The Black Knights

by Matilda Reyes

  “You’re from the San Francisco cult. We caught you staking out a teenager at her school. What were you planning to do?” asked Voss. “Were you planning to kidnap her? Nod or shake your head.”

  She remained silent.

  I tilted my head from side to side. Jordan nodded and pressed his fingers into a pressure point in her left shoulder tendon, digging in until she cried out and tried to wiggle away from him. Jordan’s grasp, however, was too tight. She gritted her teeth and said nothing.

  Voss tried a different tactic. “What were you hoping to get out of these kidnappings? What did you want with their abilities?”

  Jordan applied more pressure to the already tender spot on Gloria’s shoulder and shook her. “Answer.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  I swore under my breath and let the heat travel to my hands, lighting them up. Gloria yelped at the pain, her eyes flew open, and she caught sight of what I was doing. She opened her mouth as if she would speak, but seeming to reconsider, closed it.

  “This will hurt more than what Jordan does. The medical team won’t be able to heal these wounds,” I breathed. Gloria glowered at me. I showed that Jordan should hold her still as I approached. I closed my eyes and did what I had to do. She may have screamed, but she didn’t talk. Jordan, Voss, and I left her to the nurses on call and moved on to the next room.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Cramps wracked my stomach. We’d spent five hours interrogating cult members and had gotten nowhere with most. We had one left, and I wasn’t sure that I could continue. After the last one, I’d run to the bathroom to vomit. I didn’t like what we were doing. I didn’t enjoy it, nor did I want to do it. We had no choice. By the third person, the medical team had looked at us with disgust. I was just as disgusted. But every time I wanted to stop, I thought of Kosuke. I thought of Cecilia and the kidnapped children. The murdered and sacrificed Vespers. For them, I continued.

  Voss walked ahead while Jordan kept pace with my dragging footsteps. He put an arm around my shoulders and squeezed.

  “You’re doing great,” he said. “Last one and you can go home. I recommend a stiff drink and a good night of sleep. It will help.”

  I shrugged out from under his hands. “Is that what you did after you almost killed Nicholas?” I hissed, not even sure why I was provoking him.

  “I slept like a baby. Have things changed? Is St. Nicholas back in your good graces?”

  “I don’t know what happened that made him act the way he did, but he’s trying,” I shot back. “He’s thoughtful and caring, in his way.”

  Jordan snorted. “Oh, so that’s a consideration when he makes you cry and convinces you that you’re less than you are? Real healthy. What I did wasn’t only for what he said to me.”

  “I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

  He stopped walking and gaped. “He made you cry, and he hurt you. I may not have been able to protect you from that madman, but I’ll be damned if I let him hurt you.”

  “You’re insane,” I replied, shaking my head. “I broke up with him, not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Whatever hurts you is my business. That includes your St. Nick.”

  “Friends provide a shoulder to cry on. They listen. They do not choke the life out of the person in question. Cripes, get a grip and try to be normal for once.”

  A faint smile crossed his hardened features. “Whatever I am, I’m not normal. You may not like my protection, but you will live with it.” He sighed. “I promise I won’t choke St. Nick again.”

  “Good. Now can we please finish so I can finish puking my guts out and get rest?” I touched my side. “I’m still sore.”

  Voss frowned at us as if he hadn’t been eavesdropping this entire time. “We could have done this without you.”

  “No, you couldn’t. Who’s up?”

  “Brett Wollstein. He moved here from Germany six months ago and has been living with the cult in Los Angeles. He happened to be visiting the San Francisco faction when we raided their headquarters.”

  “Is he talking?” asked Jordan.

  Voss twisted his hand from side to side. “In fits and spurts. The little that he’s revealed matches up with the statements from the rescued Vespers that Mikael has been collecting.”

  We walked into the room and found a man of average height and build with yellow-blond hair and piercing brown eyes. He bore scars on his face from the struggle, and his left leg was elevated with his foot in a brace. He observed us as we assumed the same positions we’d used in previous interrogations. I sat in the corner and let Voss and Jordan work.

  “Brett,” said Voss. “We are here to talk. Jordan prefers to force answers out of his victims by inflicting real damage. I would rather that you supply them willingly.”

  “And who is she?” he asked in a thick German accent.

  Voss glanced at me. “She’s our boss. You don’t want her to get involved. The screams you’ve heard? That wasn’t Jordan’s doing. Now, what did you want with the people you kidnapped?”

  “What will I gain for my answers?”

  “A lack of bruises and broken bones,” growled Jordan.

  “You will gain better accommodations and pain medication for your leg. I heard that it was injured severely,” Voss said over him.

  Brett rubbed his ankle and grimaced. “It is quite painful. They will not rescue me, will they?”

  “Everyone you were with is here or dead. The people from Los Angeles may not find it worthwhile to come for you. If you choose not to cooperate, when Jordan is done with you, we will turn you over to the police. They will have a field day with the kidnapping and murder charges. Their jails are not as nice as what we have here,” said Voss. “It’s in your best interest to cooperate.”

  Brett’s posture straightened as he looked at me. He tugged at his dirty shirt and wrinkled his nose. “I am not a stupid man. The abilities that I gained are useless. There is no escape from this place.”

  Jordan leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, surprised. “You understand the situation.”

  “Yes. The American jail system is frightening. I would rather remain here and face your justice even if that means death. I will tell you what I know.”

  Voss gestured for him to continue.

  Brett leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes. “I have known of the Vespers for as long as I can remember. A friend of the family displayed such powers when I was a child. He revealed what he knew, the fool. One day, he disappeared. We assumed that he had shared secrets that should not have been shared. Your people were a mystery I had to solve. I traveled my country looking for answers after I graduated from high school. During my time at uni, I studied ancient religions and found nothing. Yet, I persisted. When I was in my early twenties, I came across another. He could manipulate electronics by shutting them down, destroying them somehow. He used his abilities to steal, to rob. I saw the danger of your people and knew you needed to be stopped. Then they found me.”

  “Who?”

  “The Chaos Rebellion. They too knew of the Vespers and wanted to see an end to the Order that used their powers for personal gain. I joined and have been with them since.”

  “Why? What was their purpose?”

  “They wanted to destroy people like you. It wasn’t until later that we found that we could imbibe your abilities. When we did, we selected people who would fight for the cause. It was an honor to be chosen.”

  “What cause is that?” I asked, my voice low and strained.

  He frowned and met my eyes. “You do not know? Truly?”

  None of us responded.

  “Our leader, the leader of all the factions, knows what has happened, that God and the Devil have disappeared. He blames their absence for all the violence in the world. There is a natural order that has been disrupted by their absence. The Order of Vespers is not the answer, he claims. The Order’s moral ambiguity goes against that natural order. Good and bad sh
ould fight for dominance, as they have since the beginning of time. The cosmic Balance should be determined by the winner of the struggle between God and the Devil. We have to destroy you and cause enough chaos in the world to hearken their return. They cannot turn their backs on humanity forever.”

  “But one of the cult groups we battled wanted to create super soldiers and steal our powers. Another wanted to use our powers for good. A third wanted to create a new world order. It doesn’t make sense. Why?”

  Brett shrugged. “That I do not know. Our leader works in devious ways to achieve his goal.”

  “Who is your leader?”

  “You know nothing? But he is one of your own. He worked from within these walls for years as he cultivated us.”

  A chill ran down my spine. Another High Council member had betrayed us. Worse, he was the head of the creepy cult of chaos. I ran through the list of names of the enigmatic group. This person had influenced the entire council right under our noses.

  “Carlo,” Jordan breathed. “He was always the quiet one. What influence did he possess?”

  Brett smiled knowingly. “He is unassuming, yes? He possesses a quality that makes people pay attention. He grabs their imagination and makes his beliefs your own. People will die for him and this cause as you have seen.”

  “Why not you?”

  “I have not been under his direct influence for long. Also, I suspected that many of us were just pawns in his game. I did not want to be regarded as such.” He shrugged. “In that, I have failed myself.”

  “Where are they?” asked Voss.

  “In Los Angeles. They move around. He has an apartment of his own. He pretends to be a businessman by day, but he is running this empire he has built. It is impressive.”

  I leaned forward in my chair. “How do we get to him?”

  Brett tapped the side of his nose. “That is the question. Only those in his inner circle know how to access him. Release me, and I will reenter his service and help you.”

  Voss barked out a laugh. “And why would we trust you? How does one gain entry into the Los Angeles faction?”

  “Introduction by a current member. Recruitment assignments from Carlo himself. He will often tell us who to approach and how. We then bring them in, and he speaks with them. Other times, we recommend someone who may be a good fit. Occasionally, someone just finds us.” Brett met my gaze and held it. “I will lead you inside in exchange for my freedom. I have killed no one. It is not my desire to hurt others.”

  “Yet, you’ve drunk the blood of a slain Vesper.”

  “Yes,” he said without apology. “And I have taken part in the kidnappings. I do not wish to be involved with people who would sacrifice me. I want to return to Germany and start a normal life.”

  “How do we know you won’t betray us?” asked Jordan.

  “You cannot. It is an act of blind trust. Think about my offer. I have been more than helpful, I should say.”

  Voss and Jordan looked to me. I tilted my head toward the door.

  “You have been cooperative. We will send someone to attend to your needs and move you somewhere more comfortable. Should you try to escape, you will be killed. Do you understand?” I asked.

  Brett grimaced. “I am no fighter, let alone a murderer. You will get no problems from me. Thank you.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MEMORIES AND FLASHBACKS OF the torture we’d inflicted danced in front of my eyes. Yes, it had been necessary, vital even. Only Brett had given us any actionable intelligence. He remained unscathed. The rest of our victims? They’d walked away in bad shape. Burns, broken bones, dislocated joints, and bruises were the least of it. Jordan was terrifying when he wanted to be and had inflicted just as much emotional torture as physical wounds.

  When I’d returned home, a stiff drink hadn’t done the trick. Neither did two. Or three. I’d lost count of the bottles I finished before I could fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. I woke with my alarm the next morning, groggy, hung over, and drained.

  I filled my travel mug with coffee and ambled into the private studio that Jordan and I shared and hoped that he’d stay away. While we’d worked together, I hadn’t forgiven him for witnessing one of the most humiliating moments of my life. Breakups were awful. What had happened in that hospital room had shaken me to my core. And Jordan was the sole spectator to the unfortunate reality show called Jasper’s Breaking Heart. He’d heard the awful things Nicholas thought about me. Worse, he’d been there for me when I would have fallen apart. I couldn’t tolerate that level of kindness, not when I still felt flayed raw and bloodied by those barbed words.

  I didn’t blame Jordan for choking Nicholas. In a twisted way, I thought he was justified. Nicholas should have never said what he did about Jordan’s dead girlfriend. She had died in the field fighting Marcus and his cult goons while Jordan had been occupied with others. We never discussed it, but we both believed that the bullet that killed her had been meant for me. He’d stopped what he was doing, dove toward me, and pushed me out of the way. Neither of us had seen her on the floor until a few minutes later when it was far too late to do anything to help her. Jordan hadn’t said anything to anyone, but I knew the guilt he felt was soul-crushing.

  I shook my head to rid myself of the thoughts that almost always brought me into a downward spiral of self-hatred and castigation. Too much was at stake to have a pity party for one, no matter how tempting it was, after last night’s bender. The stereo beckoned, and I selected the last track that had been played. The song that floated out was evidence that Jordan last had control of the music. It was his favorite pop diva. Again. Snickering to myself, I warmed up and dove into a series of dumbbell exercises, my upper body needing the workout. I’d almost made it through my second set of bench presses when the door opened, and Jordan strode in.

  Looking as bad as I felt, he gave me a tentative smile and dropped his bag in his corner of the gym. He set up at another weight station and targeted his legs, using the remaining equipment in the racks. We worked in silence for the better part of an hour before he spoke.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “Yesterday wasn’t easy.”

  “I’m fine,” I told him, putting down the dumbbell and leaning on the bars to work my triceps.

  “You can tell me the truth,” he said in a pause between lunges.

  “I’m hungover,” I admitted, “but fine. I wish we’d started with Brett and saved everyone the torture.”

  “Me too. For the record, I don’t enjoy it.”

  “You’re good at it, and it seemed like you enjoyed it. Don’t lie.”

  “I enjoy violence sometimes,” he clarified, “when it’s deserved. This kind of work brings me no satisfaction unless it yields results. You did well.”

  “I tortured people. Good isn’t a word I’d use. Stop talking about it. I want to move on, and this isn’t helping.”

  “At some point, you’ll need to let it out. I’m here for you.”

  “Thank you,” I muttered, feeling the weight of another kindness bestowed upon me.

  The silence between us stretched beyond comfortable limits. After a moment, I realized that he’d stopped moving and was looking at me with a strange light in his eyes.

  “What?” I asked self-consciously, patting my face and hair. “Did I smear something on my face?”

  “Torture aside, you’ve been quiet. I hope you haven’t been thinking about all those lies St. Nick spewed at you.”

  I put down my weights and plopped down onto the nearby bench. “I don’t want to have this conversation either.”

  “He may be a member of the Circle,” he said quietly, “but he doesn’t understand our world.”

  “He went out on two missions,” I said, feeling defensive. “You even admitted that he held his own.”

  “He was there as a healer, as backup support. He’s not like us.”

  “That was one thing I loved about him. I didn’t feel like such a monster around him. All the death and g
ore,” I paused and met his gaze, “I liked it. He brought me back from that killing edge. Made me civilized again.”

  Jordan put down his weights and stared at me. He sat on the floor in front of me and leaned back on his hands in a casual pose. “There’s a difference between being civilized and what he was doing to you. He convinced you that to be human, you needed to be less of who and what you are.”

  “Maybe he’s right.”

  “What if he’s wrong? What if all the crap he said was just him trying to mold you into someone he understands?”

  “Do you think it was malicious?”

  “No. I think he wants someone he can see as a peer. What he doesn’t comprehend is no man is your equal.”

  “There go those lies Nicholas was talking about. I’m not some superhero.”

  He stood up and paced the floor. His sudden anger filled the room with tension that made the space feel ten times smaller. “Get it through your head that you’re not an ordinary person, not anymore. You’re the gods damn Black Knight. It’s time you act like it and quit worrying about the petty bullshit that St. Nicholas put in your head. Grow up.”

  My spine stiffened. “What the hell is your problem?”

  “You. You’re my problem. You’re supposed to be a leader, yet you crumble and cry because you think you’re not civilized enough? Fuck civilized. Embrace who you are and step the hell up. Stop whining.”

  “I do not whine. Forgive me for being upset over a bad breakup. Those silly little things may not be a big deal to you. He hurt me.”

  “So let me kill him,” he replied.

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  “Why? Problem. Solution.”

  “You can’t just kill anyone who hurts my feelings, Jordan. We need to draw clear lines on this whole protection thing. If you insist on fussing, like you have been, over the stab wound, I can live with that. This? Not cool. Nicholas is a member of the Circle, a vital member of the Order, and a healer. No matter how angry I am—”

  “Which is not even close to my level of anger,” he said, clenching his fists.

  “We have to get along. Promise me you’ll behave.”