Chapter Three
Colter
We meet on a backroad, surrounded by a thicket of trees that are nearly suffocated by an overgrowth of vegetation. The night is cool. The air is still. There isn’t so much as a rustle from the woods.
Even Mother Nature knows to be silent when a Ghost is on the hunt.
“Ready?” Ghost asks. The true Ghost. My mentor and predecessor. A living legend in the flesh.
He sits with his feet kicked up on the bed of his truck, a toothpick jammed between his lips. He is lazily eyeing the blackened treeline beside us.
“Yes.”
Tonight, I become him. Tonight, I claim my place in the Veil’s upper echelon. I should be choking up at the honor, but I can’t. I won’t. Feeble emotions were stripped from me as a boy.
“Doubts?” His voice echoes behind his mask.
I’ve had a few since this mission was brought to me. But standing on the precipice of my destiny, one thought shines brighter than the rest.
“Keeping her alive is a mistake,” I say.
“You’re right,” he replies. “But the Head insists.”
“And killing the heir?” It’s not my place to question an order, so I won’t. But I need to voice my concerns somewhere, and who better to do that with than the man who trained me to replace him.
“A bigger mistake.” He fiddles with the toothpick, never completely facing me.
“The Hand will find out.” My voice is steady, all things considered, but war rages in my mind.
“He will,” he says. His voice holds no fear, just certainty.
“And when he does?” I shift on my heels, following his focus.
The shadows fill me with a sense of urgency and pride. They stir some long-suppressed center in my brain, sparking a need to fulfill my duty. For these shadows are a reflection of who we are, and bathing in them gives us strength.
“The Hand’s loyalty will be tested.”
“How could a father remain loyal, after we kill his son?” Not all who stay behind the Veil hold its values as dear as my own father. The prestige a title carries won’t outweigh a transgression of this magnitude.
“Most men wouldn’t.” Ghost reaches for the brown canvas bag beside him. He pulls it over his lap and undoes the zip, but doesn’t expose the contents. “That’s what makes it a test.”
“Why him?” I ask.
“You know the rule about questions, Initiate,” he says.
“I do, but the logic is flawed.”
He turns to me, but I’m not greeted by a face. Instead, what peers back is the Ghost’s blank ivory visage. Simple shapes, a nose, a mouth, and eyes, but uncanny in design.
For that’s what we are—faces in the crowd. Almost human, but not quite.
Ghosts.
“Is that so?” I can’t read his expression behind the mask. His voice alone isn’t enough to indicate what’s going through his mind. I might as well be talking to the trees, hoping to find what emotion runs through their rings.
“I’m an Initiate. I’m meant to study under you, under my father, yet how can I learn without questions?” I stand my ground, no matter the consequences.
“Well done,” he says. I’d like to imagine he’s smiling behind the mask. “This right here? This is how I know you’re ready.”
Confusion furrows my brow.
“Free-thinkers are rare behind the Veil. It’s complacency that keeps the flock loyal.
Men like us can’t afford to follow like sheep.
A long time ago, the Head, Hand, Heart and Spirit believed the same.
The tip of our society was radical in nature but wise in tactics…
” he trails off before spilling too much information.
“That’s why I fear what the future may hold.”
“Fear?” I never thought I’d hear those words uttered by a Ghost.
“The Veil’s duty is to bring light to the dark. We…” he gestures between us to signify the Ghost. “Maintain the ecosystem. Set the balance when it’s at fault. And where the Head has brought Midnite City out of the dark, imbalance will follow. Your task tonight is proof.”
He pauses, nods a few times and then continues.
“Speaking of your task,” Ghost shifts back to business. “Five targets, all young enough to indulge in this foolish act, old enough to know better.”
No more questions about the intentions of our leaders then. Now is the time to listen, ingest, and execute.
“They call themselves The Eye. Their choice to follow our naming conventions means that they know the Veil exists, but they haven’t gotten more than a taste of it.
” Ghost shoves a hand under the brown bag’s flap, his eyes returning to the trees.
“This stunt, and others like it before, are meant to catch our attention.”
“What could they want with the Veil?” My eyes narrow as my protective instinct kicks in.
“Not the Veil. The Ghost,” he says. “For the longest time it didn’t matter.
They kept themselves hidden and secretive, the way a society should do.
But, like us, the Eye is ritualistic by nature.
They’ve spent years toying with new ideas on how to lure a Ghost out of the shadows. We’ve ignored them, until tonight.”
And now we’re ignoring them no longer, because of the girl…
The way he says we makes me wonder how many times we could have dealt with them before. How many generations of the Eye have sought our counsel and failed. What would they think, if they knew how it would all end?
“That’s where I come in.”
His head bobs slightly. “No one, other than her, walks out alive. Any questions?”
“No.” There will be time enough for questions when this is over.
He takes off his mask. Underneath is an aged man with salt-and-pepper sideburns and messy stubble. I’ve seen his face many times before, but never like this. I see sadness in his eyes, for what he’s giving up, but a warm smile is on his face because he’s handing it to a worthy successor.
He holds the visage out to me on his palm. I reach for it, but my fingers move painfully slowly through the air. For the first time in my life, my heart’s pounding erratically against my ribcage. I am eager to feel the ivory against my fingers, but apprehensive that I may fail to uphold the title.
Ghost gives me as much time as I need. Many years ago, he was in this exact position himself. Then, he too was desperate and yearning to fulfill his destiny, but doubting his own ability to accomplish it.
I feel the smooth front against my fingers. They start to tingle under the weight of all of those who have worn this symbol before me. Distant relatives and unknowns alike, each wore it as a badge of pride and honor for the Veil.
I slide it onto my face.
In this moment, I become no one. And everyone.
I become the Ghost.
“I brought you a present,” he says, as I grow accustomed to my new face. “Something to honor the occasion.”
With a flick of his wrist the bag on his lap splays open. Inside is an F2000 assault rifle. Its matte-green finish refuses to glisten beneath the full moon overhead. It’s locked, loaded, and primed for easy operation. Light on the recoil and easy to fire in capable hands. His weapon of choice.
“I appreciate it.” I don’t reach for the gun. “But I have to carve my own path.”
Having trained me in a wide array of weapons, both long-range and at close quarters, Ghost knows my preference. Two suppressed Walther PPKs, as well as swords and a small arsenal of throwing blades. I prefer the whisper of blades over the blaze of guns.
“Then there isn’t much left to say.” He replaces the toothpick with a pre-snipped cigar from his pocket and lights it. “But you’d be wise to remember, you either walk out of there a Ghost, or you don’t walk out at all.”
“I am aware of the risk and the consequences of failure,” I say, struggling to hold eye contact with him. It feels wrong when I’m the one wearing the mask.
“Then have at ‘em,” he gestures with an open palm toward the woods. “Let loose the dogs of war and bring down our righteous might.”
I step toward the trees, accepting my final order as an Initiate.