by Lizzy Ford
When she was younger, she’d loved it when he told her this. At her age, the words sounded strange. She didn’t believe she’d turn into a princess anymore than she believed she wanted anything to do with killing anyone.
“First, I need his secrets, then we’ll kill him,” her father said.
“Will he have many secrets?” she asked, perplexed. “And why do we need them?”
“In time, my dear. I need you to run to Doolin with me in half an hour. The Guardian has arrived. We will set up our plan to capture him.”
“What? He has?” she started to fidget. “But I thought … I thought he wouldn’t come for awhile.”
“It’s been awhile,” her adopted father said with a small laugh. “It’s been ten years since I first told you this.”
“I know … I guess … I hoped …”
“Your dear old father was crazy?” he asked with a glint in his eyes that made her cringe. “Don’t worry, my love. You will soon see for yourself, and you will understand everything. Get ready to go.” He rose and gave her a kiss on the forehead then left her in the safety of her room.
I trained you the best I could. Bitterness crept through her as she dwelled on his words. He’d never tried to raise her as a true daughter. Train had been the perfect word. He’d drilled her in how to use and control her gift. She’d learned self-defense by the age of eleven and how to shoot a gun when she was twelve. He’d said it was for a good cause – to save humanity – but she’d long since thought there was something strange about his wild stories of Guardians and Gods. If not for her unusual power, and his cold magic, she would’ve considered him crazy.
“Are you ready, my daughter?” he called through the thick wooden door. “We’ll be driving in the rain. Oh, and bring your things. We may stay there a night or two.”
“Just a minute, Papa,” she answered. Yully rose and crossed to her wardrobe. She pulled out waterproof ankle boots and her thick, lambs wool-lined coat then quickly gathered her toiletries and packed an overnight bag.
Her father awaited her in the foyer. He had no bag and no coat, and she scanned the foyer.
“Forgive me, daughter, but I can’t go with you,” he said and glanced at his watch. “You go on ahead. I’ll drive out tomorrow.”
“Father, I’d rather – “
“No,” he said sharply. “You’ll go now.”
She flinched, but he didn’t hit her this time. The strange note was in his voice again. Instead of speaking, she kissed him on the cheek and hurried out the door, where her car had already been pulled in front of the manor. She darted through the cold rain into the warm car and tossed her things in back. Her father stood in the doorway of the house, framed against the light of the foyer.
Shivering, she couldn’t help thinking something was very wrong. She drove the winding roads from her father’s manor through County Clare and south towards the Cliffs of Moher to Doolin, one of her favorite day trips. The sun set too early on the later autumn day, and she finished the trip to Doolin in darkness. She went to the main strip, where the pubs were not yet busy in the early evening.
“Your father called, Yully! I saved yer seat!” the bartender called as she entered. “Nice seein’ ya in town again.”
“Thanks, Sean,” she replied with a wave. She shook off the rain in the doorway and crossed to the small booth near the bar that she and her father usually shared.
“Ye want the usual?” Sean asked. A burly redhead who towered over her, his face was flushed from the heat of the warm pub. She’d always felt comfortable around him. He was one of the only people who didn’t shy away from her or treat her like she was a leper. Once, she thought she’d seen the same shimmer of power around him that she saw around her father.
“Yes, thanks, Sean.” She peeled off the thick coat and draped it over one bench before seating herself facing the door, as her father had taught her. Sean brought her a bowl of thick beef stew, soda bread, and a Coke.
“You fall again?” he asked, gaze on her bruised cheekbone.
“Yeah.” She looked away. He said nothing else and moved away.
Yully ate slowly, enjoying the stew enough to start a second bowl. Some of the locals she knew from her frequent visits seated themselves before Sean at the bar. One glanced her way, his gaze lingering. Self-conscious of the effect her gift had on people, she moved deeper into the booth. Normally, she’d leave before it got too crowded; her father preferred she avoided people altogether. With nothing but her troubled thoughts, the cold rain, and a lonely room in the bed and breakfast down the road, she didn’t feel like leaving just yet.
Instead, she started a third bowl of the soup and watched the pub fill with people.
“Enjoy,” Sean said, reappearing from the kitchen doors behind her to place a bowl of warm toffee pudding on the table.
“Oh, Sean,” she said with a smile. “I’ve already had three bowls of stew!”
“It’s from the gentleman o’er there,” he said and indicated a booth near the door with the tilt of his head.
“Could I take it to go?” she asked.
He hesitated, and her senses tingled in warning. Sean smiled finally and whisked it away. Yully watched him, alerted by the same sense of uneasiness she felt around her father lately. She wasn’t sure why he’d care if she ate or took her dessert home.
Unless there was something wrong with it. She looked down at her stew, her father’s warnings coming back to her thoughts. He’d claimed someone would try to kill her, and the man they sought was here. She’d long since thought her father was paranoid, if not crazy. Sean poisoning her made no sense.
It’s from the gentleman o’er there.
She searched the busy pub with her gaze. There were a lot of tourists in town, probably for the autumn equinox, which drew people from around the world every year. She wasn’t sure who Sean was trying to indicate had sent her the dessert.
“Here you go,” he said and placed the small brown paper bag on the table before her. “Have a good night, Ms. Yully.”
“Oh, here,” she said and reached for her purse.
“No worries. The gentleman paid for your dinner.”
“Which gentleman?” she asked. “I’d like to thank him.”
“Right over there.” He pointed to a small table across the pub, and she wondered how she’d missed the men at the table.
“Thanks.”
Sean returned to the bar. Two men sat at the table, one with blond hair and the other like something out of a movie. Cocoa skin, soulful dark eyes, exotic features, and brilliant tattoos over his exposed, muscular arms. His hair was long and black, braided down his back. While it was hard to tell his height when he was seated, he looked to be Sean’s size, well over six feet tall. He sat like he owned the pub, leaning back in the chair in a display of relaxed power. His smiles to his companion were easy and his gaze wary.
He shimmered, like her father did.
Yully’s stomach turned. This had to be the man her father warned her about! She made a show of resting her coat across the table, as if to say she wasn’t leaving, and she crossed to the small hall that contained the restrooms. Instead of ducking into the ladies room, she pushed through the back entrance, which emptied out into a dark, rainy alley. Shivering, she pulled out her phone to call her father as she made her way towards the street.
“Papa, I think he’s here,” she whispered when he answered. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Are you armed?”
“No, Papa.”
“You’re supposed to carry at least a knife every time you leave the house. In any case, I’m on my way, darling,” he said with disapproval. “You know how to defend yourself, and you can turn even a man into a rock with your magic. You have nothing to fear. Go to the bed and breakfast and wait for me.”
“Yes, Papa.”
He hung up. She shoved the phone and her hands in her pockets to keep them warm as she picked her way through the littered alley.
Lizzy Ford, Damian's Assassin
