The Reluctant Assassin Boxset

by Thomas K. Carpenter

  His excitement lasted until he reached the apex of his leap, and he saw the landing area. Unlike the other rooftops, this one had partially fallen in. When Instructor Allgood had made the leap, he'd gone an extra ten feet to land on a safe spot.

  Zayn wheeled his arms, trying to make the last few feet, but there was nothing he could do. He went through the buckled roof, crashing into rotted beams and the floor beneath it. He felt the world collapsing around him and then nothing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Hold

  On a bed, groggy...

  Zayn remembered pain, as if every nerve in his body had been turned on, then sweet darkness again. For a long time, he was a speck in the void, a tiny ball of pain in an infinite emptiness.

  There were flashes of other, of life: people standing over him murmuring in guarded tones, the knotted brown forehead of a familiar woman, the throat-choking smell of faez.

  When he woke enough to piece two consecutive thoughts together, he realized he was back in his room in the Hold. He tried to move, but his body was contained within a cold black carapace of unknown material. Runes covered the hard material. He could feel his bones being forced to knit together.

  Zayn had had a cavity once, and when the dentist had put the drill into his tooth, the vibration had been agonizing. This felt like the drill, except it was in dozens of places around his body.

  When it grew too much, he passed out again. He woke to find Instructor Allgood standing over him.

  "Why are you here?"

  His condemnation was somehow comforting. Zayn was able to choke out some words, though they were raspy. "I fell."

  "That's not what I asked," said Instructor Allgood.

  "I'm here to learn," said Zayn.

  "It doesn't look like it," he said and left.

  When Zayn woke again, he was looking into his cousin's eyes. The black runed carapace had been removed from his body, but he was in no mood to move anything.

  "Hey," said Keelan, barely able to meet his gaze, and in that one word, Zayn knew how close he'd come to death.

  "They didn't tell my family, did they?" whispered Zayn.

  "No."

  "Good," said Zayn, and he tried to sit up, but couldn't muster the energy. "I don't want them to worry. How long have I been out?"

  "Nine days and you've still got more time for recovery," said Keelan. "You're way behind. I don't know how you're not going to get sent back home at the end of this. You know that won't go well with the Lady."

  There was a long silence in which neither of them made an attempt to say something. His cousin looked over his shoulder. "I have to go."

  With no one else in the room, Zayn probed his injuries. His dark skin had been yellowed with old bruises. He saw faint scars where magically induced healing had occurred. The area around his elbow where he'd received his tattoo had a tight bandage wrapped around it. Runes had been drawn onto the bandage.

  When Zayn opened his mind to faez, a sharp migraine stabbed through his head. He didn't know if the bandage was blocking him, or his injuries, but he wasn't going to try again. It was like biting an electrical cord.

  He was too weak to do much other than sip from the water tube near his mouth.

  Later in the day, his teammates returned. They had bags under their eyes. Down another member, the work he normally carried had to be spread out between them.

  "Hey Zayn," said Portia, looking at him with sympathy. "It's good to see you awake. When you went into that building, I didn't think you'd be coming out."

  "What happened? After I went in?" asked Zayn.

  "Instructor Allgood went in after you," said Vin. "He came out quickly, blood all over him, some of it his. He brought you somewhere, and then we didn't see you for a few days. Then you showed up in the room with all these tubes and wires connected to you."

  "I'm sorry, you guys," said Zayn. "I shouldn't have tried to make that jump. I wanted to impress him so we could get out of last place. Now it's going to be impossible."

  "Don't worry about us," said Skylar, knocking the hair out of her eyes. "You get better."

  They chatted for a while longer, catching up on what had happened while he was out. Another student had dropped out of the Academy due to the stress, and they were sparring with faez-speed in the dojo, which had doubled the number of broken bones a day. It hit him hard how much he wanted to be with them training.

  Instructor Pennywhistle knocked softly on the door and asked, "May I speak with Zayn alone?"

  They left him with her. She pulled up a chair next to his bed, crossed her legs, and placed her manicured hands on her knees. She wore a fuzzy white sweater and a black pencil skirt. She smelled like lavender. It was soothing.

  "I really screwed up, didn't I?" he asked her.

  "You have, as your fellow first year Eddie might say, screwed the pooch," she said.

  "Is the patron mad?" asked Zayn.

  Instructor Pennywhistle considered the question for a moment and replied, "At this moment, she does not know since she is away on business, but let's assume she would be greatly disappointed." She sighed heavily. "Here's the problem. You have a couple of weeks of recovery ahead of you. You damaged your imbuement in the fall, and you cannot use faez until it's healed. There is a chance that your access to faez is damaged permanently. When an imbuement is new, the faez flowing through your body has to reroute itself, but the damage to your arm has blocked that."

  "What are my options?" he asked.

  Instructor Pennywhistle lifted her chin, stroking her neck in thought. "We at the Academy understand your particular situation is different from the other students. The Lady of Varna can be a difficult mistress to those that fail her."

  Feeling there was an opportunity for honesty, Zayn asked, "Why is there a relationship between the Lady and the Academy?"

  "That's between Priyanka and the Lady, but I know our patron, and I assume it's for a good reason," said Instructor Pennywhistle.

  "But she must know that we're all trapped," said Zayn. "We can't leave, don't get to make our own lives, except that which she gives us."

  Instructor Pennywhistle's lips grew thin. "If you want me to tell you the world is a fair place, then you're not as strong as I think you are. The world requires compromise in difficult situations."

  "It also requires conviction," said Zayn.

  "Says the young man whose uncle paid the price for his, but not his father." She paused while he recoiled. "Of course we know about that. We learn about all of our students so that we might best guide them, and because there are those that would do us harm that we must ward ourselves from."

  Zayn looked away, heat rising to his cheeks. Of course, she was right. What convictions had he shown?

  "What now?" he asked.

  "Like I said, we understand your particular situation is more challenging than the others. Under normal circumstances, we would allow you to heal, and if you did properly, you could rejoin your fellow students. Being as far behind as you are, it would be unlikely that you would pass the year, and you would return to your previous life. But like I said, we understand your particular situation.

  "So we're offering a way out. If you fail to continue after your first year, the Lady will not be kind, to you or your family. If you wish, we will not fix the damage to the imbuement, leaving you crippled and without access to faez. We will inform the Lady of the unfortunate accident that caused it—making it clear that it was no fault of yours, a lapse in our rigorous training regimen—and she will take you back into Varna."

  "Will she believe it?" asked Zayn.

  "We believe so," said Instructor Pennywhistle.

  "So if I give up my access to faez and leave the Hundred Halls, I can return to my family?" he asked.

  "Essentially," she said.

  "Can I think about it?" he asked.

  She nodded. "You're a couple of weeks away from being ready to be healed. We'll give you until then to decide. Is that fair?"

  "More
than fair. Thank you."

  Instructor Pennywhistle patted his leg and stood. She looked ready to leave, but turned back to him.

  "I'm sure you came into the Academy with certain expectations of what we're about. I know you've seen little more than the Hold and a few wards of the city, but I can tell you that we do important things here, necessary things. If you stayed and put your mind to it, you could become one of our best. I see that in you. Despite your fall, Instructor Allgood was rightly impressed with your making the leap in the first place. Not only the leap itself, but that you were willing to take that chance. You could be great here, if you stay."

  She left without giving him a chance to answer.

  Zayn slumped back into the bed. He noticed a little Christmas tree in the corner of their room with pink and gold ornaments on it. There were a few presents under the tree, perfectly wrapped. It was then he realized it was Christmas Eve.

  He imagined at that moment that Neveah was in the kitchen whistling as she brewed up another delicious meal, while his mom and dad were seated at the counter talking excitedly about their projects, using their hands like conductors. The twins would be causing trouble somewhere in the house, and Imani would be plotting to ruin it as Queen of the Jungle. He could see everything in the Stack, every wall and couch, every painting and pot, from the third-floor slide to the generator in the hand-dug cellar. He could see everything—except himself.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Varna, July 2012

  The best things in life are free

  Perched on the light pole above Ms. Gardenia's trailer with a screwdriver stuck between his teeth, Zayn carefully maneuvered his body so he could get access to the cable box. With the small gray door flipped open, Zayn replaced the cheater card with the latest version.

  The work was easy, but he had to be careful not to fry the card while installing it. While he worked, the sounds of Castlewood trailer park were all around him: the crush of gravel beneath tires as a rust-tinged truck passed beneath, the shouts of the kids on the swings, the hum of the transformer further up the pole.

  When he was finished, he returned to the trailer. Ms. Gardenia was cutting coupons out of the glossy section, the steady snip-snip filling the air. Zayn turned on her TV and flipped through the channels before announcing, "Everything's back to the way it was. You should even get QVC and a few new channels with this filter."

  Busy cutting away, Ms. Gardenia glanced up. "What do I owe you?"

  "Nothing for me, ma'am."

  She paused, the scissors dangling in her wrinkly, liver-spotted hand. "Now, Zayn, you know I can't have that."

  "There is something I want you to do, but it's not for me. Mr. Lopez hasn't been feeling great since the medicine ran out. I've heard him mention he had a hankering for your spicy egg casserole, the one you bring to the potlucks. I bet that'd take his mind off the pain if you brought him one."

  Ms. Gardenia leaned forward, shaking her scissors at him. "You know I can't refuse that, but what about you, young man? I know you're planning on going to that art school in a few years. Can't you take a few bucks?"

  "No, ma'am, but thank you," he said. "I have to get going. Don't forget Mr. Lopez."

  As soon as the screen door banged shut behind him, Zayn heard his name from up the street. His Aunt Lydia was outside her house, waving him down with her only arm, a cigarette dangling from her lips.

  "Aunt Lydia," he said, leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek when he reached her.

  She had milk chocolate skin with messy light brown hair and smelled like menthol.

  "Sweet, sweet Zayn," she said, leaning into her Alabama accent like it was a shovel. "You seen my dumbass son around?"

  "He's not dumb, Aunt Lydia, and you shouldn't talk about him that way," he said.

  "Well, he may get good grades, but he's always doing dumb things, which means he's probably out causing trouble," she said, taking a drag off her cigarette until the end was cherry red.

  "I thought he was stacking wood for Mr. Holland today," lied Zayn.

  Aunt Lydia wrinkled her nose. "Maybe so. If he would have had a man raisin' him like you gots, then maybe he wouldn't be so bad."

  Zayn swallowed his retort. It was better to let her say her piece and move on; otherwise, she'd keep bringing up his uncle's death until he left.

  "Did you need something?" he asked, trying to wring the accent out of his words. "I see you're not wearing your prosthetic."

  "Cheap-ass piece of shit broke again," said Aunt Lydia with a frown.

  "I can take a look at it if you want," he said, heading towards the front door. "I'll bet it's just a broken wire again."

  "It needs a sure-fire enchantment, not some fiddle-dee-do with a screwdriver, no offense," she said, tugging him back. "I know you gots some magic, my Keelan tells me sometimes. Why can't you fix it right?"

  "You know why, Aunt Lydia," he said, nodding towards the center of town. "Magic has never been any good in this town. It only gets you the Lady's notice."

  Aunt Lydia poked her finger into his arm, nearly burning him with her cigarette in the process. "Well, bless your heart, you like livin' poor. Don't you see them that do what she wants, livin' in those big houses and driving those fancy cars, and want some of that?"

  "There's more to life than fancy cars and having people think you're important," said Zayn under his breath.

  "Maybe my boy don't have what you have, maybe he needs the Lady's notice. I wish you'd stop filling his head with all that nonsense that magic is bad. Magic like anything else, it depends on how you use it," she said. "You family, you should be lookin' out for him."

  Maybe I am, he thought.

  "I have to get going, Aunt Lydia. You should come by for dinner," he said. "Mom and Dad miss you. You're always welcome. It'd be nice to have us all together for a nice meal. I can fix your arm while you and Mom catch up."

  Aunt Lydia pulled hard on the cigarette until it crackled like a winter fire. She glanced askance, chewing on her smoke.

  "No, you tell Sela I ain't feelin' well," she said, holding her palm across her stomach. "I'll catch up with her later."

  The dry canal was the fastest way home. Zayn left the gravel paths of the Castlewood trailer park and skidded down the concrete slope.

  He found Keelan waiting for him on the path to his house throwing black walnuts at squirrels scampering through the trees. The cicadas hummed their droning chorus, oscillating like ocean waves.

  "Is she coming?" asked Keelan, hopefully.

  Zayn shook his head. "No."

  Keelan went inward. "Thanks for trying. I miss when we all had dinner together."

  His eyes were dark with memories. Zayn was afraid his cousin was going to slide into one of his moods, but a playful grin rose on his cousin's lips instead. Keelan launched a black walnut at him, which Zayn easily sidestepped.

  In retaliation, Zayn scooped up one from the forest floor and whipped it at Keelan, smacking him right in the side.

  "That was a good one," said Keelan, laughing and rubbing his hip. "Remember when we would have those big wars, when every kid in the trailer park came out, and it'd only end when it got so dark you were afraid you'd run into a tree?"

  "Seems like only a few years ago," said Zayn.

  "I always lost those wars," said Keelan. "Which is why I always made sure I was on your team."

  "On my team? Those were your teams," said Zayn, throwing his arm around his cousin's shoulders.

  "Nah, they were yours. You always came up with the best, most outrageous plans, like when we hid in the dumpster waiting with a bucket of walnuts," said Keelan.

  "Which, if you remember, failed spectacularly when the garbage truck picked us up, and we only survived by screaming our lungs out," said Zayn.

  Keelan shrugged. "I forgot about that. I guess I only remember the ice cream we blackmailed the driver out of to keep us quiet."

  Their conversation was interrupted by a bell ringing, which brought smiles to bo
th of their faces. When they were kids, their parents would hang out together. When it was time for dinner, they'd ring a bell that could be heard as far as the east edges of Castlewood.

  "Last one does the dishes?" asked Zayn.

  Keelan took off running, laughter trailing behind him like a bright banner. Zayn burst after, a grin plastered on his face. The race through the trees was short and sweet, ending when Keelan lunged through the gate with his arms up in victory. Their earlier dark discussion was banished by the flush of adrenaline. They walked with linked arms towards the Stack, the home of Maceo and Sela Carter and their brood of five kids.

  To some in Varna, the Stack was an eyesore, a metal monstrosity built on the edge of a junkyard, and only tolerated because it was hidden by a line of vine-choked woods. To Zayn, his brothers and sisters, and when he visited, Keelan, the Stack was like living in a Disneyland imagined by a robot Willy Wonka.

  The bones of the Stack were six shipping containers, placed two at a time on top of each other like Jenga blocks and creating a courtyard in the center. Nooks, bridges, and platforms jutted from sections, connecting at others, until it was either an Escher drawing or a Rube Goldberg device. At first glance, some sections appeared perilous, like a bridge made of chain-link fence that crossed the highest level or a whimsical slide that exited the turret at the top of the left stack—which was Zayn's room—and curled its way to the ground.

  His father, Maceo, was currently painting a field of sunflowers against a greenish alien sky, beneath which a giant house marched on long metal legs.

  "That's ripped, Uncle Maceo," said Keelan. "You should have been a professional painter."

  Maceo pulled his paintbrush away, grinning at them. His tight kinky hair had a breath of gray to it that seemed antithetical to the exuberance contained within his gaze.

  "I will assume, in the parlance of youth, that 'ripped' is a positive," said Maceo. "And I am a professional painter, it's just the pay isn't so great."

  "Neither is being a high school teacher," said Keelan.

  "I get paid in seeing young minds blossom," said Maceo, pointing his paintbrush at them. He taught ethics and history at the school. "And more importantly, now that you're here, we can get dinner started."