The Reluctant Assassin Boxset

by Thomas K. Carpenter

  "I was so praying that you wouldn't say Assassins," said Katie, almost offhandedly. "I hate those murderous pricks."

  "Why?" asked Zayn, almost too quickly. She gave him a curious stare. "I don't know much about them. Did they do something to you?"

  "No," she said dismissively. "But they're like the opposite of the Maids. The Maids stand up and fight for people, while the Assassins sneak around and murder good people in the dark."

  "What if those are bad people that need to be killed?" he asked, thinking about whoever was making the Alpha drug, ruining people's lives all over the city.

  "Do you agree with them?" she asked, releasing his arm and stepping away.

  "Just playing devil's advocate," he said. "I mean, what would you do if you had a chance to take someone out who was doing horrible things? Someone who would never get caught otherwise."

  "Oddly specific," she said, crossing her arms.

  Feeling suddenly exposed, Zayn said, "Not at all. In Kingston, we had a class on ethics, and one of the questions was about that very subject."

  The question hadn't been in Kingston, but presented in his home by his father the high school ethics teacher, but he felt it was close enough he could easily get away with the lie.

  "So would you do it?" he asked.

  "No way. I wouldn't do it. Because it wouldn't be me," she said. "And you can't be responsible for everyone else's decisions. Doing it would...I don't know, break me or something. You?"

  "I don't know," he said, thinking about Priyanka Sai's question at the beginning of the year. "I think it's one of those things you wouldn't know until you were presented with it. I'd like to say that I wouldn't, but part of me thinks that I should. Either way I'd feel awful."

  "That much is true," said Katie, who seemed to have forgiven him for his initial answer because she leaned over and pressed her lips against his cheek in a warm kiss. The soft touch sent a pang of want through his midsection. When she pulled away, his cheek tingled where her lips had touched him.

  "Oops," she said, grinning and licking her finger to wipe off the lipstick adhered to his skin. "I got some on you."

  "It feels like my cheek is dipped in mint," he said. "Is that how your lips feel?"

  "Oh, watch this," she said, eyes twinkling with mirth. She formed her mouth as if she were blowing. A gossamer bubble sprung from her glowing lips, scintillating in the sun. The fledgling bubble wobbled on her mouth until the breeze caught it and pulled it away. It floated upward until he couldn't see it anymore.

  "Magic?"

  She squinted with one eye. "Sort of? It's the new lipstick brand from D'Agastine. Lets you make bubbles just by blowing. The higher-end stuff turns the bubbles into little horses or pegasus, but they didn't give us any samples of that. The middle school and high school crowd is going crazy for it. They can barely make it fast enough."

  "You work at D'Agastine?" he asked incredulously.

  "Yeah," she said, tilting her head. "I thought you knew that."

  "I guess I didn't make the connection with the lab tech thing," he said. "What do you do?"

  "I work for quality control on the fifth floor. They give me the latest recipes, and I test them to make sure they're mixed as they expected. I run the gas chromatograph, or spectrometer. None of the magical equipment. It's boring work, but I'd rather spend the time thinking up new songs than trying to impress my bosses to get moved into the real research areas on the eighth floor."

  Zayn's whole face felt tingly, and not from the lipstick. He'd been walking by the D'Agastine building for months and had never realized that they actually mixed product in it. He'd always thought it was a marketing department, and that they made the products in other countries.

  The lipstick imbued the wearer with minor magical ability, which wasn't so uncommon, as the alchemy business had been around for centuries—even his sister Neveah had coveted the eye shadow that helped you see heat signatures to help her cook better. It was how the patron of the Alchemists Hall, Celesse D'Agastine, had made alchemy into a global empire.

  Wouldn't the Alpha drug be the next logical step? A powder that could give people the ability to use magic? Such a drug would be ludicrously valuable. And if they were making it in the building, how would they test it? It didn't seem such a stretch they might be giving it to people on the streets to see how it worked.

  "What's wrong?" asked Katie, searching his face. Her hand was on his arm. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

  "I...I remembered something I was supposed to do for my Uncle Larice. I totally forgot," he said.

  "You have to leave?" she asked.

  Zayn sensed not only disappointment, but betrayal. If she didn't consciously know he was lying, she sensed it deep down, by the look in her eyes. But the D'Agastine office building was closed on Sunday only, which meant that he needed to go now if he was going to snoop around.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I wouldn't if it weren't important. I'm an idiot for not remembering earlier."

  She took his hand and tried to smile, but a frown had settled in. "I was hoping we could go to dinner. Maybe you could spend the night. My roommates are out of town."

  Zayn swallowed. Her hands were so warm in his. It was tempting. He liked her a lot. The girls in Varna had been like Gretchen—beautiful but all the same. But Katie was her own little microcosm, the science-y rock goddess in a lab coat. Maybe he could check out the office building later.

  When Katie bit her lower lip he felt like he was falling. The soft tips of her fingers caressed the inside of his wrists until he couldn't hear his thoughts anymore.

  "I...I have to go," said Zayn, and even as he said the words, he couldn't quite believe they were coming out of his mouth.

  "Are you sure?" she asked, wounded.

  "No, I don't want to go," he said, "but I have to go just the same. Duty calls. Respect."

  He left her in front of the Orpheum Theater. Against the backdrop of the eager theatergoers hurrying inside to purchase tickets for their favorite show, she looked lost, like a girl out of place, drawn into the picture even though she didn't belong. He looked back, catching a glimpse of her before the swell of the three o'clock crowd exiting the theater surrounded him. It was the last time he saw her alive.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Ninth Ward, March 2014

  After ruining a perfectly good date

  As soon as he saw the forty-foot mural of Celesse D'Agastine on the side of the office building, he remembered the words of Sparky on the night he exploded.

  "The moon lady gave it to me..."

  The patron of the Alchemist Hall stood before a giant alien moon, her blonde hair blowing in a soft breeze. The guy had been out of his mind that night. Zayn didn't really think Celesse D'Agastine had given the drugs to Sparky. It'd probably been one of her underlings.

  Zayn meandered past the front door of the office building, covertly examining the security measures. There were badge swipes, arcane detectors, and a security guard desk—currently occupied.

  Shit. There was no way he was going to waltz into the building and root around without serious countermeasures. He could have lifted Katie's badge, but it wouldn't have given him the access he needed.

  He was thinking about other ways to get inside the building when he remembered someone he knew that probably also worked for D'Agastine.

  Not only did he know her, but he knew where she lived. Zayn formulated a plan on the way over.

  Zayn was relieved when he found that the expensive flats north of the bodega did not have doormen. That might have complicated his ruse.

  Before he pressed the button to ring the appropriate flat, Zayn balled up his fist and slammed it into his jaw with faez-speed. The impact knocked him to his knees and brought tears to his eyes. Then he used the Five Elements to sear his jacket, crisping the edges black.

  After he rang the bell twice, Mrs. Kettle's voice came over the speaker.

  "Hello?"

  Zayn conjured his Jamaican p
ersona, adding liberal amounts of grief and terror.

  "Mrs. Kettle. It's me, Zayn. I'm so sorry to come to ya, but I need help and I didn't know who to turn to," he said in a quivering voice.

  "Zayn? Just a moment, I'll ring you up."

  The door buzzed and Zayn went in. She was waiting for him at the entrance to her apartment in jeans and a gold-and-black top.

  "Oh dear, are you okay?" she asked, leading him into the apartment.

  "Yes. No. Uncle Larice is gonna be so mad," said Zayn. "I was taking the week's haul to the bank. He always did it hisself, but I asked. He wasn't looking so good, and I wanted to show him that I could do more. But then this man came up, he was sweaty and twitchy, told me he knew what I had. Blasted me with fire magic and took the money. I don't know what to do."

  Mrs. Kettle marched over to the phone. "I'll call the police, right away."

  A stab of fear went right through him. The cops would make a mess of his story.

  "No!" cried Zayn, improvising. "You can't. I screwed that up too."

  With the phone in her hand, Mrs. Kettle tilted her head at him.

  "The locals, they require a fee, they call it a Priority Fee, ain't no different than in Kingston," said Zayn. "But Uncle Larice's treatments, they cost a lot of money, so when the cops came around, I didn't pay them."

  Mrs. Kettle put a hand to her mouth. "Those monsters. What can I do to help?"

  "I need to borrow five hundred dollars," he said, noting that she didn't even flinch at the number. "It's only until next week. I'll contact my da and he'll send money back. I send remittance every week, so he's got the money, and I'll take a second or third job and make it back as soon as I can."

  She waved her hand at him. "Don't you worry about a thing. You're a good kid and I adore your Uncle Larice. I'm pleased you came to see me. Let me grab the money out of my room."

  Mrs. Kettle disappeared into a back room. Zayn quickly surveyed the room, looking for her purse. He didn't see it, but he found her ID badge on a lanyard, hanging by a portrait of her wife. As he had hoped, the badge had a D'Agastine Cosmetics symbol.

  But Mrs. Kettle returned before he could reach the ID badge. She laid five one-hundred-dollar bills into his hand.

  Before she could move away, he let out a little groan and fluttered his eyes.

  "Zayn! You didn't tell me you were injured."

  She grabbed his arm, steadying him.

  "I'm fine. I tried to keep him from taking it, but he hit me," said Zayn. "I swear if I ever see him again, I'm gonna make him pay."

  Mrs. Kettle tisked him. "You'd best forget about the money, and move on. Violence never solved anything. Sometimes these things are the price of business." She gave him a stern look. "But next time, pay the damn cops."

  "Yes, ma'am," he said, hanging his head in faux shame.

  "Now let me get you an aspirin and a cold towel," she said.

  Mrs. Kettle disappeared again, and Zayn went right for the lanyard, pocketing it before she could return. He wouldn't be able to do anything if she noticed it was gone. He was hoping to get in and out of the D'Agastine office building and return both the money and the lanyard before the night was over.

  Zayn took the aspirin from her, but declined the cold towel.

  "I really need to get to the bank drop," said Zayn. "If I get it in before 5 pm, it'll be in the account the next day."

  She patted him on the shoulder. "Come see me if you have any more problems. I'm happy to help."

  "Thank you, Mrs. Kettle," he said, leaving her flat.

  He wasn't sure what his story would be when he returned the money, but that wasn't the most pressing problem. He had to break into a heavily protected office building without getting caught.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  D'Agastine Office Building, March 2014

  Preparing to do something stupid

  After picking up a brown jacket and hat from the thrift store and wrapping his fire-singed jacket into a shipping box, Zayn strolled into the D'Agastine Cosmetics office building. The main hallway had a combination metal and arcane detector at the front, making passing deeper into the building impossible without going through it.

  The security guard barely looked up from his desk. He was watching a video on his cell phone with an ear bud in one ear. Zayn noted the arcane detector on the guy's uniform, which would sound an alarm if it detected faez. Zayn had been planning on charming his way into the building, but he'd have to find another way.

  The security guard tapped on the desk. "Leave the package here. Have a good day."

  "Thanks, man," said Zayn, copying Eddie's New Jersey accent. "You got a bathroom around here? I'm majorly clenching right now."

  Without taking his eyes off the video playing on the cell phone, the guard extended his arm towards a hallway. Zayn waddled into the bathroom. He went right to work, pulling huge strands of toilet paper, wadding them up, and tossing them in the toilet. He had to flush a couple of times before he got it to back up—the D'Agastine office building had good water pressure—and then he opened up the lid on top and jammed the float into place so it would keep running. He'd fixed many a clogged toilet in the Castlewood trailer park, so he knew his way around one.

  Zayn washed his hands thoroughly before jogging back to the security desk.

  "Hey man, do you got a janitor around here? I swear I didn't use much paper, but it overflowed and it's still running," he said.

  As if on cue, a trickle of water sneaked out the bottom of the bathroom door into the hallway.

  "You gotta clean that up," said the security guard, half-standing with the ear buds dangling from his ear.

  Zayn started backing towards the door. "I ain't no janitor, man."

  "That ain't cool," said the security guard, hesitating between staying at his desk and going to find someone. "Can you stay here while I get him? He's on the fourth floor."

  "Are you crazy? What if someone comes in like your boss or something? They'd put me in jail for impersonating you," said Zayn.

  The water was filling the hallway. The guard looked constipated from the indecision, which was exactly Zayn's intention. He'd learned from the Goon that you could get people to make the decision you wanted by giving them no time to think about it.

  The guard looked at him. "Can I send you up to get him?"

  Zayn glanced longingly at the front door. "I don't know. I've got a bunch more deliveries to do."

  "Come on, you're the one that did this," said the guard, thrusting his finger at him. "You have some responsibility."

  Zayn let his reluctance show in a longing glance towards the exit. "I'll go."

  The guard badged him through the glass doors and switched off the detectors for a moment so Zayn could pass through.

  "Fourth floor?" asked Zayn, receiving a thumbs-up before the guard went tiptoeing into the bathroom hallway, his black shoes making little splashes.

  Zayn hoped the clogged toilet would keep the guard busy enough that he didn't check the monitors to see that he wasn't on the fourth floor.

  The elevator went up to the tenth floor, but he hit the eight button. Blood was pumping through his veins at Mach five. He could barely contain his excitement at getting this far. He just hoped that Mrs. Kettle's badge got him into the right rooms.

  He knew he couldn't spend a long time searching, so Zayn burst from the elevator, panicking for a moment when the motion detection lights came on, before pressing his nose against the first windowed door to find a conference room. Zayn kept going until he found the laboratory.

  He pulled Mrs. Kettle's badge out, gave it a kiss for luck, and swiped the door, breathing a sigh of relief when the little green light came on.

  He had never been inside a real laboratory before. Zayn's only experience had been high school chemistry, so he only had a cursory idea of what he was looking at. But he did know what the drug looked like, and how it was packaged.

  After a quick search, he knew the drug wasn't being made in the roo
m he was in. There weren't any powders. It looked like they were developing a lotion that would keep hands soft during the winter months based on the notes written on the wipe board. They listed the fifteen different versions they'd created, giving them a score from C- to F.

  Zayn left that lab and went into the next. Again, his search proved fruitless. In this one, they were making a blush that could notify the wearer when the person they were talking to was interested in them. The scientists in this lab seemed to be getting closer to a working formula based on the board notes.

  Realizing that he only had to check the wipe board, as each lab followed the same structure, Zayn went running from room to room, glancing at the board before checking the next.

  The D'Agastine Cosmetics laboratories were dreaming up products like fingernail polish that changed colors based on the wearer's mood, a shampoo to give hair ghost-light, and sunscreen for those with albino hemophagism.

  Zayn banged his hand on the wall in frustration when he realized that either the drug wasn't being made here, or it was on another floor. He'd been away too long, and eventually the security guard was going to get suspicious, but on the other hand, he'd never get another chance.

  He slipped into the elevator and punched floor nine. The badge swipe beeped at him, so Zayn used Mrs. Kettle's ID. Once again, the light turned green and the elevator started moving upward.

  The ninth floor was filled with smaller laboratories. It looked like they were doing the higher-end research up here. Zayn didn't see product notes on wipe boards. Instead, it was chemistry notations along with alchemy descriptors.

  As he looked through the first door's window, he had the gut feeling he should leave. He'd been in the upper floors too long, he was using a stolen badge, and eventually the guard would figure out the janitor wasn't coming.

  Zayn badged into the room, making a quick sweep, looking for any signs of the Y symbol. He didn't find any baggies, or anything that looked like the Alpha drug.

  Knowing he was out of time, Zayn ran by the rest of the rooms, looking through the windows on the doors before coming back to the elevator. Without more time, he had no way to tell if they were manufacturing the Alpha drug in this building. For all he knew, they could be making it somewhere else, or they weren't making it in the first place.