Knaves

by Abbott, Alana Joli; Meadors, Melanie R. ;

  DAUGHTER OF SORROW

  Maurice Broaddus

  OUR KIND IS never alone.

  I almost pitied the two idiot boys as they approached. In another life, I might have measured them in a different way, noted their swagger and self-assuredness, done the calculations of “cute boy”/dating possibilities. That dream was the life of another girl.

  I appraised them as threats before the thought even occurred to them to menace. The first one, easily the larger of the two, was pure toxic bravado. The bald brute with flat features—as if his mother smashed him in the face with a cast iron frying pan—barely squeezed into his Specht Preparatory Academy uniform. The green vest bulged, the gold trim stretched to threads, the black pants fell just above his ankles. He made the first move.

  “Who do we have here?” The lummox leaned in. Specks of his spit flecked the air. “Rianna Butcher.”

  As far as the Specht Preparatory Academy was concerned, that was my name. The massive edifice of the school sat atop 366 steps, one more than those leading up to the U.S. Capitol. Tucked away in the furthest suburb of Indianapolis, Indiana, its seat in Hamilton County was now the third wealthiest county in the country since our kind chose to reside here. An exclusive private school for the elite of the elect. To me it was simply another school, with the same competition of people trying to prove themselves to other people who won’t matter to them twenty minutes after graduation. I just turned fourteen, the youngest in my class. I hated mid-year transfers, but my father insisted it would be the last one.

  With his awkward lumbering gait, I could have broken the oaf’s arm in two places and smashed his trachea with my follow through. I was my father’s daughter, and he’d been training me for years, despite his handler’s admonitions.

  “Hey, mate.” Hesitation and caution quickened his friend’s voice. He sported a slight Geordie accent. I’d always had a pretty good ear for accents, a gift from my mom. Probably from just north of Newcastle, into Tynesdale. His tie fixed with a fastidious knot, the shirt under his vest pressed and heavily starched. Brighter, or at least more observant than his friend, his eyes focused on the onyx ring on my index finger framed by ornate tendrils of gold, the intricate design almost like interlocking serpents. “I think we have the wrong person.”

  “Nah, I think she’s in the wrong place.” In a clumsy effort, the brute jabbed his finger toward me, but he stopped short of making contact. He froze at his stricken friend’s look of terror and traced his gaze to his chest. A laser sight trained on his heart. Though he couldn’t see it other than through his friend’s divided attention, a matching one dotted his forehead. Camouflaged hunter drones, which looked much like mechanical spiders when they skittered around indoors, locked onto him. Noiseless. Invisible. Ever present.

  I stared at him with bored amusement.

  “Boys.” I shook my head and pushed between them.

  “You’d think they’d know better by now, Rianna.” Demari Andemichael sidled up to me, all smiles and charm, though less than he assumed he possessed. His hair was cropped short. His mischievous eyes had a reckless glint to them. With skin the color of toasted cinnamon, Demari, along with me, allowed the school to consider its diversity mission fulfilled. “You wear your ring out in the open. A bold choice.”

  He was also one of our kind.

  The ring signified my family was a high-ranking member of the Grendel Society. It was my mother’s. The Society had operated in the shadows for decades, rubbing elbows with the wealthy and elite, since they were the ones who could afford our services. The Specht Preparatory Academy was both training ground and facilitator of connections, raising the next generation of dangerous power brokers. But even with our traditions and rituals, people were people, and where there was perceived power there were those who vied for it.

  Probably why someone killed my father. And I was likely next on their list.

  “People don’t see the ring first,” I said. “They see a girl and make assumptions.”

  “They’re short-sighted. They don’t see who you really are.”

  “Unlike you, of course.” An advantage of backpacks was that my arms were free to move if needed. I slightly shifted the weight to my back foot, just in case he tried anything.

  “Of course.” Demari smirked. He loved the joust of banter. It made him feel grown up and sophisticated. Part of the social games the school excelled at making us play. His easy smile was a trap. Everything with him was an implied threat. The Andemichael name carried a lot of weight in the city. His father sat on five major boards, including their family foundation and the school. His mother was a hotshot lawyer before making the leap into politics. “You see through me.”

  I started walking again.

  Demari fell into lockstep. “How is your father? I haven’t seen him much lately.”

  “Busy.” I lowered my voice. “Being the lead agent keeps him on assignment. A lot. You know how it goes. Wait, I suppose you don’t.”

  The Andemichael family fancied themselves as old money. They had the right to rule, as they saw it. But we were the lead unit. Dad worked his way up, having amassed more successful contracts than anyone in Society history. When he was chosen to lead it, the Andemichaels took it as him polluting their bloodline, blocking their presumed ascension to the throne.

  “You see how you do it, swerving so recklessly into disrespect?” Demari tried to sound cool and aloof, pretending my words didn’t sting as much as they did. He was impulsive and quick tempered, a dangerous pairing especially when combined with ambition. “You tread close to the edge. Be careful you don’t slip.”

  “You’re boring me, Demari.”

  He smirked again. A knowing grin because he couldn’t help tip his hand when he knew something someone else didn’t. “Full Society board meeting next week. I can’t wait to hear the update on your father’s activities.”

  Demari trotted off, taking the steps two at a time and high-fiving guys as he went. He caught up to the two boys and hand clasped them like they were all down. I had to remain vigilant at all times because everything about me was illusion.

  Not the most auspicious start to my first day at a new school.

  Other girls hustled by in whorls of conversation. They might as well have spoken another language, one that the dream of another girl might have understood. Full of talk about the latest movie, latest episode of Riverdale, or the breakup of the latest band. Or clothes. Or rumors about each other or the teachers or who was dating who. A wall which kept me out. When I took my seat, I sat near the back of the classroom on the aisle closest to the door. Clear avenues of escape either through the door or a window. The class had a substitute teacher that day, so few bothered to sit in their assigned seats. Like a good girl, I stayed under the radar. School came easily to me, so I worked quietly completing all of the posted assignments for the week.

  But I didn’t know if I would last even that long in this life.

  “ALL WARFARE IS based on deception.”

  “If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the results of a hundred battles.”

  Fairy lights illuminated the Sun Tzu quotes along the walls of my bedroom. Sarah asked me about them once when we FaceTimed. The story I gave her was that what was true about war was even truer about love. Lovers more often than not became enemies. In between the words were a poster of K.J. Apa, one of Pennywise the clown, and a few pictures of me. Not at events with friends. Not even with Sarah. Moving from school to school, I didn’t make too many friends. No one I wanted to remember. It was hard enough learning to be with just me.

  I plopped down on my bed and propped a MacBook Pro on my lap. It had a few custom additions of my own design that made a Tor router look like a telegraph. Like I had so many times before, I initiated a dark web search with end-to-end encryption. Also as I had so many times before, I remembered asking…

  “…who is the target, Sorrow?”

  “Homework first,” Dad said. His mask distorte
d his voice to a near mechanical drone, any note of concern hidden by the filtration.

  “Are you… are you serious right now?” The sounds of distant traffic roared in the background. If I knew my father, he was on a rooftop stake out. “We aren’t father and daughter right now. I’m Hunter Unit 1, Designation: Overwatch. On mission, I can’t be… grounded.”

  “What kind of father would I be if I let you do whatever you want?” His voice thick with command, used to not being questioned. Like everyone else, I knew little of the man, caught up in the larger than life figure people called Sorrow. He fought in wars as his father did, and his father before him, their idea of what men did. He got married and had a baby girl. I don’t think he knew what it meant to be a devoted husband or a loving father. He did know death though. “This is strictly a surveillance mission. No need for tactical overwatch. Besides, it’s a school night.”

  “I’m top of my class. I can’t get any topper. I’m so far ahead, my teachers have to conference to come up with things for me to do.”

  “You need a hobby.” His voice remained measured. Even with my ear for voices, I couldn’t tell if he was joking.

  “This is my hobby.”

  “You’re not ready.”

  “I’ll never be ready if it’s left up to you.”

  “This is about me not letting you date.”

  “Dad, no…”

  “I said when you’re eighteen you can do what you want.”

  “I don’t even like anyone. Are you being obtuse on purpose? Distracting me is not going to work. The Society requires that I choose to commit or walk away soon. We aren’t Amish. We’re not talking about Rumspringa or anything. Relocation, new identity, no further contact. The threat of death if they even suspect that their name has crossed my lips and that’s to keep you in line as well as me. Either way, my choice won’t be easy.”

  The Grendel Society was not a job with a 401K plan. A league of assassins, it was a commitment for life. Blood in, blood out. If you entered it, the mantle was yours until you… retired. Permanently.

  “This life is not something to rush into.” A sudden weariness filled his voice. I couldn’t tell if he was sad or preparing himself because his target was due to arrive soon. “Once you fully join the Society, there’s no going back. No proms. No sorority parties in college. There’s no happily ever after.”

  I hated it when he made it sound like all I thought about was his idea of what teenage girls were about. As if this life hadn’t forced me to grow up quickly. “You had mom.”

  “Attachment is weakness. I was weak.”

  “What was I then?” There were stories I told myself to fill in the blanks of all the conversations my parents and I never had. Suspicions I held in dark corners of my heart, because they’d been left to fester untended. I wanted him to say the words. To admit that I was a mistake and that he never wanted me. That was why he kept pushing me away.

  “The fact that you want to do this now tells me that you’re not strong enough. You’re still looking for my approval, for me to validate you and your choices. That’s not what we do.”

  “That’s not what I…”

  “Someone put papers on a target. It’s not my assignment, but this contract was designed to draw me out. Whoever put out the hit knew I wouldn’t let it stand. But I still have my own job to carry out first before I can turn my full attention to whoever decided to threaten us.”

  Distracting me with the business at hand was part of his tool kit. He liked keeping everyone around him off balance. By now, it was reflex, as natural as breathing. His voice grew distant as he spoke. I got that way sometimes when I was working on a story. Half talking through an idea, half furiously keeping up with the possibilities stirred up in my mind. He examined all the angles, a fly on a sticky strand calculating the direction the spider might come from.

  “What’s the job?” I began scouring the dark web for evidence of someone reaching out to him through the usual channels.

  “Shh. They’re here.”

  “Sorrow, do you read me?”

  The comm line went dead. My dad loved his secrets. It was partly due to his training, the code Grendel Society members lived by. But even if he’d been a mailman, I suspect he would’ve played his life close to the vest, not letting anyone in. I never knew if he carried me in his heart. When I reached out, I didn’t hug him; I only wrapped my arms around the walls he built around him. In the end, all we had was…

  …nothing. Memories were a funny thing, holding the details of them like cupping sand on a walk home. I sift through them, though, all our conversations, for any clue, only to hit more dead ends. I inventoried Dad’s clients, their usual drop spots, hang outs, and ways of communicating. I still had no lead on who he worked for. Shutting down my computer, I sprawled out along my bed. I just wanted to hear his voice, have him tell me everything would be alright.

  Frustrated, I punched another hole in my bedroom wall.

  I’d have to buy another poster to cover it.

  OUR KIND IS always watched.

  Constant surveillance left me unsure where I belonged or how to be. There were spaces that required me to be such a different version of who I was, I lost the thread of my true identity. Take the Specht Preparatory Academy for example. On the real, the school was tired. Like many schools these days, they both didn’t believe in lockers at the school, but also didn’t want weapons or drugs brought in. Wandering the halls like some masterless samurai, my transparent backpack slung across my shoulder, I ignored the bumps and jostles of my schoolmates that accompanied swimming with the tide, trying to fit in and look like everyone else.

  The homeroom teacher let us chat until the bell rang before beginning the ritual of calling the class to order. Sarah walked in with a red colored pass, handed it to the teacher, and took her seat. Setting my backpack behind my desk, I sat alone with my thoughts for three heartbeats before Sarah leaned over. She smelled of soap and baby powder.

  “This school is so extra.” Sarah pronounced “so” like it had three syllables. “They give you infractions for everything.”

  “I know.” I became the “me” Sarah knew, slipping on the persona of cool, bored high school student like it was an old shoe. Originally, she had been assigned to act as my orientation guide. Our relationship was supposed to last the half hour of the initial tour, but we clicked. Her easy, affable way slipped past my defenses, though not completely. Her wide, innocent face framed by long hair. Her eyes the cold blue of a winter sky. Still a pinch of baby fat to her cheeks, but one could see the beautiful young woman she was growing into. She was the closest I’d come to making a friend in years. I hated that I couldn’t trust her. “I complained about an infraction today to my music teacher. She held me after class so that we ‘could talk about it.’ I explained that I had simply forgotten to bring a pencil to class, so I borrowed one from a friend.”

  “You problem-solved,” she said sarcastically. “It’s what they always tell us to do.”

  “Exactly. Then she asks me if I’m unhappy here.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “Yeah.” I shuddered remembering how my teacher’s face went all dark and serious. The whole conversation took on the vibe of a threat. For all I knew, my music teacher was a member of the Grendel Society and the threat was all-too-real. “She told me that me being so flippant when it came to talking about the school, its faculty, or its methods was disrespectful. And that the school… frowned… upon disrespect. So I needed ‘to be mindful of that’ if I wanted to remain.”

  “So. Extra.” Sarah huffed. “I’m surprised they don’t tap our phones, too.”

  I hesitated. Actually, that wouldn’t be beyond them. The phone lines weren’t secure. I had to be mindful of that moving forward. This was the “me” the Grendel Society conditioned. They placed the children of their agents alongside the future titans of industry and watchful members of the society. To build relationships while learning what it meant to conceal a double l
ife, so that lying to and hiding from those around us became as natural as breathing. Being in an environment where one didn’t know who was friend or foe—one or more of whom had a hand in my father’s death—and navigating those places was part of the training.

  A moment of weakness with the wrong person and I could end up dead.

  “Do you ever wonder about who you’re going to be?” I asked.

  “You mean when I grow up?” Sarah asked.

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  “Not really. I’m going to graduate top of my class at Harvard, complete my surgical residency at John Hopkins, and become the youngest head of neurosurgery in Mayo Clinic history.”

  “That’s… specific.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with having a plan for your life.”

  “What if you don’t want the plan?”

  “Then it wasn’t your plan?”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “Life isn’t meant to be over thought.” She flipped her hair to gesture how little she cared.

  The giggle she nearly elicited from me was cut short as Demari slid into the desk on the other side of me. Side-eyeing his approach, I straightened in my seat.

  “I’ve heard rumors.”

  “This is high school. We swim in rumors.”

  “It’s more like a story I keep hearing. About a little girl who got in over her head and made all the wrong enemies. And even though she thought she could go at things alone, she found that she couldn’t make it more than a few steps before her enemies devoured her.”

  “That kinda sucks as a story,” I said.

  “That ‘kinda sucks’ as a life choice.”

  “What do you want, Demari?” I tried to fill my voice with as much weariness as possible.

  “I want you to join me.”

  Even with his invitation, I didn’t know whether it was genuine or another play in an elaborate scheme. Something close to genuine filled his eyes. My tone stiffened a bit. “I’m happy where I am.”