The Traitor's Stain (wattys 2019)

Chapter Thirty-One: New York, New York

John Andre's home looked about what Ophelia had expected: a stately home in one of Manhattan's finest neighborhoods. Whatever it was that was happening inside, that night, it was a grand affair: she could hear laughing, saw women in fanciful dresses and men in polished military uniforms. The light from inside the house spilled onto the streets, as did the warmth and the smell of delicious cooking came with it. It was tantalizing, and she couldn't help but wish that she were actually part of the festivities. How long had it been since sh'ed last been to a ball like that, without so much as a care in the world? At the very least, it had been four years, since the war first came to Setauket and her husband left to fight it.

But, she wasn't there to go to a party; she was there to lead a man to his death.

The plan was simple: she would be standing there outside the house, waiting for Otetiani to show. Once he did, she would lead him to the alleyway a few streets away, where Hercules and Abraham were laying in wait. Once they'd arrived, they would jump him, and they would kill him. They'd refused to tell her how they would be doing the deed, of course. She got the feeling that whatever it was, it was violent. More violent than she would be able to handle.

And now, as she stood there, waiting for Otetiani, all she could seem to think about was the fate Otetiani would face, that night. And how she was about to be apart of it. Would she be able to live with herself, even though she knew full well that this was her only option? Would Hercules, or Abraham? And what if something went wrong? What if they got caught, or hurt? Or, heaven forbid, what if he ended up surviving the night? All of them would face the rope, or worse.

She forced herself to stop thinking like that. She had a job to do, and damn it, she was going to do it!

It didn't take long before she saw him.He stepped outside of the house, putting his tricorne back on his head.

Ophelia froze. She'd hoped that thinking about Constance would help her keep her nerve, but frankly, all she could seem to do was sit there and stare. There he was: the man that would ruin her entire life, everything she'd worked for, if she let him.

She wouldn't let him.

He perked up when he saw her. He recognized her; it was obvious from the way he seemed to tense up when he locked eyes with her.

She quickly began to walk away, towards the alleyway where the ambush was to take place. Abraham, Hercules: this plan of yours better actually work!

***

Otetiani was surprised to see Ophelia there, to say the least. He'd suspected her of being some sort of spy for the rebels, but he'd never had any proof of it; just gut instinct that might not end up amounting to anything. Now, though, he knew. The seemingly innocent Ophelia Stroud was involved in something. Something dangerous. Something thousands of people had lost their lives for, so far.

Ophelia was a rebel spy.

He followed her as she walked away from Andre's home, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. What was it that Andre had told him? That he had free reign to do what needed to be done, but would condemn him if he were caught?

Well, that was just fine with him: all people had done to him since he was first born was abandon him when he needed support the most.

He was going to take care of this threat. He didn't think that the death of this woman would have much of an effect on the rebel cause, but it would be a step in the right direction. A step towards keeping these damned colonists away from the rest of his people's lands.

He pulled out his knife as Ophelia went into a secluded alleyway. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

***