by R. T. Lowe
“I’ll talk to them,” he said, making a decision on the spot. “I’m only gonna do it once though. I’m not telling Lucas tonight and Harper and Caitlin tomorrow or anything like that.”
“So what do you think?” Allison said, appearing to brighten. “We can do it now if you want. My room?”
Felix blew out a misting breath and shook his head. “It’s already late. I’ll just crash in Woodrow’s and do it there in the morning. Is that cool? Can you let them know?”
“Sure.”
“Speaking of Caitlin,” Felix began, then hesitated, wanting to make sure this came out the right way. “She knows you stayed with me over the break.”
“Really?” Allison didn’t sound all that surprised. “Did she say how she found out?”
“Your mom called while you were doing laundry yesterday. Caitlin said she’d keep it to herself for now, but we should let everyone know.”
“What’d you tell her?”
“Nothing. I didn’t know what to say and figured we’d tell them when we told them everything else.”
“Why?” Allison said, pulling away, measuring him with her eyes. “You didn’t want her to know we lived together?”
Did they live together? Felix wondered. They’d stayed in the same house for a month, but was that living together? He shrugged, trying to decide if Allison sounded testy or not. “I don’t know. I guess I never thought of it like that. I mean, we lived together, but that was, you know…”
“You’re such a dummy sometimes,” Allison sighed, smiling and giving her eyes a slow roll. “It’s sad though my mom had to call Caitlin to check on me.” She stared down at the steps and her shoulders seemed to slump. “The Jasners did a wonderful thing when they adopted me. Not many people are interested in adopting fourteen-year-olds. If it wasn’t for them, my official residence would still be a foster home in Wyoming.” She shook her head sadly. “But I’ll always be a foster kid. You can’t take that out of me. I’m grateful to the Jasners, but they’re not my family. They are, however, really nice people, and I’d be doing a shitty job of repaying them if they get dragged into this mess because of me. I said some things to my mom—some really mean things that aren’t in the least bit true—but I need to stay away from them for their own good. Maybe one day I’ll get to explain, but in the meantime…I’m homeless.” She turned to him and smiled. “So I hope you don’t mind having a permanent roommate who pees with the lid down.”
Felix smiled back. “Mi casa es su casa. You have your own bathroom so you can pee however you like.”
She took his hand in hers, looked him in the eye and whispered softly, “Your Spanish is fucking atrocious.”
Behind them, the doors to the chapel groaned, hinges whining in the quiet of the night.
They turned their heads in unison, watching as the thick oak doors swung slowly inward, leaving an opening just wide enough for two people.
Allison smiled mischievously at Felix. “What’d I tell you? Just when you thought the night was over.” She curled a hand around Felix’s arm and nudged him up the stairs. “Maybe Agatha’s inviting us in?” Slipping in through the open doors, their laughter filled the entry hall, dying out all at once as a deep voice called out to them in the dark.
“Welcome.”
Chapter 19
The Order
They jerked back in surprise and banged into the doors, Felix lifting his hand, Allison drawing an arm behind her, prepared to unleash her fists.
“Easy,” the voice said, and a man—dark skin, shaved head, coal-black beard—emerged from a shadowed corner of the vestibule. “There’s no need to be afraid. You’re among friends.”
“Professor Malone?” Felix said once he realized who it was, thinking his eyes must be playing tricks on him.
“Hello Felix.” The professor gave him an easy smile and extended his hand to Allison. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Apparently you don’t find the study of psychology a worthwhile pursuit.”
She took his hand, cheeks flushing. “Sorry. I was thinking about taking it next year.”
The professor laughed, a deep melodious rumble that filled the small space. “I’m just teasing. Please, follow me. There are some people I want you to meet.” He turned his head and nodded in the direction of a softly illuminated doorway to his back.
Felix and Allison exchanged a look as if to say what are the chances someone else will try to kill us today? After a moment’s hesitation, and a shrug from Allison, they followed the professor into the chapel’s gathering hall. A line of candles flickered behind the altar, the stained glass windows high up on the walls reflecting shimmering waves of yellow light. They passed between rows of pews on either side of a wide tiled aisle, their footsteps echoing sharply. The air was warm and heavy with the scent of old books and plaster dust. Felix knew this place. Before the break, he’d come here a handful of times when he needed solitude and a place to think. Despite the tunnels and the hundreds of corpses entombed in the cemetery beneath their feet, something about the chapel struck a calming chord within him, even now as a voice in his head was telling him to be on guard, that this night couldn’t possibly end well.
“Hello!” a voice greeted them boldly, echoing off the stone walls. A tall woman with a long face stepped out from behind the altar, the candlelight throwing her broken shadow across the steps leading down to the benches in front. “Agatha Pierr-Croix, Constance Wethersby and Lucinda Stowe, the three founders of Portland College, were Sourcerors. My name is Zara. I am a Sourceror. The people in this chapel”—she raised her hands to the vaulted ceiling and suddenly the front pews were filled with faces, pale and grave in the flickering candlelight, their shadowed eyes fixed on Felix and Allison—“are Sourcerors. You, Allison Jasner, and you, Felix August, are Sourcerors. We”—she gestured grandly again at the pews in front—“are the Order of Belus.”
Felix and Allison stopped in place. The Order of Belus? Felix thought, his mind cycling distractedly through Zara’s strange proclamations, stealing a glance behind them, fearing this could be another ambush. How can this be possible? The Order? Allison? Allison’s a Sourceror? Is that what she said? And Agatha and the other founders? He stared around at the faces, and then checked their hands. No hooked blades or garrotes, though a few were clutching their phones. Allison shivered, eyes blinking in confusion. The Order, Felix knew, had disbanded centuries ago when its numbers became so depleted its members could only survive by living in isolation and anonymity, hiding from the Protectors. Bill and Felix had talked about their possible resurgence, but that was only speculation. This was anything but speculation. This was real. Or was it? Be alert, he said to himself. Stay on your toes.
“That was very dramatic,” a man muttered sardonically from the pew to Zara’s right, and it sounded to Felix like he’d been drinking. A reverberating slow clap followed, like a dismissive slap to the face. The woman beside him giggled and cupped a hand to her mouth.
“You’ll have to forgive Kane and Lilly,” Zara said tiredly. Felix thought Zara probably looked older than her years but it was hard to be sure in the dim light of the room. Her thin face made her nose appear flat and broad and her eyes were watchful yet strained, as though burdened by the weight of some great responsibility. “They’ve forgotten their manners,” she added with a stiff shake of her head.
“I’m a Sourceror?” Allison asked with doubt in her voice, putting a hand to her chest. “Me?”
Zara nodded and motioned for them to approach the steps. Felix checked their backs again and watched Professor Malone settling into an empty pew several rows back from the altar. “You’re a direct descendant of Agatha Pierre-Croix.”
“So that’s a yes,” Allison said after a pause, still sounding uncertain.
“That’s a yes,” Zara confirmed, fine lines gathering at the edges of her mouth as she gave her a reassuring smile.
Allison turned to Felix and her face shone with happiness, a radiating glow that seemed to brighten the
room. “I’m a Sourceror!” She threw her arms around him and planted her face in his chest, whispering the words over and over, and each time they spilled from her lips, she sounded slightly less happy and slightly more relieved. Felix held her close, and as they stood there in the flickering half light of the chapel, a thought occurred to him that gave him a sense of warmth and belonging he hadn’t experienced since the death of his parents. Allison’s like me. We’re the same. I’m not alone.
Allison ran a hand quickly over her misting eyes and brought her arms to her sides, facing Zara. “So what are my Sourceror, you know, powers? What can I do?”
“That’s for you to discover,” Zara replied, extending a hand toward Allison. “We’re all unique in our own way, as different as non-Sourcerors are from one another. You may already be showing signs of your abilities, but they will mature, and even change as you grow into them. Have you noticed anything unusual about yourself?”
“I…I guess,” Allison said, seeming to struggle with the question. “Lately, I’ve become quite good at, well, at fighting.”
Zara appeared puzzled for a moment then quickly recovered. “What about on your last birthday? When you turned eighteen, did anything happen? Anything out of the ordinary?”
“When I woke up my alarm clock was broken,” Allison answered.
“Typical,” Zara said casually, as if she was commenting on the Portland weather on a rainy day in January. “You see, no one knows exactly why, but at eighteen—and this doesn’t happen to all of us—our powers tend to spike, and more often than not, it’s the first indication we can control the Source. Oftentimes, it occurs during sleep. Breaking objects is probably the most common example.” She shifted her gaze to Felix and quirked an eyebrow. “But sometimes, Sourcerors will have enormous surges of power, and if it comes unexpectedly, the results can be…deadly.”
She knows, Felix thought, mortified, feeling a rush of blood to his face. She knows what I did to my parents. His fingers began to tingle and he forced his nails into his palms, trying to squeeze the sensation away, fearing it would spread to his limbs and…and what? Control him? He wanted out—out of this place! He felt an overwhelming compulsion to turn and flee, to run from his shame and guilt. But he’d just gone down that path at the quarry, and he couldn’t do that to Allison. Not again. Bury your shame, he told himself, standing tall, not shying from Zara’s gaze. Bury your guilt. Move on.
“When will I know what my powers are, my other powers, I guess?” Allison asked, her eyes focused on Zara, unaware Felix was waging war with his own demons.
“Be patient,” Zara told her kindly. “There’s really no timetable, but usually by your early twenties you’ll know what you are. Sometimes it just clicks. You wake up one day and you understand, and sometimes your abilities reveal themselves in times of stress—in times of need. In the meantime, let’s focus on why we called you here tonight. You, Allison Jasner, are a Sourceror.”
“I’m a Sourceror,” Allison repeated, smiling, sounding more sure of herself now.
“Well isn’t that convenient,” Kane snickered, his face half in shadow. His hair was light and slicked back, his jaw as hard and squared off as the end of a brick. Lilly wasn’t much taller than Caitlin, and her pale face seemed to float in the darkness, hovering in the void between her black hair and black sweater.
Allison glanced at Kane with a furrowed brow, then questioned Zara with her eyes. When no response came, she asked, “What’s he talking about?”
Zara stared down at the pulpit beside her, taking her time to carefully formulate her response. “The Pierre-Croix’s are one of the oldest Sourceror bloodlines. In fact, you are one of the few living descendants of the great families. The others have been killed off over the centuries by a group of assassins known as the Protectors.” She gave Allison a conspiratorial grin and the lines around her mouth returned. “I think you met some outside Cove Rock recently.” Her smile vanished and she frowned slightly, her expression growing somber. “Kane is referring to your parents, Allison. They were in the Order and the Protectors discovered they were Sourcerors. I know this isn’t easy to hear, but the Protectors killed your parents. But somehow you—you survived.”
“My…my parents,” Allison said, her voice hitching with doubt, “were in the Order? My parents were—?”
“What I’m referring to,” Kane interrupted loudly, his voice echoing in the great hall, “is the Protectors have known you’re a Sourceror for at least the last twelve years.” He waved a hand in her direction as if her presence alone irritated him. “Yet here you are—alive and well. Why didn’t they go after you?”
“They did,” a man standing at the opposite pew called out. He was short, thin and his face was even darker than Professor Malone’s. “She was targeted. Hi”—he raised a hand to Allison and Felix—“I’m Anquan, by the way.”
“Not until a few months ago,” Kane remarked. In the flickering light, his eyes were lost in pools of shadow. “Until then, they treated her like one of their own.”
Felix observed the exchange, wondering if Kane was making a point or just trying to pick a fight. They’d been inside the chapel for only a few minutes and already he disliked Kane immensely.
“So what’s your point?” Allison said to Kane, her face tensing. “You think I should be dead?”
Kane laughed through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “You would be—you’d both be—if we didn’t save your sorry asses.”
“It was you?” Felix exclaimed, his feelings of hostility submerged for the moment. His eyes widened with understanding as the answer to the mysterious events at Martha’s house revealed itself to him as quickly as a thought. Now he knew how he’d awoken in his dorm room when the last thing he remembered from that day was a woman choking him unconscious with a garrote while her swarthy companion prepared to drive a knife into his chest. “Back in September in no-man’s-land. At Martha’s house. You guys saved us?”
“The professor,” Zara said with a polite nod to Professor Malone, “did most of the dirty work, though the Protectors got away.” She grinned. “At least for a time. They didn’t fare quite as well at the Cliff Walk.”
“Who messed with my brain?” Allison demanded, suddenly sounding angry. “Why’d I think—why do I still think—I had a nice talk with Martha and bought her goddamn skis?”
“That would be me,” Anquan replied, frowning curiously at Felix. “Sorry, but I actually messed with both your brains, and I’m afraid mind manipulation can’t be reversed—it’s permanent. We didn’t know what we were dealing with so the decision was made to alter your memories.” He noticed Allison’s expression and added, “It’s complicated.” When that didn’t mollify her anger, he looked uncertainly to Zara and she nodded for him to continue. “Just because you’re a Pierre-Croix doesn’t necessarily mean you’re on our side. It wasn’t until we saw Felix leave that house where they found the Faceman we knew you guys weren’t affiliated with the organization on the other side of town.”
Of course you couldn’t mess with my brain, Felix thought. Just like the Numbered Ones couldn’t control him with their eyes. Which was why, he realized, alcohol didn’t affect him anymore. They were all related, all tying back to his ability to heal himself. He wasn’t invincible, or even immune to harm, his body simply responded to damaging stimuli by healing itself, sometimes even before the damage had time to take root. That was awesome in most cases, though he thought he’d miss the relaxing buzz of a six-pack or a bottle of wine.
“The Drestianites,” Zara explained. “Sourcerors who follow Lofton—Lofton Ashfield. Yes”—she studied Felix and Allison as though she expected an animated reaction—“that Lofton Ashfield. Well, Mr. Ashfield isn’t what he seems. In fact, Lofton is actually the Drestian, and we in the Order have a difference of opinion with him and his fascist gang.”
Felix didn’t know what to say. He obviously knew about the Drestianites and that Lofton Ashfield was the Drestian. But something wa
s holding him back, telling him to keep quiet, to not disclose anything to these people. These people? This was the Order of Belus. You’re the Belus. These are your people. Your followers. Shouldn’t you tell them you’re the Belus? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? So then why was he so doubtful? Why did all this feel so…wrong?
“You’re kidding me!” Allison exclaimed, putting her hands to her face. “You mean, Lofton Ashfield, the guy who owns AshCorp? He’s the…what did you call him? The Drestian?” Allison must have had her own doubts, and fortunately for Felix, her ability to convincingly spin a lie far exceeded his own. He wondered if she’d lied because Anquan had admitted to altering her memories or if she was experiencing the same general sense of unease, a feeling of not belonging. The people in the pews were Sourcerors too, but the feelings Felix had for Allison because of what they now shared didn’t extend to them. They were still strangers to him, people he felt no connection with, and they seemed aloof and distracted, as if this midnight meeting was inconveniencing them.
“That’s right,” Zara said with a grin, apparently pleased by Allison’s dumbfounded reaction.
Kane raised his hands up to the ceiling and bellowed, “Can we please just get on with this? How can we save the world when we’re stuck here? Are we done? No? Alright then, let me finish.” He flicked a demeaning glance in their direction. “Welcome to the Order of Belus, Allison and Felix!” Then he whispered through the side of his mouth, “What’s left of it.”
