order of vespers
Book One of the Vespers Chronicles
Matilda Reyes
To my amazing husband and my tribe of extraordinary women who keep me balanced.
Order of Vespers Copyright © 2018 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 Designs
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: May 2016
Kindle Publishing
ISBN-13 ooo-0-0000000-1-2
CONTENTS
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
PART TWO
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
PART THREE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
PART FOUR
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
PART FIVE
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Excerpt from The Circle
PART ONE
Explosions
CHAPTER ONE
FROM THE MOMENT I woke up there had been flashing neon signs warning me that danger was coming. An alarm that never went off, the stabbing pain in my temple, an unsettled stomach, a dead cell phone and a tear in my pants. Worse, the fingers that itched and a tingle in my arms.
A smart person, a sane person, would have heeded the caution. She would have listened to her father and gone back to bed and realized it was the perfect time for a mental health day. She would have told him the truth, begged him to stay home in case it happened again. She’d do everything to protect those around her. She’d avoid blowing up the west hallway of her high school.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t that selfless or self-aware.
The explosion occurred, allegedly, shortly before the lunch period ended. Most of the lockers in the hallway were redecorated in scorch marks and snazzy divots and holes. The ones closest to the blast site featured partially melted locks. Shards of the fluorescent lights littered the ground, warm and reflecting a strange, prism-like glow.
And in the center of the destruction, unconscious and untouched by the violence of the explosion, was me. Theories flew among the student body as the police combed over the “crime” scene. They searched me, my bags, my clothes, and my locker, but found nothing that could have caused the blast. I pleaded innocence and ignorance, but no one believed me. A full detail of police accompanied me to the principal’s office, on school arrest until they found a reason to charge me with arson. Attempted murder. Terrorism.
My incarceration in Mr. Conner’s office wasn’t the worst punishment. The ode to secondary education on a budget had been a second home for the last year. Its plywood furniture with cracks where someone drilled too much, and its cheap, paisley carpet were as familiar as the plain, violet quilt on my bed at home. The room was a testimony to the pathetic efforts to modernize the school on a budget.
While I wasn’t opposed to some renovations, I thought the money could have been better spent. Like on new floors that didn’t catch fire when there were surprise explosions.
There was no use losing my temper again. No one believed me, not even after my twin brother, Jude, came to my defense. We were inseparable, two peas in a pod. Although we constantly bickered, seeing Jude come to my defense was the only thing that kept me sane.
A new police officer, a woman with a slight build and kind eyes, walked into my temporary prison and sat down in Mr. Conner’s chair. She placed her hands on the desk, palms up and gave me the pleading puppy dog eyes.
I crossed my arms and sat back with all the teenage insolence I could muster. I’ve never backed down, and I wasn’t starting with this twit.
“Ms. Jasper Lee Andrews.”
“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out,” I drawled. “Look, Detective, I have nothing else to say.”
The woman sat back and met my raised-eyebrow stare with one of her own.
She was dressed in plain-clothes, but everything about her screamed “cop.” Black clumps of leather I recognized as orthopedic shoes, comfortable and serviceable black pants, a button-down shirt, and a jacket to cover her holster and gun. “Jasper… May I call you Jasper?”
“No.”
Her head jerked back. “No?”
I picked at the loose strands of the knee of my black jeans, the only victim of the explosion. It was the one day all school year that I’d worn all-black clothing. It probably didn’t help my case.
“Jasper, you have to talk to me. I can’t help you if you give me nothing to bring to my bosses. What did you use to cause the explosion?”
“I didn’t cause the alleged explosion,” I said calmly, even as my fingernails dug into my knees hard enough to draw blood.
“You were found at the scene.”
A familiar shift came over me. My skin warmed and, if I were a dog, I’d say my hackles rose. I wasn’t lying, and I certainly wasn’t an arsonist.
“I was unconscious.”
“Knocked over by your own handiwork.”
And just like that, She appeared in my mind. She was that inner primitive being hell-bent on protecting me and mine. We existed in the same space, and She almost always let me give input, although She ignored me most of the time.
We raised my head slowly and pinned the detective with a stare that dared her to mess with me. Us.
“No,” I responded. “How many times do I have to tell you that I didn’t do anything? You’re interrogating me like I’m the only person in the entire school who might pull a prank like this. You should be asking if I’m in danger from some lunatic.”
There was no lunatic unless you counted my potentially split personality. She wasn’t just a badass weekend warrior with an iron will and the self-preservation of a feral creature. She was insolent as all get-out, and I had a sinking feeling She was about to make things worse.
The detective drew herself up to her full height in her chair, an impressive five foot three inches, if I had to guess. “Well, Ms. Andrews, there’s no evidence that you didn’t cause the explosion. This attitude isn’t going to help you.”
“Yeah, well, I have a major problem going to jail for an alleged crime that I didn’t commit. Going to jail isn’t on my bucket list.”
“Here’s what I don’t get,” she mused. “You’re an honor student, a former cheerleader, pretty and athletic. Your brother is one of the most popular kids in this high school. What’s your deal? Silly teenage prankster? Or are you part of something much bigger than you realize?”
The snort just came out. Couldn’t help it. “Like what? Terrorism?”
“You used the word, not me.”
My hand twitched, and both my warrior chick and I stowed our urges to
slap the woman. The young detective caught the big bad terrorist in the act and was going to get a commendation. I saw it in her face, the way her lips curled into a sneer and her body practically vibrated excitement.
“Detective…”
“Bryant.”
“Bryant. Haven’t you heard of the concept of innocent until proven guilty? Because as far as I’m concerned, you’ve got nothing. So, do us all a favor, clear the crime scene and let me go home. I’ve got an exam tomorrow.”
“You were the only one in the area, and the scorch marks originated from you. Yet, there’s not a smudge on your clothes, no burnt hair.”
“I was unconscious!”
“I’m sorry, Jasper. We’re not letting you go.”
Although it would have been more satisfying to throw something at her, the rational part of my brain took over. “Let’s review the facts.” Each statement was punctuated by a tick off one of my fingers. “One: There was an explosion in the school. Two: No one was hurt, except the girl with a huge bruise on her forehead who was found in the middle of the wreckage. Three: You found her unconscious. Four: There was nothing on her person or in her belongings that could cause an explosion. Five: The police didn’t wait for my lawyer to badger the only victim. Six: Miranda rights were never said or explained. Seven: the victim has not been allowed access to medical care.”
Officer Bryant wasn’t happy with me if the flared nostrils and hands gripping the edges of the armrests were any indication. “You haven’t asked for medical care.”
“Oh, but I have. Twice. Number eight is my favorite. Wanna hear it?”
She eyed me warily but nodded.
A slow smile crossed my face, all teeth and no kindness. “Nothing here adds up to probable cause, which means you’re not going to arrest me. Unless you want my lawyer bringing those facts to your captain — ”
My giggles interrupted my monologue and made me look like the psycho everyone seemed to assume I was, anyway. “Hell, of course, we’re reporting it to your captain. How about you go fetch me a nurse, something to eat, and my lawyer? I’m starving, you know, considering I was knocked unconscious and in the middle of an explosion. Chocolate and a can of pop would be fabulous. Bye, now.”
With a dismissive glance, I shut her out of my world and grabbed my calculus textbook. Potential arrest or not, I had a test the next morning, and I refused to fail.
✽ ✽ ✽
The boredom was damn near torturous. I finished studying for calculus. Twice. I memorized the new titles on Mr. Conner’s bookshelves. I chipped off the nail polish I had so carefully applied the previous evening. Heck, I studied the weaving in my backpack until my eyes burned.
My cell phone was confiscated as if the plans for my elaborate “stunt” were written in code on some app called “Explosions are Cool.” It was irrational, but the loss of my cell phone upset me more than anything else. It was worse than listening to the rumors that flew around the school.
Jasper’s such a freak. She’s probably a Satanist.
What’s next? Is she going to sacrifice puppies in the cafeteria?
She was homecoming queen. No one dropped blood on her. Why’s she doing this?
Dismissal had been an hour ago. Given the rumor mill at our small high school, I figured my latest stunt was likely the subject of dinner conversations in town.
My parents were most likely furious. They had probably already decided to ground me for life. Again. Yep. I kept passing out and blowing things up around me for fun. It was a blast, the pun totally intended.
Not for the first time that day, I laughed at the absurdity of it all. The police and fire departments combed my school for hours. I was being held in custody, for lack of a better term, in the principal’s office. My lawyer was on her way over to spring me, and I was positive my parents planned to lock me in my room for the foreseeable future: Buh-Bye, senior prom. You’ll be missed, high school graduation. Toodles, college next fall.
I liked to think I was a good person if one overlooked the random, uncontrolled explosions. I was a responsible student who made honor roll every semester. Debate teams throughout the county feared my name. Hell, I would have been class president if I hadn’t accidentally set the ballots on fire.
Mrs. Stannish, the school secretary, stomped into the office and glared at me. Her perpetual bad mood was amplified a hundredfold because Mr. Conner hadn’t let her go home. “You keep quiet in here, Jasper Andrews. You’ve made enough of a spectacle today.”
“Gotcha. No noise, no explosions. I can handle that.” My bladder screamed at me. “Mrs. Stannish, I need to go to the bathroom. May I please go? It’s right across the hall.”
“No, you may not. You should have thought about that before your disgusting rampage. If it were up to me, I’d send you straight to Sing-Sing and throw away the key. Sit in it.”
I closed my eyes and banged my head against the wall. The stabbing pain above my left eye reminded me of the lump that formed when I had fallen to the floor.
The school nurse poked her head into the office with a small smile. The appearance of Ms. Davis, a sweet woman with a pixie-cut, blue eyes, a model’s figure, and a bad habit of wearing tie-dyed outfits, was a huge comfort. She was the only person allowed in my cell who showed an iota of sympathy.
“How’s that head doing, Jasper?” she asked as she stepped into the room.
“It’s been better.” I winced when she pressed on the orange-sized lump on my temple. “Passing out and slamming my skull against the floor kinda killed my day.”
She laughed and shined a light into my eyes. “Somehow causing almost one hundred lockers to explode and scorching the west hallway didn’t impact your mood? Go figure.”
An unexpected giggle burst out of me like the purging of phlegm from the system. At least, judging by Ms. Davis’ expression, that’s the sound I made. But I couldn’t stop. She was the funniest, most adorable thing, the best part of my day — someone poking my head and making jokes about my arsonist ways.
What had I expected? Someone to hug me and send me to bed with milk and cookies? Kiss my boo-boo and tell me it would be just fine?
Nope. They were going to send me to jail, and when one of these explosions happened, I’d end up right where Ms. Stannish wanted me — the upstate New York prison in Ossining, affectionately known as Sing-Sing. The other option was too horrifying to give more than a momentary consideration: sedated like a zombie and locked up in a psychiatric facility.
That’s what society did to people like me. Locked us away and pretended we didn’t exist. If horror movies were to be believed, they turned a blind eye to the awful experimentation that occurred. We were nothing, no one. We were anonymous souls with no voices.
I was going to be turned into a mutated lab rat.
Thankfully, my mental breakdown was cut short when she clapped her hands in front of my face. Instead of an unkempt, smelly lab assistant staring down at me, Ms. Davis’ blue eyes radiated concern.
“Sorry, sorry,” I muttered, embarrassed at my short trip down the rabbit hole. “The stress is finally getting to me.”
“Humph. Let me check this,” she said as she pressed on the lump.
That throbbing, protruding thing became such a presence in the few hours that he’d become sentient. His name was the “Boom,” and he lived up to the hype. I yelped and scooted away. Boom didn’t like her, and for a second, neither did I.
Ms. Davis sat down next to me and patted my knee. “Honey, you’re a good kid. What’s going on? Why explosions? What are you trying to accomplish?”
Tears threatened to ruin my carefully cultivated mask of flippancy, which had survived the principal, Troll Stannish, a full squad of police and a house of firefighters.
Actually, the firemen might have been the highlight of this awful day. Mom always said that my tastes in men leaned toward big, muscular, and hot as hell. Sue me. I had a type. Dreams of hot firefighters who belonged on calendars were only a momentary dist
raction, another break from reality.
Back on planet Earth, I was in high school, and I’d committed the ultimate sin. From a young age, it had been drilled into my head that I had a single responsibility: protect the family by keeping our secrets. Our family’s special abilities were too big and too dangerous to share. It was bad enough that I had put my family in danger. This incident threatened to expose us all.
“Nothing. I’m not trying to do anything. I didn’t do this, Ms. Davis.”
She cupped my chin with her palm. “You have so much potential, Jasper. Whatever you’re trying to prove, it isn’t worth this kind of trouble.”
Bitterness rose like bile in my throat. Why was it so impossible to understand that I was the victim here? Injured and framed for a crime I technically didn’t commit. There was no way they could blame me for an accident that happened while I was unconscious and completely unaware. That I was going to face furious parents who knew what was going on but had zero sympathies wasn’t making my day any better.
She confessed she didn’t know how to help. “But I do have some good news,” she said. “Well, gossip, really.”
My ears perked up and, for the first time that day, I felt a flicker of hope. “Yeah?”
She smiled slightly. “You’re driving the police crazy. There was an argument over who gets to interrogate you next because no one wants to do it. Jasper, I’m fairly certain that they won’t arrest you. You need to take this opportunity to turn your life around.”
She didn’t believe me either. No one did. So that flicker of hope? Squashed. Obliterated. Gone.
✽ ✽ ✽
Detective Bryant drew the short straw and dropped off a snack. The can of orange pop was hot to the touch as if someone deliberately left it on a windowsill and saved it just for this moment. The chocolate was melted, but I was hungry, and I needed the calories. Whatever caused the explosions required massive amounts of fuel.
Order of Vespers Page 1
