An overweight boy with his hair dyed in pink checkers grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the exit, yelling at me urgently in Japanese. He didn’t know I couldn’t be saved.
The boy’s fingers pressed into my arm, forming little indentations there. As he tugged me along behind him, I watched the flesh fall away from his arm in blackened chunks. He turned to me, tears of blood running down his face. The last threads of the vision invading my psyche.
I wrenched my arm away. The visions were bleeding over into my reality at an alarming rate. It was getting hard to tell what was real and what was not. As the tide of bodies finally swept me onto the street, the cool black air slammed me in the face. Clusters of confused hipsters were pointing and ogling just outside the club.
I fell to my knees at the curb and heaved into the gutter. When the retching finally subsided, I wiped the wet tendrils of hair from my face and searched the crowd. I had to find Dora.
Finally, I saw her glasses through the crowd at the same moment she saw me. Relief flooded me as she elbowed her way over, Stubin in tow. There was no sign of Adam or Mercy. I hoped they were safe, or I would never forgive myself. I didn’t know how it had happened, but this disaster was my fault.
Dora took my hand and pulled me to my feet.
“Adam?” I wheezed. “Mercy?”
“Holy Hera in a handbasket! Where the hell have you been? I tried to go back, but the bouncer thugs wouldn’t let me in!” Dora wrestler-hugged me. Stubin shoved his hands in his pockets.
“I’m happy to see you, too. Now we have to find Adam and Mercy,” I said.
As if on cue, Mercy Mayer hobbled like a wounded glamazon out of a thicket of punks, ravaged platform heels in hand. She was sobbing and shivering uncontrollably.
“It was so awful! People were stepping all over my shoes and then the sprinklers turned on and they got all wet and Harlow left me and—” A hiccup interrupted her rant long enough for her to notice we were missing someone. “Where’s Adam?”
She flung the question at me like an accusation, as if I was keeping him hidden in my pocket only to increase the cruelty of her evening. I looked down at my feet, shame washing over me.
“He left,” I answered.
A wounded look flashed across her face. I almost felt sorry for her.
“Is he okay? Was he hurt?” Her eyes darted around the crowd, looking for him.
“I’m not sure,” I whispered.
“Everything you touch is a disaster,” she hissed, her voice scalding.
She was right. I’d known what this foray could mean and I did it anyway. I was selfish.
“We’re getting out of here.” Dora stepped between us, defending me. “All of us. Taxi. Pronto.”
She took my hand and tugged at Stubin’s sleeve. He leapt into action.
“I’m on it. Taxi! Taxi!” Stubin started waving like a madman and charged down the street. We followed him, melting away from the crowd, as sirens approached, like dandelion seeds scattered on the wind.
As we tottered down the street, I looked back. A broken little piece of me hoped to see Adam combing through the wreckage for me, desperately wanting to tell me it was all a big mistake
But all I saw were anarchy signs, and in my heart and mind the reckless unnamed anarchy of Her. The one I couldn’t stop, closing in around me. Blotting me out until I ceased to exist.
As usual, the ride to the top was lonely.
Tonight, it was just me and my warped reflection in the stainless steel elevator, watching the number creep up, up, up while Muzak assaulted my gray matter. We’d tried the service elevator and it was out of order. Which probably meant the Watch was on to our disappearing act.
I considered whether to go camp outside Adam’s door until he returned. Demand that he speak to me. Try to explain the unexplainable. Make him see that I was still the girl he spent those endless summer nights with in the carriage house.
Until Mercy’s phone lit up with a text.
“It’s from him—it’s from Adam!” she screamed. She thumbed her way through the words, biting her lip in concentration.
“He wants me to meet him in his room,” she said, aiming the words at me like a gun.
I felt nauseated. After what had passed between us tonight, how could he run to her? But the more I thought about it, how could he not?
The bell dinged. Everyone but me was getting off. I wasn’t going to fight Mercy for Adam’s attention. He didn’t deserve to have me barging in on his life and destroying it. Still, my fingers itched at my side and my cheeks burned.
Dora looked at me reluctantly as she and Stubin stepped off the elevator after Mercy, who practically sprinted away to meet Adam. “Are you sure you don’t want us to go up with you?” she asked. “Make sure you get there okay?”
I looked at her hand firmly ensconced in Stubin’s. It had taken me all night to realize it, wrapped up in my own self-involved world as I’d been, but I was really excited for Dora. She had an actual boyfriend. A boyfriend with a rock-star pedigree. Someone to care about her and love her.
I shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen to me on an elevator ride?”
Her beetle-brows drew together in a frown as the doors slid shut. She knew I was taking the fall for the rest of us, and she also knew I wasn’t going to let it happen any other way. I’d instigated this mess, and there wasn’t any point in taking the rest of them down with me. Besides, there was always the off-chance I’d be able to sneak past a sleeping sentinel and get away with the whole fiasco scot-free.
I noticed my reflection in the metal doors of the elevator—something was off. The image smirked back at me. Then she winked.
Ting.
I jumped backward as my reflection split in two and the doors slid open. I’m seriously losing it, I thought as I stepped onto the dimly lit hallway. Silence. The stress was playing tricks on my mind … or something.
A thread of light crept out from beneath the mahogany doors of the master suite where the General was sure to be slaving away at his desk, answering pleas from devoted followers or revising his next speech. Maybe nighttime would soften him into something more closely resembling the father I used to know, the man who was little more than a memory these days. The father who had me ever-present at his side, who used to hug me and tell me I was the most important thing in the world. Even parental disapproval held a certain appeal right now. At least it was acknowledgment. I needed someone to see me.
I slipped the slim keycard into the door of my room, a smaller satellite just down the hall. The alarm flicked green. It was almost spooky that there wasn’t a Watcher waiting at my room. I guess I wasn’t quite the priority I’d imagined myself to be. Happy birthday, Harlow. No one noticed you were gone.
I was just wiping the kohl from my eyes when a swift rap at the door jolted me. My thoughts flew directly to Adam. I couldn’t think of anyone else who would be knocking on my door in the middle of the night. Still, I hesitated. Adam could be pretty reckless, but he probably wouldn’t chance the General’s displeasure by lurking outside my room. When a second knock didn’t come, I panicked and ran to the door. If he was reaching out to me, the last thing I wanted him to do was leave. With Adam, it could be a limited-time offer. It wasn’t like he hadn’t just seen me at my worst.
When I flung the door open, I was face-to-face with a cross-armed Watcher dressed like he was running covert ops for the Navy Seals instead of fetching a misbehaving teenager. Faster than I could say so screwed, I was standing in front of the General’s desk.
He hunched in his beloved high-back chair, under the glow of an antique lamp. He took that chair with him everywhere he traveled; it reeked of the sweet-sour smell of lemon-scented furniture polish. The VisionCrest Patriarch did as he liked. There was a framed picture, on his desk, of him with Eparch Fitz when they were much younger, standing shoulder-to-shou
lder in the middle of a busy street in Siem Reap, tuk-tuks darting around them like minnows around a sunfish. Their faces were serious, my father’s damaged eye wrapped with a bloody cloth bandage and me swaddled in his arms.
The General’s thick fingers drummed at the brass buttons on the chair’s armrests, and his lips pressed together like they did when he was trying to solve a particularly complex problem. He didn’t even acknowledge my presence. The silent treatment was never a good sign. I expected him to fix me with his deadeye stare—the coldest in his repertoire, the one that meant I was royally flushed. I’d really done it this time. Maybe enough to earn a full-blown quarantine I would never get out from under. Goose bumps rose on my arms. It wasn’t just the icebox temperature of this and every room the General stayed in; it was the chill of dread.
Instead, he looked up as if he’d only just registered that I was there. He cracked a weary smile. If he noticed that his daughter looked like something the cat dragged in, it didn’t show.
“Harlow.”
He sounded surprised. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d summoned me only to get absorbed in something else moments later and completely forget about me. His brow wrinkled like dough under a rolling pin.
“Sir?”
He snapped his fingers. “Yes, how could I forget?”
Standing up, he walked around the desk, picking up a small, square package with silver wrapping and an elaborate bow as he came to my side.
“It’s your birthday. With all the nonsense earlier, it slipped my mind. I bet you thought I forgot completely, right?” He held the package out to me.
I had officially entered the Twilight Zone. I took the present from him, unable to remember the last time he’d hand-delivered a gift on my birthday.
“Sort of,” I whispered feebly. Did he not notice that I was fully dressed, with makeup half-smeared across my face?
I carefully peeled away the wrapping. Inside was a velvet box. I opened it. Nestled on a cushion was a gold band with the crest of the All Seeing Eye stamped into it: my initiate ring. I plucked it from its resting place and turned it over in the light. I hadn’t thought that I wanted it, but holding it now it felt like the Rosetta stone, like it would help me to decipher the purpose of my life.
“You’re seventeen now. I’ve arranged everything so you can cross the veil tonight.” He beamed. The General didn’t beam. “We’re going to the Tokyo temple right now.”
I stared at him. “I haven’t actually been feeling that well. The migraines and all,” I hedged. Maybe there was a way to put it off just a little longer. Make sure I really wanted to go through with it.
Disappointment flashed briefly in his eye, then determination. He was not interested in hearing no for an answer.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been hard on you lately, Harlow. I know it’s not easy to be the daughter of the Patriarch. Trust me, taking the Rite will make you forget all that.”
I was confused about a lot of things, but one thing was crystal clear: I wanted to be worthy of my father’s love. If this was what it took—to take the Rite and wear his love around my finger like an unbreakable promise—I would do it.
He wrapped me in a hug, the first one I could remember in at least a year. Had he hugged me on my last birthday? The familiar cherry smell of tobacco wrapped itself around me. I rested my cheek against the rough material of his suit. If his affection was the reward, I would go along with whatever he wanted.
“I’m honored, sir.”
“It’s almost the Violet Hour. They’re waiting for us—it’s time to go.”
THE RITE
Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the VisionCrest temple. The deserted neon glow of pre-dawn Tokyo was the only witness to our convoy of bulletproof sedans slinking through the city streets. We pulled around the back of the temple, where there were two special entrances—one that only the Patriarch could use, and one for the remaining Ministry members and their families. Everyone else had to enter through the grand entrance at the front, which on every VisionCrest temple looked exactly the same: a giant eye that split down the middle and opened to welcome the masses into its mysterious center. As it was nearly the Violet Hour, the temple would be packed with devoted followers assembled for their meditations. Today I would officially become one of them. A slither rolled through my stomach.
“Who will be my second?” I asked as we climbed out of the car. A second was a spiritual mentor, of sorts, from the moment of the Rite forward. I’d always fantasized that mine would be Adam. It was a bond for life, and if there was anyone I wanted to be bonded to, it was Adam Fitz. But he was in his room with Mercy Mayer. Maybe the General had forgotten to tell him and the whole thing would be called off.
Always meticulous in his appearance, the General picked at his sleeve as we walked to the entrances. “One of the British Prelates is passing through town with his son—do you remember Prelate Cantor? He and his son Hayes stayed with us in Twin Falls a few summers ago while the Prelate was taking a survey course.”
“A little,” I lied.
It was exactly five summers ago. Prelate Cantor was nothing more than a shadowy memory, but I definitely remembered Hayes Cantor. He was my first crush, two years older and impossibly out of reach. Even though he’d barely acknowledged me the entire week he was in my house, I thought about him for years afterward. I couldn’t help but feel a little thrill at the possibility of him being my second at the Rite.
“Prelate Cantor’s been a little on the fringe lately, and this will be a show of good faith—a strengthening of our alliance, if you will. Having his son second my daughter binds us tighter. Pay attention, Harlow; one day these are the decisions that will belong to you.”
My father breezed through his entrance, leaving me standing there dumbstruck. Not at his confirmation that Hayes was my second, but at his allusion to me taking an active role in leading the Fellowship. He’d never done that before. I scrambled through the Ministry entrance, eager to hear more.
My eyes adjusted to the darkness. There was a sliver of light peeking out from behind a thick velvet curtain that divided the front hall from the inner sanctum where we were. Through the crack, I could see that the hall was full. A thousand heads bowed in prayer.
The Violet Hour was considered sacred, the time when the veil between the Inner Eye and mortal man was the thinnest. With enough meditation, and initiation into the many-leveled mysteries of VisionCrest, True Believers could eventually transcend into the Inner Truth and receive the gift of life everlasting. According to the General, at least. If you asked me, it was thinly veiled all right—a thinly veiled fantasy.
“This way, Harlow,” the General instructed.
I tore my eyes away from the worshippers and followed him down a thin, dark hallway. He stopped us in front of a plain wooden door marked with the crest of the Inner Eye and the Roman numeral I. The inner sanctum of every temple had a series of marked doorways. The level you were attempting to attain determined the door you walked through. The first Rite was notoriously simple to pass, but most people never made it beyond that. There was no way of knowing what it would entail. Many gave the Fellowship years of their life and savings for spiritual training to attempt the next mystery, only to fail at whatever awaited behind the door marked II. Sacristans had attained the seventh level, and Prelates the eighth. The Eparch had completed nine, and only the Patriarch had attained all ten. Rumor had it that my father had discovered even higher levels, which so far only he could conquer. Big shocker. I was willing to bet that the General would keep inventing levels until the day he died. It was an insurance policy that kept him and his favorites in power, while everyone else labored for something that remained perpetually out of reach. And here I was, about to willingly participate in the world’s biggest lie just to gain my father’s approval. The slither rolled through my gut again.
The General passed through the ma
rked door. I pursued him down a frigid hallway lit by the glow of candles mounted along the walls. The air smelled like lavender mixed with sulfur. The murmur of chanting grew louder. I spotted a vent in the ceiling—the voices were coming from the Great Hall, where the VisionCrest faithful were beginning their Violet Hour ablutions.
At the end of the hallway, there was yet another door. The General paused in front of it.
“You will enter alone, signifying the choice you make tonight: to join the Fellowship of your own accord, ready to receive the Inner Truth, or else be severed from it entirely. Do you accept these terms?”
There was no room for hesitation. The mere mention of being severed made my nerves sing with fear. I should have known that was the choice I would face—it must have been how all those lost boys ended up at the Blue House. Nobody really talked about it, or at least not with me. VisionCrest secrets inspired discretion, even from those who didn’t believe in them. I wasn’t prepared to leave my whole life behind. How could I?
“I accept,” I said.
The General’s mouth curved up for just a moment. It was the closest thing to outright approval in his repertoire. He pulled a length of fabric out from inside the breast pocket of his jacket and draped it over my head like a veil.
“Proceed,” he said.
I placed my hand against the wood and pushed. It was warm to the touch. It swung softly open and I stepped through. The door closed behind me, and the chanting stopped.
The room was a cocoon of dark silence, suffused with a blue light that shone dimly through a series of gauzy panels that hung down from the ceiling. It was a transparent maze. As I passed through the panels, the silky fabric shushed across my shoulders.
Someone whispered behind me. “Closer.”
I spun around. No one was there. I thought of Her voice—the terrifying things I had just witnessed inside MegaWatts—and shivered. I had to make it through this without a meltdown. It might be the most important thing I’d ever done.
Another whisper came, more insistent. “Closer.”
The Violet Hour Page 5