The man smoked a cigarette and watched him. He wore a grey suit without a tie. His greasy blonde hair was slicked back, and he reclined in the middle of the sofa across from Hawk, who felt naked under his stare. Between them was a solid coffee table outfitted with a hydraulic lift that could probably hold a horse.

The doorbell chimed. A pretty girl in a white dress that conformed to her body entered, bearing a tray. She silently and mechanically set a silver coffee cup on a silver saucer in front of each of them, and a little silver bowl of sugar equidistant between. Next to Hawk’s coffee cup was a tiny, spherical, boner pill the color of an afternoon sky. He hated them. They gave him heartburn and headaches.

She showed him her pad, and he fished four hundred dollars out of his backpack and handed it to her. Then she stood back, took the hidden zipper on the high neck of her collar and lowered her hand like a violinist, revealing a river of pearlescent flesh that dovetailed as she went down, stopping only when she reached the naked knoll of her crotch.

Hawk swallowed a lump in his throat. His phone vibrated and he jumped. “Hello?”

“It’s Nine. Is Spike with you?”

“No.”

“Fuck.”

“He’s not there?”

“No. Fuck, we had a fight. I thought he was pouting in his room. His board is gone too. I’m worried. I really got mad.”

“What happened?”

“It was a big fight. You know.”

“Christ. Well, go find him.”

“I can’t. Rhonda’s had morning sickness all day. Mom isn’t doing good.”

“Bro, he’ll come back. Let him cool down. You know how he gets.”

“Please, man. He can’t be out there alone. Those things…”

“Alright. I’ll find him.”

“Thanks.”

“Bye.”

The man blew a plume of light-gray smoke into the air and jacked an eyebrow.

The woman was still as a statue, focus fixed at a point in the room between the man and Hawk, over the coffee table somewhere on the floor. Her tits, capped with small aureoles and pink nipples, were perfectly symmetrical. She wasn’t going to give his money back. It wasn’t in her programming.

“I gotta go,” he said.

The man forced a laugh. “I paid to watch you fuck this robot.”

“You haven’t paid for anything.” Hawk stood and slung his bag over his shoulder.

The man jerked to his feet and like a snake strike, reached out and hooked around his wrist. He was strong and wiry.

“I paid the room fee. You can play with her,” said Hawk, trying to twist away.

Whack!

At first Hawk did not feel pain, but his ears rang, and his neck felt heavy.

The man lifted his hand again for another slap. “My time is money. I said, I paid to watch you fuck a robot. Now take your medicine and fuck her circuits out.”

“Asshole,” spat Hawk. He jerked, but the man held tight, a leer on his face and a throbbing shaft in his pants.

“That’s funny coming from a whore.”

“Let me go.”

The prickling started behind his eyes. No! he shouted in his head, but the fever was rising.

“Ow! Fuck!” The man ripped his hand away. “Jesus fucking Christ!” Blisters were already boiling on his palm.

Hawk bolted for the door. He hit the stairs, taking them three at a time until he was outside in the cold night air, bathed in the azure illumination of Blue Street. Next to him, a young man stood in a window front. He wore only tight briefs. His eyes rested curiously on Hawk leaning against the concrete wall of the coffee house, trying to catch his breath.

It was okay, he didn’t feel the ripple or taste the sizzle in the air. He hadn’t disturbed the Veil.

This was going to suck. The client was probably already leaving a bad review on his profile page, a page that had taken him a lot of work to build up to a point where he was noticed among the throngs of escorts.

Fucking Spike. Where was he this time?

When he turned down his street, he saw the man with fingerless gloves dropping chunks of wood into the trash barrel fire.

He skated up. “You see a boy?”

The man looked at him. He leveled a hand right under his chest to indicate roughly around Spike’s height, then put his hand next to his temples and wiggled his fingers.

“Yes. Loppy dreads.”

He pointed silently up. “Very rude,” he said.

“That’s him. Thank you.”

“You okay?” He reached out and gently touched Hawk’s cheek.

Hawk pulled back and ran his fingers where the client had slapped him. It was tender. “I’m fine.”

The elevator was working for a change. He examined his face in the polished door. Slight swelling. Gone by morning.

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His hall was dark. One light at the far end by an open window. An empty whiskey bottle had taken its place next to the empty vodka bottle. That was what people did in this building: drink, meth, spin. Pick your poison.

He stuck his head out the window and looked up. It was ten feet to the roof. Spike had climbed the drainpipe bolted to the bricks.

He unlocked his door and entered the dark apartment. It smelled like toast. He turned on the lamp on the little desk his uncle once wrote at and threw his bag on the lumpy sofa. Then he climbed the ladder and opened the hatch to the roof.

The wind bit his face and held a damp fullness that promised snow. On the far side of the rooftop, he spotted the boy’s shadow gazing at the shimmering mammoths of the BAT.

“I hate him,” Spike said without turning.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“I know your sound.”

“Nine’s worried, Spike.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Dude, Nine is just—”

“An asshole,” said the boy.

“You can’t take off like that. You gotta think. There are so many things that can go wrong. Shit’s heating up out here.”

“The hunters?”

“Not just them. If the cops find out, they’ll take you away from Nine.”

“I don’t care. Let them take me.”

“Hey, you can’t fight when you’re locked up in some group home.”

“I’m already locked up. I wanna be free,” cried the boy.

Hawk rested a hand on his shoulder. He was cold. He was shaking. “How long you been up here?”

Spike shrugged.

“Let’s go down. Get warmed up.”

Spike raised his arm, finger out in the direction of the high-rises. “I wanna get lost in there. I wanna evaporate into the lights and the music.”

“Yeah. Float around like a fog and haunt all the refugees,” said Hawk.

“Yeah,” said the boy.

Inside the apartment, he sat Spike on the sofa and wrapped him in a blanket.

“You hungry?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll make you some—”

“I don’t want toast.”

“I was gonna say…” He opened the cupboard. Inside a can of tuna and a piece of crust in the bread bag sat forlorn in their hiding place. He plopped down next to the boy. “You want to talk about it?”

Spike shrugged.

“You been writing?”

“Yeah.”

“I want to read it.”

“It ain’t finished. You have to wait.”

“What’s it called?”

“You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“I will not. I don’t think anything you do is stupid.”

“Except run away?”

“The hunters could find you. You know that thing at the Cage. There are more of them. A lot more.”

“I’ll kill them.” The boy smashed his fist into his palm.

Hawk leaned back. Spike fell against him, resting his head on his chest.

“What other stupid things do I do?”

“You take the shortcut to the Cage.”

“It’s faster.”

“Yes, but one of these days a tuk-tuk is gonna take you out. Those guys don’t give a shit.”

Spike shrugged. “And?”

“And don’t climb the water pipe anymore. Shit!”

“I did the secret knock. You weren’t home.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Where were you?”

“A client.”

“Is that who hit you?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Nine called.” Hawk tugged gently on one of the sun-kissed dreads.

“Sorry.” The boy contemplated him. “So?”

“So what?” Hawk played dumb.

“Du-maa!” Spike cussed. “Tell me.”

“He wanted me… to fuck a robot.”

“What? Are you serious? A girl robot or a boy robot?”

“Girl. Don’t think about it.”

“How can I not think about it?”

“There are a lot of weirdos out there.”

“I’m a weirdo,” said Spike. He buried his face into Hawk’s armpit and took a deep breath.

“Smell good?”

The boy looked up and wrinkled his nose. “Smells like… Hawk.” He smiled and bit the tip of his tongue. “Sibal! Look.” He extricated himself from the comfort and warmth of the sofa. “I can’t talk to Nine about this. I know it now.” He shucked off his shirt. There was a bandage over his left pectoral, which he peeled away with a wince to reveal three Xs the size of a quarter carved into his flesh.

“The fuck, Spike?” Turmoil surged within Hawk. He recognized what this was. He would do anything to stop this from happening to Spike. He would find the fucking hunter who had maimed him and cook his brains.

“And here,” Spike said, pulling down the waistband of his track pants to show another bandage. He peeled it away to reveal, just above his boyish sprouts of pubes, a long cut with a signature flourish at the end.

“No,” Hawk whispered. The urge to vomit hit him like a truck. He ran to the toilet where he wretched up the contents of his stomach, the only thing he’d eaten all day: a piece of toast and a half cup of leftover coffee.

He despised himself for his lack of control. Spike needed someone strong, someone who could protect him.

He brushed his teeth and washed his face. He couldn’t look at Spike. He opened the window and stared out at the Chinese restaurant. The freezing wind rushed in. It felt good against his skin.

“You know who it is, don’t you?” said Spike, wrapped once more in the blanket.

“I’m sorry,” Hawk said. “It’s my fault. I led him to you. Somehow… in one of the dreams… I… I think I pulled from the Veil.”

“Who is he?”

“All I know is his name is Andreas. And it’s not enough that he cuts you. He has to fuck with you.”

Spike joined him at the window. Down below, the man had vanished, and the trash barrel fire was dying down.

“In my dream last night, the dream I wanted to tell Nine about,” said the boy, staring out the window with unblinking eyes, “I’m on top of the buildings. I’m all alone. I’m running, trying to get away, and they are coming faster and faster. He is coming. And I know what he wants. I have to jump from building to building, but the distance keeps getting wider. Then I can’t. I can’t make the jump.”

“Spike, it’s a dream. You’re okay.”

“It’s not just a dream. Fuck, it’s not just a dream! This isn’t a fucking dream!” He dropped the blanket from his shoulder and touched the Xs on his chest. “He’s standing behind me with the others. I’m so afraid. I can’t turn. They’re trying to crawl into my head. And when he speaks, it hurts. It hurts in my teeth. He wants me to tell him everything. He wants me to tell him where I am. He wants to know who Nine is, and about Rhonda’s baby, and he wants to know about you. And he wants to know… my secrets. And if I don’t tell him, he’s gonna cut me into little pieces and feed my toes to the birds and my legs to the dogs, and my balls to the rats in the sewers, and he says he’s gonna take my head and keep it with the other heads.”

The boy was gasping for air, his chest heaving. “I know I can kill him,” he said somberly.

“Spike—” Hawk tried to calm him, but the boy cut him off in a fury.

“No. I need to say it. I need to tell you before I die. I can do it. I know I have the chant inside me. I know… I know… I know I can just reach out and touch it. But if I do, he will find me, and he’ll find you, Nine, and Rhonda and her baby.”

Hawk shut the window. “Come here,” he said.

He pulled the blanket from the boy and led him to the bathroom. From the cabinet behind the mirror, he retrieved his first-aid kit: a clear plastic bag with a yellow zipper. Ever so gently, he cleaned and disinfected Spike’s cuts and patted them dry. Then, with his fingers, he spread antibiotic gel over them (Spike giggled and tried halfheartedly to block his applications on his lower regions.) and finally, he applied new bandages.

Shirtless, in his sagging trackies—the white bandages contrasted against faun-brown skin—and his pleading, puppy-dog eyes, made the boy seem as some dejected warrior, still brewing for a fight. This kid was made to chant.

“Put on your shirt,” said Hawk. “You got a jacket?”

“I forgot,” said Spike.

He went to the closet and took down the good old coat he had outgrown. He tossed it to Spike, who brought it to his face.

“Smells like you.”

“You can have it. It’s impervious to the wind and has a hood that shoves down the back for when it’s raining, or your ears are cold.”

The boy slipped into the coat. It was a little big, but he would grow into it.

“It’s like magic armor. Nothing can hurt me.”

“It ain’t magic, but it’s warm.”

“Thank you.” He jumped on Hawk and hugged him. “You’re nicer to me than Nine.”

“Look. Nine, he’s got a lot on his plate.”

“Yeah, I know. So where are we going?”

“It’s a secret.” Hawk closed the window.

“I like secrets.” Spike winked.