Page 53 of Girl, Unseen

But then a face appeared in the window: a pale moon slice bisected by a slash of green. A mask, the same as his own. Eyes glittered behind the plastic. Luca's hand twitched toward his gun before he could stop it.

Easy there, cowboy. Blowing your cover in the first thirty seconds would be a new record.

The door creaked open, but the figure said nothing. Just stood there, waiting, like death's substitute teacher.

Luca's throat went desert-dry. The password. What was the password? Blood-something. No, Latin for blood.

‘Sanguine.’

The word felt ridiculous coming out of his mouth, like he was auditioning for a high school production of Macbeth. But the figure stepped aside. No secret handshake. No cosmic response. Just silent permission to enter what had once been a vintage clothing boutique.

The guard - if that's what he was - stepped aside. No pat-down, no weapons check. Either these guys were very trusting or very stupid.

One last deep breath, one last moment of sanity.

And he was inside. Over the threshold. No going back, at least not for another two hours – or until someone busted him.

The store's front section still contained racks of ancient dresses and suits entombed in plastic. Their empty sleeves pointed the way toward a back room - probably stock storage in the building's previous life. Luca stalked his way through, trying his best to look like he'd done this before. Light leaked around a partially closed door, and Luca pushed through into a space that had been cleared of everything except chairs arranged in a perfect circle.

Five were already occupied.

Each person looked identical – black hood, green mask, military-straight posture. No way to tell who was who except for the numbers on their backs. Luca quickly took stock. Two. Three. Five. Six. Seven.

Which one's the killer?

Some nodded at his entrance. Others remained still. Every instinct screamed at him to memorize details, but that wasn't what Felix would do. Felix would just take his seat, keep his head down and wait for instructions.

So that's what Luca did.

Every breath through the mask's filters sounded too loud. Luca felt eyes on him through identical masks. Did they know? Could they sense the impostor in their midst? His hand itched to touch his weapon, but he kept still. Any second now, someone would realize he wasn't Felix. Any second now the whole thing would go sideways and he'd have to shoot his way out.

But nobody moved. Nobody spoke. The silence had weight, like something you could drown in. The only sounds were breathing and the distant wail of sirens - this was still New York after all, even in this pocket of unreality.

Two more figures entered together. Four and eight, judging by the numbers on their backs. They were joined at the arm like teenage sweethearts, and Luca could only imagine what kind of relationship wastypified by cult participation. They took seats beside each other. By Luca’s count, that made eight bodies in the room so far.

His training kicked in, hesitant as he was to utilize it. Study the targets. Note details. Conspicuously.

Three was tall, lean. Five had thick forearms visible below rolled sleeves. Six kept touching their collar like it was choking them. Seven's right shoe had a scuff on the toe. Four had a tattoo on their wrist and flakes of skin on their mask and shoulder. Aside from the surface details, he couldn’t make out a whole lot.

Luca felt eyes on him through identical masks. Did they know? Could they sense the impostor in their midst? His hand itched to touch his weapon, but he kept still.

They know.The thought crept in uninvited.They can tell you're not Felix.

But that was paranoia talking. He had his gun. He had Ella and Ross outside. He had training none of these wannabe occultists could match.

His burns chose that moment to flare up like they knew he was lying to himself. Same way they'd screamed at him back at the farm, right before he'd frozen.

Not this time. He wasn't that rookie anymore.

Still. Something about the silence got under his skin.

The temperature dropped. Or maybe that was just Luca's imagination working overtime. But something changed in the air. The others sensed it too. Footsteps echoed from somewhere beyond the shelving units. Backs straightened. Heads turned toward the door.

He appeared like an apparition.

Ezra Crowley looked nothing like the others. No mask, no hood, but he didn't need a mask to look inhuman. Six and a half feet of lean muscle wrapped in what looked like designer tactical gear. Blonde hair hung past his shoulders, sides shaved to reveal tattoos that might have been circuit boards or ancient runes. He wore what appeared to be modified welding goggles with multiple lenses that caught the light like insect eyes. He had a face that belonged on ancient coins, with sharp angles and hollow cheeks.

His clothes were all clean lines and dark leather, more cyberpunk messiah than traditional cult leader.

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