I’m a midnight driver. My business is… specific. My passengers even more so. It’s the kind of work that would break most people within a week. One evening, my mentor, Gus, told me to pick up an old friend of his. He described the man as a "heavyweight"—someone whose soul carried the weight of an empire. I didn't take the assignment lightly. I’d prepared the traditional offerings—high-end spirits, artisanal cakes, the things that smooth the transition from this world to the next. I was driving through the quiet, wooded outskirts of Kingsport when I saw three figures waving frantically by the roadside. It was pitch black. No other cars, no streetlights. Against my better judgment, I felt a flicker of human pity. I thought I’d give them a lift to the nearest station. The second I pulled over, a man drenched in designer labels—from his Gucci loafers to his padded Moncler vest—shoved his way into the passenger seat. He didn't say hello. He just slapped a thick roll of hundred-dollar bills against my cheek. "Downtown. The Royal Meridien," he barked. "And stop at a CVS. I need a few boxes of Magnums." His two friends piled into the back, trampling over the silk-wrapped gift boxes I’d placed carefully on the seat. "What is this junk?" one of them complained. "There’s no legroom with all these baskets." Before I could protest, I heard the dull thud of my offerings hitting the asphalt. They’d tossed the expensive fruit and the hand-crafted cakes out into the dirt like common trash. My blood ran cold. The effort, the respect I’d put into this mission—discarded in a second. I felt my face tighten, my skin prickling with a heat that had nothing to do with the car's heater. "Get out," I said, my voice low. "I’m not taking you." The man in the passenger seat barked out a laugh, as if I’d just told a hilarious joke. "You’re a cab driver, sweetheart. You don't get to 'not take' us. One phone call and I’ll have your hack license shredded before sunrise. You’ll never work in this city again." The two in the back joined in, their laughter sharp and jagged. "Do you even know who he is?" the girl, a blonde in a micro-skirt, sneered. "This is Barrett Huntington. You should be thanking him for the privilege of having his ass in your seat." "He’s the guy who owns the skyline you're driving toward, loser," the other guy added. "Show some respect or start looking for a cardboard box to live in." I gripped the steering wheel. I didn't know much about the "Huntington" social circle, but I knew the Veil. And in my world, the living were the ones who didn't belong. 1 "Did you hear me? Drive," Barrett snapped. He reached over and slammed his palm onto the horn, the blare echoing through the silent woods. The girl, Tinsley, giggled. I cursed my moment of empathy. I’d invited a curse into my car. I forced myself to take a breath, trying to stay professional. "Look, I’m sorry, but this car is pre-booked. I have a VIP pickup. I can drop you at the gas station two miles up—it’s well-lit and easy to catch an Uber from there." Silence followed, then a hand reached from the back and whipped a stack of bills across my face. The edges of the paper stung like a series of tiny papercuts. "The car is booked by me now," the guy in the back said. "How much? Name a price. Everyone has one." I pushed the money away, my heart hammering. "It’s not about the money. I’m on a schedule. The city isn't on my route." Suddenly, a heavy boot slammed into the back of my driver’s seat, jolting my spine. "I could crush you like an ant and not even lose sleep over it," Barrett hissed, leaning into my personal space. "Drive. Now." They weren't leaving. And I couldn't exactly pull out my Sanctum ID and explain that I was a courier for the dead without making things worse. I decided to get them to the gas station and handle it there. Within minutes, the cabin was thick with the acrid stench of expensive cigars. I started to cough, the smoke stinging my eyes. "Could you please not smoke in here?" The guy in the back let out a plume of smoke. "This cigar costs more than your monthly rent, honey. You’re getting the secondhand high for free. You should be paying me." "Exactly," Tinsley added, grinding her cigarette out directly onto the leather upholstery. The smell of burning hide filled the car. "If our Maybach hadn't broken down, we wouldn't even be in this piece of junk." My heart ached. This wasn't just a car; it was a custom SSS-Class Shadow Vessel, enchanted and rare. "What are you doing? You have no idea what this car is worth!" They erupted in another round of shrill laughter. "Worth? My family has sixty cars in the garage," Barrett said, checking his gold watch. "Any one of them could buy your life ten times over. This bucket of bolts is filthier than my dog’s kennel. Stop acting like it’s a Ferrari." My knuckles were white on the wheel. I had a job to do. I couldn't let these parasites derail me. When we reached the gas station, I pulled over firmly. "This is it. You have phones. Call a car, call a friend, I don't care. I’m not charging you for the ride. Just get out." They exchanged a look and, surprisingly, piled out. I let out a long, shaky breath, thinking the nightmare was over. I stepped out for a moment to see if I could salvage any of the fruit from the trunk to offer as a gesture of apology to the VIP. When I walked back toward the front of the car, my heart stopped. Every window had been shattered. My phone, which had been on the dashboard, was a mess of glass and plastic on the pavement. Barrett stood there, twirling my driver’s license between his fingers, a smirk plastered on his face. "Well, well. It turns out our little driver is a fraud," he said. "A 'Gold-Tier Veil Courier'? What kind of delusional psych-ward bullshit is this?" 2 Panic flared. That license was my only protection in the darker corners of the city. I lunged for it, but Barrett was faster. He shoved me back, and I stumbled, my palms scraping against the grit of the parking lot. "Using a fake ID to run an illegal taxi? That’s a felony, isn't it?" he mused, leaning against the ruined door of my car. "Maybe we should call the cops. See how they feel about your 'Veil' business." Dealing with the living was so much more exhausting than dealing with the dead. I bit my lip, tasting copper. "What do you want?" Barrett pulled Tinsley close, kissing her deeply before looking back at me with cold, bored eyes. "Nobody says no to me. Not in this city. You tried to play tough, and now you’re going to pay for it." He stepped closer, his breath smelling of expensive bourbon and malice. "You’re going to be my dog tonight. You go where I say, when I say. Right now, Tinsley wants to see the moon over the river. Get in." "I can't," I whispered. "Please. I have somewhere I have to be." He tutted, reaching out to slap me. I flinched away, and the movement seemed to trigger something feral in him. "You dare move?" he roared. "In Kingsport, I'm the closest thing to a god you’ll ever see. You should be crawling on your knees for the chance to serve us." Tinsley and the other guy drifted closer, their faces twisted in mockery. "Look at her," the guy said. "Driving an illegal cab with a crazy-person ID. She’s probably a high-end hooker who lost her mind." "I bet if we check the back, we’ll find used needles," Tinsley added. I hated myself for stopping. I hated my own kindness. But Barrett’s expression suddenly shifted into something disturbingly calm. "Tell you what," he said, flipping my ID like a coin. "I’ll give you a break. Drive us to one more spot—just one—and then you can go back to your 'VIP.' If you don't, I call the police, hand them this ID, and tell them you tried to rob us." The location he named was, by some miracle, on the way to my original destination. I didn't know what he was planning, but I was running out of time. Punctuality wasn't just a professional habit in my line of work; it was a matter of spiritual life and death. Gus had recruited me because of my "unfortunate" disposition—I was born with a "Thin Veil" constitution. I saw things I shouldn't. I was a magnet for bad luck until Gus found me. "Working for the Sanctum builds merit," he’d told me. "Do this, and maybe in the next life, you’ll be the one in the back of the Maybach. It’s a government job, kid. Just… a different branch of government." He was right. Usually, the powers that be on both sides of the line gave me a wide berth. I drove them to the spot Barrett requested—a secluded stretch of road near the cliffs. The moment I put the car in park, the night was flooded with light. A dozen black SUVs switched on their high beams, surrounding us. Before I could even process the trap, my door was ripped open. A hand tangled in my hair and dragged me out onto the cold hard ground. Barrett’s voice was like ice. "Total the car. And then, break her legs." 3 My scalp screamed in pain. I felt the sting of gravel on my face, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. "You gave me your word!" I choked out. Barrett stood over me, looking down like I was a bug he was considering stepping on. "I said I’d let you drive us here. I never said I’d let you walk away." Several men in dark suits approached my car with sledgehammers. The first blow shattered the hood with a sickening, heavy thud. Again and again, they swung. The enchanted metal groaned, the interior being ripped into shreds of leather and wire. And then, they doused it in gasoline. That car was a masterpiece of the Other Side, a vessel for souls. Watching it burn was like watching a living thing die. I tried to scream, to run toward the flames, but my arms were pinned behind my back. In the flickering orange light, Tinsley clapped her hands. "It’s so much prettier this way, don't you think?" I looked at her, my eyes burning. "You have no idea what you’ve done. That car was for a Guest. If he isn't picked up on time, the shadow he leaves behind will tear this city apart." Barrett just laughed and tossed a titanium credit card onto my chest. "It’s a car. I’ll buy you ten of them." "I don't want your money, Barrett. Some things can't be fixed with a check." He pulled out my license again, grinning. "In this town, there is nothing I can't fix. But you, Riley? You’re a special kind of crazy." He signaled to one of the men. "Check her file. I want to know who this 'Veil Courier' really is." A man with a tablet stepped forward. "Riley St. Claire. Her grandmother was a 'spiritualist' in New Orleans. Classic nutcase. Riley was kicked out of boarding school for claiming she saw 'shadow people.' Spent two years in Saint Jude’s Psychiatric." I remembered Saint Jude’s. That’s where I met Gus. He was the only one who didn't try to medicate the ghosts away. Tinsley rolled her eyes. "Great. We got a ride from a literal psycho. No wonder the car smelled like a funeral home." I looked at them, a cold dread settling in my gut. They didn't understand the debt they were accruing. "You should leave," I said softly. "The clock is ticking." Barrett knelt beside me. "I want to see if your knees are as tough as your car." He wasn't joking. I felt a shiver of pure, primal terror. I was outnumbered and broken. "Barrett, please," I whispered, my pride dissolving into a desperate need to survive. "I’ll apologize. I’ll do whatever you want. Just let me go." I lowered my head to the dirt, the ultimate sign of submission. Barrett stayed silent for a moment, then grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. "A little late for that, isn't it? But fine. If you take us to this 'Guest' of yours, maybe I’ll reconsider." I shook my head violently. The Guest was not for the living. To bring these people into his presence would be a death sentence for their entire bloodline. "I can't. For your sake, I can't." Barrett’s face twisted. He stood up and signaled to the man with the sledgehammer. The heavy iron swung down. I heard the crack of my own bone before I felt the pain—an agonizing, white-hot explosion in my knee. I collapsed, howling, my world narrowing down to the pulsing rhythm of the trauma. 4 "Take us there. Now." Barrett was obsessed. He thought this was a game of status, a secret club he was being excluded from. He didn't realize he was banging on the door of a tomb. I gasped for air, bile rising in my throat. "You won't... you won't like what you find." Tinsley tugged at Barrett’s arm. "Barrett, let’s just go. She’s pathetic. Look at her." Barrett ignored her and kicked me hard in the ribs. The air left my lungs in a wet wheeze. I spat blood onto his shoes. "Fine," I managed to choke out. "I’ll take you." I had warned them. I had tried to save them. But the universe has a way of balancing the scales. If they wanted to walk into the abyss, I would be their guide. They dragged me into the back of one of the SUVs. My leg was a twisted mess of agony, but I forced myself to stay conscious. I gave them the coordinates. A private, high-security hospice tucked away in the hills—The Evergreens. As we wound higher into the mist, Barrett’s bravado began to flicker. "This... this is where my grandfather stays," he muttered. "He doesn't see anyone. Not even the board members." He turned to me, his eyes wide and suspicious. "Who are you, Riley? How do you know this place?" I didn't answer. Suddenly, Barrett’s phone buzzed. He answered it, his face turning the color of ash. "Sir?" a voice crackled through the speakers. "Where are you? Your grandfather... he just passed. Ten minutes ago. Your mother is frantic. You need to get here." The car became deathly silent. Tinsley whispered, "It’s just a coincidence, Barrett. She’s a stalker. She must have known he was sick." I clutched my shattered knee, staring out at the dark trees. I knew better. When we pulled up to the main gates, a woman in a black designer suit—Barrett’s mother—was waiting. She saw Barrett first, her face a mask of grief and fury. "Barrett! Your grandfather is gone, and you arrive smelling like a bar? Have you no shame?" Then she saw me being hauled out of the car, my leg dripping blood. Her jaw dropped. "Miss St. Claire? What... what happened? You were supposed to be here an hour ago. We had an arrangement." I looked at Barrett’s horrified face and felt a cold, sharp satisfaction. "You should ask your son, Mrs. Huntington," I rasped. And then, a wave of oppressive, freezing air rolled out from the hospice doors. A darkness so thick it swallowed the porch lights began to bleed into the night.
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