First Apprentice

Chapter 3 Part 1

When Pell called me into his office after work, I expected a brief discussion over my pay. He'd attempt taking the piano banger Pell hired off some street corner's liquor consumption out of my salary. I'd counter with details about the illegal compulsion seals he had carved underneath his bar stools. Half of them didn't work and the compulsion from the others was so underpowered I doubted he sold more than a few pints extra each week. Not exactly the prison-worthy offense I made it out to be, but Pell didn't know that - our typical negotiation.

I rapped on the door and nudged it open with my shoulder. Pell stood in front of the rough-hewn table he used for a desk, hands clasped together, dark violet clouds lending his yellow aura a sickly tinge. I quirked an eyebrow, wondering why he was nervous. "It's nothing personal, Alannah girl," he said, clapping me on the shoulder. "Five heads is more gold than I see in a year. If I didn't take it, someone else would. He paid to talk, nothing more." His gaze dropped to the dagger at my waist. "Keep the mess down."

Foreign magic brushed against me. Not as powerful as mine, but too strong for Vinetta. I whirled around, hand dropping to my weapon. Run or shift and fight? My rational mind warred with my instincts, robbing me of precious seconds. A figure stepped out from behind the door, dark fuchsia aura resplendent with glittering sapphires and rubies.

Teasing blue eyes flashed across my memory followed by blood cooling on my hands. Jon. His parents named him Jon. He was twenty-eight, never mated, and sole guardian of his two baby sisters ages thirteen and ten. He lived for those girls and died for them.

Stay calm, I admonished myself. I survived this before. I will survive it again.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed his memories aside. Not now. I would remember Martha's treachery and my mistake that cost a good man, albeit a brainwashed one, his future later.

My eyes narrowed as I double-checked his markers. Four just like mine, making him a dae. Jewels, a Marstow gryphon. Fuchsia, the sign of a born assassin, according to Endellion who had a panic attack when I introduced her to my best friend Irene. Irene has the magic, but not the temperament. But rubies were strewn over his body like frozen droplets of blood. Possibly anger, but emotions tended to pulse in time with the individual's heart beat. A deep, steady red like his signaled blood lust.

His cane thudded against the floor as he stalked towards me. "Miss Claise, I don't know where to start. In my three-hundred-ninety-two years, I have never been as utterly humiliated as I was tonight nor as shocked."

Wait, what? A sneaking suspicion entered my mind along with a glimmer of hope. He carried a cane like the one Director Nease used. I bet he also painted a glamor seal on his skin, altering his facial features. By mimicking someone I knew, he hoped to get close enough to either kill or suppress me without a fight. He didn't realize I saw only auras, not noses and eyes. Seeing people like they looked in portraits required significant effort on my part and generally wasn't worth it. Director Nease could have green hair and purple skin for all I knew. I never saw his physical form, only a dark gray man-shaped form with pink sparks.

Play along, I decided. Let him think he'd lulled me into a false-sense of security then strike when he least expected it.

"I can explain, sir," I said. My right hand dropped to my side as I tucked my left behind my back. I had one advantage. If my sleeve slipped and he saw the three stripes tattooed around my left wrist like shackles, the game was over before it began. Strike fast then teleport to Grandfather's. There, it wouldn't matter who detected me.

"Then by all means explain why you saw fit to break not less than twenty school rules. All of which are in place for your protection. Explain why you snuck out of your dormitory after curfew, altered Matron Patti's memories, melted a hole in a portcullis, forged your guardian's signet. Five hours, Alannah! That's how long we combed the city."

"We?"

"Half the staff are out looking for you."

I edged closer to the desk. It might get in the way, but if I failed a barrier might buy me enough time to think up another plan. I swallowed hard. "How did you find me?" Gently, I stroked the bud over my heart. A single petal cracked open. My fingertips tingled as claws replaced my nails. I slid one finger under my tunic and pressed it outward against the fabric, silently urging the transformation to hurry. Although I could shift my entire body into my half-state or wraith forms in the blink of an eye, a Dracon's wraith was easily countered by Marstow mind arts. Luckily, I didn't need to possess him to kill him. However, I did need at least a minute to shift a single limb.

"One of our visitors volunteered to summon a gate and send a messenger to Irene."

I grimaced. My ex-roommate Irene joined the Border Guard six months ago as a teacher. I told her where I worked as a fail-safe, but I never expected anyone outside my family to contact her. My mistake.

He stuffed his hand in his pants pocket and removed a slip of paper. "Ten minutes later, she sent this," he said, flashing the address written in Irene's too tidy script. "I spent an hour convincing myself she had the wrong address. Why would a debutante, the Iver heiress at that, take a job playing in a brothel at night in a district no eighteen-year-old young lady should venture into in daylight with an armed chaperon?"

"Technically, it's a dance hall," I replied calmly.

"Alannah," he bit out, "you can smell the depravity from three blocks away. If it smells like a brothel, it's a brothel." He refolded the paper and tucked it back in his pocket. "I realize you may not care about your reputation, but you are also my concertmaster. Your actions reflect on me!" No, I was Director Nease's concertmaster, not his. Director Nease didn't need to know about my nightly activities or his soon-to-be-deceased impostor. Fabric passed through my index finger. Another second and the sensation, which felt a bit like slowly immersing a dry limb in warm water, traveled past my wrist. Finally!

Orange flashed through his aura. I cocked my head and examined his markers again. More orange. Disappointment, a strange emotion for an assassin unless he expected a fight.

Head bowed, I shuffled towards him, scuffing my feet across the floor. For added impact, I nibbled on my bottom lip. By the Gates, I was getting too old for the contrite little girl act, but he bought it. I hid a smirk as bile colored sparks danced around his head - smug satisfaction.

Let's see who's satisfied in the end, bastard.

Stepping forward with my left foot, I swung my right hip back, wrapped my right hand around his wrist, and yanked him forward. Then I plunged my left hand into his chest.

Black light exploded around us as my magic found another outlet. Gates purred in my mind, each listing reasons why I should feed him to them. My power sought out his, smothered it, wrapped around the hooks anchoring his soul to his body. One shattered. Then two.

My arms itched as scales grew out of my skin. Fangs pricked my tongue. I didn't need a mirror to realize I'd shifted into my half-state. Little demon, my stepmother Martha called me. I wondered if she ever realized how right she was or how dangerous alienating a demon could be. Pity I couldn't teach her the same lesson I was teaching him.

His features wavered, aura morphing into an olive skinned man. Terrified brown eyes stared into mine. "Please," he whispered as the door creaked open.