Luc Bertrand- American Assassin

by A. F. Grappin

  His fingers barely trembled as he opened his car door and slid inside. The car started. Luc buckled his seat belt, backed out of his parking space, found his opening in the flow of traffic, and pulled away from Umbra Motus.

  There were no shots, no darts, not a single whisper of attack.

  Had he'd moved too soon? Was he giving the Order of Hell too much credit? Had anyone been there at all, observing him? He took random turns as he drove. Just out for a leisurely drive on a Saturday morning. Nothing unusual.

  Nothing unusual for normal people.

  He realized abruptly that he'd stopped taking random turns and was instead circling a single block. For at least four minutes now, he'd been making nothing but right turns. Forcing his mind to stop its internal monologue of "act natural" and actually observe his surroundings, he took the right turn again onto Baltic Avenue, then the next one back onto Laskin Road.

  The silver Chevrolet Cavalier behind him was following him. And probably wondering what the hell he was doing, making a half-dozen circuits of the same block.

  He had his pursuer. He could deal with this. Switch perspectives again. If he'd been in the car, what would he think? That the person driving the black Audi A8 was trying to figure out if he was being followed. The Cavalier's driver would know he suspected. Good. Next step, then?

  Try to lose him.

  Luc didn't turn right onto Laskin Road this time, instead driving up another stretch of road until he came to 32nd Street. He turned left and then took a sudden right onto Pinewood Road. His foot slowly put more pressure on the gas pedal as he drove up Pinewood, parallel to Little Neck Creek. The Cavalier was only two cars behind him, easily visible, having no trouble keeping track of him. Luc could only hope he looked like he was panicking as he braked to a stop. His lack of a left blinker made the car behind him honk with frustration. Three vehicles coming the opposite direction seemed to creep past even though they were probably going at least five miles per hour over the speed limit. Once they were past, Luc gunned the gas, making a left turn in what was really too little space before the next car came flying down the road. The irate woman in the car behind him squealed tires getting started down Pinewood again. The Cavalier was stuck waiting for a clear road to make its following left turn. A white Dodge Neon coming the other way turned right before it had a chance, putting itself between Luc's Audi and the Cavalier. By then, Luc was well down the little side road.

  It was a dead end. It led to a miniature peninsula that jutted into Little Neck Creek. He was trapped. He braked to a halt where the pavement ended. Both the Neon and the Cavalier behind it parked strategically, blocking his car in. As Luc had hoped, no one was around. No longer shaking, he flexed his fingers, stretching his hands to their full flexibility, then making two tight fists. A single, calming breath later, he got out of the car.

  He hadn't expected the Neon to be an Order of Hell vehicle, too. They must have had people all over the area, waiting to pounce wherever he fled. The two vehicles had carried three people total. They were already waiting for him when he stepped out.

  "Good mornin'," the Neon's driver said in a thick southern drawl. "Luke, right?"

  Before Luc could even bother to correct the horrifically harsh pronunciation of his name, he saw the Cavalier's driver lift her hand and flick her fingers. A throwing star—no doubt poisoned—shot through the air, directly at his face.

  11

  A grand total of three seconds held a surprising amount of activity.

  In the first second, the rain that had been threatening to come down all morning—from clouds Luc had hardly noticed—finally decided to give in, and drops began to fall. It was like one of those cartoon downpours that seemed to begin abruptly, complete with the telltale thunderclap. But it was also one of those odd rainstorms that comes from a bright sky with a shining sun. It let Luc see all too clearly the star that was flying at his face.

  In the next second, a stray sunbeam caught the dark metal of the star. Light glinted off an edge sharp enough to be used to slice a tomato in an infomercial to the oohs and ahhs of the audience. The throw was perfect. It would strike Luc high on the cheek, releasing its poison into his bloodstream. He would be either dead or paralyzed in moments, depending on the poison. Probably dead.

  The third second was when Luc finally collected himself enough to start moving. He knew before his weight even shifted that it was too late. Compound that knowledge with the muffled gunshot, and he knew he was a dead man. His eyes flicked to the right as he tried to make himself move faster to the left. The Dodge Neon's passenger had produced a pistol, aimed, and already shot by the time Luc lifted his foot. Worse, the man had shot to Luc's left. Even if he did clear the star's trajectory in time, he wouldn't be out of the bullet's way. His eyes traced the bullet's path and put it too low for his heart, too high for his bowels. Even if it sank past his ribs, he might have a chance to survive that shot. Not that he had much of a choice. He was going to take at least the bullet, if not both gunshot and star to his person.

  He'd been as good as dead before he began moving.

  This had been such a bad idea. He should have kept to Umbra Motus. Scout, Betty, his professors, his staff…they had probably been watching the security feeds. If they'd seen him confronted, they could have come to his aid. Even if he'd been poisoned or shot there, they could have gotten him immediate medical attention. Here, kilometers away from anyone, he would be left for dead.

  Around the fifth second, time sped back up again. His heart skipped a beat. Luc couldn't make himself blink. He would face his death with eyes open.

  Because of that, he was staring straight at the star when it hit a wall of nothing in front of his cheek. He heard the faint tink of metal on glass and watched it drop. Less than a second later, the bullet did the same, striking nothing a handful of centimeters in front of his chest and dropping to the ground.

  His heart started beating again, speeding to what was surely an unhealthy pace. More muffled gunshots reached his ears and struck the nothing in front of him. Luc stared, baffled, at the space in front of him where they'd hit. The three Order of Hell assassins went wide-eyed, staring at the ground in front of Luc's feet. He followed their gazes.

  "Is this the fuckin' Matrix?" one of his attackers muttered.

  Nine or ten centimeters in front of his feet, five 9mm bullets that should have been inside his body were stacked neatly. Four of them had landed, flat bottoms to the pavement, in a perfect two by two square. The fifth was rounded tip-down, nestled in the pocket between the four others. A hand's width away from them, the throwing star was balanced perfectly on one tip.

  Luc gaped. Even though he'd seen such miracles before, he couldn't stop his jaw from dropping. This was the sort of thing he'd been dealing with for months, ever since that damned Statford had tricked him into making a vow to a goddess he didn't believe in. This was magic, or divinity, or simply some weird shit that reality couldn't explain. Or the Matrix, but that was highly unlikely. He didn't feel much like Keanu Reeves. He felt like a very baffled Frenchman who had just seen his life pass before his eyes, only to have the show interrupted by a newsflash.

  Breaking news: you're still alive.

  If he hadn't been here and seen it happen, he wouldn't have believed it. It was a fancy magic trick, some sleight-of-hand. Trick bullets. Magnets. Something.

  Except it was real.

  Now Luc began trembling again.

  The three Order of Hell assassins recovered themselves after a few more seconds, but they couldn't hide the baffled fear from their faces as they looked up at Luc. More calmly than he felt, Luc reached into his coat and produced his own firearm. He hated guns, but sometimes, they had their uses. This time, the use was to make a point. He steadied himself, took his stance, supported his right hand with his left for better control, and took aim. Just like on the practice range.

  The other assassins scattered, all three diving into the Neon. It was the closer of their vehicles, after all.


  Luc didn't fire, instead allowing them to race away in a squeal of tires and rev of an engine. Only once they were out of sight did he force his arms to lower.

  That was when he began shaking in earnest.

  What the hell had just happened? There was no way those assassins had made the same vow he had to not harm innocents. They couldn't be bound to Insidia. Could they? Had Statford managed that much meddling?

  What was more, Luc wasn't an innocent. Not in any sense of the term. It set his mind whirling again. Could he have been wrong about the virginity thing? Luc had given his to his ex-boyfriend Gilles a decade ago. More than that, even. Unless there was some loophole about "sex being only valid between a man and a woman" or something, Luc did not qualify as innocent. What the hell, then? He couldn't explain it. This only raised more questions.

  He kicked the pile of spent bullets, scattering them across the pavement. As if to taunt him, they drew back together like magnets, forming the same small pyramid.

  That was when Luc's mind snapped.

  "Fine! I give up!" Luc shouted to the sky. That was where gods and goddesses lived, right? The sky? Made sense in the moment to yell at them up there. His voice was lost in another thunder rumble. The clouds were thickening, blocking the sun to darken the morning sky. Rain continued to come down in torrents, plastering Luc's clothing to him and making his hair go limp and heavy.

  "Whatever it is you want from me, you have it! Worship, devotion, whatever! Just let me do my job! Whatever the odd rules you have to this game you're playing with me, I'll follow them. Just explain them to me!"

  The light touch of fingertips on his back made Luc jump. He spun around and came face-to-face with a woman who was entirely untouched by the pouring rain.

  For the second time in a few minutes, Luc's jaw dropped. "Insidia?"

  12

  There was no explaining how Luc knew it was her, except for the whole being bone dry amid pouring rain thing. The last time he'd seen any part of her, the face had been gigantic, and he'd been in a concussed delirium. It had been a dream, but that dream was what had started this whole mess. All he really remembered clearly was a pair of gigantic eyes, but the details of them eluded him. No color or shape stuck out. Luc stared, belatedly thinking he should be studying the face of this woman. Once he had a semblance of his wit back, he stared, despite the impoliteness of it. Her eyes were normal-sized, clear and grey with hints of green, blue, and purple that seemed to swirl through the iris. The pupils were so deep he almost feared he could see all the way through her head, the whites of her eyes so flawless that she had to be inhuman.

  She smiled slightly as she bore the weight of his attention, unmoving and unblinking, though long minutes passed. Luc kept up his search for something familiar. There had to be something about her that he could pin down or recognize. Something to explain how he knew her. Hair? It was a brown just slightly lighter than the gritty, oversweet candy bars Americans called chocolate. It was short, bobbed just below her ears. Her nose was nearly nondescript in its perfection. If her smile hadn't turned into a smirk over the last moments, her mouth would have been inviting.

  Luc tore his gaze from her face. She was shorter than he expected, though what he expected was a mystery to him. Her head barely reached to his chest. She seemed taller, though, as though gazing down on him. Luc felt his shoulders straighten of their own accord despite the burden of the world that strove to bend him to submission. Lithe limbs protruded from a silky dress that was completely unsuited to the weather. The fabric matched her eyes, a peacock's color scheme seeming to shift and swirl in the light. Her bare ankles ended, sockless, in a pair of worn Air Jordans.

  "Problem, Luc Sebastien?" she asked, and he recognized the voice. She shifted her weight to one foot, sticking the opposite hip out and resting a hand on it. Her elbow jutted out in a perfect moody teenager pose.

  "Insidia?" he repeated dumbly.

  "You called." The faintest hint of a laugh colored her words. "Not that it's normal behavior for me, but it suited me to come see you. This is the first time you've admitted out loud that you really think I exist. Thought I should reward you for finally coming to your senses about reality."

  "I don't… You're not…" He fumbled a few more barely-begun sentences and finished none of them.

  Her arms extended to the sides, gesturing to take in her visage. "I don't exist? I'm not real? If I'm not, then stop seeing me. You're not the sort of man given to insanity. You have too much control for that, Luc Sebastien. You've seen too much reality not to be grounded in it. But if you really need proof that I'm here…"

  Luc didn't have time to back away before her chest was pressed against him. She hadn't walked across the distance between them. She hadn't moved as much as a muscle to close the gap. Her posture and stance hadn't changed at all, either. Her arms were still outstretched, inviting him to take in all he liked of her looks. At this range, though, it appeared more as if she were halfway to embracing him. Her head slowly tilted up, the perfect pointed chin barely brushing the fabric of his coat. He shouldn't have been able to feel the movement through his layers of clothing, but he couldn't help it. A fiery trail tickled his nerves, up his neck and down his hips. The heat turned to chills down his arms and legs.

  "What… are you?" Luc muttered. His chin was tucked as tight to his neck as he could tuck it, staring straight down into those swirling eyes.

  Her laughter drowned out the rain. "What am I? My dear Luc Sebastien, I am deception. I am treason. I am ambush." She rolled her eyes at his blank look. "I am the divine, my sweet assassin. I am the goddess you gave your word to. It is through my pleasure now that you can do anything at all. Everyone you take the life of is dead because it pleases me to allow you to kill them. Every step you take is allowed because I enjoy seeing you move. Every breath you take, every move you make, I watch."

  He blinked at her. "Isn't that a song?"

  Her laugh was a tinkling bell this time. "Close enough. See? I knew you were paying attention. You are clever. I like that in my followers."

  "I don't follow—"

  "Didn't you just promise me worship? Devotion? So long as I divulged the rules of this little game I'm playing with you now?" She leaned even closer, lifting on her toes so her lips came even with his chin. She whispered, "The virgins?"

  His heart gave a single, heavy thump and sank into his stomach. "The virgins?"

  "It took you longer than I expected to figure that bit out. But I suppose that is the trend these days. It's not valued anymore, except for as a plot device or as a lip service. You Americans can be so prudish. While at the same time being so wild. Sex is just sex, Luc Sebastien. Marriage and sex do not go hand-in-hand. They never have. But I was on the verge of giving you some far more blatant clues if you didn't solve the puzzle. You're usually faster than this."

  "I don't understand," he managed to say. His mind was whirling faster than the colors in her eyes.

  "The virgins! They were the key. They are the key. Innocence. You did figure it out. Though I don't think the why."

  His mind kicked like a stalling engine finally turning over. "You were the one hiring me to kill virgins?"

  "What? No! Of course not! I was the one keeping you from killing them."

  "But why?"

  "Because it pleased me to do so. Because they were innocents, in their own prudish ways. All of them. And for another reason."

  He shook his head, trying to find any semblance of sense in what she was saying. "What other reason?"

  "Ereshkigal, of course. And Inanna."

  "I don't know those words."

  "Not words, my sweet Luc Sebastien. Names. Ereshkigal and Inanna are sisters. Not my sisters, of course. A more bickering pair of goddesses I have never seen. Worse than most of the Greeks, even."

  He felt his blank expression resume its control of his face.

  Insidia sighed. "If I must spell it out for you, fine. You're usually quicker than this, but if I must. Er
eshkigal is the goddess of the underworld. In Ancient Sumerian, anyway. Her sister Inanna, goddess of heaven. You do know about heaven, yes?"

  "Heaven and Hell?" he said dumbly.

  "Heaven and the underworld. Big difference. You humans and your infatuation with hell… Long story short, and there is some rather fantastic ancient poetry about this, by the way, Inanna decided that she wanted to extend her deific powers to the underworld. Any idea who might be angry about that?"

  "Ereshkigal?"

  "Good, you're coming along with me. Ereshkigal didn't like the idea of her sister barging into her room like that, so she tricked Inanna, trapped her, killed her, and displayed her dead body on a hook in the underworld so everyone can see it."

  "Cheerful…" Luc mumbled.

  Insidia shrugged. "Sisters. You would know nothing at all about the trouble sisters can make, would you? A wild one, that Esme."

  A fierce itch formed behind Luc's eyes at the mention of his sister. She had been wild, competitive beyond all reason. More than once, Luc had heard their parents say that if Esme had been born first, she probably would have been an only child.

  "So Inanna is worse off than a side of beef, down in the underworld. But that's not the end of the story. In the old poems, another god, Enki, sends a couple of sexless beings into the underworld to revive her with the food and water of life. Inanna recovers and escapes, the end."

  "What does that have to do with me?"

  "Goddesses are assholes. Not just to each other, either. And we can't help but get stuck in time, doing the same things over and over again in hopes that there will be a different outcome. Inanna is back down there on her hook right now, dead and waiting to be rescued."

  "And she will be rescued?" Luc asked.

  Insidia shook her head. "Every once in a while, one of the Conclave gets some new brilliant idea that will upset the cycles of time."