Chapter Eight
Colter
Welcome to Midnite City.
Where the people bow and pray to neon gods that we made. Our glittering jewel, burning beneath unending light. By day, the sun, by night, an artificial glow from billboards and signs expanding into a never-ending sea of filament.
For better or worse, it’s home.
“Christ, son, you’ll give an old man a heart attack,” Elias says when I enter the library. My mask gives it away. Had I been here on a social call, I wouldn’t be wearing it. I can’t afford to draw attention to myself or this base inside the city.
“It must be something big.” Elias turns to a rack of science-fiction novels at the far end of the store. “It’s rare to see the Head out and about in uniform.”
“Any idea why he’s come?” I ask.
He shakes his head, his scruffy salt-and-pepper beard swaying with the movement in acknowledgement of my question.
“On patrol?” he asks.
“Not tonight.” Which is why the Head’s unannounced visit concerns me.
“Shirking your responsibilities?” One corner of his lip ticks up. Elias isn’t one to leave his sense of humor behind.
“Seems that way.” I head toward the shelf. “This city needs a protector, now more than ever.”
“The city or the Veil?” he asks, wheezing out a dry cough. Too many cigars, too little exercise.
“They’re one and the same.”
Elias approaches my destination, and presses a button under his desk.
A mechanical whirr of bolts and latches disengages, releasing the rack and it swings forward like a door.
Behind it, a small metal box awaits my entry.
I step in and flick an unmarked button. The bookcase closes and the metal box begins its descent into the earth.
For all the towers the Veil has erected in Midnite City, most of our business happens underneath them. It’s the purest reflection of what we are.
On reaching the lower floor, the doors open to a darkened room that’s lit purely by computer monitors and TVs bolted on the walls. Three agents are working down here, each one handpicked by me. Their lives, like mine, are dedicated to the Veil. Only, they don’t know that part.
It used to be that the Ghost worked alone. But modern problems demand modern solutions. Technological advancement has turned anonymity into a thing of the past.
The members of the Veil are a major battler of this hardship. They work tirelessly to keep others safe. Every year, they roll out new methods of doing so, while the rest of the world continues on at full blast.
It started with bodycams and smartphones, cameras on every corner, of every street watching every inch of the city.
Lately, those methods have become trivial, mere relics from a bygone time.
I’ve heard chatter of human trials beginning for cybernetic implants that will render camera tracking completely redundant.
But that’s how things go. One day you’re riding on horseback and saying yeehaw, the next, you’re racing down the highway in a self-driving car with an AI assistant to tend to your every need.
Iniko waves at me from her station in the middle of the room, as I exit the elevator. She’s the youngest member of my crew, but don’t let her fresh face fool you. Her abilities behind the keyboard rival mine in the field.
Her parents are deeply rooted in the Veil and played a major part in the Kinkako district’s construction. But although her parents have plainly expressed their desire for Iniko to join us, she will remain blissfully ignorant of our existence until the Head is willing to welcome her into our fold.
“Shit, dude, your dad’s intense,” Iniko speaks in a hushed whisper.
I wince at her informality. He may have spawned me into this world, but he is by no means a parent. He is the Head. Our Leader, bringing order to this chaotic world. Anything less is blasphemy.
“He is,” I say. I peer up at my office window. The Head stands in front of it, looking out over my base, but not focusing on anything in particular. “Where are the others?”
“Fenrir’s eating.” She doesn’t turn away from her computer monitor. “Voodoo’s not here.”
I nod and pass by her station to a metal staircase. “Let me know when Fenrir returns. We’ll have work to do when my meeting is through.”
“Got it, boss.” She gives me a lazy thumbs up and goes right back to typing.
“I don’t understand how you tolerate this,” the Head says when I join him in my office. “Dancing among this rabble when they should worship you as their God.”
“They are a necessity,” I say.
He ignores me and gets straight down to business. “There’s been a development.”
“Lux-Peak?”
“Indeed.”
So that’s why he’s here in a merlot-colored suit, instead of conducting this meeting in a more ceremonial fashion. Wearing the Veil’s colors will have to do as a substitute, in order to forgo our customs. “I don’t know what, how or when, but it’s coming. I need you to handle it.”
“The Ghost killing one of his own will cause unrest,” I say.
“You’re not going to kill him.” The Head slips a hand into his jacket’s inner pocket and pulls out an envelope. He lays it lazily on my desk and steps toward me.
“I need you to capture him. Bring him before the Veil, where he may stand trial for his crimes. We will follow the proper channels to solidify our bonds rather than break them.”
Hmm, another mistake. In the three years that I’ve worn the mantle of Ghost, there have been three special requests. Killing Tom Henderson, saving the girl, and now abducting the Hand. They all make me itch in ways that scratching can’t soothe.
But my duty is to do as I’m told.
“It will be done.”
“Good.” He rests his hand on my shoulder, observing my mask as if he can see through it. “Then, if there isn’t any more business, I’ll be heading home. There’s still much to do for tonight.”
“About tonight,” I say.
“Yes?” His eyes narrow to thin slits, anticipating what is coming next.
“Why are you entertaining this idea?” My title demands certain privileges and accommodation from members of the Veil. None that may interfere with their flow, but enough to uphold our values and to do my duty to the fullest extent of my abilities.
The Henderson affair took place before my ascension, and I have no doubt that Elias knew more about it than he was willing to share with me. However, as more pieces begin to fall into place about that ordeal, I’m developing a better picture of why the Head made his directive to begin with.
“The Head, Hand and Heart are nothing without their Spirit,” he says.
In the bygone era that saw the Veil’s conception, the Head stood as leader, the Hand as his trusted advisor and the Heart as a doorway to welcome new blood into the society.
The Spirit was a soothsayer and healer of body and mind during the tumultuous and chaotic foundational years. Always a woman, she was believed to be a mystic blessed by God’s own hand.
In time, and as the world moved on from those beliefs, the Spirit became a confidante to whom you could express your deepest wants and darkest secrets. She was someone who would listen and offer advice to mend your weary mind.
An outsider doesn’t deserve to wear the title. Especially not one who has no idea of how we operate and what it means.
“We have candidates among our people.” I keep my shoulders squared and my voice neutral.
My posture indicates that I’m not here to judge him as my father for marrying a woman I don’t approve of. I’m merely standing before him as a loyal servant of the Veil, seeking answers to questions and decisions that may cause complications for our society.
“They are unsatisfactory.” Nothing moves apart from his lips.
While I’ve had the distinction beaten into the very fabric of my being since I was a boy, I fear the same can’t be said for the Head. I fear he takes advantage in blurring the lines between what a parent should tell his child and what the Head should tell his Ghost.
“I’m not blind to the timing,” I say. “There has been no mention of the Henderson directive in three years. No sign to attack or imprison Maxwell…”
The air surrounding us hums from the static aggression that’s mounting inside the Head.
He’s too good at hiding his emotions to let them show easily, but I’ve known this man all my life.
I can see the subtle twitches on his face and fingers.
I can feel the furious build-up of kinetic energy that’s threatening to spill out of him.
“What of it?” he growls, deep and raw.
“Tell me, why now?” These conversations used to intimidate me. They’d have me quaking in my boots as I stood before the Head, and on the verge of breathless collapse once they were over.
They don’t anymore. I can’t let them.
Fear and cowardice would result in my coercion. They would break my values and turn me into an obedient tool for whoever holds the reins of power.
“Why her?” I add, when he doesn’t answer.
“Because she has something I want,” the Head says, nonchalantly. He is trying to cover up his annoyance with a statement that’s sincere enough that I don’t have reason to pry further, but too vague to learn anything.
“And the girl. What role does she pla—”
A lightning-fast palm strikes my cheek. Protected by my mask, I hardly feel the impact as it flies off my face. I catch the ivory before it falls to my waist, never breaking my stern gaze from the Head.
I keep my emotions in check.
Emotion is weakness. Weakness is death.
“This line you’re on borders on insubordination, Ghost.” A disgustingly satisfied twinkle flashes in his eyes. “You have no right or reason to question my decisions. Or have you forgotten to whom you’re speaking?”
“I haven’t.” I lower my gaze to show my surrender. Not out of want, but from a need to satisfy the Head’s belief that I will back down.
“Good. Then you’d be wise to stop prying and do as I’ve ordered.” He steps forward. I move aside to let him pass. “One last thing,” he says from the doorway, not bothering to look at me. “I expect punctuality tonight. We wouldn’t want to give our guests a bad impression.”
“Understood.”
“And it’s meant to be a jolly affair, Colter, so wear a smile.” He exits the room, before I can answer.
The envelope, stamped with the Head’s own seal, that’s been left on my desk contains a handwritten letter with negligible details of Maxwell’s involvement in a potential coup against the Head.
It has no mention of any other members who might be willing to join the rebellion, nor details of how this information was gathered.
I read it twice and summon my team before issuing their instructions. Just research for now. We’ll need a strong plan of attack before we go anywhere near Maxwell Henderson.
But I can’t seem to keep my head on straight while talking to them. Though I should be fully set on the task at hand, my thoughts keep wandering away from me. Traveling far and wide through the deepest recesses of my mind to her.
The girl who has no part to play in any of our designs and yet, who managed to kick off a chain of events that will rattle the very foundations on which the Veil was built.
She better be fucking worth it.