The Reluctant Assassin Boxset

by Thomas K. Carpenter

  Charla looked almost gray as she held a hand to her mouth. "Will Adrian be okay?"

  "No. We'll never see him again. The only thing that kept him from dying in there was that I was here to pull him out. If he's lucky he might live a somewhat normal life, though I suspect he'll never have the same sense of touch he had before. Pity for his love life." She frowned. "Everyone back to your chairs. I have one more thing for you, before you can return to your rooms and practice your articulation exercises."

  Instructor Pennywhistle handed out books to everyone. Each was a different shape and size.

  Zayn's said Jamaican Patois.

  "You wanted a spell that will help you speak a language," said Instructor Pennywhistle. "Well, here it is. These were made by Arcanium Hall. They are not easy to come by, nor are they cheap."

  The inside of the book had no words, only arcane scribbles and symbols.

  "How do we cast the spell?" asked Keelan.

  "You don't cast it. You eat it. Bon appétit."

  "Brazilian Portuguese," said Eddie in a raised voice. "What the hell is this shit?"

  Portia had a look of quiet victory on her face.

  Vin was the first to eat his book, shoving the edge of the binding into his mouth. Miraculously, the book morphed as he crammed it past his teeth.

  When he was finished, confusion passed across his face like a storm cloud until he said, "Neurobil nič?" He slapped his hand on the table. "I guess it worked."

  The rest of the room devoured their books, laughing and speaking in a variety of languages, while Zayn couldn't get the image of Adrian's skin boiling out of his head. No one else seemed bothered by the fact that one of their fellow students had nearly died. It wasn't that Zayn hadn't expected it. People died in the Hundred Halls all the time. Magic was dangerous. But seeing it nearly happen reminded him of the stakes.

  "Is something wrong, Mr. Carter?" said Instructor Pennywhistle.

  He looked around, finding himself nearly alone. His face flushed from her nearness.

  "Nothing wrong," he said. "Just a little daydreaming, I guess. Between Academy work and keeping up with the kitchen duties, I'm not getting much time for sleep."

  "You're not learning anything while you're sleeping," she said.

  "I'm not learning anything in the kitchen either," he said, catching himself when she raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry. That was inappropriate."

  She placed a hand on his arm. If he thought his face had been warm before, now it was a raging fire. It was hard to piece together two consecutive thoughts without veering off into wild fantasies.

  "If you feel it's too much here, you can always return to Varna," she said.

  The heady attraction he was experiencing blew out of his mind the moment she made her suggestion. "I'm not leaving. I came here to succeed."

  "Are you absolutely sure? Because the circumstances of your coming here leaves a lot of questions." She sighed, glancing towards the door. "Look, all instructors are fully aware of the peculiar aspects of Varna. We were all briefed about what happened during the Ceremony and how you were chosen."

  "I know what it looks like," he said, "but I swear I want to be here."

  "Part of me wants to believe that. While your class work has been exemplary, the incident during the team choosing still lingers in everyone's mind. You are a contradiction, Mr. Carter. But know that if you are not fully committed to the Academy, it will not go well for you."

  "I understand," he said.

  "Good," she said, though her eyes said otherwise as she slipped away.

  Zayn rubbed the binding of his book and thought about his family. It'd only been two months and already it was hard to picture them in his head. While he was happy about coming to the Academy, and all he was learning, he missed them and wondered what they were doing right then. He could almost hear Imani laughing as she tormented the twins in her lion costume, and the sounds of Neveah's pots clattering across the stove. He missed listening to the patient scribble of Sela's pencil across architectural drawings, or the smell of paint from Maceo's brush.

  He hoped his family would one day understand why he'd chosen the path he had. He couldn't ever tell them—it would put them in too much danger—but he wished things were different, especially after what had happened at the Ceremony.

  Chapter Nine

  The Lady's Mansion, August 2013

  Ceremony night

  On a rise at the center of Varna, a plantation house stood tall and strong, a white building at the end of two rows of towering oaks. Zayn hated the Lady's plantation. He hated the way it welcomed them in like a greedy mouth, gobbling up the town in its vast belly. Sure, it spit them out at the end, but he always felt a little more different at the end of Ceremony, like he was losing part of himself each time. It was safer to hate the house, rather than those that resided within, because the alternative led down roads he wasn't ready to walk. But he hated it just the same.

  He found Keelan sitting on the steps leading up to the house. Keelan was smiling and greeting people as they went by, but Zayn saw the tension in him. He looked like a bowstring pulled taut.

  "You missed a delicious dessert," said Keelan with a smile on his lips as his knees bounced. "Man, Neveah can cook."

  Zayn moved close and spoke under his breath. "You're going to do it, aren't you?"

  Keelan looked away. "What are you talking about?"

  "I saw your spell books," said Zayn. "You want to get picked."

  Keelan rubbed the top of his knees with both hands, rocking as he did. "You've got your family, your art school. I've got nothing."

  "We're your family. You don't want this. This"—he motioned with his eyes—"isn't what you want, you know that."

  "Easy for you to say," said Keelan, his face screwing up with anger. "I'm stuck here, in this prison. I'll go mad if I don't have something to do, some purpose."

  Zayn whispered as loud as he dared, "A prison is right, and if you do this, you'll be one of the guards."

  "Better than a prisoner," said Keelan, defiantly.

  Zayn threw himself onto the step next to his cousin and leaned his head close. "If you want, we can get out of town for a while. If we save the substance, stretch it out, we can spend a few months elsewhere. Or we can get some from the Goon, he keeps extra around for trade. Others have done it. It's not forbidden. Come on, Keelan, don't do this."

  "Then come with me," said Keelan. "If she knew what you could do, she'd pick you in a heartbeat."

  "It's not that easy, Keelan. People die all the time. The last two years both students didn't come back. What would that do to your mom?" asked Zayn.

  "She supports me," said Keelan, lips squeezed tight. "And I know it's risky, but so is living here. You can't tell me that you never wanted to join the Hundred Halls?"

  Zayn shoved his hands between his knees. "That's not the point. It'll change you."

  "I'm sorry, Zayn. You've been like my brother, but I have to do this," he said.

  Before Zayn could reply, a Watcher appeared before them. Zayn was suddenly aware the lawn was empty, and they were the last to enter the antebellum plantation house.

  "It's time," said the Watcher.

  There was something creepy about the way she spoke, as if an alien being were using her voice, making it vibrate slightly, like the tremor of a fly landing on a silken strand.

  Zayn scurried up the steps with Keelan right behind. Inside, a grand staircase covered in red carpet swept towards the second floor. Zayn had heard from his mother that the Lady had patterned the interior of her home on the Palace of Versailles in France, and though it was not as large of a structure, the amount of gilding and white marble was astounding.

  He was going to say something to his cousin as he entered, but another Watcher directed them towards the side of the room. Before they'd turned seventeen, they'd always attended the Ceremony with the rest of their family, but since they were eligible for the Hundred Halls, they were given a special spot near the front.<
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  The Ceremony was held in the Grand Ballroom. Not everyone in town had to attend—some like the Goon had special arrangements and those that were older were given permission to miss—but a majority of Varna was seated on white metal folding chairs. A silence not even found at Sunday services prevailed; even the babies were unnaturally quiet.

  All young men and women between the ages of seventeen and nineteen stood in rows before the dais. Zayn knew everyone there, since the entire graduating class of Varna high school for the last three years was in attendance.

  Craning his neck, Zayn found where his family was sitting, all the way in back by the doors. He couldn't find Aunt Lydia, though he knew she had to be somewhere in the room.

  A single bell tone announced the beginning of the Ceremony.

  The Speaker, an older blonde woman wearing a white pantsuit, whose name had been swallowed by time in her role for the Lady, stepped onto the dais. Her wrinkles had been smoothed away by sorcery.

  "Evening, Varna," said the Speaker in a cultured Southern accent. "Her Ladyship bids you a warm greeting, and good fortune on Ceremony night. As always, it is a time for coming together and for community. There is nothing better in this world than spending time with your friends and family. But her Ladyship also knows that in this day and age, everyone is busy, so we will, as has been customary these last few years, get right to the doing."

  A low chuckle came from the older folks, the ones in her favor who sat in the front rows. In the past, the Ceremony had been full of pomp and circumstance, and had gone on through the night until dawn.

  The Speaker pulled out a cell phone and read from her screen.

  "First, we would like to acknowledge the blessed unions that have occurred this year, and offer a gift. Would Mister and Missus Davis please come up."

  The newlyweds, Wesley and Vivian Davis, marched up hand in hand and accepted an ornate wooden box from a Watcher who'd come up from the back. The Davises babbled their thanks to the Speaker, before scurrying back to their spots with anxious expressions.

  The Speaker lifted her chin to speak again, but a child in back, no older than two or three, started bawling, pulling away from her mother. Zayn didn't know the family, but had seen them at the Ceremony before. The child made a demand for a Mr. Charlie, which Zayn assumed was a favorite toy, but the parents pleaded desperately for Sissy to be quiet. Everyone in the room waited on knife edge. Some glanced covertly at the offending family, but Zayn watched the Speaker, whose exterior slowly hardened as the interruption went on.

  A pair of Watchers collected the father while the mother was trying unsuccessfully to muffle the child with her hand. The father, a puffy middle-aged guy who ran the local hardware store, was led into a side room. The high-pitched scream that followed was like nails on a chalkboard. Zayn had no idea what they were doing to the poor man, but his mind filled in the details, suggesting lashes with barbed wire, or stabs from an electric prod.

  A few moments later the father stumbled into the Grand Ballroom, shaking, his jacket missing and his blue button-down shirt soaked with sweat. He yanked the child into his arms and put his hand firmly over her mouth—not one person made a motion to condemn.

  As the Speaker resumed her announcements, Zayn tried hard not to think about the child gasping for breath against her father's hand. He looked around him to see his fellow "aspirants" with their heads down, trying hard not to notice what had just transpired. It was a farce. A carefully constructed illusion of civility. Anger threaded through Zayn's limbs, building steam until he was digging his fingers into his legs to keep from saying something. But he knew he wouldn't for the same reasons no one else did. Because whatever he did would come back tenfold on his family, just like it had for his Uncle Jesse and Aunt Lydia.

  This continued for an hour, as the Speaker gave gifts for weddings and births, expressed condolences for those that had passed away, and mentioned significant business deals or promotions around town. There was little that avoided the Lady's network. This display was a reminder that nothing in the town happened without her permission.

  Zayn eyed his cousin during the proceedings, but Keelan was internally focused. It was like his cousin hadn't even noticed what had happened before.

  While the Speaker was announcing the new alderman in Varna, a thick man in a heavy gray duster ambled onto the dais from the back with a slight bowlegged limp. Zayn elbowed his cousin.

  Carron Allgood. Representative from the Academy of the Subtle Arts, trainer of the first years, scourge of young men and women in the place most called the Assassin's guild, the only Hall anyone from Varna was ever allowed to join. If he'd ever heard Carron's name without a string of profanities either before or after, then he'd never heard the name at all.

  Carron Allgood leaned on a wooden staff with a claw on the top. Unlike the Speaker, who hid her age with sorcery, Carron wore his scars and wrinkles proudly. His gaze roamed the line of potential apprentices, and when it fell upon Zayn, it felt like the gaze of Zeus was upon him, so he looked at his shoes.

  Sensing that the man from the Halls had usurped her prominence, the Speaker cleared her throat. "Before we move to the final announcements of the evening, we shall begin the receiving of communion."

  A knot of Watchers filed into the Grand Ballroom and stood before the dais with large copper stemless cups in their hands. The privileged front row stood first, ambled to the dais in their Sunday best, received their substance, and returned to their seats. Row by row, the town followed. His family gave him nods as they went past, except for the twins, who covertly stuck their tongues out at him.

  Noisy foot scuffs and the rattle of metal chairs provided enough cover for Zayn to lean over and say to his cousin, "Do you think she's watching right now?"

  There was no need to explain who the she was in this context, as everyone said it with a special emphasis. Keelan tapped a spot beneath his eyes, indicating the sunglasses the Watchers wore. It'd long been his theory that she could see through their eyes. Zayn disagreed, though he had no way to disprove it.

  When it was his turn, Zayn took a large mouthful of the bitter yellowish drink. It had a sweet aftertaste that hung in the back of the throat, but otherwise Zayn disliked it. But there was no point in dying when an alternative was offered. The Lady's poison would sustain him for another few months, and as long as he kept up with the regular doses, he'd never have to worry about anything.

  "Now with great..." began the Speaker, but the low clatter absorbed her voice.

  Carron banged the black ball at the end of his staff on the dais, silencing the congregation.

  The Speaker nodded towards him. "Thank you, Carron." Before turning to the crowd. "Now, with great pleasure, we choose the two young men and women who will represent our fair city of Varna at the Hundred Halls. No other town in the world has so many of its kin as alumni, and we should thank her Ladyship for bestowing this grace upon us."

  A tense silence intruded as everyone remembered that the kids they'd sent the last two years to the Hundred Halls hadn't come back. A loud sniff from Kellyanne's mother—one of the parents who'd lost her child—punctuated the moment, a reminder of the price.

  "Now, if any aspirants would like to demonstrate their worthiness before the choosing, please step forward."

  For a moment, Zayn thought that Keelan had changed his mind, but then he gave him a guilty glance and stepped through the line towards the dais. Other kids followed, and while there were parents who hid their concern in handkerchiefs or cupped hands, most had proud grins.

  When the rearranging was done, seventeen young men and women stood before Carron Allgood. He let the claw-end of his staff drift towards the end of the line.

  "You, Blonde, show me what you got."

  Gretchen Sandalwood was the head cheerleader and resident mean girl of the high school. Her blonde hair had been dutifully hardened into place with enough hairspray to make her look like a cobra. It was not at all surprising to anyone who'd had the disp
leasure of interacting with her that she had stepped forward.

  As much as Zayn hated this spectacle, he couldn't help but watch as Gretchen launched into an intricate spell involving seductive hip wiggles and complex fingering. When she was finished, Zayn thought the spell had fizzled, because nothing happened, but then the young man three down from her, Buford Ash, dropped to his knees and began kissing her designer pumps, bringing a spate of much-needed laughter to the room.

  The only reaction that Zayn detected from Carron was a slight grumble of distaste, followed by a swift sweep of his staff, after which, Buford came to his senses and returned, bewildered, to his spot in line.

  Gretchen gave a neat curtsey before the next person, Billy Ray Upchurch, stepped forward. His demonstration was brief, mostly because he fumbled his words and a blast of flame blew up in his face. He returned to his spot with his head down and the scent of burnt hair drifting into the room.

  One by one, they performed for Carron. When it was Mean Clovis' turn, he stumbled before the dais, looking like he was going to throw up. It took him two tries to get started. He had to wipe his palms on his pants, and then his forehead with the back of his forearm.

  Based on his trembling hands, Zayn was expecting spectacular failure, but when Mean finished the spell, he flew at Carron. He moved in a blur, throwing three punches and two kicks before Zayn even registered that he'd moved.

  Carron was not surprised, and blocked them, but Zayn had never seen anyone come that close to hitting the Hall teacher. He gave Mean a slight bow of the head, which brought a collective groan from the remaining students.

  At that point, there was no doubt in Zayn's mind that Gretchen and Mean would represent Varna at the Halls. Their demonstrations had been better than anyone else in the past five years.

  But when his cousin started his spell, Zayn knew he would take one of the positions. There was a crispness to his spellwork that upstaged the others. It explained where Keelan was when he wasn't doing chores or hanging out with Zayn. He must have been practicing all this time.