Chapter Twenty-One
Colter
The wedding, for all intents and purposes, was beautiful.
No different, perhaps, from other weddings I’ve attended.
It took place in a traditional chapel large enough to house the guests, yet quaint enough to feel private.
A full orchestra played The Wedding March, and a choir made up of schoolboys sang Oh Happy Day.
Maybelle wore a white dress; the Head, a black suit.
A fat, porcine pastor at the altar, somewhat greedily uniting them before the eyes of God.
Rice was thrown and doves were set loose from a plethora of cages lining their exit, as they walked out, newlyweds, ready for their bright and glamorous future together.
I failed in my duty to wear a joyful smile and to clap along with the other happy people. I felt no pride in witnessing their bond, and no happiness in wishing them well for the years to come. I had no one to point the finger of blame at but myself.
As I enter the banquet hall, where we’re supposed to indulge in the festivities of the union, I realize something I don’t like. I’d crossed a boundary I shouldn’t have last night. Gorged myself not only on the pleasures of flesh, but suckled on the teat of some newfound emotional yearning.
However, the image of her perfectly rounded, pale ass, reddened by my own hand, will never disappear entirely. Nor will the gasps of delinquent pleasure from our lips as they collided in near-orgasmic euphoria.
In the dining hall, the Head is sitting in the center of a long table with his bride, our future Spirit, at his side. Elias is on his right. There is space between them for me.
I finally understand what the Head has been scheming over all these past years.
And why Elias’s grave words about Maxwell Henderson’s trial didn’t register at the time.
He’s assembling an army, not for the benefit of the Veil, but to grab our holy establishment by the throat and squeeze until it succumbs to his will.
My body tenses, and I can’t find my footing to move.
“You doing alright?” Lilith asks at my side. I was so lost in my own disconcerting thoughts that I didn’t notice her arrival.
I’m also surprised to hear her voice again. She hasn’t uttered a word to me since I caught her in my room. Not since she scurried away, red-faced and flustered.
“I never told you,” I say, unable to take my eyes off the scene ahead of us. “You look beautiful today.”
I leave without another word.
I am too tired of all the thoughts inside my head to partake in the festivities.
I must rest now, for tonight, our lives change forever.
***
“Our brothers and sisters of the Veil have gathered in the Grand Hall.” I stand in the doorway of the Head’s lavish study. “It’s time.”
The brief moment of peace that fell on me in the banquet hall brought back the clarity I’d lost since first encountering Lilith. And although she’s proving to be a continued distraction, this matter demands my full attention.
Before anything else, I am its shield.
The Head gazes out of a floor-to-ceiling window, observing Midnite City in the distance, sparkling like a jewel in the night. Even from this far out of town, the biggest and brightest neon signs are visible.
There’s MilGen in its rustic military green, protesting peace at the low cost of their bullets.
Kurohana Industries, headed by Iniko’s parents, urges forgetting flesh and bone for metal replacements.
Lux-Peak Technologies will bring you the future today.
And then, there’s Crawford Enterprises, the city’s founding father.
The Head waves me to enter.
“You sound glum,” he says, unwilling to break away from the view.
“I’m not.” I stop beside him, following his eyes, inspecting the Sprawl and the Bleed analytically. I pity the poor souls who reside in the chaos we are about to unleash.
“Dissatisfied?”
“Uncertain,” I say, giving him what he wants.
“Don’t be.” He lays a hand on my shoulder. It hangs awkwardly over the front, given our significant height difference. “The Spirit has to see what she belongs to, firsthand. Maxwell’s trial will give her a brutally honest look into what we are.”
“May I speak freely?”
He draws back his hand and peers at me for a moment, his thin lips pursed together.
“Of course.”
“What happens if the Hand isn’t found guilty of his crimes?” The ultimate judge is neither me, nor the Head. It falls upon the Heart to deliver a verdict.
“He won’t resume his life as normal. He will see this assault on him and his loyalty as a betrayal of the worst kind.”
Part of me, but not a very big one, wishes the sentence will swing in Maxwell’s favor. To stop what will come if it doesn’t, before it has to be explored.
“He would be foolish to relinquish his title. The Veil built him up, and we will watch him crumble all the same.” The Head steps back, and starts for the door. “Either way, Elias will make a good substitute.”
“He will.” I’m not pleased by it, but I can’t fault the logic either. Elias dedicated his life to the Veil long before my father became the Head. And as he gets older, it makes sense for him to take on the more leisurely role of an advisor instead of being my lookout at the bookstore.
Although, I will miss him at the door.
“Speaking of Henderson…” The Head cuts himself off, expecting an answer to a question he didn’t ask.
“He has been collected and awaits trial below.”
“Excellent. Come. Walk with me.” He starts for the door. I follow.
“When this matter is out of the way, I will announce Maybelle’s position as Spirit. If Maxwell should be found guilty, the same will be done for Elias as Hand.”
Ah, so he didn’t know after all. That gives me reason to believe Elias isn’t on board with this. I’m glad. Perhaps, despite all my many assumptions about this, Elias won’t just bow down and let the Head trample over him.
“What about Lilith?” Merely speaking her name forms a pit in my stomach. I crave more than a simple taste of her.
“She’s of no concern. An unwanted accessory,” he says.
I stifle the low growl that’s threatening to leak from the back of my throat.
We make the rest of the walk through the halls and down the stairs of the Crawford mansion in silence.
A short journey through the garden brings us to a nondescript building.
It’s situated near a lake and the stables, and to onlookers, it could be any number of things; a toolshed, a supply store, or even just some long-forgotten construction that has been left for nature to consume.
Stepping inside, however, one realizes it’s none of these options.
Apart from a single rack against one wall, it’s empty.
But it’s not what you can see that makes this room special.
It’s what you can’t. Beneath a trap door that blends seamlessly into the wooden floor around it, a stairway presents itself.
The stairs are carved from stone and lead into the Head’s chambers.
Each wall contains a door that leads to one of the many hidden environments, to which the Veil’s scribes commute on a daily basis.
We blast through the chamber, into the North door, and down a final tunnel that brings us to the Grand Hall.
When we reach the ornate double doors outside it, the Head stops and takes me by the wrist.
“Do you trust me, Ghost?”
“With my life.” I have no hesitation. Until proven otherwise, my theories are just that. Theories.
I won’t let them cloud my duty.
“Then believe that I’m doing what’s best for the Veil. In time you’ll come to understand it, but for now, trust me.” His words linger in my ears uncomfortably, somehow proving and disproving every conclusion I’ve come to so far.
He releases me and slips his right hand into his opposite sleeve, drawing his mask from it.
Like mine, it’s almost human in design, but not quite. That’s where the similarities with my mask end. Instead of pure ivory, the Head’s mask is decorated with gold, emeralds, and rubies. It’s a symbol of the wealth and power that only he can command.
He slips it over his face, and pushes the double doors open.
The Great Hall is carved out of the very rock that creates this cave. The pillars holding the ceiling above us, depict the Veil’s sigil on each face, an ornately designed V resting atop a depiction of the North Star.
It’s simple in design, but our symbol carries centuries of weight in its meaning. It’s meant to symbolize how we always look North, to the future, guided there by some higher power.
The Veil congregates on one side of the room. Our members sit along the back wall, elevated for viewing ease and protected by a wooden rail that’s draped in the same maroon cloth that our people wear.
The Council sits before them on a platform, right in front of the action.
Tonight, only two of the five seats are filled. The Heart and the Spirit.
My place is not beside them tonight. It’s to oversee our prisoner, for the Head.
“There’s a Judas among us,” the Head begins. No need for preamble or greetings. Those of importance know why they’re here. The others are here to bear witness to what happens to anyone who stands in our way.
“A dissenter has not only put our lives in jeopardy, but also risked exposing the Veil altogether.”
Chattering erupts among those behind the Council.
“I bring this matter before the Veil,” the Head speaks over the noise, when he’s had enough of waiting. “To rectify any transgressions and to slow the spread of the poison our Judas has released.”
With that, I head for the door that would have led them in and open it. Maxwell Henderson stands behind it; his hands and feet bound by chains. His eyes are baggy and his clothes messy, from his confinement in the railyard.
A flood of gasps silences the Veil. Every member stares at the accused in awe, as I lead him to the Head. This was a man they trusted, he was our second in command, and now he is our prisoner.