by Lynch, S. M.
‘What do I do?’ I asked them all.
‘Bury your aunt. Then go back to New York and keep hope alive. We can only do our best. We can keep trying,’ Philip told me.
‘I wish I could go back right now,’ I argued. ‘I feel hopeless sat here doin’ fuck all.’
‘Hope, remember? Hope is paramount. You stay, show your defiance… and it shall spread hope,’ he assured me.
I nodded and shook his hand. Camille gestured at the door, ‘Let’s go back to the shop.’
CHAPTER 7
Past
Five years previous, my sights were set on Torsten Reiniger, a known asset handler of Officium’s. Handling what – I wasn’t entirely sure to begin with. I thought people were his commodity perhaps, or the secrets they kept, maybe even the scientists Officium traded like gold between their various HQs around the world. Other bleak rumors abounded. Judge a book by its cover and you might miss a good story, but in this case, there was something definitely worth delving beneath.
He wore the most peculiar outfits. His hair was scraped back. His thin, wiry spectacles unnecessary; he had the money for painless, corrective treatment. His eyewear was a prop, I thought. His tweed suits were perfectly tailored, made to measure, all the material matching. His shirts looked drawn on. He had not a hair or speck out of place. I had watched him from a distance as he ate at Manhattan’s best eateries… always alone. I peered through a camera lens and sensed he knew he was being watched. He was too proud to seem bothered but clearly it pained him to be out in public. A show of defiance, no doubt.
He had spent years hiding in dingy corners, only ever spotted occasionally, and all of a sudden he was everywhere. It made no sense so I asked around and got nada, maybe it was sheer ignorance or fear. I took to thinking that maybe that would be it. I wasn’t going to learn anything more about him and his curious motives.
It struck me as a little bizarre when around the same time, Eve called me up to deliver some news. She wanted to attend Fashion Week for the first time. She asked if I would accompany her and I was aghast at the notion. Of course I could get tickets ‒ Francesca would procure them – though many would observe my presence with suspicion.
I was suspicious, too. Eve didn’t like to leave her shop and only traveled for purposeful business meetings, if she had to travel at all. However, she was adamant about it, holding a long vis-call with me one night over the damn thing.
I remember the day Eve touched down. She had gotten herself one of the most exuberant suites in the Plaza hotel. Two-and-a-half-thousand square feet of opulence. I walked into the lounge to be greeted in a broad Yorkshire accent, ‘Seraph, how nice to see you again. My, you’ve changed… and how awful this suite is.’
Never mind that the surroundings could have easily belonged in the Élyseé Palace.
‘Aunt Eve, you haven’t changed at all! How do you do it at your age?’
I kissed her cheek and gestured at Eve’s long, platinum hair, which was tucked back into an old-fashioned but graceful style.
‘What do you mean at my age? You’re only as old as you feel.’
‘How did you manage to get a suite here?’
Eve spoke with an air of superiority, ‘Oh, I thought seeing as though I don’t do this very often, I might as well treat myself. I pulled some strings, my dear.’
‘I see,’ I grinned.
Eve assessed me with an air of cool. ‘I keep up with your reports, you know… some of them are very interesting, but this job must take up a lot of your time and energy?’
Eve motioned for me to join her for some tea at a terrace outside, and we sat at a white garden table with matching chairs. All around were tubs of fake conifers and dwarf rose bushes, amid a background of smog, traffic and the bustling park.
‘Yeah, I’m kept pretty busy, but that’s the way I like it… and I don’t need a lecture on that subject.’
I had too many piles of shit to shovel though I wasn’t going to admit that.
‘What is currently occupying you? I only ask, because, well…’ she trailed off, and my curiosity over her interest got the better of me.
‘Just say it,’ I urged her.
‘You look exhausted, darling,’ she told me.
‘Thanks, thanks a bunch.’ I rested my head back against the chair and could have taken a quick nap. My head was thick with foggy exhaustion that made me dizzy easily and required perpetual use of aspirin to keep my headache at bay. I was barely sleeping.
‘Come on, you can tell me,’ she encouraged. ‘There must be something, something gnawing away at you. I can see it. One thing in particular…?’
I took some deep breaths and a few sips of the Earl Grey she had already poured for me without asking whether I wanted coffee.
I told her all about Reiniger. His look. His way of being. Aloof and untouchable, unapproachable but there. Always alone. I explained that there was just something about him that didn’t look right, something odd. More than physically odd. He was an unsettling presence.
She absorbed my words before giving me her opinion on the matter.
‘Assets… my first thought is a secret. That is the world in which we live. He is either trying to protect one or explode one.’
‘Okay…?’ I tried to follow her train of thought though I had no faith it would lead anywhere. I had been trying to figure him out for weeks.
‘Tweed suits, you say?’
‘Yeah,’ I told her.
‘Only one place still produces custom-made tweed. In Edinburgh. Let me ask my friend…’
She fired off a message on her gadget, which she kept on her lap so I couldn’t see it. I sensed her protectiveness of the thing, but right then, I didn’t comprehend it.
A ding announced a return message. She pursed her lips, ‘As I thought. They have one foreign customer who fits the bill, spectacles and all. He orders the suits in store, but has them shipped to his house on Park Av. He… wait… she thinks he has a glass eye lurking behind that eyewear.’
She looked up, clearly something had occurred to her. She gazed at the sky briefly before returning her attention to the xGen.
‘Goddam, what?’ I begged. I was shattered.
I watched her expression darken. There was some thought she had that she didn’t want to divulge immediately.
‘Seraph, there is something…’ she trailed off.
‘Yes…?’
‘My assistant Camille once told me a story about a man with a marble eye. I never forget a tale,’ she assured me, ‘nor the details.’
‘That is why he wears the glasses? Makes him seem less… disabled. Just peculiar.’
‘Must be,’ she said.
I knew there was more.
‘Camille told me he was known for recruiting, or should that be trafficking, fighters. For Officium’s force of emissaries, of course.’
‘How would she know?’ I begged.
‘Oh, she traveled, you know. She got about in her student days… hearsay… that sort of thing.’
‘Great, another rumor for me to work with!’
I could have sworn Eve was typing away on her xGen under the table but her eyes were fixed on me. She was either prattling or able to touch type with great accuracy, which was something on those damn small things.
‘Is he dangerous? Did she mention that?’
‘I think he is,’ Eve told me gravely.
‘Fill me in on the blanks,’ I demanded.
‘Have you heard of UNITY?’ Eve asked.
‘Vaguely. One of the main resistance groups… they are thought to be even more careful than Officium… headed by a mysterious figure known as the Operator.’
My aunt quickly interjected, ‘Seraph, don’t mention names.’
‘Surely we are safe to speak freely here?’
‘Yes, but even still, I don’t like to hear them mentioned.’
‘Okay. Anyway, I hear they are based somewhere in Europe, but have members all over the world.’
‘I heard he was once one of them,’ she said without hesitation. ‘In fact I think he got very close to the Operator… they might even have been friends. He used to deal in all the latest gadgetry but had a different name then. Different hairstyle. Shabbier clothes. He defected, if you like. Got a better offer and swapped sides.’
My aunt stared with quiet interest, a hand held to her face to offset her true emotions. Her similarity to me was extraordinary; I knew she craved scandal and anecdotes as much as I.
‘You know… I have this unknown source who has been feeding me bits and pieces of information over the years. A few months ago, this contact told me to watch a man fitting Reiniger’s description.’
‘How do you know you can trust this source?’
She was still typing I noticed, catching glances down at her lap when she could. I should have slammed my hand down on the table and cursed her for being so rude.
‘I just know that this informant more than any other has given me some very beneficial insights over the years, so it would be absurd not to trust them.’
‘Nobody can be trusted anymore, nobody. You know that,’ Eve warned, her calm disbanded. She dropped her device onto her lap and the knuckles of her hands whitened on the table edges.
I was confused. I felt defensive but told myself to let the conversation take its course. I was just tired. However, with hindsight my hackles must have been raised instinctually. Under that table, she was up to something she didn’t want me to know about.
‘I think I realize that more than most,’ I assured her, ‘however, this is the way I have to work. I have to take whatever bones are thrown my way. My reputation isn’t gonna uphold itself–’
‘Listen to me carefully,’ she interjected, ‘how was this information communicated? To your xGen? Or otherwise?’
I thought back.
‘Of course, my xGen.’
‘Do you still have the message?’
‘Yeah, but–’
She held out her hand and beckoned me to pass my device over, her fingers outstretched.
‘Now, Seraph.’
The pace with which she took the device from me, got it up and running and the messages sifted through was incredible. It was a custom-made piece of gadgetry even I had been forced to learn to use! She was in within seconds, working quickly, sharp-witted.
Her words echoed when she said, ‘I just hooked you up to a hackfinder app I use, on a server I created. Your device is clean so at least we know they aren’t tracking you from that, thank god. However, if you check the details on that message, the ID numbers of the contact it came from are odd. It must have been sent straight from their central computer, not from someone’s xGen. They delivered it with the contact name, “Rascal”?’
She looked down her nose at me.
‘Shit, how could I have been so dumb?’
The Rascal’s stuff usually arrived without a signature; most of his calls and messages were anonymous too. I had just trusted it from the off because Reiniger was mentioned and he was too tempting a lead not to chase.
‘They set a trap for you, Seraph. They want to recruit you as an elite emissary. I mean, come on! Look at you! What a boon that would be.’
‘I would never join them!’ I shouted, standing to bash a fist on the table. Crockery spilt and almost crashed.
I was mostly angry at myself.
‘They wouldn’t need you to submit, darling. That’s one of the cruelest truths about Officium. They would systematically brainwash you for months on end if necessary. Gradually chiseling any semblance of personality and humanity away until you only had your outer shell left.’
I turned from the table and paced the balcony.
‘How can this be? I work so carefully!’
Obviously not carefully enough, however…
‘Bloody girl! You are an asset if ever I saw one! A thoroughbred they could manipulate given half the chance. This is what they do… their influence is crushing enough to make you start questioning yourself. It was a silly mistake, yes. We cannot afford those, not in these times, but Seraph… please, remember how important you are?’
It hit me. Dread. It was so thick within my gut I felt ill. So many people had my xGen number. A little trickery and he made me think he was the Rascal. He wanted me to follow him so he could have his cronies pick me up at some suitable juncture. I was the only reason Reiniger was out on the streets. Damn.
In that moment, I heard some terrible noise on the street below. I dared to look over the railing and saw a massive pile-up on Madison Avenue. Sirens blared. Voices shouted. In the distance I saw more collisions take place.
Eve sat with her arms folded, unperturbed, indifferent to it all. Now I realize what happened… she took down entire sections of the city to divert their attention. For days after that, parts of New York remained useless. Without power, phone service or utilities. She shut them down with a little help from her “friend”.
As soon as the city got back to normal, we went to a few fashion shows and I sat alongside her. I noticed Reiniger at one point, sat “enjoying” a display of recycled clothing. His presence prevented me being bored to tears. He sat at a distance staring at me for a long, long time ‒ with a look that haunts me still. He watched the pair of us curiously, before disappearing with a woman who seemed to be an old acquaintance. If my memory served me right, she reminded me of someone…
Camille must have taken him out. Their biggest asset handler was dead. He must have been, I never saw or heard of him again.
Eve was quiet and distant for most of that visit. She always held my hand, wherever we went. She squeezed it so tight sometimes I could see my knuckles turning blue. The thought of me in danger irked her continually, I knew. She would say, ‘Come back to York, come with me. Stay with me.’ I always had to politely refuse.
After we got over that near-catastrophe, Eve seemed to calm slightly and we spent evenings having meals at the Plaza, one of the last old world places not to have automated service. I shared her suite and we stayed up late every night, talking and reminiscing. We ordered bottles of Guinness because that was the only alcoholic thing she would drink, arguing, ‘Purely for the iron.’
Eve left behind a number of bizarre and retro outfits for me to keep, most of which never got an airing and remained hanging in the closet. We said farewell with so much regret. I remember waiting at the airport with her until the bitter end, desperately hoping her flight would be cancelled or she might decide to stay a bit longer. We promised each other we would try to meet again soon, but life got in the way, and that was the last time I ever saw her in person.
CHAPTER 8
Back at the bridal house, Camille hurried me in and locked the front door. She went behind the reception desk and pressed a button underneath, dropping the iron shutters outside and initiating an infrared detection system.
‘We’ll soon know if anyone tries to break in, but I don’t think they would dare now anyway.’
‘Camille, even I wouldn’t dare touch you!’
She led me through to the back to check nobody had snuck in, before testing the industrial backdoors.
‘I think we are safe, Seraph. Let’s go down and I’ll show you where we carry out our work.’
We walked past a gallery containing several mannequins on which hung various bridal designs, all lit up against some expert backlighting and yet more pink wall decoration. There were gowns of varying shades, lengths, styles and sumptuousness. Huge glass windows shielded them from harm and I recognized Eve must have erected such a space to showcase her work as well as give people something to come and see for free.
Once past the gallery, we went through another door to enter a cold, windowless workshop of sorts. Camille flicked a switch and large spotlights overhead sizzled into life, revealing exposed brickwork and thick terracotta floor tiles. The room housed dozens of boxes of materials stacked up on high metal shelves, along with various heavyset worktables, on which sat industrial-sized Singer sewi
ng machines. At the end of the room, a grey metal door carried the sign Fire Exit. Camille moved toward it and I followed, more curious with every passing minute, watching as she leaned forward to the retinal scanner.
‘ID verified. Welcome Camille Honoré.’
The door clunked as it unlocked and after Camille heaved the entrance open, we entered a dark corridor. As the door closed with a thud behind us, hidden lights illuminated the brick tunnel we found ourselves in.
‘It was either a stroke of genius or pure luck that Eve obtained these buildings, which used to be butchers shops many years ago. Because of this, they all have underground cellars, and we’ve set up our fortified headquarters in them. We also have rooms like these in many other cities across the world, quietly watching those who think they are beyond surveillance.’
I felt pure excitement as I prepared to enter my aunt’s secretive HQ. My heart pounded in my chest and I tried to prepare myself for what I was about to see. I followed Camille along the corridor and down a set of well-worn stone steps, hearing hushed voices in the distance, plus tapping on keyboards. We rounded the corner and found ourselves in a vast underground facility. The walls were covered in digital whiteboards with profile shots and various documents overlaying each other. Members of staff bounced up to touch screens and shift items around as they went about their work. There were three long rows of desks and each had piles of papers, equipment and garbage littered all over them. The team had probably been on high alert, eating whatever they could as they worked all hours. Presumably because of my arrival, I realized guiltily. I recognized most of the workers as members of the bridal shop staff I had met the day before. There were a few other male and female faces too that I didn’t recall meeting.
‘But all this activity?’ I offered.
Camille rapped a knuckle knowingly against a wall, ‘Six inches of synthetic soundproofing, with our own-brand Pyros-D compound woven in. You could fill this room with lava and still emit no heat trace. And I assume you noticed the faint hum of our generator in the corner? How’s that for you?’