Heart of an Assassin (Circle of Spies Book 2)

by Laura Pauling

  My words settled on them and they squirmed. Janelle broke down in a sob and moved forward to hug me. “Oh, dear we’re thankful too.”

  “Mother.” With the one word from Will, Janelle backed away, wiping her eyes.

  “And that’s why I’m here,” I said.

  “This is ridiculous,” Will said. “We shouldn’t be listening to this. She’s working her charm on all of you again.”

  “No, let her continue,” Malcolm said, speaking for the first time.

  My heart surged with hope. “Earlier at the masque, Robert stole the map back from Constance. The same map that I’m assuming Will stole from him.”

  “You’ve mentioned that,” said Will dryly.

  “Robert thought he’d killed Constance, but in the final moments of his death, Constance whispered his dying secrets to me.”

  I paused, appreciating that the gleam in their eyes was one of curiosity and not I’m-about-to-kill-you. I lowered my voice for dramatic effect. “The map is fake and only I know the true whereabouts of the secret room, and,” I struck a finger in the air and spoke louder, “that is where we will find the list.”

  Edith licked her lips and led the charge. “What do you want? Money? Gold? Jewels? Obviously you’re here with some bargaining power.” Her family nodded in agreement.

  Here was my chance to stop this silly feud and bring safety to my family. “I propose we work together to find the list, destroy it, then come to a truce and go our separate ways.”

  After an uncomfortable silence, Bartholomew motioned the family closer. They conferred in a huddle. Their voices raised and lowered in passionate disagreement. Will’s voice was louder than the others, and he clearly didn’t trust me. Edith chirped in here and there, but overall, I had no idea what their final decision would be.

  Finally, they separated, and Bartholomew stepped forward.

  “We accept,” he said. “But if there is any betrayal on your end, the truce is over.”

  I nodded, and we shook hands. They didn’t waste time and huddled around Bartholomew’s desk. He led the team.

  “We cross by boat, dropping anchor far enough out that they can’t see us. Then we swim.” Bartholomew glanced around the room as if suspicious of spies. “We separate and infiltrate from different points. We’ll each have a copy of the map and hope that one of us makes it inside. After three hours, we meet back at the boat. No taking chances.”

  “I hate to burst the bubble, but we don’t exactly look like monks,” I said. This plan sounded so crazy and full of holes.

  Janelle reassured me. “We’ll carry our costumes in a dry bag. We’ll melt right in.”

  “Basically, it’s each man for himself to leave the building and make it back to the boat.” Malcolm drew the outline of the monastery on a piece of paper. “We’ll work in teams and hope we all make it out alive.”

  My throat and lips became dry. It wouldn’t take all of us to infiltrate the monastery and I didn’t want it to seem like an attack. “No.”

  They all turned their heads, their faces puzzled, twisted into a question as to why I thought I could plan better than Bartholomew.

  “Just Malcolm and I. We’ll sneak in and then leave with the list and swim back out to the boat.”

  Will scoffed, his mocking laughter spurting out. “And why do you think that would work better, Savvy Bent? Please, enlighten us.”

  “We don’t want it to seem like an attack. The more of us there are, the more likely they’ll spot us. But Will can monitor the grounds and we can communicate with him if there’s any trouble. And I trust Malcolm with my life.”

  “What if you run into trouble?” Janelle asked, probably more for my benefit than theirs.

  “I know for sure I’m not killing anyone,” I stated. If I was going to work with a family of assassins then that had to be established right away. “So we’ll have to get creative. I’m sure we can manage.”

  “Savvy,” Janelle said gently, “we don’t take someone’s life for fun or because they stand in our way. There are other means to stopping an enemy.”

  “That’s right,” Bartholomew said. Then he handed out black pens.

  “What? Is this some kind of secret video recorder?” I asked. Because I knew it couldn’t be just a regular pen with ink.

  Bartholomew pointed the pen at the wall and clicked the top of the pen. Small electrified streaks of light poured out the tip. “It won’t kill, but if you place it against the skin or close to it, the zap should stun him long enough that you can escape.”

  I tucked it away in my pocket. Sweet. Hopefully I wouldn’t ever have to use it on anyone in this room. Bartholomew and Will stood to go, already discussing plans, in their element, their faces animated. An invisible burst of energy entered the room as the family nailed down the itty-bitty details of the mission.

  Thirty-seven

  I stood on the fringes as the family delved into assigning jobs in preparation to leave. Will would secure a motorboat since Malcolm’s went kaboom into the great night sky. Janelle would pull the robes from their seemingly endless costume supply, and Edith would route the getaway, just in case. My job was the map and I didn’t need to do anything but remember.

  As soon as the plans were made and everyone was ready, we rushed out to the waiting car and zoomed down to the waterfront. The boat waited for us and we slipped through the darkness and climbed aboard.

  With Bartholomew at the wheel, the boat sped through the water into the swirling darkness. The buzz of the motor drowned my thoughts but matched my nerves, which were at full throttle.

  Time dragged on and yet it went by so quickly that when the anchor dropped, I was surprised. Will climbed down into the water first, then Malcolm and I. We had a dry bag strapped to our leg with our monk’s robes. The cool water took my breath away but I went in without complaint. Then we were cutting through the choppy water at a slow but steady pace. Something I never could’ve done a month ago.

  I kept my breathing at a constant pace, spitting out any water that sloshed into my mouth. The predawn glow reflected a path on the water that led to the monastery on the nearing shore looming over me. My heart beat faster.

  Malcolm stood before I realized we were close. My feet touched solid ground and Will, Malcolm and I pushed silently through the gentle waves onto the rocky shore.

  Were the monks kneeling at their beds or in the chapel by flickering candlelight? They were probably planning out their ultimate revenge and our timely deaths. I gritted my teeth together until my jaw ached. This would end tonight. I’d walk away with the list that condemned my family one way or the other.

  Once on dry land and away from the shore where we could be easily spotted, we headed across the sparse grass. We hid in the shadows provided by the monastery and peeled off our wetsuits.

  Except, when the suit flopped to the ground at my feet, I shivered. It felt like my last layer of defense, that my armor I’d been hiding behind for the last hour was gone. Wind pricked at my skin and the air smelled like rain.

  Will spoke first. “Are you sure you remember?”

  I nodded then focused on unrolling the robes from my dry bag and tucking the pen into the pocket. My mind was already searching the hidden cobwebbed corridors of the monastery while my heart was remembering Malcolm’s boat exploding all over the beach, the flames eating up the sky, and the dark waters that I’d thought consumed him. The night our relationship changed forever.

  We donned the robes, the rough material scratching at my still wet skin.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Malcolm asked as he took in the monstrous building shadowing us, his eyes still not wandering my way.

  I nodded, unable to bring up any words, not even to fake it for his sake or to hide my real fear, that at some point I’d lose him. Questions I had for Malcolm niggled at me, urging me to speak out and find the truth about that night. What if something went wrong on this mission? If God forbid the worst happened, I needed the truth. But when I went to pull o
n his arm, my arm wouldn’t move, stuck by my side. He turned with a questioning look.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  When the moon moved behind a cloud so I couldn’t see the contours of Malcolm’s face or read his expression, the words I wanted to speak stuck in my throat.

  Will interrupted, the disgust dripping off his words. “We shouldn’t really waste time with small talk. You two need to get going. I’ll be here on the outside, waiting. Please try and stay alive. This should be simple.”

  I saluted Will and then slid between the shadows of the monastery and the few trees while keeping close to the side wall, glad for an escape. I let my fingers run across the ancient stones, not wanting to accidentally pass anything. If Malcolm questioned my methods or doubted my memory, he kept them to himself. Once I reached the back of the monastery, and I couldn’t find the change in the stones, I panicked.

  Constance had said there would be a definite change in the stones; the once almost-even wall would turn broken and choppy, different stones jutting out as if not wedged in all the way, a mistake by the builders. But it wasn’t a mistake. It was planned. Just as I was about to turn and study the wall, there it was, a definite transition. The hewn rocks became more uneven, enough for hands and feet to climb it.

  I stopped and didn’t dare look up or I might change my mind. With a few wraps of the robes, I girded them between my legs so I could climb without tripping. One false move and I’d go splat. Malcolm still didn’t say anything but copied my motions. Slowly, bit by bit, we climbed the rock face. The rough stone passed beneath my fingers and feet.

  Halfway up, I slowed, searching. Finally I stopped and forced myself to look up ahead. The end of a rope ladder swung in the gentle breeze. The fibers were dirty and worn and doubt flickered as to whether this was completely ludicrous and the ropes would tear under our weight.

  I climbed past the end of the rope ladder, my fingers cramping, then with a deep breath, swung my leg over onto it and rung by rung continued upwards. Finally at the top I crawled through a window just large enough for a monk who didn’t eat a lot. My stomach scraped across the bottom of it and I felt a hand on my back, pushing me through. Once in, I collapsed onto the floor, panting.

  The dank smell that comes from years without sunlight assaulted me. Complete darkness swallowed me at the start of a tunnel that hadn’t been used in centuries, except for Constance. I had no idea how he’d managed to squeeze through that opening, but I understood why he didn’t want to do it again.

  A few minutes later, Malcolm flopped down, his hand brushing mine by accident. My heart seized up at the warm feel of his skin against mine. The only sound was our breathing, the only thing I sensed was the heat from our bodies, the only thing I wanted was to be close to him.

  We both rolled at the same time and our faces were pushed against each other. Accidentally, his lips pressed again my cheek, catching the side of my mouth. My breath hitched. I pulled away, my heart thudding.

  “Savvy,” he said.

  As much as I wanted to talk, as much as I missed him desperately, I had to hold it together for the mission. I couldn’t go there.

  I turned my head and searched the inky blackness of the tunnel, then pulled away. “Let’s go.”

  Thirty-eight

  I hunched over to fit in the passageway and moved into the dark, welcoming its cool hug and the invisibility it offered me. Malcolm’s soft tread echoed behind mine. I ignored the kiss of cobwebs against my face. Okay, I might’ve freaked out a little bit.

  The dirt floor under our feet felt endless and the medieval monastery swallowed us whole as if it were the mouth of a giant creature.

  Each step brought us closer to our family’s safety. After about one hundred feet the passageway came to an end.

  I felt in the darkness and pressed my hands against the part of the wall that dipped in a little bit, barely noticeable and cleverly disguised. I pushed and the stone swung open.

  We slid into the room and when my feet touched the floor, I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face. If possible, the darkness was denser than in the tunnel.

  “Hold on.” Malcolm grunted. “There’s got to be some kind of light. Feel around for a string or something.”

  I pawed at the air but came up empty.

  “Found it,” Malcolm said, followed by the click and then dim lighting from a naked bulb that barely cast a shadow in the room.

  The archives weren’t the grand library I was expecting. If a room were open to the public there would be tables and reading lights. This still had a dirt floor, and webs decorated the corners. Were those the red eyes of a rat gleaming in the corner?

  I unwrapped my robes from around my waist and let the ends fall to the ground, a rush of air swishing across my legs. I slipped my hand into the secret pocket and touched the pen taser. I wanted to be ready.

  Malcolm rubbed his hands together. “We made it.”

  “Yup. Now let’s get to work.” The words came out a little bit stronger than I’d intended. The responsible thing would be to talk about my feelings and the tiny flares of anger that came unexpectedly, but that would have to wait. I had to separate emotion from the spy mission and live and work above that.

  He pulled scroll after scroll from the shelves, and I dove into the welcome work. I opened each one, searching line after line for a hint or trace of our families’ names. I ran my fingers down the dusty scrolls just looking for last names because, of course, they weren’t written in English.

  Frustration mounted as I realized I still knew too little. We worked in silence and I tried to focus on the task at hand: the dusty scrolls and trying not to get too much mice poop on my hands. After about ten minutes, I sighed. Would this list even have a title?

  “I don’t think it’s just going to be laying around unprotected,” I said.

  Malcolm moved to the farthest corner of the room and searched the cubbies. “I don’t know about that. Come here.”

  He motioned me over and swept his hand up and down a shelf of scrolls. Cobwebs draped the walls and corner like the faded dress of a dying woman. A thick layer of dust decorated the top of shelf.

  “Look at these. They’re ancient.” He glanced over my shoulder and then looked back at the scrolls, running his finger gently across them. “They’re really ancient.”

  I studied the rolled ends filled with dust. Deep inside, I knew the significance of the scrolls representing the lost history and writings of an ancient time, but I cared about one scroll in particular. The one with my name on it! The one that offered freedom and safety for my family.

  “Let’s just find the list and get out of here.” My conviction growing.

  “Definitely,” Malcolm said while gently pulling out some of the scrolls and unrolling them with a delicate touch.

  I hovered, watching over his shoulder. He leaned close to the scrolls and studied the fancy inked lettering. “Maybe if we look for one that’s not as caked with dust because I’m thinking they more recently added your name.”

  “Yeah, right. Not caked with dust.” I pulled one out.

  The dimly lit room encased us in shadows and I felt tucked away, hidden in another time, safe from the present. I fought against the overwhelming feeling that the list would be impossible to find as I pulled out scroll after scroll.

  “Hey,” I whispered. “What if we don’t find it?”

  I heard the shot first, then Malcolm groaned and slumped over, his full weight pressing against me. The warmth from his body that I normally loved turned into a suffocating heat and a gasp slipped between my teeth.

  A dark figure crawled through the dark passageway in the wall and into the room.

  Thirty-nine

  I dropped to the floor and pulled Malcolm close, fighting against the tide of panic rushing through me. “Please.”

  “I’m okay,” he rasped, but the way he held the wound and the pain flashing in his eyes told me he was anything but okay. “Fight,” he whisper
ed.

  I lowered him to the ground. Then I stood tall and faced my enemy.

  The monk’s robes flowed to the ground and a hood hid his face. His fingers curled around a scroll, and he tapped it purposefully against his arm. His voice was heavily accented and he spoke in English. “Is this what you are looking for?”

  The ancient rolled parchment clutched in his hand gleamed under the dim light, calling for me, asking for me to steal it. The list. He had the list. Time for my negotiation skills because I had to get Malcolm out of there fast.

  “What would you trade for it?” I asked.

  His voice turned solemn. “No trades. We need this. After we take care of the guilty parties, we will turn it in for quite a profit. Enough to make sure that all these precious scrolls are taken care of properly.”

  The lost scrolls? I searched for my pen taser but instead found a hole in the deep pocket of my robe. I remembered Will’s lesson about using what you had. Unfortunately no sharp or heavy objects were nearby, but I had words and questions.

  “This is about these old scrolls? Why?”

  He shook his head. “You are like everyone else. The world hunts for these lost scrolls but not to preserve them. They want to get rich.” He stepped closer, one foot at a time, and his words were as carefully measured. “But it is more than just the scrolls. It’s the loss of life your families have brought to the world. We stumbled upon this list and fate brought our paths together.”

  I swallowed down the bitter pill that in many ways he was right. I didn’t know half the stories filled with bloodshed and betrayal from the past two hundred years or longer.

  He pointed a finger. “No one cares or they are greedy.” He strode over to us. “These scrolls date back to Alexandria!”

  I must’ve looked puzzled because he kept talking.

  “The first library? Don’t you know the story?” He paced, tapping the scroll I wanted against his hand. “Julius Caesar set the library on fire. Later, after Christ, many scrolls fell victim to the raging battle between Christians and Jews…”