Chapter 1
“So, have you decided what you’ll ask yet?”
Micaiah is leaning in close as I select a bag of chips in the aisle of the convenience store. I glance at him; he has a conspiratorial grin on his face, a glint in his eyes. I raise my eyebrows, and the smile widens. As though this is all some big assignment, a top secret to anyone else. It may be, come to think of it, but it’s still embarrassing for him to act like an idiot in public.
“Why are you whispering?” I ask at normal volume, shaking my head and smirking at him. My hand lingers over a bag of Fritos, and I pull it off its rack. “You’re gonna make the clerk think we’re up to something.”
He frowns. “You aren’t going to tell me.”
“Of course not.”
Micaiah groans, rolling his eyes and turning away from me. “Seriously? We tell each other, like, everything. Don’t you trust me with this?” He’s easily hurt, which is just fine most of the time. But it’s a tradition for people to keep their question a secret from everyone. It shouldn’t be a surprise.
I walk up to the counter with my chips and pay for them, muttering my thanks to the bored-looking cashier. Micaiah is scowling at me but drops it long enough to keep a mildly pleasant tone with the clerk as he buys an energy drink. I wait outside by the door.
“You’re not seriously mad that I don’t want to talk about meeting the Veiled, are you?” I ask, genuinely curious. “Like, I’m not even gonna tell my parents about that. It’s nothing personal.”
He sighs. When I look at him, he’s wearing an apologetic smile, embarrassed for kicking up a fuss. “I-- no, but you can’t blame a guy for trying. I dunno, I guess...I guess I’m worried my question is stupid,” he admits, wincing, “and I wanted some advice. But I guess everyone’s got that problem, huh?”
I nod briskly, clapping him on the shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry...not only do I think mine is idiotic, I think they may not even answer it.”
Micaiah gives me a baffled expression.
~~~
I turned 22 this year, and Micaiah turned 20; this will be our first participation in the annual Inquiry Cycle. It’s a bit overwhelming and baffling as to what we should ask The Veiled. Not only is it considered omen of one’s whole life if your first question has a positive or negative answer, but we don’t have any pressing concern that would be obvious to address. We’re young. Everything is considered uncharted territory.
We get in my car. I don’t want to have some older person hear what we’re talking about and start making suggestions. Everyone is doing it: our families, our housemates, our friends, our coworkers. They all seem to have the perfect solution to what subject is best to ask about. Some suggest love, some say illness, others about death or careers. I can feel Micah tense up with anxiety whenever someone overhears these conversations (although I don’t point out that his initiation of talk about the Veiled is what puts us at risk of being intercepted by critics).
“Do you have an idea of what you’re going to ask, at least?” I ask him. Any sensible person would—people tend to compare one’s first question for The Veiled to a term paper. You ought to be preparing weeks in advance at the absolute minimum, but some procrastinate until the last minute.
Micaiah nods, sipping his drink. “Yeah, I’ve got an overarching theme decided, but I need to decide where to specify.”
“That’s better than nothing,” I remind him, trying to be empathic. I can’t do much more without making him feel bad, seeing as I already have an exact question in mind. “At least you have two days before they’re here.”
The Inquiry Cycle gets its name because the Veiled stick around for precisely one lunar cycle. It’s meant to give everyone who wants to go enough time to see them. Rumor also has it that wherever they’re from is too far only to come to receive questions for a day or so, but those suggestions come from the camp that believes the Veiled are aliens. Regardless, it’s convenient all around, so no one asks questions.
“Lee, you better hurry up before I drag your naked ass to the Unveiling Temple.” My roommate, Sophia, is banging on my door. We’re getting ready to meet the Veiled together after she insisted that going alone would be too terrifying. I invited Micaiah to come too, but he already went with his family over the weekend. They asked that they be with him for his first time.
“I. Am. Trying.” I grit my teeth, fussing with my tie and shouting at her through the door. She hates to be late, but it’s not like they’ll leave for another week. It doesn’t matter; Sophia is too determined to put sense into once her mind is made up. On most days it’s helpful to have a productive person to force me into working, but this morning I’m just getting frazzled. “I fucked up tying my tie.”
The doorknob jiggles (likely to see if it’s locked) before she bursts in, already fully dressed, made-up, with her hair done. I’m both impressed and infuriated. “Let me see.” Sophia sighs, shaking her head at me as though this is the first time I’ve dressed myself. Still, I drop my hands and seethe in silence, letting her adjust my tie with an ashamed glower. Her lips twitch up when she sees it.
After she’s done, Sophia pulls away, examining me closely, before licking her thumb and wiping it on my cheek. I bat her hand off—I have a sneaking suspicion, based on her snort and grin, that there wasn’t anything to wipe off. “You look nice, Leeroy,” she finally decides.
I wrinkle my nose. I hate when she calls me Leeroy. “Thanks, so do you. Let’s go.”
The nearest ‘temple’ is three hours away by train, in Cleveland. The train car is packed, even though we specifically avoided the first-day-of-the-cycle rush. Almost everyone we see is also dressed up, trying to look their best when speaking to the Veiled. Reportedly no one but some ‘temple’ staff even sees them, but better to be safe than sorry. You don’t want to insult people who can literally predict the future.
The ‘Unveiling Temple’ is actually the Art Institute of Chicago. It’s a specific request of the Veiled that no structure be built specifically for their presence. Museums are most commonly where they like to be, followed by legislative buildings, then religious structures; museum entry is also requested to be free during their stay if it isn’t already. It’s like they’re a temporary, wildly popular exhibition.
Thankfully, it’s a weekday, so the wait, once we arrive, is only 75 minutes or so. That may sound absurd, but the first day of the Veiled taking questions roughly has a 4 hour wait time, and 2.5 hours on the weekends. Sophia and I shuffle through slowly, looking at paintings and other pieces in the wings of the art museum. We take pictures of the art, of ourselves and each other, and post it to our Facebook profiles. They blow up with comments wishing luck. I eventually cave in and take a bathroom break, while Sophia refuses to take off her Spanx to go until it becomes an absolute necessity. There’s food available near the front lobby for those who get hungry waiting for their number to be called, but we don’t eat. We’re too nervous.
Finally, just as I’m about to seek out a phone charger, we hear the automated voice call Sophia’s number. “Now serving numbers 4000-4050. Please make your way to Special Exhibitions.” We stiffen visibly and look to each other. We’re 4027 and 4028.
“Fuck. God, okay. Here we go.” She stands up from the bench we’ve been sitting on, running her hands through her hair and pulling her dress down. “I am sweating so bad.”
I nod in agreement, breathing out a harsh breath.
We weave through the crowds of waiting patrons, going down the hall and finding the Unveiling Room, with four security guards on either side of the door. They look between us. Sophia holds out her hand, which has her number stamped onto the back of her palm, with a little symbol of a wheel underneath. She’s smudged it, but the guards are content.
“Right this way, ma’am...please leave your purse in the container against the wall before going in.”
“Oh, yeah. Okay.” She sets her purse down in a blue plastic crate, then sighs. “Be back in a minute.” After smiling timidly at me, and she goes through the covered glass doors that separate so many from answers. I hang back in the hall, away from the entrance and the security guards. My undershirt is sticking to my back.
