Page 60 of Hex and the City
“Too late for that,” said the Masque’s voice. “Look up.”
I almost didn’t for fear of what I would find there. Swarms of demons with the leathery wings of bats? A rain of fireballs? Much more mundane than that, actually. It was Big Gwen, her clocktower looming above us, above the city. How the Masque knew that we were in just such a position to admire her was anyone’s guess. Sunlight glinted off her face, off the gleaming metal that framed it.
“Big deal,” I said, risking a glance upward through the windshield. “I drive past her every day, and — oh. Oh, God.”
“Do you see it now?” the Masque asked.
“Well, fuck,” Leon breathed.
“That shouldn’t be happening,” I muttered, my mouth loose as I stared at the giant clock in wonder. “That can’t be happening.”
Both of the hands adorning Big Gwen’s face were moving in reverse, winding backward. The numbers themselves were wavering, much like the objects caught in the anomaly fields we’d spotted in the park and at the plaza. And the glow of the clock face itself was more luminous than usual, almost pulsing with an eerie, ghoulish green.
Any normals who happened to be looking would definitely know something was up. The Masques could spin it as a publicity stunt, maybe. Knowing the quickening sand’s effects, though, this anomaly wasn’t going to stay subtle for much longer.
“We’re converging at the base of the clocktower,” the Masque said. “We’ll need all personnel available to counter the spell and nullify the anomaly.”
And that was it. A click, and the line went dead. No urgent plea for backup, no warning for us to stay away. That was as close as the Masque would ever get to asking us for help.
“He wants us there,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Just too proud to admit it or ask directly.”
Leon scoffed. “Yeah. Real subtle.”
I nodded at the road, even though I was actually nodding at him. “Hang tight. We’re heading for Big Gwen. Look at you, getting the grand tour of the city.”
Leon sank into the passenger seat, grasping the bottom of the cushions tight. “I’d really love if this grand tour ended with me shoving my foot up the anomalist’s ass.”
“That’s the spirit,” I crowed, slamming my foot on the gas.
Several minutes and quite a few red light violations later, we made it to the base of Big Gwen’s clocktower. She was surrounded by mostly commercial buildings, the better to lure unsuspecting tourists and drain them of their precious cash.
It’d been a while since I’d gotten this close to her. I knew it was the anomaly’s doing, but that ghastly glow supported my theory that Big Gwen served some sinister occult purpose. Maybe she wasn’t just some eclectic landmark and tourist trap.
“There,” I said, nudging Leon with my elbow, leading the way. “Masques gathering all over the place.”
“I bet that’s going to creep out a bunch of the normals, seeing all these people in masks. Maybe they’ll think it’s a flash mob. Do people still do flash mobs?”
I twirled my finger in a circle around my face. “Turns out they can tune the masks to a certain frequency for the normals. Makes it so every Masque is just another face in the crowd.”
“Well, I guess that helps. But here’s what I still don’t get.” Leon smacked the back of his hand against my shoulder. “What is the anomalist hoping to accomplish? The first two anomalies felt like test runs. But a clocktower? What’s actually happening here?”
“Maybe it’s symbolic,” I said, my fingers held loosely at my sides, prepared to fire a spell at a moment’s notice. “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough when the anomalist unmasks and makes a big, villainous speech about their evil master plan.”
Leon chuckled. “You think that’s going to happen? They’ve been content to keep their lips sealed and their face hidden this entire time. Bothers the hell out of me. Makes them seem so much more dangerous.”
“Speaking of hidden faces.”
I nodded at the crowd of senior citizens whispering and gesturing at the clocktower. Masques, all of them, every last one. So they could disguise themselves from other mages, too. Interesting. Also helpful for keeping their presence hidden from our anomalist friend.
A sweet old man in a fuzzy yellow cardigan waved at us in greeting. When he opened his mouth, out came good old Mr. Masque’s voice. Very dissonant. Very confusing. Hated it.
“Drake, Alcantara. We need all Masques on hand to dispel the anomaly. We’ve got some of our people scouring the grounds. You should join them.”
I grimaced. No “Please,” no “Thank you,” and spoken with unshakeable confidence, this steadfast expectation that we two knucklehead finders didn’t have anything better to do. Sure, we could dedicate our precious daylight hours to tracking the anomalist.
Asshole. Sorry, assholes. Both the Masqueandthe anomalist.
Would have been nice to fire a witty comeback, but I didn’t want to just sit on my balls, and Leon clearly didn’t, either. We still didn’t know what this time mage, possible spider, and confirmed anarchist-anomalist was up to. Trouble, for sure.
