The Waif's Tale

by C. L. Stegall

  Livia was one of the oldest of the Hierarchy, second only to the magistrate, himself. My understanding was that the Councilwoman was somewhere well past two thousand years old. Still, she only appeared in her late forties. The Valensi aging process was nothing if not kind.

  "For how long is the assignment?" I said, sipping my drink.

  "Until she says otherwise."

  CHAPTER 25

  PRESENT

  M y own wound was bandaged by the paramedics, as Rae's body was loaded into the coroner's van. The gash in my shoulder would be healed by tomorrow but Rae was forever gone. I struggled to keep my anger subdued, answering all of the inane questions the police had. I described the other boys but did not offer their names and addresses. Those were mine to keep and use as I saw fit.

  The police detective, Sean Fennema, arrived about fifteen minutes after the uniformed cops got there. He had spent several minutes surveying the scene, speaking with both the uniforms and the CSU guys. Once he got around to me, I knew he would have trouble believing my lie about shoving the dead kid into the wall when I investigated the ruckus.

  "So, let me get this straight," Fennema said, jotting notes in his little flip notepad. "You were just walking down the street. You hear some guys yelling and you just walk into a darkened area unaware of what you might find? That seems a bit...illogical, doesn't it?"

  "Does it?" I said, not looking at him. Instead, my eyes were focused on the van now leaving, carrying Rae's body off to the county morgue. I determined to send all of the nasty thoughts I was having about the two remaining rapists to the back of my mind before I lost control and just bolted after them. If I knew anything at all about Rae, she would have wanted me to keep my wits about me. I tried to do just that. It wasn't easy.

  "It does to me." He scribbled some more on the notepad and then stared at me. "I'm going to need an address and telephone number to contact you, if necessary. You'll have to come down to the station and make a formal statement."

  "Tomorrow," I said.

  "I think tonight would be preferable."

  I finally turned my eyes to him and spoke in my firmest tone. "Tomorrow."

  He held my eyes for several seconds before he caved. "Fine. First thing, though. I expect you at my desk at nine, okay, Miss Paris?" He double-checked the name I'd given him. I'd made up the first name of Elizabeth and asked him to call me Liz. He didn't.

  "So, how long have you known Miss Epsen?"

  "Only a couple of days."

  "Had you seen any of the attackers before tonight?"

  "No. I only arrived in town a few days ago. I was going to meet my parents tomorrow. They're coming in from Dallas."

  "Well, bring them with you to the station. And, be sure and bring identification with you." He looked irritated that I'd repeated word for word my earlier statements to the uniforms that arrived on the scene. I'd said I had left my ID back at the hotel.

  There was an extended silence before he spoke again.

  "You don't look so tough." My eyes flicked to his and the edge of my anger at the murderers seeped into my stare. That stare had put many a person in their place, even Garrett a time or two. I gave Fennema credit for not backing off. Instead, he met my eye contact, holding it until I spoke.

  "What's that supposed to mean, detective?"

  Fennema turned away from me, glancing back toward the chalk outline against the wall of the building where the last little punk had died due to blunt force trauma. He again met my eyes, his pen hovering over his notepad. "It took some serious strength to do that kind of damage. You don't look that strong."

  "I had a running start, adrenaline and fear. You'd be surprised what a little body can do when faced with that kind of stress."

  "No," he said. "No, I wouldn't." He flipped his notebook closed and scanned the area one last time, his eyes finally returning to rest on me. "Tomorrow. Parents. Identification. Got it?" I nodded and stood to leave. "One more thing, Liz," he said, calling me by the name I'd given him.

  "Yes?" I said, pausing in my departure.

  "Something still has me baffled."

  "What's that, detective?"

  "Why is it that two thugs, willing to rape and kill, would run from a little girl like you? Don't you think that's odd?"

  "What I think is odd is the fact that rather than go after the murderers of an innocent young girl, you'd rather nitpick the inconsequential with a victim. Do your fucking job, detective." When I saw his eyes narrow instead of widen, I refrained from adding, "before I do it first." I turned and left without another word.

  CHAPTER 26

  1905, The Citadel, Age 27

  M y time with Livia was uneventful, yet rewarding. The woman did not require much attention, yet my presence was always to be immediate. We even had several interesting conversations about the origins of the Valensi, of how Livia came to be one of us and how she had won her spot on the Hierarchy.

  I was amazed to find that Livia was one of the first Protectors, before they were actually called such. She trained those that followed. Her pride and joy was Asaro who, Livia claimed, had taken her work to the next level. In addition to Asaro, she was particularly fond of Elijah.

  Elijah had been a Protector for many centuries and was considered the best of the best. Livia took great pride in revealing she had brought Elijah into the Valensi and trained him as a protector of the people.

  "What about Garrett?" I asked her on one particular occasion, while we were sitting in her study. She had been corresponding with far-reaching political figures who were either Valensi or sympathetic to us. Either way, her reach was far and wide. She was the political enchantress of the Valensi.

  "What about him?" she asked, her pen halting in mid-stroke.

  "I've met him a couple of times, once when he and Elijah visited us in Asaro's class at the School. He seemed, I don't know. Different."

  "Garrett is highly regarded. His abilities are second only to Elijah's when it comes to pure job performance. However, Garrett is unique. He is not to be trifled with, nor is he to be underestimated. Why are you so curious about him?"

  "No reason in particular. He just gave me some valuable advice once. It struck a chord." I noticed I had possibly struck a chord with Livia, as well.

  "How old are you, now, Paris?"

  "I'm almost twenty-eight, Mistress." I surmised that I should to revert back to a more formal tone with this woman. I wasn't sure why but I had learned to not question my own instincts.

  "So young. Be careful of that curiosity, young lady. We are a secretive people by nature. Some secrets will be forever held in the darkness of silence. Asking for knowledge is all well and good—and expected— but asking for purely curiosity's sake can lead one down a dangerous path. My words have less to do with Garrett than with the ease with which you asked about him. Take heed. Be mindful of your questions. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, Mistress. Of course. I apologize."

  "No need to apologize, Paris. Consider this a lesson to store away and think upon." She went back to her writing, as I nodded.

  CHAPTER 27

  1916, The Citadel, Age 39

  I was with Livia for almost twelve years. Although she made it a point to maintain a professional relationship, I believed we had become quite accepting and even admiring of each other. I had made a solid ally in the Hierarchy and gained considerable political savvy along the way.

  After Livia, in the fall of 1916, I had a short break while London was off with Joseph, another member of the Hierarchy. Dawn and I got to spend some quality time together. Fabulous.

  "It's time for an update, don't you think?" she said one day as we were lounging on the worn out sofa. In my time off from working with Livia, in the beginning, we had decorated the Abode to gentle shades of dark burgundy and light yellows. There were several Oriental rugs, teak furniture and thick curtains that lined the room, giving it a more elegant feel. It no longer felt like a catacomb, with the stone walls. It felt much more lived-in,
so to speak.

  "I'm thinking blues and greens." I set aside my dog-eared copy of The Beloved Vagabond. "Something with a little more verve."

  "I'm not sure on the green. I've never cared much for it. What about silver?" Dawn said, her head swiveling this way and that, attempting to foresee the results in her mind's eye.

  "I like it," I said. "That would lighten up the place dramatically. Stylish, as well. Good idea."

  She turned to stare at me. It wasn't often that I agreed with Dawn, nor complimented her, to be honest. I suppose I caught her off-guard. "What?" I said, lifting an eyebrow.

  "I'm not sure I prefer it when you're nice to me."

  "You're not serious."

  "You and I both know that we are not each other's greatest admirers. That is perfectly acceptable. Let's not throw the cart off the track so early in our relationship."

  "Dawn, we've known each other for over twenty years." I laughed at her serious demeanor but she maintained her expression.

  "And, yet, we know so little about each other."

  She had a point. She and I rarely chatted it up. It was mostly business alone that held the brunt of our conversations together. Here was an opportunity that I realized I should not miss.

  "You're right," I said. "What would you like to know?" Again, I must have caught her unawares. She stared at me in silence for long moments. She then glanced at my book.

  "You're always reading. I've never seen someone read as much as you. Who is your favorite author?"

  "Oh, that's a difficult question to answer. I am quite fond of Ian McClaren. He was a Scottish author. His works tend to be more puritanical, though. I also enjoy Rudyard Kipling. but, my current favorite book is The Red Badge of Courage, by Stephen Crane."

  "I have no idea who those people are," Dawn replied.

  "Not a reader, then?"

  "Never have been. Perhaps I should borrow a book, give it another go."

  "You're more than welcome. I can make some good suggestions based upon what you like."

  "What is all this civility?" asked Vi, as she entered the Abode. "What have you two done with Dawn and Paris?"

  "They were irritating us, so we killed them and stuffed their bodies beneath your bed. You should notice the smell shortly." My words rolled off my tongue with ease and sincerity and, for the first time since I had known her, Dawn laughed. Vi and I both found each other's eyes and then glanced back at Dawn.

  "Oh, fuck you both," Dawn quipped and then left the couch for the bar to begin pouring bourbon into a short glass.

  "Lovely mouth on you, Miss," Vi said. She turned to me. "Ready for your next assignment?"

  "You know what my next assignment is?" I looked over at Dawn with the question in my eyes.

  "I was going to tell you before she arrived." Dawn glared at Vi, who ignored her completely. "You're to report to the magistrate's quarters this evening."

  My breath caught in my throat. This didn't seem right. As I understood it, I was to serve at least three different members of the Hierarchy before working directly with the magistrate. I suppose the confusion showed on my face, as Dawn answered the unasked question.

  "He asked for you specifically." Dawn placed the cap back onto the ornate glass bottle.

  "Don't fuck it up," Vi said.

  "Yes," Dawn agreed. She slugged back her drink and then peered at me with her usual expression of nothingness. "Don't fuck it up."

  CHAPTER 28

  PRESENT

  I wondered if I would have any further trouble from Fennema. He seemed like a good cop and that curiosity of his probably made him a great detective. For that reason alone, I wondered around for over an hour, ensuring that he or one of his buddies wasn't following me.

  My time here, in Orlando, had just come to a screeching halt. I had no reason to stay any longer than it took to pack up my traveling bag and finish up the task of doling out some serious justice. James Lieber and Rhett Yarborough didn't realize it but they were enjoying their final moments. The clock was ticking down for them. Hopefully, they had had enough trouble for a while and were enjoying the dreams of the condemned.

  Thoughts of condemnation brought me back to Rae. It wasn't as if she had not had a difficult enough but she had to die amongst moments of pain and emotional anguish. My fingernails pierced the skin of my hand, my fists having grown so tight. I released my grip and rubbed my hands together, sealing the tiny wounds. Nothing could get the image of Rae from my mind. I had not known her for long, only a couple of days. Still, I felt as if I had lost a long-time friend. It didn't make any sense.

  The more I thought about it, the less clear things became. Until I remembered the reason I was here in the first place. I was running from a past life. Hell, I was running for my life. I had nothing and no one. What I did have was an uncertain future and an assassin on my trail. I supposed that the smallest connection would mean something. Therefore, the connection I made with Rae, however brief, had immense emotional and psychological implications. Funny thing was, now that I realized that, I experienced an even greater sadness for my own situation.

  It was time to turn things around. I needed a mission, something to drive toward. As I mapped out my next moves, I came up with two separate missions. The first would be to exact revenge upon the bastards who had violated and killed my friend.

  The larger mission was one that held a more dramatic sense of intrigue. It also held the very real possibility that I might be walking into a trap.

  The malicious smile that etched its way into my face made it clear to any who saw me that they should steer clear. I enjoyed watching grown men give me such space on the sidewalk as I made my way back to the hotel. I was in a mood, all right.

  Paris, of the High Guard, had a newfound sense of purpose.

  CHAPTER 29

  1916, The Citadel, Age 39

  I stood outside the magistrate's private quarters, ignoring every possible thought that tried to sneak into my head. I'd arrived twenty minutes early to try and compose myself. I'd learned a few tricks from Asaro, meditation and self-awareness techniques. Clearing my mind, I slowed my breathing and let myself close off from the world around me.

  In our second year of training, Master Asaro had noticed my nervousness in combat and informed me that I could improve dramatically if I could, in his words, "just calm the fuck down." I tried to take his advice to heart but still had trouble. He took pity on me, I suppose. His revelations were two short breathing techniques, which I used consistently for the remainder of my training. After graduation, I had gone to him to learn more.

  These days, I could eliminate all outside noise in a matter of seconds. Asaro and I had worked on a few new ways to clear the mind and focus thought. I loved how peaceful it was and I practiced every day. It was how I put myself to sleep every night.

  "You're very good at that." The deep baritone voice resounded down the empty hallway and startled the shit out of me. I had been so lost in my meditation that I had not heard the magistrate's arrival. He stood a few feet from me, his eyes focused on mine.

  "I'm sorry, sir. Good at what?"

  "Closing your mind. Barring any unwarranted entry."

  "Thank you. I picked up a few..." My voice trailed off as I realized that there was only one way he could have known what I was doing and how successful I was at doing it. My eyes narrowed before I could stop myself. He smiled.

  "Observant. And quick. That is a perfect start." He indicated I should follow him and then he entered his chambers.

  Inside was simple opulence. The stone floor was covered in thick burgundy carpeting, there was a myriad of richly woven tapestries hanging upon the walls and the furniture was dark with a heavy appearance. Special lighting fixtures, sconces, were somehow encased into the stone walls and the décor consisted of deep hues of reds and purples. All in all, the place felt warm and comfortable. Not at all as I had expected.

  "What exactly had you expected, young Paris?" the magistrate said, as he swept across th
e room, then turned to face me, still as an oak tree.

  "I guess I had expected it to be...colder, I suppose. I'm not sure why." No sense in not being honest at this point.

  "I see. Is that how I present myself, then?"

  "Sometimes. but, that's to be expected from a man in your position. You can't be all sweet and charming and manage an entire race, can you?"

  "Indeed. Fear is a powerful tool. Threats are all well and good but without sufficient action to back up those threats, all you have are empty promises." He almost smiled.

  "I feel as if you are asking a question, sir. The answer is, yes." I noted the slight lift of an eyebrow as he scanned my face. I wasn't sure why but it seemed I had impressed him.

  "Yes?"

  "Yes, sir. I will take whatever action is necessary to achieve my goals."

  "And, what exactly are your goals, young lady?"

  "To be the best I can be. To survive under any circumstances. To prove myself worthy."

  "Worthy of what?" He folded his hands in front of him as he stared me down. We were getting to the heart of the matter. I did not hesitate.

  "Life."

  He nodded. "Well, then," he said, seating himself in one of the two red leather chairs and motioning me to the opposing sofa. "Let's get started, shall we?"

  CHAPTER 30

  PRESENT

  I sat in my hotel room and planned out my next steps. I had already packed a light bag, clothes, toiletries and makeup. What would happen next would necessitate my departing town a little earlier than expected, but I didn't really give a shit. My course was set. Time to be who I was always meant to be.

  I had Lieber's name and a good idea of where he hung out. I'd picked up his buddy's name, as well. I would go after Rhett, first. Fucking coward didn't really participate in the action but he was as much a part of it as the other two. He would pay the price, same as would Lieber.