“Welcome to the Elite. The name might not mean anything to you now, but I promise it will soon.”

Our glasses clink together in the centre of the table, and we both start taking small sips of fine scotch. My ‘guest’ – for want of a better name, or any name at all – is a little more at ease now, though all six of her eyes are still downcast. I understand what she’s going through, even if I’ve never experienced it. She’s been living on her own, or near enough, for what may as well be her whole life –a little over two weeks if my guess is right – so it must feel strange to interact with other people.

“Now that you’re in,” I say, once we’ve both finished our drinks, “we need to talk business.”

Instantly, her eyes swivel to face me, and she becomes a little more guarded.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” – I try to soothe her – “but you do need to understand who you’re working for.”

Her head tilts a little to the side. She’s interested, even if she’s incapable of saying as much.

“The Elite as a whole is the largest parahuman organisation in the United States, excluding the government’s capes, of course. We have an almost unbroken chain of operations stretching up the West Coast, a strong presence in Florida on the East Coast, as well as tentative presences in New York State and various smaller cities across the US, Canada and Mexico.”

She seems to take in my words without really understanding them. I guess those place names don’t really mean anything to her. I’m not going to be impressing her with the scale of the Elite, but I do want her to understand what it means to be a part of us. So, let’s try a little history.

“The Elite were formed in nineteen ninety-three – about seventeen years ago – in the city of San Francisco. They were called Uppermost back then, and they were a syndicate of cape-run companies specialising in production and entertainment. Tinkertech devices for short-term use, large-scale rapid construction, cape-provided pyrotechnics, or cape actors for films.”

She’s following along, but she still doesn’t seem to understand what I’m talking about. Just how sheltered is she?

“In nineteen ninety-eight, a bill was passed that effectively gutted Uppermost. It introduced a whole host of fines on Parahuman businesses in an attempt to counteract what they claimed was an ‘inherently unfair and monopolising’ advantage. It was bullshit aimed at dismantling Uppermost. It worked, too. With the fines, the construction sector went under, the Cape actors became a blockbuster gimmick, rather than a new industry standard, and the members of Uppermost gradually drifted apart, with the PRT waiting to snap up as many of them as they could.”

I might have let a little emotion slip into my voice, but who can blame me? Sure, I wasn’t even a cape in ninety-eight, but that doesn’t mean I don’t find the whole thing bullshit. My ‘guest’ – really need to sort out the name thing – seems to be following along, but she could be more interested in my tone than my words. That’s alright.

“The PRT” – now the blood’s really flowing – “are the government agency responsible for monitoring capes. Their website says they’re responsible for ‘helping’ capes, but that’s bullshit. Uppermost reached out to the PRT in ninety-eight, asking for help in either stopping the bill, or minimising it. Now, Uppermost and the PRT had worked together before; on large construction projects, Endbringer defences and a few contracted films. They were even working together on the Sydney reconstruction project while the bill was going through Congress.”

I lean forwards, pouring myself and my guest another drink.

“The PRT abandoned Uppermost. Once the bill had passed, they snapped up dozens of Thinkers and Tinkers from the organisation – the people whose jobs had just been made illegal – and put them into the Protectorate or Watchdog; their pet cape teams. A lot of Uppermost, however, saw what the PRT had done, and came to a bit of a revelation.”

I lean back in my chair. This is the crux of the matter, and if she doesn’t agree with this then I may have lost her forever.

“We can’t let humans decide parahuman matters. They’re afraid of us, because we can do things that they can’t, and that fear makes them act irrationally. So Uppermost dispersed, building up resources right under the nose of the PRT while secretly taking control of the underworld. By the time anybody realised what we were doing, the Elite had already spread across the entire state of California, and we’ve gone from strength to strength since. We’re still focused on making a profit, but we’re not going to let anybody hold us back.”

I think I have her. She certainly looks interested, and she nodded her head at the last line.

“So that’s the Elite. We’re a little feudal in structure, once you get above street level. The Red-Light district” – I sweep my arms out to encompass the whole district, even if we can’t actually see it from in here – “is just one part of our operations in Seattle, the part that answers to me. I’m like a Lord, which makes you like a Knight.”

She smiles at that. These feudal titles are a bit stupid, just like the whole star naming thing, but it always gives our capes a bit of an ego boost to know that they’re listed as knights on internal documents.

“Most of our cities are run by a Baron, who’d then answer to a Duke, but things are a little different in the larger cities. I answer directly to a Duke, and she’s responsible for keeping in contact with our most senior cell in San Francisco. If that’s confusing” – I can see from her expression that it is – “then don’t worry about it. It’s a pyramid structure, like I said, so you only need to worry about our own operation.”

She nods, seemingly grateful. I stand up and walk over to the door, holding it open for her.

“Well come on. It’s time to tour the district.”

She hesitates for a second, before striding past me on all fours. Looking at her, it’s clear that her body is much better suited for moving on four legs than two. I’m still not sure what I think about the two extra arms tucked into her chest – they look a little too human when compared to the rest of her – but, overall, she looks like a sleek predator. Sure, she’s a little hesitant about going out in public, but there’s nothing I can do about that. Like it or not, we need to be visible.

We step out onto the streets, still bustling even at this late hour, and the crowds start to part around us. The people here understand that this is my territory, and they’re not interested in pissing me off. Not when there’re so many carefully crafted rumours about just how permanent our ‘lifetime bans’ are. I’m particularly proud of that one; it took a lot of effort to set up. My companion seems to be a little nervous walking around the customers and prostitutes, and I’m pretty sure she’d be blushing if she could.

To be fair, I was the same when I first started out. That’s what happens when you’re twenty-three and you’ve just been told you’re being sent to Seattle to become ‘some kind of fuckin’ Pimp Queen.’ I’ve had five years to get used to it all.

“Each of these businesses provides us with a fifteen percent cut of their earnings, and that money gets funnelled into the security presence here” – I gesture at the bouncer outside a club door and at a passing security car as it rolls down the street – “and our cut comes from the rest.”

The crowd is giving us a wide enough berth that I decide to move the topic onto something more serious.

“Of course, we’d still be here even if this place made a loss.”

She looks up at me in confusion, her head tilted to one side and her jaw hanging open.

“The real money in this city isn’t in prostitution, even if it does bring a lot of visitors. It’s back there.” I sweep my arm out behind me, taking in the magnificent spires of downtown.

“This place, this whole district, is a buffer state between the nice parts of town and the nasty parts. Without it, we’d have all sorts of crazies sweeping south to fuck with our real bread and butter.”

She nods in understanding, as I lead her through the streets and into the concrete walled compound of Sagittarius PSC. I quickly radio Jaars before telling my companion about the PSC, and the other facilities we have available. The Afrikaner is down in minutes, and he quickly schools his expression when he spots our new cape.

“This is Jaarsveld. He’s in charge of the security teams in the district, and he answers to me directly. Jaars, meet our newest cape.”

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“A pleasure,” he says, as said cape stretches out her hand. To his credit, he doesn’t flinch at all has he shakes it.

“And does our newest cape have a name?”

She looks up at me sheepishly, and we share an indeterminable look before I answer.

“We’re still working on that.”

He smirks and wanders off, leaving the two of us alone.

“By the way…” I pause, and she looks up at me in confusion. “You are a woman, right? I’ve kind of just been assuming this whole time.”

She – or perhaps not – pauses for a second, somehow managing to convey an expression of deep thought with next to none of the usual muscles. Eventually, thankfully, she nods her head, and I smile.

“Sweet. I just won a hundred bucks.”

My good mood seems to spread to her, or I’ve just answered a question she didn’t know needed answering. Either way, she doesn’t object when I ask her to wait around for a while. Rather than waiting out in the open, she paces over to one of the vans and I get a good look at just what it looks like when she lips into the shadows. To say it’s weird would be an understatement; her body just seems to disappear into smoke as it touches the darkness, dissipating within moments until she’s disappeared entirely. I get down onto all fours, peering underneath the van, but there’s absolutely no sign of her.

“Huh.”

Six beady yellow eyes appear in the shadows, and I somehow get the impression that they’re silently laughing at me. I smile back, before standing up and heading into the Admin block. I change in my office, setting aside my black bodysuit in favour of the black cargo pants, white shirt, tie and branded jacket worn by about a dozen other admin staff in this compound alone. It really does help to have my cape identity and secret identity working in the same place. It’s probably how the PRT handles their pet capes as well.

With my identity safe and sound, I step back out into the car park. Rather unsurprisingly, there’s no sign of my new cape. What’s a little more surprising is that she doesn’t come out from underneath the van, assuming she’s even still there. I crouch down, peering in vain into the darkness as I try to figure this out, before it hits me.

“It’s still me.” I point at myself, and smile reassuringly into the darkness. “Ember. I’ve just taken the costume off.”

Six eyes form again, deep in the shadows, and I smile.

“There you are.” I chuckle to myself. “Come on. My shift’s up, so it’s time to go.”

She crawls out slowly, parts of her forming out of the shadows as she seems to almost pull herself out. It’s awesome and horrifying all at the same time. Within moments, she’s completely formed and looking expectantly up at me. While I’m dressed in civilian clothes. Shit.

“Um.” This is not the time to be sounding hesitant, dammit! I’m supposed to be making a good impression on her! “I don’t suppose you could follow me from the shadows, or something? This is supposed to be a secret identity.”

She looks around, a little panicked, before something seems to spark in her eyes. Without warning, she lifts up the back of my jacket with her tail, and somehow slips up underneath it. I know it’s dark under there, but that’s way less space than she takes up! I can’t even feel her right now!

“That’s terrifying!”

The words are out of my mouth before I can even think about the impact they might have on her. That sends me into a bit of a panic, which is only made worse when I suddenly feel a pressure creeping up my back, sliding up between my jacket and my shirt. Five bony fingers grip my shoulder, tapping against it rhythmically, and I jump a little. That’s when I realise what she’s doing. She’s patting my shoulder. She’s being reassuring.

“Thanks?” Despite my best efforts, it still comes out as a question. “Maybe keep your hands to yourself for now, though. Otherwise people might think I’m hiding a snake under here.”

There’s no sign of agreement, just a sudden absence as the arms slips seamlessly away. I stride through the streets, trying not to think about the cape hiding in my jacket. The one that’s as long as I am tall. It proves difficult, but eventually I’m able to make my way to where my car is parked. My Charger, resplendent in blue. I could wait until I’m inside the car to shake off my guest, but beauty like this needs to be appreciated.

“You can come out now.”

She slips out of my coat in an instant, somehow leaping out of the bottom of the jacket and straight onto all fours. The difference in size between her and the space she was in is almost comical, and makes me wonder about just how small she can get.

Disappointingly, she doesn’t seem at all impressed by my car – it must be her amnesia showing through. She does, however, hesitate when I lean over to open up the passenger door for her. She swallows her fear after a few moments, and slides into the shadows underneath the glove box. Almost as an afterthought, a jet-black hand darts out and closes the car door, before disappearing again. I smile as I start the engine, feeling the familiar purr of the V8 that never really gets used to its full potential in the inner city.

As I drive through the streets, as fast as I can go without drawing the attention of the cops, my eyes keep darting over to the shadows under the glove box. She’s in there, but I can’t see her. I can’t see her at all. The things she could do…

“Poke your head out if you want,” I say. “I don’t think there’s a risk of you getting spotted this late at night, so you might as well get a look at the nice part of the city.”

There’s a moment’s pause, before a head and shoulders poke out of the darkness, upside down so that she can look up and over the dashboard. Part of me thinks about how much she looks like an eager dog with its head out the window, but I stamp that thought down. I can’t start thinking of her as anything less than human just because of how she looks, or because she’s mute. She works for me, which means I need to treat her as I’d expect to be treated. I need to stop putting this off.

“We need to talk about a name.”

Three of her eyes dart over to me, but her head stays facing forwards. I don’t know if it’s genuine interest in the city, or just nerves.

Shit. She can’t speak. I don’t even know if she can write!

“Normally, Capes tend to pick a name that’s influenced by their powers. In my case, I go by Ember because of how I look when I use my power. But I understand if you don’t want to do that, given your…”

The words die in my throat. She chirps a little, seemingly frustrated at her lack of speech, and tries to figure out how to communicate what she means to me. Eventually, she reaches out with one of her hands and sweeps it up and down her body – which is currently just a head, shoulders and her secondary arms – before tapping her arm against her head. I think I get it.

“You don’t want to hide what you are.” She chirps in agreement. “I understand.”

That makes things a little easier, but I still need to think carefully. We sit there in silence for a while, and I spot a party of university students on the other side of the road. They’re all dressed up for a night on the town, and I doubt they’ll be awake for the afternoon before the night it done. I look again at my passenger, at her jet-black skin and cat-like yellow eyes. I think back to everything I know about her habits from surveillance cameras and not-so-secure PRT documents. I hesitate for a moment, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel.

“You’re pretty nocturnal, aren’t you?”

Another chirp, full of pride.

“Seattle is pretty great at night. Everyone forgets who they were during the day, and just lets themselves cut loose. Everything’s a little more extreme: the fights, the fucks, the friends. It’s another city, one that sometimes feels more real than the real one.”

More chirps, more agreement, as her eyes roam over the city. I think I’ve got it now.

“There’s a lot of words for people who’d rather live in this city. A night owl, night person, nighthawk, night bird. Nightcrawler.”

She lets out a strange sound at the last one, a whistling noise that rises and falls seemingly at random. I glance over to her and see her shoulders shaking. She’s laughing. We hit a strait, and I move the car up a gear as I pick up speed, listening as the engine purrs in response. I smile, and she smiles too.

“Nightcrawler it is.”