You should really work on your technique, then they wouldn’t even hear you.

You want to fight. I’m glad, it reminds me of the boy I knew.

You never knew me and I don’t trust you. It’s the second door in the upstairs hallway. Where they store paintings.

You have to take them there.

Will it be easy to convince them?

They know you found the door that opened for Adela. They don’t know anything about the extent of what’s on the other side.

I don’t know either.

You’ll explore it together. We’ll explore it. And then you’ll be able to do what you have to do.

You have to make sure they all follow me. Were you ever behind the door, in that other place?

You sound like your father.

You’re getting nostalgic. I haven’t forgotten you didn’t stop them when they decided to split my uncle like a chicken. You think my father would have forgiven you for that?

Your father killed my brother and I forgave him.

I don’t believe you. Deep down you’re a son of a bitch, but you’re all I’ve got. I don’t care about your brother, especially if he’s dead. Did you ever go to the other side of the door? I know how to come back. I don’t know if I’m going to let you come back, you’re going to have to risk it.

Can you keep this up longer?

No. And it’s not safe.

Is it possible to summon all the members of the Order who exist?

No. There are a lot, I don’t know how many.

First I’m going to give a small demonstration for the ones who are here. Disconnect now.

Stephen left the beach walking slowly. He was destined to be a servant, he thought. His family’s servant and Juan’s and now Gaspar’s. A servant and a traitor. But now he was about to light the fire, days away from seeing flames on the horizon.

It was a procession, and Gaspar was its leader.

He heard the others panting and dragging their feet. He pretended to be exhausted and enjoyed the sight of them so desperate as they traversed the marsh, which was crossed by a path through scrubland. It was hard going because, from among the scrub, hands reached out. Hands like the ones that touched Pablo, he’d thought the first time he saw them. The hand that had marked his father’s arm. They didn’t touch him.

The hands had dragged some Initiates off through the grasses and into the still water. “Initiates” was the word they used. Gaspar was learning the jargon only from what he overheard. He was a servant. Stephen had told him that he was a servant, too. But no, Gaspar had told him. It’s one thing to be the black sheep. You’re the black sheep, the prodigal son, the family’s shame. You could conform. All I can do is rebel. My dad could only rebel. Non-conformity is only possible for those who are not slaves. Everyone else has to fight.