“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.
