Page 52 of Girl, Unseen

Ella followed Luca out into the hallway. She closed the door behind them.

‘This is harder than it looks.’ Luca tugged at the mask where it pressed against his nose. The elastic strap had already left a red line across his cheek. ‘You know this is completely insane, right?’

She smoothed his hoody down at the shoulders. Luca was a noticeable few inches wider than Felix, but hopefully the other members would chalk that up to his clothing. ‘If you don’t want to do it, it’s fine. We’ll just take this group down the official way.’

‘We’ve come this far. And if I record everything that goes on, we might get some good circumstantial evidence out of it.’

She studied his face, remembering the farm, the way he'd frozen at the sight of those barns. Yes, they might get some good circumstantialevidence out of it, but she couldn’t put the job before her partner, despite the coldness between them at the minute.

‘You’re a good agent, Hawkins. And an even better liar. If anyone can do it, it’s you.’

‘Thanks. If you hear gunfire, that’s your cue to come running.’

‘You got it. Me and Ross will be waiting outside.’

‘Good.’

‘Are you all ready?’ Ella asked. ‘The fun starts in a couple of hours.’

‘Yup. Just let me work on my accent then we’re good to go.’

Somewhere out there in an abandoned clothing store, eight chairs waited in a circle. Eight masks would gather to discuss mysteries and transformation.

And one of them might just be killing people in the name of ancient wisdom.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Infiltrate a cult. Find a killer. Don't get made in the process.

Just another Wednesday night.

Luca found Madame Butterfly's lurking between a defunct Chinese place and what used to be a video store. The building reminded him of crime scene photos – everything preserved exactly as it died. Plywood sheets covered most of the windows like cheap bandages on old wounds. There were graffiti tags that might or might not have been left by the Order. What glass remained hosted a collection of mannequins with dead eyes that judged anyone stupid enough to be in this part of the city after nightfall.

Four months as a Special Agent. Four months of desk work and crime scene photos and helping Ella chase serial killers. Now, here he was, about to walk into a room full of potential murderers while pretending to be someone else. The FBI Academy had courses on undercover work, but nothing prepared you for the real thing. Nothing prepared you for wearing another man's clothes while a voice recorder pressed against your ribs like a tiny cold hand.

Felix's boots felt wrong on his feet. The hoodie was too tight across the shoulders, and the airsoft mask made every breath sound like he was dying of consumption. But the worst part was the silence. Usually Ella filled these moments with jokes or trivia or stories of how she’d done something like this before and it had all turned out fine. Tonight he had nothing but his own thoughts for company.

And now it was nine PM. Showtime.

Up the block, Ella's SUV blended with the shadows. He fought the urge to look directly at it. Even rookie agents knew that much - acknowledge your backup and you might as well wear a sign saying ‘Hello, I'm a cop.’ But knowing she was there with Ross helped. A little.

Luca killed the Honda’s engine, stepped out and made his way down the road, past the video store. November in New York didn't mess around - it went straight for the bone and set up camp there. His burns throbbed against the cold. Two weeks wasn't long enough to forget what fire felt like.

Luca felt his Glock against his hip and his voice recorder against his chest. Latest tech, according to the Manhattan Police Department. Thinas a credit card and good for six hours of recording. They'd taped it carefully, tested it a dozen times, but what if it failed? What if it picked up nothing but static? What if it made a noise?

Stop it. This wasn't helping. Focus on the mission. Get in. Record everything. Get out. Simple.

At least this building was brick. No wood, no hay, nothing that could catch fire. His mind kept circling back to that, no matter how many times he told himself this wasn't Oregon.

Yeah, simple. Just like brain surgery. Pretend to be a guy ten years younger than you, who looks and acts nothing like you. God damn, why couldn’t Ella just take the easy route? Why did she have to be so theatrical about all of this? The woman had transformed his life for the better over the past few months, but he wished she’d do things by the book sometimes. Sure, rogue tactics sounded great, right up until the director was stringing you up by the balls because all evidence you found was inadmissible in court.

Luca arrived at his destination. No lights inside. No sign of movement. Just an old glass door withMadame Butterfly's Vintage Clothingetched in fading gold letters. Below that, someone had scratched what looked like symbols into the glass. Triangles and circles that hurt his eyes if he looked too long.

Just another lost soul looking for meaning, he told himself.Act the part.

He touched his Glock again. Fifteen rounds plus one in the chamber. If things went sideways, he had options. Loud, messy options that would definitely ruin everyone's night, but options nonetheless.

What was the procedure here, anyway? Felix hadn't mentioned protocol. Did cultists knock? Just walk in? Was there some secret handshake he should know about? Stupid Felix. Couldn’t he have given him a little more to go on? The handbook on infiltrating alchemical societies was surprisingly thin on details.

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