Chapter 15 : MASKS AND MIRRORS
Helena First National Bank occupied a stone building on Main Street that had probably been impressive when it was built in 1892. Now it just looked tired—faded grandeur clinging to architectural details that no one had maintained properly in decades.
I pushed through the front doors wearing Sebastian Morrow like a second skin.
[HUMAN GLAMOUR GENERATOR: ACTIVE] [IDENTITY COHERENCE: 94%] [ESTIMATED DURATION: 6 HOURS AT CURRENT ENERGY EXPENDITURE]
The glamour didn't change my physical appearance—that would require shapeshifting, and human forms weren't in my repertoire yet. Instead, it altered perception. People who looked at me saw what they expected to see: a successful businessman in his early thirties, well-dressed, confident, completely human.
The System had helped construct the supporting documentation. Sebastian Morrow—investment consultant, recently relocated from the East Coast, interested in mineral rights and property development. The backstory was detailed enough to survive casual investigation, shallow enough that deep digging would find nothing because there was nothing to find.
"Mr. Morrow?" The bank manager approached with the eager smile of someone who smelled money. Middle-aged, balding, suit that had been expensive ten years ago. "I'm Gerald Foster. We spoke on the phone."
"Mr. Foster." I shook his hand with precisely calibrated pressure. Not too firm—aggression. Not too soft—weakness. Just right—competence and courtesy. "Thank you for meeting with me on short notice."
"Of course, of course. Please, come to my office."
The office was small but clean. Foster offered coffee—I accepted—and launched into his prepared pitch about the bank's services, their commitment to customer satisfaction, their competitive rates on business accounts.
I let him talk. The longer he spoke, the more comfortable he became, the less likely he was to ask uncomfortable questions.
"Now," Foster said finally, shuffling papers, "you mentioned interest in establishing a corporate account. What kind of business are we looking at?"
"Investment and property management." I produced the incorporation documents the System had generated—flawless forgeries that would pass any standard inspection. "Morrow Holdings, LLC. We're acquiring mineral rights in the Silver Ridge area."
"Ah, the old mining claims." Foster's eyes lit up. Commission calculations running behind his smile. "Lot of those going unclaimed these days. Owners died off, estates never bothered to maintain them. You're looking to consolidate?"
"Among other things." I handed over the first deposit—twenty thousand dollars in cash that I'd extracted from Cormac's hoard over several weeks, laundered through enough small transactions that it couldn't be traced. "This should cover initial operating capital."
Foster counted the bills with practiced efficiency. His eyebrows rose slightly at the amount but not suspiciously—cash deposits from investors weren't unusual enough to trigger alarm.
"I'll have the account established within the hour," he said. "We'll need some additional documentation for this amount—standard regulatory requirements—"
"Of course." I produced the supporting paperwork. Tax identification numbers that existed in databases because the System had put them there. Social Security verification that led to a carefully constructed identity with fifteen years of fictional history. Employment records from companies real enough to confirm if called, vague enough that no one would remember Sebastian Morrow specifically.
Foster reviewed everything with the attention span of a man who trusted paperwork more than instinct. Fifteen minutes later, I walked out with account numbers, checkbooks, and the first layer of legitimate cover the coalition had ever possessed.
The property acquisition took the rest of the morning.
The county clerk's office occupied a building even older than the bank—a Victorian structure that smelled of dust and bureaucracy. The clerk was a woman in her sixties who clearly resented the interruption of whatever she'd been doing when I arrived.
"Mining claims," she repeated flatly. "In the Silver Ridge area."
"Specifically these parcels." I produced the list I'd compiled—fourteen claims surrounding the coalition territory, most of them abandoned for decades. "I understand the previous owners have defaulted on taxes. I'd like to pay the outstanding amounts and assume ownership."
The clerk's expression suggested I'd asked to buy the moon. "That's... unusual."
"I'm an unusual investor." Sebastian Morrow's smile—charming, slightly self-deprecating. "Call it a hobby. I like old mining properties."
"You realize there's nothing there? The silver played out fifty years ago."
"The silver isn't what interests me. The land has other potential."
She studied me for a long moment. Looking for the angle. Looking for the scam. Finding nothing but a wealthy eccentric with too much money and too few brains.
"I'll need to pull the records," she said finally. "This could take a while."
"I'll wait."
Three hours later, I walked out with deed transfers for twelve of the fourteen properties. The other two had complications—active disputes over ownership that would take weeks to resolve. Acceptable losses. Twelve claims gave the coalition legal ownership of the territory surrounding our Haven. Trespassers would now be violating property law, not just entering unclaimed wilderness.
[LEGAL COVER: ESTABLISHED] [HUNTER THREAT LEVEL: GREEN (15) — DECREASED] [NOTE: LEGITIMATE OWNERSHIP COMPLICATES DIRECT INVESTIGATION]
The glamour was starting to wear. I could feel it fraying at the edges—little moments where Sebastian Morrow's confident smile felt forced, where the persona's smooth confidence ground against my actual personality.
I found a coffee shop two blocks from the clerk's office and ordered something complicated enough to justify sitting for a while. The barista—young, bored, counting minutes until his shift ended—didn't look twice at me.
Normal people. Normal lives. Normal problems.
A mother at the next table negotiated with two children over cookie distribution rights. An old man read a newspaper, circling items in the classifieds with methodical precision. A couple in the corner argued quietly about something I couldn't hear—money, probably, or time, or all the small frictions that accumulated in human relationships.
I sipped my coffee and watched them the way I might watch animals at a zoo. Familiar but foreign. Recognizable but impossible to rejoin.
Two months ago, I'd been one of them. Human. Ordinary. Concerned with quarterly reports and morning commutes and whether the Seahawks would make the playoffs. Now I commanded monsters and plotted empire-building and couldn't remember the last time I'd worried about something as simple as traffic.
Do you miss it? The question surfaced unexpectedly.
The honest answer was complicated. I missed certainty. Missed knowing that the rules of reality were fixed and understandable. Missed the comfort of problems that had solutions within reach.
But I didn't miss being prey. Didn't miss the helplessness I'd felt when the first Skinwalker attacked, when I'd realized that everything I thought I knew about the world was wrong. The power I had now came with costs—exhaustion, responsibility, the constant calculation of threats—but it also came with agency.
Better to be a monster who could fight back than a human who could only die.
[IDENTITY COHERENCE: 78%] [GLAMOUR STRAIN DETECTED] [RECOMMENDATION: LIMIT EXTENDED USE TO PREVENT PSYCHOLOGICAL FRAGMENTATION]
I finished my coffee and left.
The drive back to the territory took two hours. I spent it processing everything I'd accomplished—bank accounts, property deeds, the framework of legitimacy that would protect the coalition from casual investigation. Human paperwork as armor against human hunters.
Jenny was waiting at the entrance when I arrived. Her presence pulsed through the bond—curiosity mixed with concern.
I handed her the coffee I'd picked up at a gas station near the territory border. "For you."
She took it with surprise. "You're being nice."
"I'm investing in morale."
"Uh-huh." She sipped, studying me over the cup's rim. "How did it go?"
"Successfully. We now legally own most of the land surrounding this mountain. Any hunter who investigates will find a legitimate business operation with all the appropriate paperwork."
"And the exhaustion you're pretending you don't feel?"
I paused. The bond worked both ways—she could sense my condition as easily as I could sense hers. Hiding physical state from her was functionally impossible.
"Manageable," I said.
"You said that yesterday. And the day before."
"It remains true."
"Silas." She stepped closer. "You can't run a coalition if you're too tired to think straight. The glamour work alone—I could feel the strain through the bond. You're pushing too hard."
"There's too much to do to push less."
"Then delegate more." Her hand found my arm. "You've got twenty monsters who want this coalition to succeed. Use them."
She was right. She kept being right, which was simultaneously helpful and annoying.
"Coalition meeting tomorrow," I said. "We'll discuss glamour training. Anyone who needs to make supply runs should be able to pass as human."
"That's a start." She didn't release my arm. "And tonight?"
"Tonight I review the security protocols Edgar submitted."
"Tonight you sleep." Her grip tightened. Not threatening—insistent. "Real sleep. Or I'll have Ruth tranquilize you."
"Ruth doesn't have tranquilizers."
"She'll improvise."
I looked at her for a long moment. The bond carried her determination, her concern, her growing frustration with a leader who didn't know how to stop working.
"Fine," I said. "But if anything—"
"I'll wake you. Urgent only. No exceptions."
I nodded and let her guide me toward the quarters. The mountain rose around us, stone and silence and twenty monsters who were learning to be something more than survivors.
Tomorrow there would be more problems. More plans. More pieces to move on a board that kept getting larger.
Tonight, there was only exhaustion and the unexpected comfort of someone who cared whether I destroyed myself in the process of building an empire.
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