Page 23 of Fragile Facade
I want to ask what he sees when he looks through the masks, but I fear the answer, so I don’t. I jerk my chin away from his knuckles, looking straight into his eyes as I don one more mask. The god in control of his life. The demon chasing him to tempt the afterlife. The powerful Vile Boy who has no weaknesses or vulnerabilities.
As my transformation happens, Ghost’s smile widens. “Mmm,” he hums sensually. “This is my favourite mask.”
“It’s not a mask. It’s your fate.” I’m so close to demanding the ninety seconds. This feels like too much, and I need the reprieve.
“You’re my fate,” he counters, leaning in until his nose brushes mine. In a husky whisper, he says, “And I’ve always loved tempting my fate.”
I close my eyes to feel his words in my chest. They beat and bang and thump so hard my skin prickles with goosebumps and the fine hairs on my arms stand up. It’s a declaration of who we are and what our purpose is. It’s his body so near mine, alive and thriving, taunting me into turning it dead and sombre. When the thump in my chest stops, it’ll be when he’s gone.
Because my heart beats maliciously for his—because of his. Spiteful and cruel. Honest and offbeat.
His phantom warmth still lingers, but he’s no longer here when I open my eyes. Gone, just like the ghost he is.
“You okay?” Remi startles me from the doorway. He looks like his brother, but their vortexes are vastly different.
“Where’s Soren?”
Remi’s face scrunches. “Soren? He never came here.”
I hate that it takes me a second to question my thoughts. Was he here, or was he a figment of my imagination?
When I look down and see the corner of a calling card peeking out of my jeans pocket, I know it was real. Teal splashes across the skeletal torso, and on the opposite side, Ghost’s message.
How can I descend any further when you are my deepest pit in Hell?
* * *
Something isn’t right.
Moros is unsettled. The streets are vacant and dark, illuminated only by shop signs and the moon, and the curtains are all pulled back, owners peering through to see what may or may not come. Remi’s shop plays sad, melancholic music that drifts out onto Death Row in gloomy waves, setting the tone for a night we have yet to experience.
Is this ambush coming or is Yates a fucking liar?
Masked, I sit atop The Midnight Diner, watching Death Row before me and a backstreet behind me. The asylum’s tallest turrets are visible from this high up, and even it appears still, holding its breath in anticipation of the madness it might be tasked with unleashing. Axel sits in there somewhere, waiting for his opportunity to brainwash a member of Reaper Corp.
Most porch lights are unlit, not wanting to invite the kind of company promised on a night such as this. The shutters are drawn, the cars parked and locked, but no one is sleeping. It isn’t a restful evening because our town is on the precipice of turmoil. Reaper Corp is coming, and tonight might be their first strike.
Yates only said ‘something is coming’ but we’re not stupid.
Ransom paces behind me, his red mask as menacing as it always is. Across the street, Monster stands stonily while Menace shifts from foot to foot beside him. Scattered throughout town, the Vile Boys are on watch, guarding the areas most likely to be attacked. Death Row. Vile House. The Asylum. The Cemetery. But Ghost is at Misfit Hall, playing the part of a gang member to relay any information from Yates. It was Yates who warned of this ambush, so it’s Yates we watch closest.
Menace climbs over to the roof of the tattoo shop, Death Mark, and then hits the street to do a ground-level sweep. My eyes track him, but he soon dips out of sight in his blue mask.
“Monster talk to you the other night?” Ransom asks.
“Not verbally.”
“How’d he seem?”
“The same as he always is, but quieter.” I shift my mask to get a better view through the eyeholes. “What’s the deal with you two? You fuck him to make it all better?”
“Watch your fucking mouth, Riot.”
I grin behind my mask. Ransom isn’t easy to rile, and since I’ve known him, the only time I’ve witnessed it has been when it has something to do with Monster. Sometimes, it’s a threat to Monster, but most times, it’s the little shit himself. He knows how to button push, and he’s made a living out of pushing Ransom’s. It’s their dynamic, but I’m curious if it extends to the bedroom.
“Anything?” Ransom asks into his earpiece. “Ghost?”
“Nothing here,” Seven says. He’s at Vile House.
