by Arthurs, Nia
Fearing that their missives were being stolen, the leader of the Firenzes Assassins created a special design that required a key held only by the chiefs. That way, any communication between allies could never be read by the enemy.
In those days, the Demartians did not have the weapons and tools that we do now. The lock is not impenetrable. It can still be broken by a clip or saw. But the design is telling. My father must have been in contact with a Firenzes chief to have acquired this box.
I sigh and set the metal container away. I will pursue a clipper in the morning. First I must get some rest. After turning off the lights, I lie in bed, listening to the sounds of the crickets outside. My mind is restless and I find that I cannot sleep.
Rising quickly, I draw the bureau from the door and escape to the main room. I spotted a computer available for use. I was forced to leave my laptop behind so that Maveth, and the other assassins willing to turn on their own, won’t be able to find me by triangulating the IP address.
Because of that decision, I have not been able to check in on Kendall as often as I would like to. Damien and I sometimes relay messages through burner phones that can be easily discarded, but for Kendall’s safety, I’ve kept the lines of communication closed.
I know that I cannot find any current information on her whereabouts. Before Kendall left on her trip, I outlined the importance of staying away from all forms of social media. If Maveth wants to exterminate her, he can do it easily, but I don’t believe in opening the door for him.
Still, I’m eager to catch a glimpse of Kendall’s face. Perhaps I can find solace in the images, enough to fall asleep. I hesitantly type in her information in a prominent site, expecting to scroll through old posts.
Instead, I find a surge of new messages, new friends, and new photographs. Alarmed, I click the latest picture. Peering closer at the screen, I make out a large stage. Harsh lights beam down from above, giving the picture a fuzzy glow.
Six people hold a variety of instruments. A strange man with green hair clutches a guitar. A drummer is heavily eclipsed by his drums. A large, giant of a man stands behind a keyboard next a woman with another guitar.
For a moment, I breathe easier. Perhaps, the picture is not linked to Kendall at all. I wave the mouse over the image and am taken aback when a box with Kendal’s name pops up beside a small woman in the middle of the platform.
I zoom in and recognize Kendall’s beautiful face immediately. She’s wearing a white blouse, along with tight jeans and red shoes. Her hair curls around her face. She seems to be having the time of her life.
If only this weren’t so dangerous to that very life.
Incensed, I log out of the computer and storm to my room. It takes every lick of restraint in me to shut the door softly.
What could Damien be thinking? Allowing Kendall to step onto a stage, ripe for the picking, is the most idiotic thing I have ever seen. Maveth could have waited in the wings, let a shot fly, and faded into the crowd of concert patrons.
And now, Maveth and any assassin that he’s in lieu with, know exactly where Kendall will be next. The band’s itinerary is all over the internet!
I promised myself I wouldn’t use the burner phone again unless it was an emergency. But if this doesn’t count, I don’t know what does.
As the dial tone sounds in my ear, I realize that I have to get to Wales. Kendall Villanueva is the most important person in my life. If Damien isn’t up to protecting her, I will.
Chapter 9
Kendall
I can’t sleep. I’m too excited. This night is one of the best I’ve had since the craziness with assassins, Maveth, and murderous fathers. My restlessness is driving me nuts, so I tiptoe out of the bunk section of the bus to get some water.
The kitchen is dark, but I can still make out Damien’s shadow in the lights coming from the street lamps outside. We’re driving through the night to make it to a charity concert that Jace insisted on squeezing in to the schedule.
Francis was not happy about that.
I’m about to greet my assassin-bodyguard-friend when I hear my name.
“Kendall is fine. She’s fine. She’s… Alistair, calm down.”
My heart starts thumping against my chest like a jackhammer. It’s been over two weeks since I’ve heard from Alistair. After his brusque instructions in Belize to ‘keep away from all social media’, the stoic assassin simply walked away from me.
I got the hint. Whatever we were, whatever we have the potential to be is not as important as Alistair’s mission. Doesn’t mean I’ve suddenly stopped caring for him. Things between us got real complicated, real fast, but I can’t help what I feel.
The bus slows down as I tiptoe backwards, hoping that Damien’s too caught up in his call to hear me. I know he can hear the faintest sounds, but I really want to see where this conversation is going.
Damien sighs.
“I’m watching her just fine. Do you think I could have stopped her from performing in that concert? Have you met, Kendall?”
I’m not sure if I should take Damien’s words as a compliment or an insult.
“No. You don’t have to do that… what? Alistair, focus on your mission. She’s safe with me. I’m sorry I let you down. I’ll be more careful next time.”
Damien stops talking and presses the phone closer to his ear. I wish I knew what Alistair was saying. Thankfully, I get a clue when Damien responds.
“Fine. We’re heading to the capital next, Cardiff. We’ll meet you there.”
Stunned, I lean against the wall. Alistair is coming? Before I can sort out how I feel about that, Damien’s deep voice rumbles through the cab.
“You can come out now, Kendall.”
I frown and step into the kitchen. “How’d you know it was me?”
“You think I’m an amateur at this?”
“Seriously,” I snap on the lights and head to the cupboards, “how’d you know?”
I bend over to grab a mug and when I straighten, Damien is leaning against the counter. The guy isn’t Vin Diesel or anything, but he’s got some definition in those arms. I drag my eyes away from the pale muscles gleaming in the moonlight.
What is wrong with me? I’m truly surprised that I even noticed. I’ve just gotten used to accepting Damien as a friend. How the heck did I make the jump from friendship to checking him out so quickly?
“The truth?” His voice pulls me back to our conversation.
I nod.
“Your smell.”
“My smell?”
I quickly lift my arm and sniff. I bathed this morning. Maybe the sweat from the concert warranted a second bath?
Damien laughs. “It’s not a bad smell. It’s like flowers. Hasn’t anyone told you that before?”
I shyly sip from my cup. “No,”
“Well,” Damien’s brown eyes stare intently into mine, “I’d recognize you anywhere.”
Our gazes hold for a few beats longer than they should. I glance away, confused by my own reaction.
Okay, this is weird.
“Um, what did Alistair say?”
Damien straightens and his expression becomes serious.
“We may have made a mistake letting you up on stage like that. Someone tagged you in a picture online. Everyone knows you’re touring with Dust and Ashes now.”
“Oh no,” I cover my mouth. “I thought… I mean, I didn’t…”
“It’s not your fault,” Damien places his hand on my back.
I stiffen at the touch and he moves his arm away.
“Anyway,” he continues awkwardly, “Alistair’s coming to meet us in Cardiff.”
“I heard… among other things. I’m sorry he was so harsh. Don’t worry. I’ll take up for you.” I insist.
Damien shakes his head. “When it comes to protecting the people we care about, there’s no room for mistakes. Alistair is right to be mad. I don’t need you to protect me.”
Something about the wording of his phrase sounds strang
e to me, but my curiosity is eclipsed by my excitement. So I did hear right! I get to see Alistair again!
I can’t wait. We left things so up-in-the-air when we saw each other last. I think hanging out, in any capacity, will be good for us.
Damien and I move to the table. He sits on the opposite end, watching me intently as I drink my water.
“How did you two meet anyway?” I shoot at the suddenly taciturn assassin.
“We met on a job.”
I screw my mouth. I’m still uneasy about the whole killing thing. I’ve come to accept Damien as a person, but his lifestyle? That’s another matter altogether.
“Oh?” I say as innocently as I can.
Damien smiles, seeing right through my façade.
“It was a few years ago. When we found out that we both worked outside the realm of the leagues, we helped each other out. I admit at first, I was the one that made sure we didn’t lose touch, but after a while we both considered each other friends.”
Damien talks about his ‘job’ so casually. I just can’t understand how he or anyone would view the value of a human life with such callousness. I don’t want to judge him (though a judge surely can) but I really do want to know.
“How do you do it?” I ask quietly.
He tilts his head in confusion. “Do what?”
“Take someone’s life?”
He licks his thin lips. I see the struggle in his eyes. Damien has two roads before him. He can be honest or he can give me a pat, shallow answer. I don’t know which way he’ll turn, but I am a little surprised when he chooses the former.
“You go blind.”
“Excuse me?” I arch an eyebrow.
“If you take everything in, if you allow yourself to see things clearly, then you won’t be able to move. Instead of a target, you’ll see a father. Instead of a job, you’ll see a son. That’s when you second guess yourself. And in our line of work, if you’re not one hundred percent committed, you die.”
“I just… I can’t imagine.”
“It’s not so bad,” he leans back. “Just like anything in this world, once you’ve done it enough times, it becomes normal.”
His ideals are frightening. We’re talking about murder here. Is this the mentality that Alistair has?
“Do you… like it?” I ask hesitantly.
Damien stares into the darkness. The sweeping sound of the bus wheels against the pavement is loud in the stillness. The cups in the drawer tinker as the driver makes a turn. For a moment, I doubt that Damien will even answer.
When he does, I’m surprised at his honesty.
“I used to,” he admits, “but I don’t know anymore.”
Chapter 10
Alistair
The sunshine creeps into the room, hoping to catch me unawares, but I’m already up and dressed. The homey room and cheerful beams do nothing to curb my foul mood. I slam the bathroom door closed and stalk over to the bed.
Anger still pulses in my veins when I think of my discoveries last night. I picture Kendall on the stage for the world to see. Had I known Damien would act so immaturely, I wouldn’t have entrusted him with Kendall in the first place!
What could possibly have convinced him to let her out on stage before millions of potential assassins?
If something had happened to her…I can’t even finish the thought.
I do know that I need to see her. And I need to remind Damien of his promise. He gave an oath to guard her with his life. Perhaps he’s forgotten the gravity of his mission. Perhaps he misunderstood the danger that Kendall is truly in.
Whatever the case, I want to be done with my business here so that I can catch a train to Cardiff.
It’s a huge gamble. If Maveth catches up to me, he’ll easily exterminate both his targets without extra effort. I do not choose this path lightly. My every move from here on must be doubly cautious.
I grab the straps of my backpack and head downstairs. Neezy also rose before dawn. I heard her puttering around downstairs while I completed my morning routine. Eagerly, I head toward the sound of metal against china and the crackle of sizzling meat.
“Good morning,” Neezy grins at me.
When the woman smiles, her eyes disappear completely. She reminds me a bit of Kendall. They both have genuine, open spirits.
“Good morning,” I return her greeting. “Would it be possible for me to borrow a wrench or a clipper?”
“Something in your room needs fixin’?”
I nod.
“My,” Neezy’s smile dims, “I had no idea. I’ll get right on that, sir.”
“Actually,” –I step in her path, realizing that I need to clarify myself –“it has nothing to do with the room. Your accommodations are lovely. The tools are for a … personal matter.”
“Oh,” Neezy’s smile returns to its effervescent size, “why didn’t you say that? I got the tools out back in the shed.”
“Thank you.”
I dip my head in appreciation and stride toward the small hut in the back. The sun is climbing its way to the blue edges of the sky when I open the door. The dim interior allows beams of light to steal inside through the cracks in the wooden walls.
Quickly, I remove my backpack and open the pouch. Dipping my hand inside, I grip the metal container and set it gently on the ground. There are a myriad of tools in the shed, but I find the device I seek quite easily.
Setting the chain between the two large clippers, I apply my strength to closing the gap. The links snap without a struggle. A flush of satisfaction rushes through my chest. I kneel down on the dirty floor. My fingers tremble as I caress the lining of the box.
This is it. Whatever my father hid in the panel will be revealed. I crack the box open, expecting to find some kind of incriminating evidence. A gun. A journal. A photograph. Instead, I find pages and pages of mad scribblings.
Characters and letters parade across worn leather pages, mimicking a language that hasn’t been invented yet. I dig my hands into the mass of sheets, shuffling through the pages with frantic energy. There must be something important under all this crap.
I feel nothing but thin paper. Frustrated, I turn the box over and search its contents, hoping to find another secret panel. My efforts are wasted. The box is a simple container filled with scribbling nonsense.
Hopelessness seeps into my bones. I want to give in to the feeling, but the threat of death is too much of an incentive to keep going. Why would someone hide these strange markings in a secret panel in the wall of our house? Perhaps the box was placed there after the fire, when Jimmy and his crew weren’t around?
I groan in annoyance. Instead of solving a mystery, this box gave birth to another. I pick up each of the pages, searching for words written in English, Spanish, or Latin. I speak the first two fluently and can recognize bits and pieces of the latter.
Unfortunately, the language more resembles the alphabet of a toddler with no schooling than the keys that will unlock the truth of my past. Disappointed, I replace the pages into the container and fasten it closed.
This path was a dead-end, but I cannot give up. Something in my chest insists that Maveth spoke the truth when he informed me that my father is alive. I’m following my gut and hoping that the assassin didn’t send me on a wild goose chase.
With determined movements, I leave the shed and thank Neezy for her hospitality. She gives me a hug and bids me safe travels. I think of the experience as I board a train to Cardiff. Neezy’s establishment was homey and quiet. I wonder if Kendall would enjoy a visit.
I wince. Surely, there is nothing I haven’t seen or done that managed to turn my mind away from the beautiful Belizean who has captured my heart.
Would Kendall enjoy these train rides? Would she like the London air? Would she stay in a bed and breakfast like this?
Such thoughts have constantly bombarded me since I met Kendall Villanueva. It is absolutely ridiculous. I curse my own weakness, yet cling to the assurances that thinking of Kendall br
ings.
I am very aware that she is out of my reach. Not for my sake, but for hers. Even though I have fled the life of an assassin, I can never be safe.
My life, and the lives of those I love, will always be in constant danger. Mercenaries don’t get fairy tale endings. It is the way things have always been. I have no power to change them, so it makes no sense to entertain these thoughts.
My mission is to end this feud with Maveth, face the foe that ordered my extermination, and bring Kendall safely back home. My mission is to clear the path for her to enjoy a full life.
To watch her marry a man with a decent job. Perhaps an accountant or a teacher.
To ensure that she grows old.
To secure her happiness.
My mission is not to love her. I am incapable of love. My heart is gone, buried where the bodies of countless lives rot in the ground. I am a killer. Nothing I do can wash the stain of blood lingering on my fingertips.
Kendall deserves more than that.
She deserves more than me.
For now, I must turn my attentions away from matters of the heart. What is important in this time is taking her away to somewhere safe, somewhere that Maveth and the other assassins who have heard of my mark cannot find her.
The train slows down as it nears the station in Cardiff. I must convince Kendall to leave the tour and follow me. I have a feeling that conversation won’t be pretty.
Chapter 11
Kendall
Upon our arrival in Cardiff, the band and I separate. They’ll be performing at the children’s hospital in a few minutes so they can’t see me off properly. I guess I understand, though I hate that I’m leaving them in the lurch like this.
We climb out of the bus and into the sweet, warm sunshine. Trey, Jace, and Morgan crowd around me in a group hug right there on the side of the road. Will ruffles my hair and tells me to ‘be cool’. He’s a strange one.
As I watch them turn away and walk back into the bus, I feel that a little piece of me is going with them. I really wish I could be there for Jace’s revenge prank on Trey. Jace won’t be the only one rocking green hair by the time the day is done.