“You have all those powers,” said Pax, “and you still couldn’t get that kid!”

  “I got him fine,” said Thrash. “He escaped– that’s all. He knew he was had–” Thrash flexed a fist at Pax– “and that’s better than anyone else here has done!”

  It was meeting night between Dead Head’s gang and the dotierri, a local gang that dealt with distribution. Shimmer went on ahead in a pany van to deliver the product, but Dead Head was still on his to officialize the transa.

  The meeting a seldom-used truck yard out by the piers. Dead Head marched, his cloak blowing in the faint night breeze. Pax and Thrash had joined him, Pax wising up to the weather and fitting himself with a winter coat with a furred colr. Thrash was in her catsuit, as usual, seeming ued by the cooler temperatures.

  Dead Head wasn’t pleased with his subordinates’ bickering. They chattered.

  Pax said to Thrash, “If I had the powers you have, that kid would be in the ground!”

  “If you had the powers I had,” said Thrash, “this city would go down in fmes.”

  Pax cocked a smug smile on his face. “You don’t know how cool you just made me sound...”

  Dead Head shot his head around and fired them a serious look. “I’m not going to show up to a business meeting with two of my men bickering like children.”

  Pax served up his hands defensively. “I’ll keep quiet, boss.”

  Thrash said nothing but her softened expression showed she was ready to put on business demeanour. She waited until Dead Head returned forward to shoot a nasty look over at Pax but Pax fought the temptation to eh her further a his eyes forward, too, ign any taunt that Thrash would offer him.

  The three of them could see the meeting across the lot. Business was about to begin.

  The leader of the dotierri, ed in a newsboy cap, was Staf– not an Italian mae the gang’s name. He was a weathered son of a crooked cop that started his gang because he felt the area around him portunity for a little criminal activity (mostly supplying illicit substao the locals). I fourteen years, he had led one of Toronto’s most promi assemblies anized crime.

  There wasn’t a parking lot in that part of the building, but Staf had his mele the trio of SUVs in orderly fashion to make their business look legit from afar should someone spot them that cold Saturday night. Staf’s mehemselves around, standing tall but silent, guarding Staf and the crate of cash that came with them.

  Staf hadn’t heard of Dead Head before a week ago and had heard only whispers about his exploits since, but he figured that Dead Head was new and small time so he was expeg to coerce or intimidate Dead Head into taking a lower buying price for the product that Dead Head was selling Staf.

  And that expectation didn’t shake when he saw a short bespectacled young man– Shimmer– e out the passenger side door. The man looked like the kind Staf could push over with a single finger, either metaphorically or literally, and the gangster expected to have the deal dohin a few minutes and at the lowest rate.

  But then a few other doors opened, and out came a less ventional set of people.

  From the back door, out popped Hustler Petrov. From afar he stood out with his top hat and apanying attire like something out of the turn from the eenth tury to the : a bal suit with a tailed-jacket. The man even wore white gloves and carried a e! The fashion choices were etric, but ordinary on some level.

  But those who got a look at his face were in for a surprise.

  Many had tried to describe Petrov’s face. Some said it was a head of pure shadow, like a void in space with a pair of pierg eyes and a smile. Other described it as “solid darkness” except for the facial features that shohrough the head-shaped abyss. As Petrov approached Staf, Staf got a look of it and thought someone was showing off some kind of optical illusion or a special mask.

  Petrov looked out into the world with a simmering mischievousness and walked with his back straight and up, taking a glove hand thten his hat as he approached Staf and his men.

  The driver that evening was Seven. He hopped out of the front door and joined Shimmer’s side. Seven was a shorter man always wearing a filtration mask that covered all but the pale skin of his neck. He wore a rge army coat to widen his small frame. The breaths that murmured inside his mask were barely audible.

  Bruno had joihe party. Although he was initially part of Pax’s squad, he was asked by Dead Head to join Shimmer’s team sihe group needed a more ventional-looking heavy to show the dottieri. October was getting cold so he had a windbreaker on but the man’s muscles still showed through the baggy nylon.

  And there was a fifth person in that squad, but he wouldn’t show his face to Staf’s men. No– he slipped off into the shadows earlier, stalking the perimetre of the meeting to make sure that everything was dug for Dead Head and his crew.

  Petrov was eager to present himself and Staf’s mee rumours of the strangers in Dead Head’s gang– were not expeg some shadow creature. Staf himself retty unfortable being face-to-face with some demon, but he saw his men reag for their guns, he put up a hand: “Steady, boys.”

  Staf had muscle, but Dead Head was rolling with a bunch of wild cards– the kinds of goons that could be deadlier than a brushfire. Staf didn’t know a lot about the “freaks” of Toronto but he knew enough that he didn’t know what to expect with them. They could attad maybe be invulnerable to the normal methods of stopping people.

  “Greetings,” said Petrov in an at that ropriately st tury. He waggled his eyes at a crate up against the row of SUVs. “I’m assuming that is our money?”

  Staf looked at the tall stretidnight and wondered if his eyes needed cheg. Petrov’s eyes and smile flickered and drifted ihe dark globe that was the creature’s head. Was it some sort of magic trick? Staf looked at Petrov’s getup: he was dressed like a magi but Staf got the inkling that all the weirdness about Petrov’s body was the real deal.

  Crag a knuckle, Staf let out a gruff sigh. “It’s our mohe deal hasn’t been made yet.” He tightened his mug. “Does Dead Head employ a lot of... etric types? Just w if my business is going to be overshadowed by some fresh new gang full of witches and...” He took another focused look a Petrov, trying to find the right kind of moo describe the being: “...miseous.”

  Petrov smiled, grag his hands for the crowd. “o feel threatened! Dead Head’s goals are not trivial turf wars or pointless violence.”

  Shimmer scowled. It was time to step in so he took a line before Petrov. “Ignore him. He pretends that he’s in charge.”

  Petrov sneered down at Shimmer. “That’s riing from you!”

  Bruno had taken the side of the van, leaning up against it and nervously eyeing Staf and his rades– hoping that they weren’t going to make a se. Or worse.

  Then he saw Dead Head walking dow so Bruno k was time for the deal. He went to the back of the van and flipped the doors open. There was a cooler with its lid sealed shut with masking tape.

  “Are you Staf?” asked Dead Head across the lot.

  “Yeah,” Staf shouted back. He gestured his hands at the man. “So this is Dead Head. I’m assuming.”

  “Yes,” said Dead Head. Staf’s boys got a look at the fresh gang leader– a man, maybe in his thirties, with a gothic look to him and wearing a cloak like a mage. Was this Toronto’s kingpin? Staf reassured in himself his ability t-arm Dead Head but then looked at the mae, particurly Petrov and the blue chi the back: Thrash. Staf was suddenly not so fident he could bully Dead Head into taking a smaller payment.

  Dead Head wao get the deal underway. He o Bruno and then Pax.

  Bruno ax’s man, so Pax wasn’t happy to see Bruno in a pce Pax hadn’t assigned him to but it would be something to deal with ter. Pax went to the back of the truck to help Bruno lift the cooler out of the truck but Bruno didn’t need any help.

  “Twenty kilos,” said Dead Head. “In total.”

  Staf wasn’t expeg Dead Head to actually show up with that amount. The money he had in his crates– it was short a non-signifit amount for twenty kilograms of premium material. What to do... what to do...

  “I’ve heard you used a special teique to make this stuff,” said Staf. He looked at Dead Head’s crew of weirdos before returning the gaze to Dead Head himself. “I’m sure your powers factored into the creation of this stuff. What kind of risks are involved?”

  “There are no risks,” said Dead Head, almost gring. “In fact, it’s safer than most stuff you find oreets.”

  “I meant for the people taking it,” said Staf. “If your product is ued, I think a price ssh is warranted.”

  Dead Head scowled. “My product isn’t lower quality because of my method; it is higher quality. The price remains the same.”

  Staf’s expression was unmoving. Then he sighed. “I’ll guess I’ll settle for, let’s say, 75% of it, then.”

  Shimmer narrowed his gaze. “You didn’t bring the full amount, did you?”

  Staf said nothing, hoping to ighe question.

  Shimmer wouldn’t let it slide. “Running short this month?” he said, in a way that sounded like teasing.

  “No...” said Staf. “I expected there to be some iation.”

  “We wait here while you get the rest of the payment,” said Shimmer.

  Shimmer was overshooting his and. Dead Head gave him a look and then addressed Staf. “I’m not going to spend a couple hours here waiting for the moo arrive. That’s more time for the cops to stroll by a suspicious. I’ll give you sixty of the eighty bags.”

  Staf hung on those words, then leaned up. “Deal.”

  Dead Head was annoyed. His e cooled quickly. He was selling most of it, though, aing rid of the rest wouldn’t be a trial. More importantly: the stacks of cash he was about to receive was more than enough to get started on his project, and he knew going in to the deal that the full amount would still not be enough to see his projepletion. More erce would be required.

  Dead Head shook Staf’s hand the off to rearrange what was in the cooler.

  Staf went to his crate and snapped a fi his men to get hauling them over to Dead Head’s van. One of his men, a t bald man, leaned over and whispered, “Why didn’t y the full amount, boss? You know the product is good.”

  Staf gnced over at Bruno and Pax lugging over the cooler. “Too good. Whatever magical powers they have, it trumps whatever any joe in his basement could do.”

  Shimmer, Thrash, arov remai border between sides. Some of Staf’s men took the empty moment to stare some more at Petrov and Thrash. Thrash caught a few of their eyes, being a slender woman in a tight catsuit, but most of them were ed about the shadow being in formal attire.

  Petrov saw their stares and smirked. “I’m sure you all are curious about this rather raveleman in front of you. I promise, I pose you no harm.” His smirked garnered a sinister curve. “Unless I’m provoked.”

  Thrash could feel the eyes on her, but ighem as she often did. Shimmer kept his ears orov’s every word, though, worried that in by putting on his theatrical brand of versatiorov would insight flict betweewo groups.

  With a couple of his men carrying the crate of cash behind him, Staf went to the tre, the crate hitting the pavement with a booming thump. Dead Head found another box to stash the bags that weren’t going to Staf and had Brun the cooler to the crate.

  Staf chuckled. “If you guys have magical powers or whatever, why are you making drugs to sell? ’t you just magiey out of thin air?”

  Dead Head chortled, feeling the dession from Staf but finding it amusing. “Some of us have special abilities... but doesn’t mean we do anything we please.”

  Hustler Petrov waved his e around and smiled. “If I could will stacks of cash out of thin air, I would be doing much better things than standing out here on a Saturday night.”

  “Then what abilities do you have?” asked Staf. “What do they serve someone in our line of work?”

  Dead Head repared for showing off but Shimmer detected what Staf was trying to do. It was better for Dead Head’s gang if nobody knew what they were truly capable of. Before Dead Head could say anything, Shimmer went to the cooler and ope up. Inside were bags of colourful crystal; the kind of stuff that would get a fel put in prison for years. But it was Staf’s business. He leaned down to examihe product, take a guesstimate on how many bags there were, and then closed the cooler and nodded. “Okay, then.”

  After Shimmer checked the crate to make sure the money was legit, Staf’s men took the cooler to one of their vans and Bruno and Pax carried the crate to theirs. One of those boxes was heavier thaher, though, and Pax crushed his back trying to take one end of the heavy cube of cash.

  All for the dolr, Pax told himself, all for the dolr.

  Pax had done his heavy bour for the night but he still had something in his craw about what Bruno was doing there without his and. Taking Bruno behind the van, hoping none of their voices reached too far, Pax gave Bruno a nasty look. “What are you doing here? I never gave you the order to join this meeting.”

  Bruno had a foot i on Pax but he was not made of stone. Hearing his boss with that patronizing to him on edge. Bruno said, “Dead Head told me I was needed so I came. He’s your boss, right? That makes me his employee, too... sorta.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” said Pax. “I’m his employee but you are my employee. Got that?”

  Bruno stared at Pax, but then gave a resigned shrug. “Sorry, Pax. Won’t happen again.”

  Pax gred at Bruno for a sed but khat if the guy was going to have a ge of heart oher he took orders from Dead Head, it wasn’t because of a stare down.

  Letting Bruno walk off to get in the van or whatever business he could have had remaining at a ghostly truck-lot, Pax saw Dead Head and Thrash walking back to the car parked oher side of the establishment. Pax jogged over to join Dead Head and Thrash.

  “Dead Head,” said Pax. His tone was as cold as the breeze in the air. “We gotta talk.” Hiking up beside Dead Head, he didn’t even give Dead Head a moment to responded before he added: “Why are you doing giving Bruno orders? You tell me what to do and then I tell my men what goes on.”

  “They work for you and you work for me,” said Dead Head. “Therefore, they work for me.”

  Thrash snickered. “Not enjoyiing put in your pce, are you Pax?”

  Pax furrowed his brow at Thrash. “This is about respect, something you know nothing about and nobody has for you!” He turo Dead Head. “I look after my men. I got things going on outside of what I’m doing here so I o deal with logistics.”

  Dead Head anger overpowered his annoyance. “All I needed was someoo haul some coolers. I asked Bruno. He did the job.” His tourned serpentine. “What is the issue?”

  Thrash puffed her chest out and brought a big smile to the sky. “Be thankful you still have a job at all! You don’t have any good use in this anization.”

  “her do you,” said Pax. “You couldn’t evehat water punk, and you’re the oh the craaaaazy, psychic powers!” He gestured up his arms as he said the st bit.

  Dead Head gred at Pax. “Maybe you should head back with the others.”

  Pax was insulted, but got over it quick. He let out a pyful sigh. “Will do, boss.”

  Dead Head wasn’t going to hear another word. He gave Pax a cold shoulder and then picked up the pace to the car. Thrash gave Pax o jeering look before she walked off. Pax went to the other vehicle.

  “Speaking of that water boy,” said Dead Head to Thrash, “How did you... size him up? Does it seem like he could ‘disappear’ without much trouble? If we were to eliminate him, would he leave evidence?”

  The thought had occurred to Dead Head as soon as Pax returned with that first report on the hero thwarting the venience shakedown. Was the water being actually made of water? Could he be killed? If he died, would he leave a body that would be reized?

  “I don’t know that,” said Thrash, “but I believe he would just leave a puddle if he was snuffed out.”

  Dead Head was silent for a moment. “Just something to think about.”

  “If you want to know more about that kid,” said Thrash, “maybe you ought to sult the someone– in this anization– whose got the same look at Ghost Thing.”

  She was talking about Haze, the person Dead Head assigo overlook the meeting to make sure there was no funny business with Staf’s men. With the meeting adjourned, Haze drifted away from Staf’s side of the lot and snuck over to Dead Head’s car.

  And there was Haze waiting by the vehicle, leaning up against it with his arms hanging idly by his side. If Petrov eculiar sight, Haze was moreso. If Ghost Thing was living water, Haze was a being a living purple cloud, his foggy shape holding together for a humanoid form. The anthropomorphism maed further as a set of clothes: a tank top and a pair of pants.

  Much like Ghost Thing if put through a physical process.

  It was Dead Head’s question to ask but Thrash knew her boss would be relut to ask the cloud boy about such matters, so Thrash took the initiative. “Hey, foggy: do you think you’d leave a corpse if you died?”

  Dead Head scowled at Thrash. “What a stupid question!”

  Haze was uhough. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice very boyish. “It’s not something I test without–” He chuckled with a friendly grin– “doing harm to myself.”

  Dead Head dropped his face. He was annoyed, but said matter-of-factly, “I already asked him. He doesn’t know.”

  Thrash rolled an eyebrow at Haze. She had height on the kid. “Where did you say you were from then?” She looked upward. “Did you fall out of the sky?”

  As he was grilled on his ins, Haze’s fidence buckled. “I don’t know. I existed one day. Why?”

  Dead Head had heard the story before. Haze suddenly popped ience, like they were formed with intelligend nguage quite suddenly. Dead Head didn’t question it directly but he found it hard to believe. He leahat his young hazy friend was unsure of his in, and not that Haze was lying.

  “You just appeared,” said Thrash, a half-question if anything.

  “Yeah,” said Haze, “Is that unbelievable?”

  Thrash stared at him for a moment. Weirder thing had happened before. “No. I suppose not.”

  Haze averted his eyes.

  Thrash wasn’t vinced in the slightest. Whatever in story Haze hao Dead Head, Thrash would know it was horsecrap. But Dead Head wasn’t going to interrogate his little cloud employee when said boy’s cloud-abilities were an important part on their narcotic produ and thus an important part of them making money.

  “Did you see anything suspicious with those guys?” asked Dead Head.

  “No,” said Haze, getting up from the vehicle. “They’re legit.” He crossed his arms. “So are we done here?”

  Dead Head looked across the pce to see Shimmer shutting the van door on the crate of cash. Their van stared up. Dead Head nodded. “Yeah, let’s go back to the warehouse.”

  It was te, so after the gang cracked open the crate and divvied out the payment among all members, many of them wao get out of there. The crates were dropped in the middle of the floor and popped open. Shimmer had a folding table set out, popped down a chair, and got shuffling through the moo give each member their cut.

  Pax still had a cold coil in his heart after the thing with Dead Head and Bruno. He took his stack of cash in hand, it was the thickest wad of bills he had ever touched, but at what cost? He looked over a Bruno, flig through a wad not much smaller than his, and Pax khat he was at risk of losing all authority among his men.

  Dead Head took a rge stack of cash– more for his gang than his person– ao his office. He found his ating book iop drawer and flipped a page open to look at the costs for stru. The first payme into five digits but he had the money avaible.

  He would call the pany tomorrow to see if they were in but it was the weekend and it was short notiyway, so he wasn’t expeg to get stru going until week. He closed the book and cupped his hands, frustrated and impatient.

  Haze walked in, looking at his wad of cash like it was a new puppy. He went into the er, giggling as he fihrough the stack. He had to check to see if all the bills were fifties, and they were.

  Dead Head didn’t know how young Haze was, but figured he was at oldest a teenager with how boyish his voice was and his general brashness regarding most matters.

  “Are you going to be responsible with that?” asked Dead Head.

  Haze dropped the smile, looking i. “Uhhh... yeeaahh.”

  “Don’t go blowing it on X-Boxes, kid.”

  It was Thrash, leaning in the doorway. She smiled at Haze.

  Haze, with something to prove, tightened his at Thrash. “I won’t.”

  “How exactly are you supposed to buy anything anyway,” said Thrash. She folded out a hand at Haze. “With you looking like that.” She returned her hand and chuckled. “’t imagine a Mald’s employee would know how to deal with a walking fog mae.”

  Haze gallowed his face. “I’ll wear a trenchcoat and a hat.”

  Thrash had never seen Haze in the form he wasn’t presenting himself with in that room, but she had a feeling he had some other form– likely human. And if Haze had a human form, she wagered Ghost Thing did, too. Thrash pursed her lip, in a pantomime of thoughtfulness. “Unless... this wasn’t your true form.”

  Haze widened a defeance, scowling at Thrash. “This is my true form!”

  “Thrash,” said Dead Head, rising his head to the dy, “Do you have anything to do here beside pestering your fellow employees?”

  Thrash scratched some hair on the back of her head and then said, quite simply: “No.”

  Almost on cue, Hustler Petrov came strolling up to the office. Thrash moved herself inside so that Petrov could get through the door.

  Petrov smiled as he ehrowing up his hands like he was hosting an awards show. “I’d say our first major deal went off without a hitch! Most wonderful!”

  Dead Head threw his eyes back. “I didn’t need you to y your charms on the dottieri, Petrov. You were there to intimidate.”

  Petrov blinked, looking more fused than offended. “Me? Intimidate?” He waved his hand. “No, no, no. That’s brutish work!”

  “Do what I tell you to do if you want a paycheque,” said Dead Head, leaning up. He looked out the window at Shimmer handing out cakes of currency. “Or... a pay stack.”

  Thrash scoffed. “What we’re you pnning on doing? Having tea with them?”

  Petrov smiled; early, in fact. “We’re businessmen, aren’t we? If that’s what it takes to close a deal.”

  Dead Head struggled to keep a yawn i was te and he didn’t have the energy to deal with Petrov’s etricities. It looked like Shimmer had finished handing out everyone’s payment, so he closed the crate and sealed it with a lock. Then, he walked over to the office to joihers.

  When Shimmer ehe room– an office that was getting quite full with five people– Thrash smirked at him. “How much did you take for yourself?”

  Shimmer wouldn’t turn his gaze towards her. “My payment.”

  Dead Head g everyone in the room, including Haze, who was hiding in the er. “If everything is done here, you could leave.” He took his eyes to Shimmer. “Except you. I o discuss something.”

  Thrash pulled herself off the wall and stretched. “Yep. Time for me to shove off.”

  Petrov frowned. “So soon? We haven’t even cracked out the celebratory brandy!”

  “Leave,” said Dead Head.

  Haze, clutg his dolrs like it was the heart that pumped his proverbial blood, left the room. Thrash stepped out and after the man straightened his hat and put on a digiff lip, Petrov left the room as well.

  Dead Head closed the door and turo Shimmer. “Have you gotten the pns all drawn out?”

  Shimmer swallowed like he was about to give some terrible news. “Not quite. I have the basistru drawn down but I’m not an architect. I’m going to need assistan getting the details right.” He stepped to the window overlooking the floor, and measured the walls and the ground to the roof. “However, I know that the mae will fit ihis warehouse.” He waved a hand at a few of the rger shipping crates peppering the floor. “Though, we’ll have to up those before we begin.”

  Dead Head joined Shimmer by his side and looked across the warehouse, trying to envision whatever Shimmer had imagined. Dead Head hunched over, leering out at the floor. Pax and Thrash were bickering once again, with Hustler Petrov on the side, making his quips.

  Dead Head sighed. The gang had dohe st month but he had trouble believing it watg his men argue like teenagers.

  He ig for the moment, saying to Shimmer, “I’m still irely vihat this will work. This... portal.”

  Shimmer turned his head and grinned. “Trust me. Once we get the gate and running, you’ll feel embarrassed for ever doubting me.”

  Dead Head kept his eyes on his men. Thrash and Pax had gotten into a shouting match, over each other’s failures, although Dead Head could not care about the specifics.

  “And these creatures that will e through,” said Dead Head, turning his voice lower than needed, “they will be my minions?”

  Shimmer’s grin curled further. “Let’s put it this way: the minions that you get from the gateway will make those men–” he gestured a brow out at the goons oher side of the window– “look like schoolyard bullies.”

  Dead Head stared for a moment. Then a smile cut his .