Sky Ghosts: Marco (Young Adult Urban Fantasy Adventure) (Sky Ghosts Series Book 1.5) (2 page)

The fighter had been conscious for a few minutes now, but he hadn’t opened his eyes, just listened to what was going on around him. It was quiet, as if he had finally been left alone. He remembered very little of the night: some guys at the bar who had tried to pick a fight with him; some voices as he lay on the ground in blissful lethargy; someone carrying him through the city, flying just over the rooftops. Then he remembered finally being put onto a cot, where he passed out again.

Now light was irritating his eyes, and he opened them ever so slightly to see a lamp shining brightly in the corner. There was a desk and a man in a white coat, hunched over it. The fighter drew a careful breath, not wanting to give away that he was awake, but was suddenly doubled over by a fit of coughing. A white blur at the edge of his vision told him that the man in white was hurrying to him. He stopped by the cot and waited for the fighter to stop coughing before he took his wrist and asked,

“How do you feel?”

He looked the doctor up and down with malice.

“Like shit,” he croaked, mentally assessing his captor. Six-feet tall, late-twenties or early-thirties, lean and careful in his movements. His dark hair was cropped very short, and he was wearing glasses. The fighter counted off the moves in his head: one, smash his glasses so he wouldn’t see; two, knock the wind out of him so he wouldn’t strike back; three, snap his neck.

The doctor reached behind the cot suddenly, making him press into the pillow with caution. He heard a hissing sound, and the next second the man in white was holding out a glass of water to him, with some pill dissolving in it. The fighter exhaled slowly.

“Here, drink this,” the man said, handing him the glass, “And don’t try anything funny,” he added, giving the fighter a cool stare through his glasses. His eyes were brown and looked older than the rest of him. “I don’t care how big you are, you’ll be out before you know it, got it?”

He smiled with a creepy cheer, and though the fighter responded with a doubtful grimace, he decided that the man wasn’t bluffing.

“Where am I?” the fighter muttered grumpily. He felt nauseous and tired to his bones, but his head was becoming clearer with every minute.

The room looked like an infirmary of some kind, big and cold, with rows of cots and bedside tables. It was dark this time of night, and a gray veil of dust motes glittered in the path to the big barred windows. He was the only patient at the moment, and their voices echoed hollowly in the black-and-white room.

The doctor stepped back and sat on the edge of the cot next to his.

“You’re at the New York Ghosts Headquarters,” he explained, “Our patrol found you on the street. It seems like you got into a fight with the Beasts, am I right?”

The fighter grunted and swallowed half of the medicine in one big gulp.

“I guess so,” he said, processing the information. So, he was at the famed Headquarters. It wasn’t so difficult to get in here, after all.

“Do you feel well enough to answer a few questions?” the man asked, raising his eyebrows and taking off his glasses.

The fighter downed the rest of the medicine and nodded. He put the glass on the bedside table and suddenly found the man standing in front of him with his hand outstretched, his eyes smiling.

“I’m Doc, by the way,” he introduced himself.

“Mar- ” the fighter cleared his throat, “Marco.”

He shook Doc’s hand, but still watched his every move with suspicion.

Doc took out his cell phone and called his boss. As it seemed, Marco would be honored with the presence of Michael,
the oh so important leader
. That was a surprise: he hadn’t expected the Ghosts’ leader to deal with minor things like this one. He had never met Michael, but had heard enough to know that he should be careful about anything he said from now onwards. He tried to prepare himself for the meeting, trying to be as alert as possible, but all that alcohol wasn’t helping. His brain still felt as if it were trying to squeeze out of his skull, and his limbs were too heavy.

He checked his pockets as he waited for Michael, but everything was there: some cash, three credit cards, his keys.
Well, these I might as well throw out now,
he thought, looking at his keys, and then cast around for his short sword. It was nowhere to be seen, of course. While he didn’t blame them, he didn’t see the point, either. That sword was more of an accessory than necessity. Still, it was the only thing he had taken with him when he left, and he would kill to get it back, if necessary.

Michael didn’t make him wait too long. The door banged open, and he strode inside followed by two more men: one with graying hair; the other much younger, bigger, and scarier. The giant stopped by the door while Michael and his companion came straight to Marco and reached out their hands.

“I’m Michael, and this is Peter,” he said, introducing himself and his comrade in a husky voice. “As you might have figured already, you’re at the New York Sky Ghosts Headquarters.”

“Marco,” he said simply, looking the men over and shaking their hands.

He had expected Michael to be somewhat different, though he didn’t know how. More imposing, he supposed. Instead, the man before him was average, fit for his age and broad-shouldered, but not as big as Peter. He had light hair, so the white in it didn’t stand out so much, which made him look younger. His face looked haggard, though, with his cheekbones standing out sharply. His green eyes were tired and surrounded by thin wrinkles. Marco could feel his mind-reading gaze, and was sure that nothing had slipped the man’s attention. He remembered that Eugene didn’t look very special, either. Maybe it was a trait of all outstanding people: the ability to blend in with the crowd.

Michael studied him with narrowed eyes, lingering on the short Mohawk on his head and the tattoos on his forearms. In contrast, Peter just gave him one sweeping look, as if taking in everything about him with one glance. He clasped his hands behind his back and stood by his comrade’s side like a statue.

Michael cleared his throat.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind,” he said, giving Marco a serious look, “We’d like to come to some agreement on the situation that occurred in Port Morris. I hope you realize that what you did tonight casts suspicion on our organization, and that means we’re involved, even though we had nothing to do with it.”

Marco only nodded, reluctant to speak.

“I suppose you know that it was Eugene’s men you killed there?” Michael asked. “Do the names Ramon and Jax sound familiar to you?”

Marco smiled inwardly.
Ramon, that bastard.

“Never heard of them,” he lied, “They just were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was at the bar, some guys got me mad, I came out and ran into them. They attacked me, and I don’t remember much after that.”

Michael didn’t seem convinced, and his eyes narrowed to catlike slits as he bombarded him with questions.

“Can anyone confirm your story? People from the bar, friends? Where do you live?”

“I was just passing through the city. I don’t have anyone here, and I don’t do any business with the Beasts.” Marco shook his head, ignoring the dizziness it brought. He got off the cot slowly and drew himself up to his full height, expecting Michael to back off. Instead, the man didn’t even blink. He just craned his head back and stared into Marco’s eyes, reading him like an open book and prepared to catch any slip-up. A living polygraph.

“Where are you staying, then?”

The question, simple as it was, made Marco freeze.

“Nowhere in particular,” he muttered slowly after a moment and looked away.

For a minute, Michael just watched him silently while Marco looked out of the window, lost in thought. Given his connections, it would take Michael no more than a day to dig up everything there ever was on Marco. He didn’t even bother to ask his full name, as he didn’t need to. His picture would be enough.

Marco could tell that Michael didn’t buy a single word he said. Maybe he should have left before he got into more trouble than he was already in. Now, he doubted he would have the chance. There were too many of them, and the giant with the skull tattoo on the back of his head, the one that stood by the door, could be a problem.

“I’ll be honest with you, Marco,” Michael said at last. “We’re a bit short on people lately, and you’re obviously well trained if you finished those Beasts by yourself, and in this… condition. I’m inclined to offer you a place here, but you should know that we’ll do a very thorough background check on you. So if there’s a chance that we won’t like what we find, you can leave right now. We won’t hold you here, and neither will we point Eugene in your direction. But if you decide to stay, we have a few ground rules and they’re not negotiable.”

Michael stopped talking, and Marco stood there bewildered at the surprising turn of events. A job offer instead of punishment? Did they really take in any guy they found in the streets?

“Okay. Continue,” he said carefully, and Michael nodded.

“You will stay at the Headquarters and will not set foot outside by yourself until we’re sure we can trust you. That may be a month or a year: it’s up to us to decide when you can have any contact with anyone out in the city.”

Michael’s voice changed as he recited the terms, becoming the no-nonsense, the voice of an army officer giving orders.

“No cell phone: if you need to make a call to family or friends, you’ll have to do it under our supervision. You will be under constant watch, and I don’t recommend communicating with any of our young fighters one-on-one without witnesses. If anything should happen to them, you will be suspect number one. You will join our training program, and attend all classes. Alcohol and drugs are strictly prohibited here. You will receive a copy of the rules and schedule, and you will stick to them. If we find something in your record that we don’t like, you will leave without any trouble. We won’t track you afterward, and we won’t punish you for anything you did in your past. When a Sky Ghost joins our organization, we don’t dig up the dirt, but we have to know what we’re dealing with. Later, if you pass the tests, you’ll have a chance to become one of our agents and join the bodyguard program. But don’t be misled, it’s hard work, and it requires dedication. If you want, you can take a day to sleep off your hangover and make up your mind.”

The room was silent again, and Marco’s mind was a battlefield. All the rumors about the Headquarters that he had known since he was a child; all the confusion he felt about the place, all rebelled against what he had just heard. It was just too
simple
, the way Michael described it. No catch, no price for the safety they promised him. Or at least, what he saw as safety.

Perplexed, he looked at Peter, who was watching him from above with his careful brown eyes. He didn’t betray any emotion, unlike Michael, who seemed moved by the situation for some reason.
Maybe, he’s worried about Eugene getting back at them for this,
Marco pondered distractedly.
Or maybe, he knows something that Peter doesn’t.
It was luck that brought Marco here: had the Beasts found him first, he’d be dead by now. And no matter what his common sense was yelling at him, he actually had an alternative now. A place to stay, aside from the street.

“I need money, and I don’t have any clothes with me…or anything else, really,” he mumbled at last, subconsciously drawing out the moment before he had to give his agreement, although deep inside he already knew what his answer would be.

Michael’s eyes brightened again, the shrouded look from his own reverie stripped away in the blink of an eye.

“You can get everything at the supply room, and you will receive a decent sum every month. There’s a small shop downstairs, which takes orders if you need anything special. If it’s medicine, Doc will provide you with everything. Do you need time to make your decision?” Michael’s eyebrows quirked questioningly.

“No,” Marco answered quickly before he would give in to doubt. He could always run away if he changed his mind. After all, that was what he’d been doing lately. “I agree to all your terms. I don’t think my past will be a problem.”

With a short nod, Michael turned to Peter.

“Make sure- ”

The entrance door flew open suddenly, and another fighter strode in: tall, black, his gear splattered with blood.

“Michael, we’re done in Hunts Point, but we’ve got two wounded,” he boomed, his deep voice resonating off the walls as he stopped in front of his boss. A second later, a group of young men in gear carried two others through the door.

Marco peered at them: covered in blood, they talked nervously, too agitated to control their shaking voices. He saw Michael wince as he watched them put the wounded fighters on cots, and then the boss hurried them out of the room, looking even more worried than before.

In the hallway, he turned to the giant who had stayed silently by the door during their conversation. Only then did Marco notice the angry scar that marred the left-hand side of the man’s face, running from his cheek to his eyebrow.

“Skull, show Marco to his room. Third floor, if possible. When the papers are ready, make sure he gets them,” Michael instructed, and the giant nodded, pushing Marco in front of him down the dim hallway.