Chapter 1
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My mother never told me anyrnfairy tales. She never told me of beautiful princesses stuck in towers, waitingrnfor Prince Charming to rescue them. My mother never tucked me in at night,rnnever sat by my bedside when I was ill, never warmed me a cup of hot chocolaternwhen I was scared. There’s a lot of things that my mother never did for me,rnenough things to fill several books. In fact, I barely knew my mother.
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It’s always the eyes, alwaysrnthe eyes that unnerve me. How strange it is to see those twin orbs full ofrndreams, full of life extinguished with a well aimed thrust between thernribs. It doesn’t matter how many times I kill someone, I’ll never forget thernsight of light fading from those eyes.
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My name is Teresa, justrnTeresa. After my father and mother abandoned me, I did not feel fit to userntheir last name. Once upon a time, I dreamed of fairy princesses and unicorns.rnNow I think of where I would sleep and whether I would have a full stomach orrngo to bed hungry.
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It has been ten years sincernI was found half starved by the town’s best thief, or rather, the person who usedrnto be the town’s best thief. Victoria’s ti
tle wasrndestroyed when a guardsman smashed her leg beyond repair. She now hobblesrnaround Headquarters, screaming at the unfortunate thief and raging at everyrnlittle thing.
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Since that fateful day when Victoria picked me up fromrnthe gutters, I have learned the secrets of Hemlock, every alleyway, shortcutrnand most importantly, who has high-security possessions and who doesn’t. Just yesterday,rnI had been ordered to track and kill a man that Victoria had met before herrnleg was destroyed. I did not care for the details, only for the reward shernwould give me once I succeeded.
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The man was not difficult torntrack and follow, with his foreign accent and bright red hair. His eyes, arnstartling green stood out amongst the dull browns and grays of Hemlock. Evenrnhis clothes were strange; a Victorian midnight blue frock coat covering formalrnblack trousers. Black oxford shoes topped the whole outfit, the combination ofrncolours clashing with his eyes and hair almost hazardously.
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The villagers of Hemlock allrnstopped as he passed them, staring unabashed at his fine clothes and strangernway of walking. Maybe all people from high-class societies walked as he did,rnwith a swinging gait and a light swagger to his steps, his obsidian canernflashing out in front of him though he obviously did not need its assistance tornwalk.
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I followed him from morningrntill dusk, only about ten steps behind him but always careful to avoid havingrndirect contact with him. The work was tedious; it seemed as if the man knew hernwas being followed and was trying extra hard to throw me off. He kept makingrnunexpected turns, kept turning around suddenly to talk to people on thernstreets. Once, I almost ran right into him when he stopped abruptly to study arncase full of jewelry for sale. Silently, I cursed myself for if the man hadrncaught a glimpse of me, my mission would have gone down the sewers.
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Finally, the sun gave onernlast glance at Hemlock before disappearing behind the mountains, letting therndarkness fall over Hemlock like a blanket. Finally, the man let down hisrndefenses and sauntered down an abandoned alleyway. The alley itself was a wellrnknown shortcut to the inn in Hemlock. Really, it was the only inn inrnHemlock. The Rusty Toad was famous for its beer and that’s about it. Thernlodgings? I would rather sleep on the streets. The bread? It was as hard asrnrock and between the two, more likely to break your teeth.
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My dagger was hidden in myrnright boot where I could grab it with one sweep of my arm. It is also muchrneasier to carry a small dagger that can be hidden in the folds of your clothesrnthan a sword which is much harder to conceal.
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Thinking ahead, I circledrnaround so that he would have to pass me to get to the Rusty Toad. With my traprnin place, all there was left to do was to stand as still as possible and waitrnuntil the man walks past me. I’m good at waiting; I’ve had lots of practice.rnWhen she wants to tease me, Victoria says I can standrnstiller than a tree. I’m good at camouflage too, with my black clothes andrnpadded boots that muffle the sound when I walk. On the pocket above my leftrnbreast is a tiny belladonna plant embroidered in by Victoria, the plant forrnwhich I was named after. I’m proud of my name, Belladonna I mean. Belladonna isrnthe kind of name you would expect an assassin to have, not Teresa.
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The man did not even try tornmask his footsteps and the sound of leather against stones echoed back andrnforth, bouncing off the stone walls. I take a careful peek, calculating when Irnwould make my move. He’s a couple hundred meters away from me and I duck backrninto my hiding place. For once in my life, I feel my hands shaking and I griprnmy dagger until my knuckles turn white. Once again, I curse myself for myrncowardice.
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I can do this, I know Irncan. This is just another job…just another mission. But who am I kidding?rnNever before have had I felt this…fear mixed with anxiety and I can’t say Irnlike it. Before I know it, the man has passed my hiding place, his legs takingrnlong strides. Instinct made me bounce onto the balls of my feet and quick as arnsnake, I dart in front of him, cutting off his path and slam his body into thernwall. I pause for a moment until I am sure no one has heard the commotion. Thernrest is easy: gag him, bind him up, kill him then dispose of his body. And yet,rnI can’t make myself raise the dirty rag to his mouth.
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The man stares at me for arnsecond before saying, “So it was you who was shadowing me all day.”
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I admit I’m surprised but Irntry my best to hide it. I guess my attempt didn’t really work because the manrnraised an eyebrow and smirked at me. Shame on him, I’ve never been able tornraise one eyebrow and I’m envious of anyone who can.
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I don’t say anything as I turnrnhim around so that he is facing the cold stone wall as I tie his hands. Irncringe when my fingers touch a trickle of something dark and sticky. He’srnstrange, this man. My usual victims almost always scream and kick before Irnsilence them. Finishing my work, I turn him around again so he now faces me.
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“You know Victoria?” I ask. He’s gotrnme curious to find out more about him and Victoria. Lost love, maybe? Perhaps arnchildhood feud that ended badly? The possibilities are endless and I amrnintrigued.
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“I’ve known Victoria since we werernthree. She and I, we were the best of friends until around age sixteen. Thatrnwas when Victoria met Collin andrnfell in love with him,” the man explained without hesitating. “I could tellrnCollin was no good for her, with his sly looks and fox-like face. My point wasrnproven when Victoria discovered Collinrnwith another woman. She was devastated of course, but she still loved him.rnCollin and I had an argument one spring day and it ended up with him dead inrnthe river, the water washing away his blood and I? I was cast out of my homernbecause I was a murderer.”
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I was at a lost for words.rnCertainly, Victoria is beautiful but Irnnever imagined her to have a lover. I found myself wondering who that fox-facedrnman was. One of my best friends had a shock of bright red hair and a pointedrnface like a fox’s. Maybe they were related, I’ll have to ask Kahlo later.
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The stranger suddenly smiledrnat me and his face was transformed. He had such a wonderful smile, he ought tornsmile more. “I don’t expect to live past tonight, so I may as well give yournthis.” He slipped a small black box into my hand. “I expect you’ll have morernneed of it than I.”
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I saw it coming a splitrnsecond before it lodged into the stranger’s chest. Moonlight reflected on arnsilver blade followed by an intricately designed hilt. The stranger’s headrnlolled to the side, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He was deadrnbefore he hit the ground.
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All I could think was, Irndidn’t even say thank you. I knew who it was before I even turned around. Thernprecision of the throw, the blade and the soundless attack could only have onlyrnbeen performed so perfectly by one person: Vicktor Cruise. Sure enough, hisrnelegant face with its high cheekbones and dark eyes was the first thing I saw asrnI turned around sighing.
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Vicktor hated me the momentrnhe laid eyes on me when I was a mere babe. It was only because of Victoria that he didn’trnkill me. Instead, he gives me a particularly hard time.
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“Hide the body Teresa andrnget back to Headquarters,” he said monotonously without ex
pression. Headquartersrnisn’t much of a sight; it’s a run-down building at the corner of Noble Street and Hay Avenue tucked in betweenrnan abandoned workshop and a flower shop that hasn’t seen a single customer inrndecades. The folk who live near Headquarters think it’s just another buildingrnbadly needing repair and no one is foolish enough to wander around the olderrnbuildings so we’re safe from prying eyes. Either way, we still have to berncareful.
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Sighing irritably, I glaredrnat the back of Vicktor’s head, gritting my teeth. The stranger was myrnkill; Vicktor had no right to interfere.
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“I could have done it, sornwhy did you cut in?” I ask. Vicktor didn’t even glance back at me, his stepsrnnever faltering. “He was going to tell me something before you plunged one ofrnyour fancy knives in his chest!”
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“Get back to Headquartersrnnow, Teresa,” Vicktor snarled suddenly, venom in his voice. “You’re but arnfoolish child, prancing around confident because you are Victoria’s favourite. Shernshould have left you to die in the gutters after your parents abandoned you.”
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“Don’t talk about myrnparents,” I yelled furiously. I didn’t care if anyone heard us anymore; I wasrntoo angry. “If you hate me only because Victoria likes me betterrnthan you, then you’re a real idiot!” I felt a surge of satisfaction whenrnVicktor’s spine stiffened visibly. Even so, thank goodness he didn’t turn backrnand whip me with his stinging words because I may have been extremely temptedrnto stick my knife in his back.
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I drag the stranger’s bodyrnunceremoniously into the shadows, cringing as I stuff him under a mound ofrncardboard boxes. As much as I regret doing this, someone will stumble upon hisrnrotten corpse and hopefully give in a proper ceremony to send him to heaven. It’srnnot like an assassin can walk casually into a funeral home and ask that theyrnarrange a grave for the person she killed personally. No, the best way was torndispose of the body while I can.
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Wiping the blood on myrnpants, I step quickly into the shadows and hurry to Headquarters. KnowingrnVicktor, he has probably been boasting about this successful kill to anyone whornwill listen and yap about how I was hesitant to kill the stranger. Belladonna,rnthe most known assassin in town bested by a red-haired gentleman! I can feel myrnface reddening at the thought of the shame that would fall on my shoulders.rnAssassins are not supposed to fall in love. We are supposed to be ruthlessrnmurderers with a taste for gold, not men.
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