A Shrine to an Unknown God

GRAY HAZE

EZRA GETS DIRECTIONS from his little Facebook friend, whose name is Alekos, to where we're supposed to meet him. After we eat, Marisol uses her enchanted Google Maps to lead us to him.

Nearly every square inch of these past couple of blocks have been covered with street art, from illegible text to beautiful, intricate murals. The buildings are dilapidated and falling in on themselves, baking beneath the scorching afternoon sun. Young passersby flit up and down the city streets in all manners of garb.

I'm thankful for Marisol's braid keeping my hair off my back. I can barely stand to touch it; being as thick and dark as it is, it's soaked up all of the surrounding heat.

Every couple of blocks Marisol will turn to Ezra, giggle nervously, and ask him: this place seems really sketchy, are you sure this is the right way? As if he would know the answer. Dahlia, at one point, rips her phone out of her hands so she can look at the map for herself.

"Good God, Marisol. Just because there's some graffiti doesn't mean that this place is sketchy. Actually look at some of it. It's actually quite beautiful. It's still art, you know. Even if you don't understand it. Has going to an arts magnet school taught you nothing?"

"That one literally says fuck the police!" Marisol points out.

"You had that as your Instagram bio for, like, two whole months."

That shuts her up. She crosses her arms over her chest and sighs. What's an Instagram bio? I wonder.

We turn a corner and Dahlia gasps. "We're here, boys!"

Here is a green door on the far corner of a two-story building lined in businesses and restaurants. Above it is a small white sign—no wider than the door itself, and a quarter as tall—sprawling with blue words in several languages. Below that it says foreign currency exchange in Greek. A woman leans against the doorframe, smoking something thin and white.

Marisol takes her phone back and slides it into her pocket.

"Stay close to me," Ezra insists. "This guy can't be trusted."

Cute that he thinks he needs to protect us. If anything, we need to protect his scrawny little behind.

He opens the door and a little bell chimes. The rest of us follow behind him, Marisol tripping over the threshold.

Ezra's lack of trust in Alekos has me on edge. I scan the room, looking for any possible weapons, escape routes, or threats.

The floor is sturdy enough—no possible trip hazards other than the threshold. White tiles lined in thick black. The room is longer than it is wide, and most of it is empty space. The ceiling is gray and metallic with two buzzing rectangular lights, one of which is flickering.

On one side of us is a counter displaying several different types of bagged snack foods and sweets. A big sweaty man rests his hairy forearms on top of the counter—a worker. Has a lot of muscles and height on me. But no visible weapons. Nothing that one of my blades can't handle. I nickname him Muscles.

Beside him is a humming machine full of those little bottles of Coke that Ezra and Marisol had at lunch. Those could be used as makeshift weapons. Behind him, a wall of small packages. A small fan rests on the counter, blowing sweet cold air, but other than that, it is just as hot in here as it was outside, if not hotter.

On the other side are three sets of hard plastic booths at which three people sit, playing cards, smoking. Their smoke turns the air to a gray haze and settles low inside my throat. I look each one over and decide that none of them cause a threat.

One of them is a tall and lanky guy with a wispy beard. Beard. The second a man with long, beautiful blond hair. Blondie. The third a woman with wild curls and freckles and sunspots running up and down her skin. Freckles. The only one that could cause any potential harm would be the worker behind the counter.

Against the back wall is a red door and a booth made of wood up to hip-height, glass for the rest. Behind it sits a balding old man, eyes unblinking as a snake, and moles covering his saggy skin. Only his head and neck are visible from behind the glass. Alekos.

We have three main disadvantages.

We're outnumbered.

They know this building and the area better than we do.

I don't think any of my three new friends know how to fight.

"Ezra!" exclaims Alekos. "I'm so glad to see you!"