veil

“Do I look like a moron? Certainly not,” Marcone said. “To the Wizard of Chicago. This was, after all, your kill. By the terms of the Accords, you deserve first claim.”
“We did it together,” I objected warily.
Marcone’s smile sharpened.
“Prove it,” he purred, “hero.”
He twitched two fingers and vanished behind a veil.
And I sat there in the cold and the damp, exhausted, momentarily safe, and certain in the sinking sensation that the future I was facing had suddenly become about a thousand times more complicated.

Battle Ground Chapter 35, Page 347