupied.
Aurelia moved toward the front of the room with a grim smile. “Do you really think anyone’s going to let you cover a single shift?”
“It doesn’t matter if they do. They have the option.”
“I wasn’t implying that it’s an empty gesture.”
The corners of Jordan’s lips twitched. “Never thought otherwise. Not that I’m complaining, but why are you still here?”
Aurelia huffed and crossed her arms. “I should ask you the same thing. We all know that you’re operating on less sleep than the rest of us.”
“Is this an intervention? Did you draw the short straw?”
“Neither. Call it concern for a friend.”
Jordan stared over her head and willed that conversation to end. Last week, he had broken his own rule and asked Aurelia out on a date. They’d gone out to a local restaurant. Everything had been going well until she gently probed him about the investigation into Jasper’s disappearance. He’d found himself opening up to her in a way that he hadn’t in years. They’d gone to a bar down the street after dinner. Things got blurry after that. The next thing he remembered was waking up to find her getting dressed and ready to leave his apartment. She’d kissed his cheek and walked out, never mentioning it again. Avoiding her in the field had been almost too easy.
“I’m fine,” he muttered. “Looking forward to sleeping for a few days.”
“Liar. I’d be shocked if you sleep a full eight hours.”
“That is a challenge I’m willing to accept. I’ll see you tomorrow. Go.”
Aurelia frowned at the abrupt dismissal. “Will do. Thanks, boss.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Jordan’s shoulders slumped as he peeked his head around the door of the conference room. Spending three days with his team, as exhilarating and challenging as the mission had been, had pushed the limits of his tolerance for social interactions. He wanted nothing more than to go straight to bed and ignore the world for twenty-four hours.
Aurelia had ambled off toward the residential wings, but her voice rang in his head. Well-deserved or not, the attitude seething out of that last word had pissed him off, and Jordan realized he’d probably brood about it all night. He had no room for distractions, not even the pretty kind that listened with a sympathetic ear, a killer smile, and a left hook that made him proud. He would have to overcome his embarrassment to continue working with her. Aurelia was quickly becoming his right hand. She was one of the few people he trusted enough to delegate high priority tasks. He needed her more than he cared to admit.
Jordan couldn’t give up leadership of the Order’s cabal of assassins. Nor could he give up his participation in the Circle, the Order’s ruling body. The only area that he could consider entrusting someone else to manage was the security of the Order’s operational and residential facilities. The guilt and blame for the previous year’s invasion and deaths weighed on him. Too many people had lost their lives that night. More had lost the deep trust they had in the Order to keep them safe, especially the children. The workload was part of his self-imposed penance, making sure that kind of violation never happened again. Giving it up would feel like a failure.
Selfishly, he needed to free up more of his time to work on his personal Gordian knot, the reason for his existence - finding Jasper. He was her last chance. The Circle had given up hope. Jasper’s closest friends, people she considered family, had stopped believing that she was within reach. The evidence shouted that she’d been destroyed in the blast of her own making. The only scrap of clothing that remained was what Jordan himself had torn while attempting to stop Jasper from sacrificing herself.
They were wrong. His gut insisted that he hadn’t yet explored all the possible angles. Anything could have happened. Jasper could have been thrown far from the explosion, possibly farther than his perimeters. She could have gone into hiding for any number of reasons. Someone could have found an unconscious woman and taken her away as a Jane Doe. Worse, someone more menacing than the cult they’d battled could have gotten their hands on her, and she might be still in danger.
Exhaustion hit hard. If he were going to stay up all night wrapped up in his thoughts, he’d prefer to do so in the comfort of his own bed. He shouldered his bag and locked the door behind him.
“Why are you always the last to leave?” asked a voice from the dark end of the corridor. Mikael stepped into the light.
Jordan snorted. “Why are you skulking around here?”
“I can’t sleep. There are too many people changing their minds here. My ability to shut out the visions is nearly useless.”
“What’s going on?”
Mikael gave him an innocent look. “I’m nosy and want to know how you’re doing. Is checking on a friend a crime?”
“You were on the last update call. Everything went fine.”
“Well, you can give me details. Or I can tell you about everything happening here.”
“I haven’t slept in nearly thirty-six hours and very little before then,” groaned Jordan. “Tell me what’s going on, so I can handle it and sleep.”
Ducking his head, Mikael picked up his pace to keep up with Jordan’s longer strides. “There is a sudden wave of dissent. Many of our new residents have banded together and are demanding an audience with the High Council. A few have openly stated that they will not acknowledge the Circle.”
“Idiots. No one is making them live here. Last time I checked, the Circle has kept the Order together after the High Council betrayed us. It was a member of the Circle who was almost sacrificed and another who-” Jordan clenched his teeth and said nothing further as they walked.
“I know. Dakarai is too nice when he addresses them. Neither Danny nor Cecilia have any interest in getting involved as it doesn’t directly impact them.”
“Did you expect anything different?”
“No, unfortunately. They continue to create space between us.”
“I know he was your friend at one point, but it’s time to give up hope. Too much has changed.”
“I know, I know.”
“What else?”
Mikael turned toward him and narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“What issues are you trying to hide from me? Don’t lie.”
“People fear you.”
“Good.”
“You misunderstand. They fear that you are a threat to them. Others simply want to know what we do.”
“Do they not get the concept of secrecy?”
“A secret society of assassins chafes against reality. They are reconciling their ethics and beliefs. Somehow they are surprised that the two categories aren’t mutually inclusive.”
Jordan pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a deep breath. “How has everything gone to hell in the three days that I was gone?”
“In our defense, much of this just boiled over. The issues preexisted. And is it not my job to keep the Circle apprised of everything happening?”
“Generally, not at midnight,” he drawled. “But essentially, yes.”
“Consider yourself sufficiently apprised. Tell me about the mission.”
Jordan turned right into the underground tunnel connectin
g the security building to their home, a tall building affectionately dubbed the Tower and headed toward his apartment in one of the lower levels. “Since you’re already here, you might as well come in for a drink.”
Mikael followed Jordan into his apartment. “The Order has been worried about the newest rash of kidnappings and sacrifices. They need reassurance from you or someone like you about your work and plans to solve this.”
“They don’t want to know about my work.”
“We have to give them something. They are committing to life here. They deserve some sort of explanation.”
Jordan crossed into his small kitchen and retrieved two amber bottles, handing one to Mikael as he sat down. “Now I understand. Dakarai sent you to get the story in case I don’t have time to see him tomorrow. Since he needs to address this right away, you can get to him first. You should record it.”
Mikael retrieved his cell phone and loaded a recording application, nodding to Jordan when he was ready.
“Jordan McAllister, the nineteenth of January 2017. Midnight. Mission Post-Mortem Bullshit recorded by one very bored Mikael Sokolov. This is interrupting my sleep. Am I missing anything?”
“No. Continue, please.”
“We deployed to a small town in Texas to extract a young family from their home. The smaller of the two children has begun to manifest some ability to manipulate paper. Go figure. Someone arrived shortly before us. The windows in the front of the home were broken, and the door was kicked in. We found three men dressed in full tactical gear and a small box of syringes. They had managed to herd the family into one room but had not yet sedated them. My team drew them away from the family and neutralized the threats. I assigned Aurelia Pago and Morgan Sandoval to help the family organize their belongings and transport them to headquarters. They will be assessed and treated tonight at the medical center and placed in new housing tomorrow.”
Mikael stopped the recording. “That should do. Were the children hurt?”
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