Lost Vegas Series

by Lizzy Ford

  “Avi,” he replied curtly. With dark hair and green eyes, the middle aged man was leaner and faster than most new members to the Guild. His ruthlessness had earned him a position at her father’s side and his trust as well. “The news of your father’s death has left me speechless.” He bowed his head in honor of her father.

  Aveline smiled, touched by the thoughtfulness of the assassin she considered to be an uncle. He had been around her entire life, faithful to her father until the very end, and often took the time to train her.

  “Thank you, Karl,” she said. “You can’t know how shocked I was.”

  “We recovered his body,” Karl told her. “We will see it buried, outside the city, where no scavengers can find it.”

  Her eyes misted over, and she ducked her head to prevent him from witnessing her tears.

  “I came to discuss a different matter,” he said.

  Aveline waited.

  “The man who hired you. What has he revealed?”

  She looked up, surprised. “How do you know about him?”

  “Before he came to you, he came to me. I was suspicious, and for good reason. Soon after the man in black approached me, a second man did, this one without a mask. He wanted to sponsor a murder, to which I was more than willing. But he would only deal with the blood of the devil.”

  Her face grew warm. Karl had known the family secret longer than she had. However, the second mention of her curse within a twelve hour period, when she had not spoken about it in years, left her uncomfortable.

  “He wouldn’t say much at all,” she said, perplexed. “I’m supposed to protect someone. That’s all he would reveal.”

  Karl nodded. “You agreed?”

  “He saved me from the brothel,” she hemmed, not wanting to upset someone she admired by admitting she had accepted employment before she was a real assassin.

  “I understand, Aveline. I am not upset,” Karl said.

  She released the breath she did not know she was holding.

  “I am here to convey a message, from both the Guild and the benefactor I spoke of earlier,” he continued. “You have no sponsor for your final trial?”

  She shook her head.

  “I will sponsor you, if you kill the person you were hired to protect.”

  Aveline blinked, her initial excitement fading. “But I gave him my word. Wouldn’t I be breaking the Guild laws?”

  “You aren’t a member of the Guild yet, Avi,” he reminded her gently. “The oaths you take before you enter are of no consequence, once you pledge your loyalty to the Guild.”

  It was not exactly what her father had told her. He insisted all oaths had to be fulfilled, for integrity was a key requirement of an assassin’s personality.

  When she hesitated, Karl spoke again.

  “I may be able to negotiate Rocky’s release as well.”

  “Rocky?”

  “He was captured by the Shield last night when they were trying to find you. He was very brave. He refused to tell anyone where you were,” Karl explained. “My benefactor will pay for his release, once the kill he commissioned has been committed.”

  Not Rocky. Her heart began to pound hard in her chest. Her closest friend did not deserve to be tortured because the men last night found him instead of her. Guilt fluttered through her at the thought of Rocky in pain. She had helped nurse him back to health after his first encounter with the Shield that left him scarred. She had already lost her father; she could not handle a second loss so soon.

  “I don’t want to see Rocky hurt any more than you do. He’s suffered enough, and it’s not fair to him that he was captured because you chose to run instead of fight, as your father would’ve wanted,” Karl said. “My sponsor will ensure he remains untouched, as long as you agree. Once the job is done, he will pay for Rocky’s freedom.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll do anything for Rocky.”

  “The two of you are similar to your father and me,” Karl said approvingly with a faint smile. “You will make an excellent Guild leader some day, and Rocky your right hand.”

  Aveline could not smile in return. Knowing Rocky was in danger, and she had put him there, left her feeling sick to her stomach. Betraying a man who would not show his face was surely forgivable by her father, if it meant saving Rocky.

  Integrity. The voice of her father was in her mind, and she recalled his lecture on honoring every oath. The man she had promised to serve had saved her life, another consideration the Guild took very seriously.

  She had never heard her father require an assassin to break an oath, and her father would kill any assassin who failed to honor a life debt. But Karl would never ask her to do something her father would disapprove of, would he? At least, before this moment, she had not considered he might.

  What was so important about her target? And why would only the Devil’s blood be able to either protect, or kill, this person?

  What were Karl and the masked stranger keeping from her?

  Did any of it matter, if Rocky’s life was on the line? Aveline studied Karl, troubled by the request and just as concerned about Rocky. The night that started as the worst in her life had turned into a morning more bizarre than any she could remember with two men asking her to perform actions that ran counter to her training.

  “My sponsor will contact me when he wants the murder to take place. I believe it may not happen until spring,” Karl said, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “This will give you time to earn the trust of those you need to in order to isolate your target.”

  She nodded.

  “Your father would be pleased to know you will soon become an assassin. It was his deepest desire for you to follow in his footsteps.”

  Some of her doubt melted. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” she admitted.

  “I believe, once a new leader is chosen for the Guild, I might be able to convince him or her that this task should be considered your final trial.”

  “You would do that?” she asked, startled by the offer.

  “My … our benefactor will be swept away with gratitude. His money will support the Guild for years. In honor of your father, it only seems right that such a task is rewarded in a way benefitting you as well,” Karl said.

  Aveline smiled. “I’d be forever grateful, Karl, if you can speak to the new Guild leader about this. And … please take care of Rocky.”

  “My pleasure.” Karl bowed his head again. “Consider this a sign of good faith.” He pulled the strap of the satchel he wore over his head and handed it to her. “Standard assassin’s tool kit, awarded upon acceptance into the guild.”

  Aveline accepted it. “Thank you, Karl,” she whispered, starting to tear up once more, this time out of gratitude edged by exhaustion. Her father had made her a kit when she was younger and taught her how to use the herbs, poisons, weapons and other tools of the trade within.

  “I must leave before they notice I’m here. I’ll contact you through the standard Guild methods in two to three weeks. Rest assured I’ll speak to our benefactor immediately about Rocky,” Karl said.

  She nodded eagerly.

  Karl pulled his mask on and opened the door, exiting the carriage the same way he had entered.

  Aveline closed the door behind him and sat back down, her mind whirling with everything that had happened. Her father’s death, her narrow escape from the brothel, Rocky’s capture … and the promise of becoming a full assassin. The events of the past twelve hours were some of the worst, and potentially best, of her life.

  All she had to do to turn her life around, to make her father proud and take her place in the Guild, was break an oath to a stranger.

  As the long ride out of the inner city continued, she sank into thought once more. Karl had been as vague as the masked stranger. What kind of person had one wealthy man willing to spend untold amounts of money to protect him and another to see him dead?

  I’ll do anything for Rocky. She was somewhat relieved to know her agreement would pr
otect him while he was imprisoned. It did not quite seem like enough, but she trusted Karl to protect her friend when she could not.

  Aveline focused on her numbed leg, on making her father proud, on how incredible she would feel when she became an assassin, on saving Rocky’s life … on anything except the whisper in her mind warning her that something was wrong, if Karl was asking her to break two sacred Guild rules.

  Chapter Three

  “Your father should have burnt you at the stake alongside your mother.”

  “Yes, Matilda,” Tiana replied stoically. With her eyes on the floor, she dared not wince as the woman behind her wrenched a brush through her tangled hair. Fingers laden with expensive rings containing brilliant gemstones flashed by her face as Matilda leaned forward to grasp another handful of wavy hair.

  “I was not born to be a slave to a freak! My father is the …”

  Tiana zoned out, accustomed to the lecture that came whenever her stepmother had to help her prepare for a ceremony. The events requiring her attendance were few and far between, numbering four annually. Somehow, each one this year only seemed to make Matilda angrier, and Tiana began to think her father was souring on his wife of seven years. Matilda was too determined to remain in the family for Tiana to understand what might have happened. In front of her father, Matilda was sweet, doting, and perfect.

  In private, her stepmother’s frustration had recently exploded into an increase in violence and ranting. Matilda’s usual resentment had taken on an unusual vehemence. Tiana’s father never saw what happened in private, and she never spoke a word of it to anyone except her brother.

  Tiana traced her fingertips along the scars crisscrossing the soft skin of her inner forearm. Her latest cut still stung, though not as much as her eye, which was rendered black during another of Matilda’s temper tantrums. She was accustomed to physical pain, too, to the blows and cuts and bruises.

  Matilda flung the brush onto the vanity and stomped towards the wardrobe, a flurry of anger and tinkling sounds emanating from the bells on her slippers and layers of pearls sewn into her gown. The heavy gold necklaces around her neck glimmered with jewels, and even more gems had been braided into her hair.

  Tiana released her breath and peeked towards her stepmother, a beautiful woman with pale skin and blue eyes. At twenty five, she was closer to Tiana’s age of seventeen than to the husband twenty years her senior.

  Matilda’s fingers trembled as she yanked a gown from the wardrobe. She studied the different lengths of silk before selecting a veil featuring fantastical animals Tiana had embroidered into the silk. Her nose was red, a sign she had been using the medication she stashed in Tiana’s room so no one else would find it.

  Warmth bloomed within Tiana. As miserable as Matilda made her, she could find only pity for the woman who had dealt with her and her father for so many years. To be a member of this family was to wield great power – and to be confined by it as well. That Matilda had learned a slave’s duty of dressing her was more than Tiana’s previous two stepmothers had done for her.

  “Do not look at me with those ghoulish eyes!” Matilda snapped. “One could never guess your mother’s family bred with those creatures. Your father burnt every last Webster in the city after he saw your crippled little body, and rightly so. ”

  Everyone but my brother and me, Tiana corrected her silently and returned her eyes to the floor.

  “You should be ashamed to bear the mark of a Hanover!” Matilda continued.

  Tiana reached back instinctively to feel the raised tattoo on her shoulder. Every Hanover born was etched with the symbol of a diving eagle, the family crest.

  Matilda gasped. “Cease this display. Now!” she snapped.

  Her stepmother was pointing at the pillows floating three feet in the air above Tiana’s bed. It took effort to undo what she had not felt herself do. Tiana willed the pillows to return to the bed. They obeyed and dropped in place, where they belonged.

  Matilda cursed at her then snatched slippers from the wardrobe and slammed it closed. “Be quick. Your father does not forgive tardiness. I will deal with this incident later!”

  Tiana stood and closed her eyes to shield Matilda from the most repulsive of her deformities. She tugged off her sleeping gown and then lifted her arms. Matilda pulled the ceremonial gown over her head with gentleness she never showed Tiana, careful not to wrinkle any of the layers of silk, lest she earn the displeasure of Tiana’s father. The green sash and metal insignia, marking Tiana’s position as a colonel in the Shield – an honor bestowed upon the children of the city’s hereditary leader – went on next. The last piece of her ensemble was the most important one: the translucent layer of silk preventing the public from seeing her deformity.

  Matilda’s long nails grazed Tiana’s skin as she maneuvered, tucked and pinned the veil in place, skillfully covering Tiana’s face and neck while leaving her hair exposed. The wrapping of the veil was a privileged art only select members of the city were permitted to learn, and it was one of Matilda’s duties to approve which women from wealthy families were allowed to display the veil. The trend was started by none other than Matilda as a simple solution to the dilemma Tiana’s father faced on Tiana’s thirteenth birthday. He was required by the laws of the elite to present his debutante daughter. Doing so would have revealed her deformity and seen her burned at the stake, alongside everyone else who knew of the deformed girl.

  Initially an act meant to conceal Tiana, the wearing of the veil had become an instant symbol of power among the women of the city, and teenage girls everywhere began copying the fashionable trend.

  Once she had finished positioning the thin layer of silk, Matilda clipped strings of gems and gold to Tiana’s hair around the edges of the veil and stepped back to examine her critically from head to toe.

  “You look like a Hanover,” Matilda pronounced.

  The way she said it left Tiana convinced that Matilda was worried about her position in the family. Free to look around without anyone seeing her deformed eyes, Tiana looked Matilda’s clothing over.

  “May I straighten your gown?” she asked quietly.

  “Drink your tea first.”

  Tiana did not grimace the way she wanted to. Every day, Matilda brought her an herbal tea meant to bolster her health. Tiana drank the warm tea down fast, hating the pungent flavor and the strange smell.

  “Good. Now, with haste.” Matilda went still, waiting.

  Tiana smoothed out a layer of silk bunched up near Matilda’s right hip and then very carefully realigned the strings of gemstone beads that had shifted out of position in her stepmother’s hair.

  Lowering her hands, she moved away before Matilda could shove her. Despite the rough treatment this morning, she felt a spark of excitement at the prospect of seeing the world outside the room where she was confined.

  A rap at the door was followed by her brother’s entrance sans permission. Dressed in the official scarlet Shield uniform, he also wore the same green sash and honorary medals and ranks as Tiana. His hair was damp from bathing, and the green-gray eyes he had inherited from their father flickered over both of them with similar coolness. The wealthy families had always cooed over how much Arthur Hanover resembled his father, from the strawberry blond hair to his near identical build to the natural leadership ability.

  The only significant difference between father and son was one that made Tiana adore her brother. Whenever he saw her, he smiled, and the skin around his eyes softened with genuine warmth. No one else was ever happy to see her.

  Lightheaded from being on her feet too long, Tiana forbade her shaky knees from buckling beneath her. She leaned against the wall to support her weak body.

  “Arthur. You must wait after you knock. What if we had been in a state of disarray?” Matilda’s reprimand was spoken with maternal affection and a smile. Her ability to switch from resentful loathing to dulcet sweetness in a fraction of a second never failed to impress Tiana.

  “Father aw
aits us,” Arthur replied without acknowledging his stepmother.

  “Of course.” Matilda’s tone cooled.

  Tiana did not need to glimpse her stepmother’s face to understand the tension between stepmother and stepson remained. She was unable to pinpoint the day it began, but it had become much more apparent the past six months until the two barely spoke when in each other’s presence.

  Arthur stepped aside for Matilda to exit. She did so gracefully, a cloud of silk, tinkling and jasmine perfume. She began belting orders to the slaves awaiting her in the foyer, calling for her cloak and reprimanding one of them for the bunched skirt Tiana had straightened.

  Arthur strode to Tiana’s wardrobe and removed her heavy cloak, consisting of a silk shell lined by the warm fur of animals he had trapped for her fifteenth birthday. He placed the cloak over her shoulders, and Tiana reached up to button it around her neck.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Like my body will collapse, if I let it,” she replied candidly.

  He held out his arm, and she eagerly slid her hand around it, relieved to have his support.

  “One day, Tiana, I will take you to a proper physician,” he vowed.

  “Matilda would never allow anyone else to see me. I am well enough, Arthur.” Tiana spoke the words with what strength she could muster, already aware her brother would not be fooled.

  “Our stepmother is fickle, but she can fold a veil like no other,” he said dryly. Once Matilda was out of sight, his smile became wide.

  “You should be nicer to her,” Tiana said. “You have seen what happens to our father’s wives.”

  “You should be less forgiving of her. She deserves our father’s wrath for how she treats you.”

  “Father would not fault her for trying to fix what I am.”

  “But I do.”

  “At least she tries to heal me with her teas,” Tiana murmured.

  “Tea will not cure any malady, ever.”

  Tiana pursed her lips. She did not fully disagree with Arthur, but neither was she one to condemn a woman in a position like Matilda’s. Their stepmother had seen the two women who preceded her burnt at the stake. She understood the danger inherent in her position, as Tiana did hers.