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His body stills. He stops breathing.
I breathe in deeply, and then out slowly. I add the slightest pressure to the handle of the blade; it enters the back of Marcel’s neck, and a moment later, exits through the front of his throat.
His body quakes and jerks uncontrollably, and at this moment, I realise I am thankful for one thing:
I can’t see his face.
Holding up the quaking body of Marcel Dupont by a blade through his neck, I lift my gaze to Ari. Her eyes sad, she smiles gently. “Come, Cat. Release him. There is still much to do.”
With a small jerk back, the blade is free, and Marcel’s body falls motionless to the floor with a dull thud.
My heart jumps.
I did it. I killed him. I didn’t need help. I did it on my own.
I don’t even feel bad about it.
Ari pulls her leg back and kicks the lifeless body, “Cochon sale!”
The night has officially become overwhelming.
A small giggle bubbles up my throat. The more I try to hold it back, the worse it becomes. I start to chuckle. My chuckle becomes full-blown laughter, bordering hysterical.
Tears stream down my face as I laugh, letting out my anxiety, anger and worry.
Ari watches me, a cautious smile playing at her mouth. When I get myself under control, she asks, “Okay?”
Tears trail my cheeks for another reason altogether as I begin to cry uncontrollably. Ari comes forward, wiping them away. She tuts, “Why do you cry, chéri?”
It all comes out. “I just killed a man—a man who had his back to me praying. He didn’t even see it coming.” I sniff. “He didn’t know it was coming, and...” I look up in her face and whisper “...and I don’t even care.” My body shakes with silent sobs. “I’m glad he’s dead.”
I’m pulled into a warm hug. Ari chuckles in my ear. “Oh, ma colombe. Be still.”
My tears begin to wilt away. Detachment takes over. I like it when my heart numbs. Numbness is good. It’s feeling that hurts.
Ari kisses my temple. “You were born for this. You have one of the toughest jobs in the world, and you have just proven you can do it with ease.” She pulls away and smiles. “That is a gift.”
I don’t say a thing.
I’m not sure I should be congratulated for that.
She holds out her palm and I hand her Koneko. She wipes off the blade with her discarded habit and kneels by the body. Her hand motions me over, and I help her move Marcel onto his side.
Confusion sweeps through me as she takes my blade and begins adding small cuts to his face, fingers and neck.
Sensing my uncertainty, Ari explains, “I should have explained beforehand. We need this to look like a robbery gone wrong.”
Oh.
Crap.
“I’m sorry.”
She scoffs, waving a dismissive hand my way. “It is nothing. Next time, we will go into details how we want the kill to look. It was my fault.” Reaching into her pants pocket, she pulls out a pair of gloves and hands them to me. “Now, make a mess of this place, please.”
The gloves feel strange on my hands, as though they are suffocating my fingers.
I walk from room to room, throwing things around, breaking ornaments and frames, and moving things around.
Ari calls me over to her as she puts on another pair of gloves. “We need to pick up the television, take it into the main hall and drop it, so it looks as though something interrupted a robbery.”
Brows rising, I look at her in disbelief. “You know a lot about this stuff, Ari. I’m impressed.”
Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “My life before Bob found me was not a good one.”
The television drops to the ground with a boom. We collect our gear, and before we leave, I watch as Ari walks over to Marcel. Looking up to the ceiling, she mutters a few words under her breath before reaching down and coating her fingers in his blood. Her eyes close as she runs her blood-coated fingers from her forehead, down the side of her face to slide down her chin.
My eyes glued to her in shock, she stands and walks over to me wearing her victory on her face. Suddenly, I get it.
Arianne. Codename: War Paint.
She reaches into her pack and pulls out two black hoodies. I waste no time shrugging into mine, pulling the hood up. Ari follows suit.
We exit through the backdoor and stroll to the back gate as though nothing is wrong, as if we are meant to be here. Once on the street, we jump into the waiting Mercedes Kompressor, and Clark drives us back to Mirage.
Satisfaction flows throughout my body. Hearing, but not listening to Clark and Ari converse, I melt into my car seat, suddenly feeling the pull of exhaustion.
My eyes flitter, flutter and then close as I drift into a peaceful sleep.
Chapter Eight
The car doors creak and I jerk awake. My heart pounds in my chest. It takes me a moment to gather my bearings and figure out my setting. We’re back in the barn.
Clark holds out a hand to me, smiling. He wears no judgement on his handsome face. He understands me. He is the type of person everyone needs in their life. His common view of all things life is ‘It is what it is.’
By God. I love that.
I think I may have adapted that saying to my life not two hours ago.
A sense of freedom does wonders for the soul.
I place my hand in his. He gently pulls me out of the car and towards him. I’m encased in a firm hug. He whispers by my ear, “You did it, Cat.”
Still holding my hand, he leads me as Ari follows close behind. He keys in his code, and as soon as the security door opens, a cheer breaks out. The loud yells frighten me, and my body jolts. I look down to the ground floor of Mirage, and what I see makes me beam.
A laughing Frankie, a grinning Bob and a smiling Marco wait for me, Ari and Clark to join them. Bottles of communion wine are uncorked, and written on one of the whiteboards in black is ‘Congratulations, Cat!’ with balloons around it drawn in red marker.
Smiling like a fool, flushing bright red and shaking my head in disbelief, I make a slow descent down the steps to join them. It’s a nice gesture, but it’s close to four a.m. and I’m too tired for this shit.
Bob is the first to approach me. His arms come around me as he chuckles. His grip on me is tight, and I squeak as he lifts me in an excited embrace. “I knew you could do it, girl. I’m so proud of you. So very proud.”
Okay, maybe not that tired.
Frankie kisses my cheek, squeezes my shoulder and places a coffee mug of wine into my hand. Clark winks at me from across the room. I watch as Ari acts out the kill scene to Bob, who follows every move in wide-eyed awe. And Marco...
Marco watches me with little more than a small smile.
And that smile...
It’s sad. And almost disappointed.
My eyes hold his.
I don’t understand it.
Suddenly, Ari—still wearing her war paint proudly—clears her throat loud enough for her to gain immediate silence. Holding her coffee mug of wine, she begins to speak. “Tonight was a very important night for our Catarina.” Bob nods in agreement. Ari adds, “Tonight, Cat was initiated into Mirage and is now a full-fledged member. She took initiative, and what she achieved tonight, no one can take away from her.”
The way she says this is not prideful, but menacing. And my chest aches. This is her way of warning the others to let what happened in the past stay in the past. It makes me want to simultaneously kiss her and burst into tears.
Stepping forward, she holds out her hand to me. I take it with a small smile. She pulls me to sit in an office chair, and by the secret grins on the others’ faces, nervousness washes over me.
I stumble over my words and laugh uneasily, “Wh-what’s going on, guys?”
Bob’s soft smile soothes me. “It’s tradition. Just go with it.”
Frankie steps forward with a dagger, and when Ari holds out her hand for it, Frankie scowls, “I’m the best friend, so I ge
t to go first!”
My eyes widen as Frankie steps closer to me, dagger in-hand.
When she takes the tip of the dagger and pierces her own fingertip with it, my brain stops trying to understand and shuts off for the night.
Holding the dagger by her side, she takes her bloodied fingertip and puts it to my forehead. I feel her press a pattern in her own blood onto my skin, and it’s almost alarming how at peace I feel at this very moment.
My breathing steadies and I close my eyes a moment, just wanting to feel.
Suddenly, I’m surrounded. Bob is next and paints one cheek. Ari decorates the other cheek with her blood, while a sweetly smiling Clark presses a single dot of his blood between my brows. Finally, Marco approaches, and without looking away from me, he holds out a hand for the dagger.
When he pierces the tip of his finger for much longer than necessary, my face flushes and my heart rate elevates.
He steps forward, lifts his finger and does a slow swipe from the bridge of my nose, down to my lips and chin, marking me with his blood.
Pulling back, he watches me a moment, taking in his handiwork. Having lost control of my body for a split second, my tongue darts out to taste it.
As soon as I taste the metallic tang of his blood, I squeeze my legs together tightly and fight tooth-and-nail to stop myself from tasting him a second time.
The reactions this man pulls from me...
It’s frightening.
Marco steps back and Bob takes his place, putting his hands on my shoulders. He explains, “You have to sleep with the war paint. You can wash it off in the morning.”
“Okay.”
Bob steps by my side and announces, “I’m pleased to accept Night Fury into our family—not that she wasn’t before. Only now, she’ll be working with us.”
More cheers break out, cups are refilled and before I know it, I fall asleep in an office chair, head resting on a filing cabinet.
And I fall asleep smiling.
***
My eyes remain shut, but I hear the sound of hard footfalls.
Strong arms hold my limp body. I quickly realise I’m being carried back to my room.
