Page 44 of Fragile Facade
“Guess we’ll see.”
“Guess we will.”
He grins. I grin. The atmosphere changes and the game becomes darker.
“Vile House!” Menace shouts down the corridor. “Director wants a meeting. Lock got voted in!”
* * *
Today,we aren’t in rank. We’re in the theatre room, spread out through the seats with the lower-ranking members behind us. We’re unmasked, at ease, and Director stands at the podium. Axel isn’t here with him. Neither is Psych, Medic, or Media, and Lock hasn’t been allowed in yet.
“Few things,” Director starts, his exhaustion showing. He’s gotta be in his mid-fifties—I’ve never cared to ask—but he looks younger. He’s well-kept, well-dressed most of the time, and has good genes because his hair is barely salting and his skin only wrinkles on the rare occasion that he smiles. But this threat is real, and I can tell he carries the burden of it heavily on his shoulders. “First thing, Death Row maintenance.”
We all groan, but he goes on.
“Shifts. I want at least two of you there at all times to help out. Kyd, you’re going first because you need to get the hell out of the asylum and let Axel work.”
“But he likes being distracted by me. Look how fun I am!”
“You’re going to Death Row. Facts and Glitch, you go with him. Krypt and Menace, I need you two to head out to Carnival Hill.”
Menace groans. “Ah, man! Come on, Director. You know The Harpy hates me!”
I snort. “More than hates you. Actively tried to kill you.”
“Failed.” Menace grins like he’s King Shit. “Let the old hag try again.”
“That old hag is twice the person you are, so keep your shit together and don’t piss her off,” Director says, dishing out more tasks.
The Harpy is an old woman who lives in a rotting cabin in Janie’s Woods. It’s close to Carnival Hill, and it’s said that she haunts the forest—Janie was her granddaughter, so the name is fairly new, but the locals have taken to it. She’s a crusty old bitch who never comes to town, instead sending her son-in-law to run her errands for her. She’s alone out there, but she’s probably the most lethal resident in Moros. I’ve been afraid of her since I was a kid, and she’s the only level of death I haven’t tempted. Her dark skill? Poisons. And she’ll poison whoever the fuck she wants if they disrespect her, Carnival Hill, or Janie’s Woods. She’s like a witch, haggard and weathered, strong and wise, feared because of lore that terrifies children, but powered by gossip that is true. She really did try to kill Menace a few years ago because he walked into Janie’s Woods and shouted her name seven times.
That’s a no-no. The only person who can evoke Janie’s spirit is The Harpy herself. She showed up out of thin air, spoke a weird language to Menace, and then blew a powder in his face. He passed out right then and there and got trapped in a nightmare for almost a whole week until Director brokered a bargain with The Harpy to get the antidote. He wasn’t allowed to know what it was, so instead of giving him the antidote, she made us bring Menace to her. We dropped him on the decaying wooden floorboards of her cabin and watched as she covered him in some potion, blew something up his nose, and smacked him across the face.
Menace had sprung up, terrified, but he looked right at The Harpy and smiled. “Touché,” he had said to her, and she gave him a single-tooth smile. It’s been touch and go ever since.
“Ghost!” Seven smacks my thigh, dragging my attention out of that fun memory. He nods at Director, who is apparently speaking to me.
“What?”
“Anyone in The Misfits we need to be wary of?”
“Nah. Other than Yates and Tom, they’re all just a bunch of gangsters in need of a better leader. They’ll be good with Lock in charge and some structure, so no. They’re fine. Everyone hated Yates.”
“Alright. Let me know if you change your mind on that.” Director bends down and grabs his mask from his bag. Motioning at the back wall of hanging black funeral robes, he says, “Throw on your masks and put on a robe if your clothes can be recognized. Auggie is coming in.”
I haven’t been seen in this outfit today, so I don’t put on a robe, but I pull my teal mask over my face, secure it around the back of my head, and pull my hood up to hide my hair. When everyone is ready, an initiate escorts Auggie into the theatre room. She looks around, gawks a bit, fists her hand over her heart, and we do the same.
“Welcome,” Director says to her. This is new. We don’t let outsiders into Vile House, but we’re trying to secure a bit more trust with some of the locals who will be beneficial during this oncoming war. “Welcome to Vile House.”
“Thank ya,” she says. “Not much for talkin’.”
“That’s alright. You said you had a few names you wanted us to watch for?”
Auggie, who owns the Umbra Inn, pulls out a few sheets of printer paper. Holding them up one at a time, she starts telling us who checked in over the past few days.
“This one’s a twat. Frat boy but looks too old. This one’s his boyfriend. This one’s got somethin’ bad in his room ‘cause he ain’t lettin’ housekeepin’ in.” She holds photocopies of their driver’s licences up one at a time. “This one say he got family in town, but won’t say who. This one is lookin’ for his missin’ buddy.”
“What’s the buddy’s name?” Riot asks.
