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  THE CIRCLE

  Book Two of the Vespers Chronicles

  Matilda Reyes

  The Circle Copyright © 2017 by Matilda Reyes. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Amygdala Design ©2017

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Matilda Reyes

  Visit my website at www.MatildaReyes.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: Aug 2017

  Name of Company

  ISBN-13 ooo-0-0000000-1-2

  To Omar.

  You know why.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO BY MATILDA REYES

  Excerpt from The Black Knights

  CHAPTER ONE

  I DIDN’T UNDERSTAND. Was I alive?

  My sense of a body existed, yet I couldn’t see anything through the tenebrous shutters over my eyes. Most of the time, I felt like I was floating in one of those sensory deprivation chambers, floating in the darkness, my senses filling in the gaps of data with the absurd. At other times, I felt roughness on my fingertips, bitterness on my tongue, and icy chills across my body. Sometimes the hushed footsteps and the whispers came back. While the voices were close enough to hear, the soft chatter was indistinct as it administered the pain and unpleasant poking.

  If this was eternity, it was a miserable prospect. Loneliness was as effective torture as anything Jordy could have inflicted. I’d read that inmates who spent their time in solitary confinement for too long lost their minds. They lost the ability to converse and often confused the lives they’d been living in their heads with reality. I’d lost too many people in the last year of my corporeal life to suffer the infinite alone. I’d sooner be visited by their ghosts in perpetuity. Sure, I’d killed some people, but it was for the greater good.

  It would have been kind, respectful, even, if someone or something filled me in on the outcome of the battle of the slaughterhouse. Not knowing the result of my badass assault and sacrifice was its own form of torture. Apparently, martyrs are only appreciated on the other side.

  The voices came again, this time louder.

  “Jasper, pay attention.”

  “It’s time.”

  “Jasper,” a deep voice called.

  “I’m here,” I hollered. The noise seemed to disappear as soon as it left my mouth, yet another sound swallowed by the abyss. “Help me.”

  “Jasper, child, focus.”

  For frack’s sake, I was focusing, and the voice wasn’t helping. I flailed in the darkness, trying to find the source of the useless instructions. The sound wrapped around me, caressing my skin, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “You’re not ready. Rest, child, until the time comes.”

  “What? No! What’s going on? Who are you?”

  Suddenly, I knew I was alone.

  CHAPTER TWO

  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 woman, Aurelia, laughed. “Is someone feeling their age, Hernandez?”

  “I may be old, but if I recall, 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. 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 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 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 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 think anyone will 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 opened to her in a way 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 poked 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 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 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 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, farther than his perimeters. She could have gone into hiding for many 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 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 thirty-six hours and 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 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 impact them.”

  “Did you expect anything different?”

  “No. 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 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 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?”

  “Not at midnight,” he drawled. “Butyes.”

  “Consider yourself apprised. Tell me about the mission.”

  Jordan turned right into the underground tunnel connecting the security building to their home, a tall building dubbed the Tower and headed toward his apartment on 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 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 manifested the ability to manipulate paper. Go figure. Someone arrived shortly before us. The windows in the home’s front 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?”

  “They’re fi
ne. The little guy got scared and locked himself in a closet. It took a while to get him out. They’ll be in safe beds by morning.”

  “How many families have you extracted?”

  Stifling a yawn, Jordan shrugged. “Maybe ten? The days are blurring together.”

  “Your team must feel stretched thin.”

  Jordan narrowed his eyes. Mikael didn’t ask meaningless questions. Nor did he offer himself up for tasks readily. “It’s part of the job.”

  “Still, having a fresh set of eyes won’t hurt.”

  “Mikael,” he began uneasily, “I can’t let you in the field, not after last time.”

  “You’re overreacting!”

  “You killed five people.”

  “They deserved it,” said Mikael, a pouting child being reprimanded.

  “That’s not for you to decide. They didn’t deserve that brutality,” he countered as he shook his head. “There are lines in what we do, and you crossed too many. I can’t let that happen again.”

  “They were killing innocent children for their blood sacrifices! You’d think standards wouldn’t to apply to them.”

  “Dead is dead. Once it’s been decided, it’s only a matter of time, so I’m not concerned about their feelings. Those lines are for us so we don’t lose ourselves. You can be a murderer or an assassin.”

  “Is there much of a difference?” asked Mikael, bitterness lacing his words.

  “No. But it matters. Murder is rage and revenge. An assassin keeps his cool. He does his job. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Sometimes rage is the only appropriate response.”

  “That’s the difference. A murderer can’t help succumb to the rage. We put it aside to accomplish the mission. You’re not ready.”

  “I won’t remain your errand boy forever.”

  “You’re not an errand boy,” said Jordan, unsure of what to make of Mikael’s mood. “But you’re out of control. You’re still not going into the field.”

  “You will regret that decision one day.”