Through a chain of buses and taxis I had almost made it into the Greater Toronto Area by the day of the masked dinner. It was the early hours of the morning and I still had a ways to go to the address stated on the invitation, but I didn’t want to spend any more money out of fear that I might be getting tracked.
The government had made a public statement a few days ago: H.E.S.P. was to be disbanded and there would be a serious and extensive inquiry into all those involved. Hopefully everyone at the safehouse had made plans on what to do, either to surrender and risk being pinned with blame, or to lay low for a while and test to see how much resources the government was really willing to put into this investigation.
I couldn’t risk getting found here, so I had ditched my phone, but not before memorizing each and every one of my friend’s numbers, repeating them for hours like a mantra during the bus rides.
Car headlights swept up and down the highway as I trudged on. The cold had worsened in the nighttime. It seeped into my clothes so crossing my arms for warmth only brought the fabric, stiff with frost, closer to my skin.
I felt like shit. The waves of emotion from Nell that had been a near constant of my waking hours were gone. Without them, my body felt weak, my mind aching and dull.
I hadn’t thought this through. Clearly. But it wasn’t cold enough to lose fingers to frostbite, or so I hoped. Shaping had changed the way I looked at pain. Not that I’d ever been particularly adverse to doing risky things but the knowledge that harm could be reversed made experiencing pain easier on the mind.
A truck roared past, uncomfortably close to the shoulder of the road, spitting up rocks near my face. But then the red brake lights flared and it pulled over in front of me.
My stomach did a little flip as the hazard lights began to blink at me. Suddenly my lack of Shaping ability was unnerving. But even as I slowed my pace, the truck didn’t seem to be moving on. There were construction materials in the bed of the truck and I read the sign printed onto the glass of the rear window: Fowler’s Roofing and Exteriors.
Eventually I worked up the nerve to approach the driver’s side window.
A man in a flannel shirt stared me down. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, so much so that his mouth practically disappeared into his bushy brown beard. One hand rested on the steering wheel while the other arm rested on the partially rolled-down window. His finger tapped rhythmically. A wedding ring glinted from the empty cup holder.
“Cold out there?” he asked.
I briefly met his eyes. “Uh. Yeah.”
“Where you headed?”
I shrugged. “South.”
“You’re not on drugs are you?”
I shook my head.
He frowned like that was the wrong answer, each tap on the window increasing in volume. Then he stopped and I heard the doors unlock.
He stared straight ahead as he said, “I’m headed for a site so I won’t change my route, but if you want to ride along you can. It’ll be closer to somewhere you can get warm, anyway.”
I was about to decline when a draft of heated air from the cabin warmed my nose. I’m not as tough as I think.
“Okay. Thank you.”
I went around and climbed into the passenger seat. The man cranked the AC and accelerated back onto the highway. Heat emanated from the seat, swaddling me in comfort. My shivering stopped and I nearly sighed in relief.
Toronto’s skyline stood in the distance. The buildings scraping along the empty sky made me feel homesick for Sillwood.
The man’s head stayed forward, but I could tell he was sneaking glances at me out of the corner of his eye. I tried to just enjoy the quiet vibrations of the truck and the fans of the air conditioning buzzing pleasantly.
Until his voice cut through it all, “Are you a man or a female?”
Even under the influence of the emotional dampening drug, my heart rate spiked. His head had turned now and I could picture the thoughts going through it.
“Man.” The word tasted bitter, but it was the safest choice.
He was quiet for a moment, then he turned back to face the road. “I wasn’t sure with that long hair.” He left the other stuff unsaid. Puzzle pieces that he must think belonged to different puzzles, the voice, the shoulders, the chin, the eyes.
But whatever, I was just thankful that when I looked into the side mirror I didn’t catch a glimpse of the Broken-Neck-Man over my shoulder. Being numb was kind of nice, in a way.
We turned off into a residential area. It was under development, with houses sitting in various states of completion. Some were skeletons of wood while others were already wrapped up in weather-resistant tarps. The houses were spaced far apart, with big yards, even though some of them were just fields of churned up dirt.
Just when I thought that was the end of the awkward conversation, the man scratched his beard and said, “My daughter married a woman pretending to be a man.”
Ah, fuck.
He scoffed and I heard his knuckles tighten around the leather of the steering wheel.
“It used to be that a man was a man. Now people are spreading all sorts of strange ideas.”
Who asked?
“Now we got women walking around with all these delusions in their heads. All because these sick bastards are going into women’s-”
“I’ll get out here,” I spoke over him.
He paused and looked around. There weren’t any convenience stores around or even a bus shelter I could feasibly be asking to be let off at.
“There’s a few places on the way-”
“Here’s fine.” I couldn’t look at him anymore.
Reluctantly he slowed down and I quickly tried to open the door, only to find it locked. My face flushed as I hit the unlock button and jumped out. I just started walking, waving behind me without turning.
Eventually I heard the truck accelerate down the road and I could take a relieved sigh.
I’d take the numbing cold over another second of that one-sided conversation.
After another half hour of walking, I came to a convenience store where I could ask for directions to my destination. Despite my feet begging me to take a break, I pushed on. We weren’t too far and I didn’t want to be late.
Another two hours passed as I shuffled along sidewalks and back alleys. I’d needed to backtrack a few times, but finally I found the neighbourhood I was looking for.
The sky was beginning to brighten, but I couldn’t yet see the sun over the rooftops of the extravagant gated houses I walked past.
A crow cawed at me from atop a homemade sign that read “No Shapers in our city!” along with a picture of a smiling family. I kicked it, eliciting a satisfying crack as the thin post snapped and the sign fell to the grass, wet from thawing the night’s frost. Watching the crow flap away while protesting the rude treatment, I felt a bit of confidence return. Even without my Shaper “cheating”, I was in decent shape. I could fight if need be.
A jogger wearing a gold watch and a bluetooth earbud had chosen that moment to round the corner ahead of me. Upon witnessing my vandalism, his face paled and he quickly returned the way he’d come.
The crows laughed as they watched. I glanced up to the heavily pruned trees, seeing that more black-feathered birds had joined in. The sound of the murder of crows all talking to each other prickled my memory. I picked up a stone and threw it at the biggest clump of them. The birds scattered to the skies where they wheeled above like vultures.
Was it him?
I dipped into a pedestrian path with high walls on either side.
The birds only seemed to get louder and more brazen, the tight space amplifying their calls. I stopped at the exit of the path. There was a mirror on a post that allowed me to see the street. A vaguely human silhouette stood in the middle of the street, crows darting to and from their body, obscuring their form and features.
My heartbeat quickened.
Wings and feathers swarmed around their outline as if they were made of the crows.
I pressed against the wall and spoke loudly, “Are you here to kill me?”
Silence, and then a raspy but still familiar voice, “I am considering it.”
“How did you find me? Did you follow me here from the battle with Organ?”
“Since the moment you took my face. Many of the flock have come and gone, but I make sure that each youngling is raised knowing your face.”
That sent a chill down my spine, even in my emotionally muted state. “Seriously? You’ve been after me since Sillwood?”
“You carved me from my place!” he snarled. The crows spilled away from his form, almost seeming to modulate their voices to his, sometimes matching his pitch eerily. “And yet you are surprised that I would be unsatisfied with anything less than your tortuous demise?”
“Well, sorry, I guess?! But you were kinda holding my friend hostage.”
The Crowman paused, seeming to collect himself, then spoke, “Did you take the drug they gave you?”
“Want to find out? You really want to take that risk just to get a chance at killing me? I promise you I’ve changed too. I’ve gotten much stronger.”
A crow landed on the post and began pecking at my reflection. Tink, tink.
“I don’t need to do anything,” he said with relish, “I will wait and watch. My fury does not burn hot, it cannot burn itself out or be extinguished. There will come a time when you lose your last ally and your last bit of light winks out and you run out of corners to turn. When you can no longer lift a finger to resist me, that is when I will have their beaks pluck each sinew of your body apart. Only that will give me satisfaction.”
With that, he walked away, his exit masked by the storm of black feathers.
I breathed out as the crows dissipated and I was left with a strange kind of aching in my chest. The past kept coming back to haunt me in the most unexpected ways.
Pushing onwards, it didn’t take long for me to reach my destination at the end of the street. A gate and walls towered high above its neighbours, sending a clear message: Even if you are wealthy, we are not the same.
The gate was made of blackened wood, with metal accents and a small intercom that rested on the wall next to it.
I pressed the button and someone answered immediately, “Name?”
“Nick.”
A camera whirred as it rotated to face me. “Excellent, you are on the list. Don your mask, please. Then you may enter.”
I pulled out the mask and small bits of antler fell to the road. A crack ran through one of the eyeholes and the loop of antlers had broken, leaving more of a crescent moon shape. I turned it around and to my surprise, the inside was filled with flowers. Roots stretched across the mask, ensuring it didn’t fall apart further. A goodbye gift.
My confidence rose a little higher. Thanks Nell. The flowers cushioned my face as I donned it, the quiet scents calmed my heart as the gate swung open and I stepped through.
The house was massive, a mansion of sleek modern design. Two luxury vehicles each sat on raised platforms on either side of the driveway. Set dressing rather than anything intended to be used. One was silver while the other was ebony white. I noted the Forte brand’s logo, a producer of self-driving cars. The house itself was a mix of shiny black square shapes and pale wood, the pillars and doors all made of the same flawless material, giving the impression that it was all carved from a single giant tree, framed by shapes that looked to be precision designed in a factory.
I had previously done a quick internet search and found that this property was owned by the Wulf family. The head of the family, Jason Wulf was a billionaire and the owner of Forte Autonomous Vehicles. He was a private man and while his wife had made public appearances, it was unknown if he had any progeny.
Two smartly dressed people, I assumed to be staff, opened the double doors to let me in. The floor was black marble with veins of white and more cars lined the way forward. Each seemed to follow the design of opulent carvings and if the impression wasn’t obvious enough, there was a large white statue of a nude woman, made in the classical Greek style, waiting at the end of the hall. One of the woman’s legs was broken off and a wire had been installed to add extra stability, giving me the impression that the missing limb wasn’t the artist’s vision.
A staff member with a waxed moustache walked up to me with a pen and notepad. He eyed me up and down as he wrote rapidly. “Hmm. The mask is a bit gauche but I can make it blend,” he muttered as he stared at me critically, as if he didn’t know he was speaking aloud. “This way, please.”
I was led into another room, where a woman was assisting a masked person slide on a vest suit. The green mask looked like the head of a crocodile and the outline of the person’s legs under pinstripe slacks made it clear their legs were Shaped, the joints bending in reverse. The pants had been custom-tailored to match that unusual shape and the staff assisting them was crouched down, hemming them in.
The staff muttered to herself, “Twenty-nine point two three seven waist. Thirty seven inches length, we’ll adjust it by one point seven six to maintain mobility. The ratio aligns with a slightly flared pant leg…”
I recognized the odd way that the staff member spoke. She had been with the Outcasts in Oldtown Sillwood, hiding in an abandoned shopping center when we’d fought the Red Ring and the rampaging Goblin. More ghosts from the past.
I crouched down to her level and spoke softly, “Hey.”
Her eyes flicked upward for only a second. “Twenty three point three millimeters axial distance to the optic nerve…” she paused. “No. I was doing cuff diameter…”
“How is Spike doing?” I asked.
“Good. He is three thousand two hundred kilometers and two hundred eighty degrees west from us.”
I blinked. “That’s pretty far. Good to know he’s okay.”
I stood and the male tailor who had assessed me immediately thrust clothes into my hands. “Try this and this. We will make adjustments afterwards.”
I turned and came face-to-face with the reverse-legged person. Up close I could see their mask was made of plastic and the features of the crocodile were cartoonish. It was amusingly at odds with everything in our surroundings being so bougie. The staff had made them wear a dress shirt with a pale green vest that had a shimmering fish scale texture to it to try and match the mask. The mask had large eye holes, letting me see their long lashed eyes and the top of their cheekbones.
“You know her?” she asked in a soft, feminine voice.
“I only met her briefly but it left an impression.”
“You’re giving me quite an impression with that terrifying mask.”
I grinned, then realized they couldn’t see it. “I like yours.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t think much of it, but they had me in this dressing room for half an hour now. I think I upset him.” She eyed the grumpy tailor who moved hurriedly around the shelves at the back of the room, collecting different pieces of clothing.
I gave a nod and stepped into the curtained off area serving as the changeroom. There was a mirror inside which gave me a good look at how the ebony white suit fit me, complete with bone-white cufflinks. I took off the suit jacket. A black dress shirt underneath, with silver buttons that looked like flowers. I stood still for far too long, trying to figure out what about the outfit was rubbing me the wrong way. The pit in my stomach only seemed to grow deeper.
Fuuuuuuck. Now is not the time.
I hurriedly left the changeroom, only to find that the crocodile-masked woman was standing right outside.
“My name is Chiara,” she said.
“Nick.”
“Sit with me, Nick. We can pretend we’re not strangers.”
She exited with a strange gait and I was left with the fussy staff who made adjustments to the clothes.
After they were finished, I adjusted the mask as I stood in front of the door. Showtime.
I entered a lavish banquet hall as classical music echoed up to the high ceilings. A long table stretched down the space, carved with numerous intricate scenes of history. Lions and gladiators, wars and treaties. Inlaid jade created a flow that drew the eyes from one scene to the next, telling some epic story of human history. Seated at the table were the rest of the guests, all masked.
Some looked around with polite interest, while others were clearly sizing up the other attendees.
One wore a mask of charcoal black, constantly shifting rectangular pieces. Another wore not so much a mask as a heavily distorted face, Shaped to be a mess of eyes and angular bones pressed against the skin.
One was a face without features, merely sunken places where the eyes and mouth should be.
One man wore what appeared to be the living head of an angler fish, still opening and closing its needle toothed mouth around his brow and chin, as his eyes peered out from within.
I searched the room for Chase and didn’t find him. Was he among the masked?
At the head of the table, a witch hat sat on a cushion. A ribbon was wrapped around the point where the brim of the hat met the cone. Visible beneath the semi-translucent ribbon was a mouth.
A tongue emerged, licking its lips and pushed at the fabric and then it spoke in a woman’s voice, “Ah! Our final honoured guest. If I recall correctly, you ate my servant back in Quebec.”
She chuckled without warmth. “Welcome, Nick. Please have a seat. We will soon begin the feast.”