The Order of Shadows

by Tess Adair

  Logan narrowed her eyes at her. Her choice of words picked at a suspicion that had been nagging at Logan for some time now.

  “So the Order knew full well what was happening in Wolf Creek,” she said, unflinching accusation in her voice. “And you chose to do nothing.”

  “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” asked Zilla, batting her mascara-laden eyelashes. “We weren’t choosing to do nothing. We were simply…biding our time, in order to figure out our best strategy.”

  “While a killer was on the loose.”

  “A killer we would have apprehended, if you hadn’t swooped in like the little hero you are and…taken care of him for us.” She drew out the word care, as she fixed Logan with a piercing look.

  Logan felt her brows knitting together and did her best to relax them.

  “Lucky I was there, I guess.”

  “Oh, lucky indeed,” said Zilla. “Well, as a matter of fact, that incident is part of the reason I came here tonight.”

  At that moment, Logan’s preternatural hearing picked up footsteps in the hallway behind them. Jude. Logan hoped against hope that Jude would know to keep her mouth shut in front of their guest.

  “You came because of Wolf Creek?” asked Logan.

  Zilla began to answer, but her attention wavered as Jude announced her own entrance with a stumble. Zilla turned her penetrating gaze on Jude. The 18-year-old ducked her head and scurried into the room, placing a laden tea tray down on the low table near the couch.

  “Tea,” she squeaked in the vague general direction of their visitor, before performing a slight bow and scurrying right back out of the room.

  At least she didn’t stumble again, thought Logan, thoroughly regretting the majority of the alcohol she’d purchased earlier that night.

  “Wolf Creek is only one of many,” said Zilla as though there had been no interruption. She swept gracefully forward and picked up one of the cups on the tray before filling it up with tea. “This isn’t currently common knowledge, but the truth is…there have been a rash of incidents like that all around the country.”

  Knatt, apparently unable to help himself, also poured out a cup of tea. “What do you mean? Surely the Order encounters violent incidents with demons all the time.”

  “We do,” said Zilla. “But lately, it’s been…different. In a normal year, yes, there will be demons to deal with, and some casters running amok as well. But the frequency in recent months has been astounding. If I didn’t know better, I’d…well, it’s not for me to say. On the surface of it, the incidents appear to be unrelated.”

  “On the surface?” said Knatt.

  “Yes. And as far as the official party line goes, that’s all there is to it.” She sipped her tea, then heaved a heavy breath. “But the reason I’m here is that not everyone in the Order agrees with the party line. There are those among us who very much believe the incidents are interconnected, though we can’t see the connecting string just yet.” She lowered her cup and saucer to her lap, fixed her gaze on Knatt, then rotated it over to Logan. “And for that reason, I’ve come here to encourage the both of you to attend the Summit this year.”

  Logan could have laughed out loud. As it was, she settled for rolling her eyes.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she said.

  “Hardly,” answered Zilla, her voice brittle. “I don’t consider this a kidding matter.”

  “Could have fooled me,” Logan shot back, finally relaxing enough to lean back in her seat. “Let me guess—you’re still not worried enough to bump the Summit up from that sacred October time slot, are you?”

  “It is tradition,” said Zilla. “In order to change it, all of the Twelve Seers would have to agree—unanimously.”

  “And you fuckers are way too arrogant for that,” said Logan with a mirthless snort.

  “Language,” muttered Knatt automatically. Logan ignored him.

  “People are dying,” said Logan, accusation returning to her tone. “If you think this shit is connected, and it’s actively killing people, why in the world would you wait?”

  Zilla straightened her back, gripping her teacup a little tighter. “As I’ve already explained, all Twelve Seers would have—”

  “To agree to move it up, right, I get it.” She rolled her eyes again. “So I’m supposed to take all this seriously enough to attend your damn Summit, but you people won’t take it seriously enough to speed up your own timetable. Because we still have to carve our calendars in stone in the caster world, right?”

  Knatt coughed, possibly signaling to Logan to shut her face. He took a politely small sip from his own tea before setting it gently back on the table.

  “We shall certainly consider it,” he said.

  “That’s all I ask,” said Zilla, her delighted smile back in place.

  And I’ll consider not kicking your ass out the door, thought Logan. Out loud, she said nothing. There was nothing left to say.

  Knatt saw Zilla Ulric out. By the time he returned to the living room, Logan could hear Jude creeping down the hallway again. Knatt sat heavily in the chair he’d occupied earlier and, unsurprisingly, picked up his tea.

  “That was…interesting,” he said and took a sip.

  “Interesting, maybe,” Logan conceded. “It was also a load of bullshit. Jude, you can come into the room if you want to.”

  Jude crept farther inside, glancing about herself as if she still weren’t sure she was allowed. Eventually she made her way over to the couch and took up Zilla Ulric’s empty spot.

  “Do you believe she was lying?” asked Knatt.

  “About which part?” Feeling a restless energy building up inside herself, Logan got to her feet and began to pace. “She claims the Order knew all along about what was happening in Wolf Creek. Either she’s lying about that, or she’s lying about why they didn’t show up. The Order isn’t exactly known for the wait-and-see approach.”

  “I have often wondered how extensive their surveillance capabilities truly are.” Knatt’s voice sounded far calmer than Logan felt, and she resented him for it. “Perhaps they did know, but they didn’t have anyone available to send. If there have been a rash of similar incidents like Miss Ulric said, then they might well be stretched thin.”

  “Which they wouldn’t want to admit in front of us,” said Logan, nodding. “Of course, you know what my pet theory would be.”

  “Indeed, I do.”

  Far too late, Logan realized that mentioning her “pet theory” in front of Jude might not be the best choice. Her “pet theory” was that the Order suspected some of the truth about her, either her part demon heritage or her possession of the believed-mythical Choronzon Key—neither of which she had imparted to Jude.

  She risked a quick glance over at the younger girl, but she couldn’t make out from the confused expression on her face if she’d picked up on anything. Maybe she’s too drunk.

  “They still won’t move up the Summit,” said Logan, skipping topics. “If this was all so urgent, you’d think they’d at least consider having it sooner.”

  “Perhaps they hope they can figure it out and deal with it in-house,” said Knatt.

  “What’s the Summit?” asked Jude. Her mouth was slightly open, and her eyes darted back and forth from Logan to Knatt.

  “It’s a yearly week-long conference,” answered Knatt. “Its primary purpose is fundraising. The Order of Shadows is primarily funded by an extensive network of wealthy donors, although of course in the modern era, it has also developed a healthy investment portfolio.”

  “Basically they put on a fancy party to get rich people to give them money,” said Logan. “After the ball in their honor, all the donors leave, and then they get some real work done.”

  “It’s also one of the rare times that a true quorum of ranking leaders of the Order are all in one place,” Knatt added, his expression pensive. “Of course, generally each delegation leaves a few people behind to guard their branch. And like Miss Logan said,
the second half of the Summit, after the donors have taken their leave, is generally when more sensitive matters are discussed. That’s when pressing threats are assessed, and individual chapters may bring some of their concerns to the fore. On the rare occasion that the world is totally quiet, the focus will generally be on research and archeology instead.”

  Jude’s eyes widened as she stared at them. “Wait…the world?”

  Knatt nodded primly. “The Order is international, yes.”

  “Wow.” She fell back into the couch, looking overwhelmed.

  Knatt turned his gaze back to Logan. “So, you remain unconvinced that you should attend?”

  “You know me,” Logan shrugged. “Not going anywhere near them if I don’t have to.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” said Knatt. “I do agree that Zilla Ulric seems to be hiding something, and I’m nonplussed to say what.” He paused for a long moment, contemplatively drinking his tea.

  “Nevertheless,” he continued at last, “I think I will attend the Summit myself. I don’t see any other way to find out what they know. Or what they may be hiding.”

  He caught Logan’s gaze and held it, giving her a meaningful look. You want to assess the enemy. If that’s what they are.

  “Well, I’m certainly not going to stop you,” she shrugged, breaking eye contact. “Not gonna go, either.”

  “Such is your choice,” he replied enigmatically.

  For a moment, they were both quiet. Logan could hear the pitter-patter of a light rain beginning outside. She wondered if it would be raining at the apartment, too.

  “I have to go to sleep,” Jude announced, placing her teacup back on the tray and struggling to her feet. “I don’t think my brain understands words anymore. Goodnight, everybody.”

  Logan and Knatt bid her goodnight as well, and Logan listened to the sound of her retreating down the hall. Once she was sure she was out of earshot, she spoke again.

  “How do you think she’s progressing?” she asked Knatt, her tone pointed.

  “Oh, quite well,” he said. “I know she doesn’t think so. She seems frustrated that casting isn’t easier, but honestly, I think she’s moving as fast as can be expected. She just hasn’t had her breakthrough yet.”

  Logan considered this. “Do you think Adele is the right eira teacher for her?”

  Knatt raised his eyebrows. “What would be your alternative suggestion? Kostya?”

  Logan shrugged noncommittally in response.

  “I’m not convinced Miss Li would respond well to his…methods.”

  “They worked fine for me.”

  “Indeed, they did.” He set his cup down on the table, then lifted the pot to refill it. “When was the last time you spoke to Kostya?”

  Logan shrugged again. “I suppose it’s been a while.”

  “Hm,” said Knatt, nodding as he lifted his tea once more. “Perhaps best to stick with your aunt for the time being, then.”

  Reluctantly, Logan nodded.

  “Speaking of family,” said Knatt, and Logan’s left hand clenched automatically, “perhaps it might behoove you to visit your father in the next few days.”

  With a sigh, Logan stood up and headed out toward the hall. “And on that note, I’m off to bed.”

  “We don’t have any clients lined up for the next week.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Give it a think, at least, will you?”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  She knew, by now, that she didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

  The next morning, Logan found herself clutching a thermos of coffee in Knatt’s old sedan, driving north on the I-5 with one expertly taut arm guiding the wheel. Beside her, Jude bounced in her seat as she flipped between radio channels.

  Outside the car, the gray sky threatened rain.

  “I guess you’re probably not psyched about this trip, huh?” Jude asked thoughtfully as she pressed a button to change the radio station. “But, I mean, at least we can leave at any time, right?”

  “Mm.”

  Logan sipped her coffee.

  “Why is this facility so far away, anyway?”

  The first few drops of rain hit the windshield.

  “It’s the best in the state,” said Logan noncommittally. Technically, it was true. “I didn’t build it, so I can’t tell you more than that.”

  “Oh. Right.” Jude nodded, possibly sheepishly. Logan wondered if her tone had sharpened too much. Then Jude flipped the station again. “Oh, hey, I love this song!”

  Logan found herself breathing a sigh of relief as the radio effectively distracted Jude for the duration of the trip. Under different circumstances, she might not have minded a little small talk, but not right now. It had been months since she’d seen her father. She’d barely known what to expect from him before he’d started to lose his mind, but now?

  Ladies and gentlemen, behold: Schrödinger’s abuser, she thought bitterly.

  All too soon, they were pulling up the long drive to a large one-story complex: the nursing home where her father lived. She made sure to consume the rest of her coffee before she got out of the car.

  Once out, she headed right for the front door, motioning Jude to follow her. Jude eventually sidled up beside her, ducking her head against the rain. As they stepped under the awning out front, Logan cleared her throat.

  “Uh, so,” she said, “if any of the other patients try to say something to you, it’s best not to engage too much. Frankly…well, you should engage with my father, but if he says anything strange, or rude, just…sidestep it and keep going. Most of the time, it’s just babbling.”

  “Okay. Sure.”

  The building was arranged like half a wagon’s wheel, with the entrance and main office forming the center axle, and the radiating hallways of patients’ rooms forming the spokes. Jude and Logan crossed through the first set of automatic glass doors, then pressed the buzzer button to the front desk. Logan caught the receptionist’s eye when she looked up and gave her a smile to nonverbally assure that she did, indeed, belong on the other side of the interior door. The receptionist smiled back and beeped them in, the glass doors sliding open before them.

  Logan led them over to the desk to check in.

  “Visiting Charles Logan,” she announced automatically as she picked up the pen and clipboard to sign her name and mark her father’s, too.

  “I’ve seen you here before, haven’t I?”

  Logan paused in the middle of marking the date and glanced up. The receptionist appeared to be a little bit younger than Logan, in her early-to-mid 20s, white, average height and build. She had deep red hair pulled into a sensible high ponytail, with slightly outgrown bangs brushing over the top rim of her glasses, and she wore dark green scrubs. The half-smile on her face pricked intriguingly at Logan’s memory.

  She glanced back at Jude, who stood several feet behind her, her eyes trained on the television screen in the nearby waiting room.

  “Maybe,” said Logan, turning back around and leaning forward, one elbow on the desk between them. “How long have you worked here?”

  “About a year,” she said.

  “I have almost definitely been up here at least once in the last year,” said Logan, her tone light. She offered a smirk-smile and leaned forward. “What’s your name?”

  “Mara,” she said, her own smile widening. “Yours?”

  “Logan.”

  She offered her hand out to shake, and Mara stepped closer to take it, then paused mid-movement, their hands frozen together in midair. She tilted her head forward.

  “Wait…didn’t you say you were visiting Charles Logan?”

  “Yeah, he’s my father,” she said with a quick shrug.

  “So, what, your name is Logan Logan?”

  “Ah, no,” said Logan, allowing for a small, self-deprecating chuckle. “Charles just gave me a shit first name, that’s all.”

  “I see.” Mara glanced down at their hands, still
intertwined, before allowing the handshake to continue. Eventually, perhaps reluctantly, she pulled her hand back. “I think I remember now. You came with the older British guy, right?”

  “Most likely, yeah.”

  “We don’t get a lot of Brits up here,” she said, before sitting back down in her office chair behind the desk. Logan hadn’t been sure if she was imagining it before, but now she felt certain that Mara’s half-smile was intended as an invitation.

  “Logan?”

  It was Jude, her interest in the television screen apparently waning.

  Oh, right. For a moment, she’d been entertained enough to forget why they were here. Now it came back to her with force.

  “I should get going,” said Logan reluctantly, tapping her fingers against the desk. “Maybe I’ll see you around, next time I come up.”

  “Sure,” said Mara as she leaned back in her chair. “I usually work Sunday to Thursday.”

  Logan smiled. A part of her earnestly wished she had come up on her own.

  “Duly noted.”

  With that, she turned back to Jude and pointed toward the center hallways leading away from them, and down they went.

  The hallway was long, sterile, and white, lit with a blinding fluorescent light that seemed to echo off the too-white walls and ceilings, growing brighter, more inhuman, from the interaction. The farther away from the front desk they got, the more it smelled of antiseptic.

  Logan didn’t want to think about what waited for them at the end of the hall. She was starting to suspect that Knatt had encouraged her to bring Jude along solely to prevent her from turning around at the last minute and heading in the other direction.

  He wasn’t wrong. Even now, she faltered with every step forward. She would much rather stop where she stood, turn around, and head back to the redheaded receptionist behind her. On her better days, she could draw out a good flirt for hours. And it had been weeks since she’d had a decent flirt.

  Her father’s room was all the way at the end of the hallway. When they reached it, Logan took a moment outside his closed door to breathe in and out. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself on a northern beach somewhere, her shoes crunching on black rocks as she stared out at the cold, gray waves. Then she pushed the door open and stepped inside.