Girl of Shadow Read online

  Saying a prayer to my mother, I leave the false safety of my room.

  Chapter 2

  MARGERY

  “A man wrapped up in himself makes a very small parcel.”

  -John Ruskin

  ~~~

  Walking briskly, hands in my skirt to make the going easier, I search out Samuel. I have a lot to do today, but my morning task is the most important of all and I won’t abandon it for anything. I spot him in the gardens deadheading. He spots me but continues with his work. He’s young and attractive, dressed in a simple brown shirt with overalls, a tool belt at his waist with every possible thing he could need. He’s just the kind of man I hope to end up with one day.

  “Anything to report?” He asks while continuing his work. I wish he could stop and talk a minute, but like most people, he’s too busy for someone like me. Someday I will prove my worth.

  “Not much. She went to bed on time last night, and she woke up late so I had to rush her out so I could meet with you.”

  He stops for a moment and raises his brow at me. “You know you’re not supposed to do that. If we can’t meet one day then just try again the next; it’s not worth raising suspicion, even the most valuable information can usually wait. If you find out something important but can’t reach me, you know how to contact the others. It wouldn’t take them long to find you.” He goes back to clipping.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Not really, but I try to look a little guilty. “Have you heard anything about the inquiry I put in a few months back?”

  “No, nothing yet. Don’t lose patients, changing jobs takes time.”

  “I just feel like my talents are wasted here. If I have to serve that snotty teenage girl one more day…” He gives me a look that makes me shut my mouth.

  “If you want out you know the way.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then do your job and do it well and when the time is right someone will contact you.” He pauses as if he wants to say more, but isn’t sure if he should. “What?” I ask just wanting him to spit it out. “I hate to bring it up, but part of the problem is that you took it upon yourself to get to know the family a little too well.”

  I roll my eyes, knowing precisely what he means, but his inability to be direct is irritating. “You mean my relationship with a couple of The Boss’s boys? That was months ago!”

  “Keep it down!” He whispers and peaks around. A few gardens turn our way, but they all return to work once we match their looks with our own. “That’s exactly what I mean! I hasn’t been forgotten!”

  “I did that for the group. I was trying to get information, taking one for the team.”

  “I understand, but your orders didn’t include them so there is some wonder as to whether you can follow directions.” He raises his brow at me. I glare at him. We both know I can handle just about any job, but I always do it my way, something he and the others are not fond of.

  He sighs. “Look, we can’t just move you as easily as other people. You’ve made yourself noticeable. Just lay low for a bit and let people forget you. Once you’ve removed yourself enough that you won’t be noticed, then I’ll see about putting you somewhere else.”

  “Fine, but I’m still going to pester you about it until you move me.”

  “Anything else?” I hate the way he blows me off, but right now this is my only option.

  I try not to sound too exasperated when I respond. “Well, she was having a nightmare again.”

  “What was it about this time?”

  “I don’t know, just rambling about death. I think she said, ‘Daniau,’ over and over again, but that’s all I could make out.” He frowns at me, and I wonder if I’ve uncovered something important.

  “Okay, I’ll pass it on. If you pick up anymore of what she says, let me know. See you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow then.” I want to scream and throw a fit, but I swallow it back; another day playing maid… Yay me.

  Two years ago my sisters and mother were murdered at the hands of The Boss. Since then, I’ve made it my personal mission to bring an end to all those who had a hand in their death. I joined a rebel group soon after their execution and felt content for a while. We were doing things and preparing for the future. It seemed like events were unfolding and an end was in sight. But the future never comes, and things are still the same. After two years, I have barely moved up in rank. I know a handful of members; that’s it. I want action, and I want it now. At first, I thought my placement with The Boss’s daughter was my ticket in, but the girl is about as droll as they come. Instead of an important position, I’ve been stuck on babysitting duty. A complete waste of my time training as a spy. It eats at me. When I tried to reach beyond my narrow scope to her brother’s, the rebels slapped my hand for overstepping, but at least I was doing something.

  A few months ago, I requested a change of venue, and so far I haven’t received an answer. I’ll give them one more month, that’s it. After that, I’m taking action on my own in the way I see fit.

  Chapter 3

  IZABEL

  “Revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth that ever was cooked in hell.”

  ― Walter Scott

  ~~~

  I take the stairs slowly, giving myself time to complete my look of disinterest. As far as anyone’s concerned, I’m as emptied headed as they come. The key to survival is never to give anything away unless it’s to one’s benefit. It’s how I’ve managed to live two lives for so long undetected.

  The stairs spiral down; the style is beautiful, elegant and screams expensive. Made from solid cherry wood and carved out, so only small, delicate spirals remain between the hand railing and the stair. The base lets out into a large, private living room. My father takes guests here to discuss business occasionally. It’s decorated to be warm and inviting. Rich tones of red and brown paint sit thickly on the walls. The furniture consists of hard to find antiques, a few pieces dating back three hundred years, each worth a small fortune. A few knickknacks are scattered throughout the space to add a personal touch. The room feels like a well-designed trap. Get the prey to feel relaxed and comfortable before the predator takes a sizable bite. The only truth in the room is the family portrait hanging over the fireplace. The faces occupying the painting all stare back. Not a single smile. The Boss with his seven black haired children. It’s an unwelcoming sight.

  Leaving the stark image behind, I make my way to the dining room. I’m met with the lovely smells of ham and eggs. My mouth waters before I can curb my appetite. I take one more deep breath savoring the food in my mind before going in, promising myself when this is all over I will take part in some of the good things life has to offer.

  Sitting at the long table are all six of my older brothers. Three on each side, behaving like hounds as usual. They scarf their food, using their spoons as shovels. All of them are tall with a mix of broad and narrow frames, and overall they’re considered a good looking bunch. I’m not close to any one of them due largely to the age gap of eight years and the fact they were practically born brainwashed and loyal as dogs. When I was younger, they were too busy for me and as I got older, the less I wanted anything to do with them. In many ways, they are strangers, occupying the same home out of necessity.

  My father is at the head, reading the newspaper, seemingly unaware of the scene in front of him. If I am lucky, he will remain that way. It’s from my father that some of my brothers get their wide-frame. He’s tall as well, but no longer as built as he was. Still, I hear whispers of interest occasionally from women. Though, I know the real attraction is the power. However, I doubt he’s interested in marriage. His first wife served her purpose well, bearing an heir and many backups. What other purpose would it serve a man, who has everything, to enter into a marital contract with a woman? As The Boss, he gets what he wants anyway.

  Darick stands behind him. His hands at his sides. His look is casual, but I know he is anything but casual. His training has made his body and
mind a weapon and no matter how he appears, I know he takes in everything. I have to be especially careful around him. He tries to get my attention when I enter with his eyes, but I completely ignore him. I don’t bother to pretend like I didn’t catch his look. He knows I did. I just choose to overlook it. It seems these days he’s trying to increase his attempts to spend time together.

  Mirna and her father sit side by side at the end of the table. Her father is also reading the paper, but I’m sure for different reasons than my father.

  Her father, Alroy, Consigliere del Don, is publicly our family lawyer. In private, he’s The Boss’s counselor and best friend, privy to all plans and the family business. As a lawyer, he has an excellent track record. One hundred percent wins and zero losses. Who would dare go against The Boss? Only those looking for an early death would dare do it. A wish my father would grant without hesitation and Darick would execute without flinching. Court cases involving my father are few; everyone knows the justice system only exists to serve The Boss and his interests. It’s a way for the average citizen to feel like someone is on their side and for the most part it is… as long as they are on the right side. As a counselor, Alroy can be just as ruthless as The Boss, but just in a different sort of way. He never gets his hands dirty in a literal sense, but metaphorically they are as red with blood as anyone else in this house.

  He’s towering in height, but gaunt with the same fire red hair as his daughter. He’s an intellectual, kind and caring towards his daughter; a complete contrast to my father, one I still find confusing. Yet, he goes about his day as an accomplice to The Boss’s plans seemingly unaffected by anything.

  Because of her father’s job, Mirna and I have practically grown up together like sisters; for that, I am grateful. I love her as if she is my sister. I know she feels the same way. As we have grown older, we are not able to spend all day together like we used to, but we get to be together every morning and most evenings. In between that time, she attends a private, elite school in the city while tutors entertain me at home. Apparently, it’s not safe for me out there.

  I sit across from her, pulling my chair in until I’m the proper distance from the table. I could sit across from my father as the mistress of the household. It would be my right, but I don’t. That spot will always be my mother’s.

  Food is brought out for me immediately. It’s oatmeal. No, sugar. No, milk. The same thing every morning as a reminder of the world outside these walls; my personal penance. I always wonder before I take a bite if this will be the day my food is poisoned. I spoon up the oatmeal. It’s lumpy, but at least it’s hot. No strange colors. No strange smell. Of course, no precautions outside of a food tester could guarantee no colorless or scentless poisons were in use, such as Inheritance Powder, a personal favorite of The Boss and some of my other ancestors. It’s especially convenient to use on family. It’s how my sire got rid of his brother. I’m sure someday my brothers will utilize it for their own purposes. Probably when my father begins to show signs of weakness and they suddenly realize there’s only one spot of power and six of them. At least, I don’t have to worry about them killing me off for that. I can’t inherit.

  I take a bite and swallow. It sticks to my throat. Just like at every meal, I have trouble swallowing. Somehow, I manage. The warm lump makes its way down my throat into the pit of my stomach where its sits like cement. It’ll hold me over for a while. I used to be a pudgy child. Not anymore. I eat what I need to live. No more. No less.

  Mirna tries to engage me in a conversation. I don’t follow. I’m distracted again. She waves her hand in front of me, snapping me out of it. “Earth to Izzy! Are you with me?”

  I look up from the spot on the table. The one I have memorized. Its swirls and knots forever implanted in my mind. My eyes automatically go there. It’s where they focus when there is nothing else to concentrate on. “Yes, sorry. Just thinking.” Her father and mine have already retreated to their office space. Darick must be with them. I don’t see his shadow lurking anywhere. It’s just her and me at this end of the table and my brother’s at their side, but they don’t pay us any attention.

  “I know. But just hear me out. Then I will leave you in peace to think the rest of the morning away.” She knows me too well. She leans forward on her elbows. A glint of trouble in her bright green eyes.

  My eyes narrow. I know she’s up to something. “Okay.” I wave her on with my spoon. I fling a little oatmeal on the table in front of me. I look around, but no one but Mirna notices. My brothers, probably eating their seconds or thirds, are so engrossed in their food a bomb could go off, and they wouldn’t notice. I wipe it up with my crisp white napkin as she continues.

  “So I thought we could go out Thursday night? There’s this party.” I begin to say something, but she cuts me off. “No. No excuses.” She leans in even closer, her front side almost parallel with the table. Her apple red hair veils the sides of her face. “You can take one night off.” She holds up a single finger to emphasize her point. “Just one.”

  “Shush!” We do not talk about my night time activities within these walls. I give her a look. She holds her own. “Fine. I’ll go with you.” If only to get her to shut up.

  “Good. You need a break. Seriously, you’re worse than usual.” She sits back in her chair, a look of triumph on her face.

  I wish I could stick my tongue out at her.

  She looks at the watch on her wrist and darts up suddenly. “Oh shoot! I’m late. Got to go! See you after school.” She moves so fast, I just see the streak of her red hair as she flees from the room. I haven’t even finished saying, “see you later,” before she’s gone.

  That’s my cue to find Anthony, my history, science, math, and language teacher. It’s his job to bore me to death four mornings out of the week. And, he’s exceptional at it.

  Chapter 4

  DARICK

  “At his best, man is the noblest of all animals; separated from law and justice he is the worst.”

  -Aristotle

  ~~~

  Standing close to the wall as I do at almost every meal. I let my shoulders rest on it briefly, my eyes always scanning for trouble and my hands always ready. The only exceptions to my presence are meals taken at a security meeting, when something comes up about The Boss’s safety, or when I’m on an assignment which seems to be occurring more and more lately. If I’m unavailable, I assign one of my best men to do it in my stead. Otherwise, it’s my honor to serve The Boss and his family in this way.

  As the enforcer, I am in charge of all security in and out of the home. It’s my job to make sure all threats are eliminated, a position I’ve been tailored for since birth by my dad and The Boss himself. It’s my duty and privilege.

  I became a made man at the age of fourteen with the help of my dad and the support of The Boss. The Boss wanted, no needed, me to be a cold and heartless just the way he perceived my dad to be. Someday I would take over my dad’s spot and The Boss didn’t want to lose that edge. The night I became a made man began like any other. I’d been shadowing my dad for a few weeks between school and the extracurricular activities I had going at the time, nothing exciting. Mostly he reviewed reports and stood around a lot, a seemingly easy job. In fact, I found it downright boring.

  Then he received a note…

  He gets up from his place at his desk and stands by the window as he reads the correspondence. I don’t think anything of it until his body tenses and I ask what’s wrong, he turns to me, “Son, tonight you will kill a rat.”

  “What?” My mind hasn’t quite grasped his meaning. Why would I kill a rat?

  “A traitor. The Boss has identified a traitor and he’s determined that you make your first kill in his name. He thinks you’re ready.”

  “Do you think I’m ready?”

  “A don’t believe a man is ever ready to kill another.” His response isn’t what I expected. I want him to say he thinks I’m capable to carry out the task, to think I’m just as tough as
he is. His response, though wise, fell flat, but I bite back my disappointment. I would prove him wrong and show him how ready I am to do what’s been asked of me.

  How tough can it really be?

  We take the steps down to the basement where The Boss already has found a seat for himself. The man in question is kneeling before The Boss with his hands chained behind his back. A guard stands at each shoulder to hold him in place. My dad brings me to stand in front of the man and gives me his sword. “One quick stroke to the neck will do it. If you can’t do it in one, you will have to keep swinging which is unnecessary so make your first one count.” The man in front of me begins to cry and I feel my stomach twist. My early thoughts now vanish as I realize it’s not going to be as easy as I thought. In fact, I’m fairly certain I’m going to be sick.

  Behind me, The Boss encourages with, “Do it!” When I don’t, he asks my dad, “William, is your son a wuss?” My dad ignores him, giving me his undivided attention.

  “Darick, just swing.” I lift the sword high, having recently begun sword practice the weight of the weapon doesn’t bother me. I count to three in my head and then bring it down. I slice the man’s back, having completely missed his neck by a good three inches and he screams. The guards have to hold him up and I suspect I’ve damaged his spine. The Boss calls out for me to take another swing so I do, but still it isn’t enough. I swing and I swing while screams pierce the air until finally the man bleeds to death and I puke, feeling grateful he’s finally dead. Afterward I clean it all up, my dad at my side and the guards assisting. At some point, The Boss leaves and I’m glad.

  The following weekend my dad makes me practice chopping wood over and over again until finally, I can chop it in one stroke on the lines he drew.

  He never talked to me about. At first, I believed it was because I messed it up so horribly, but the following month he began training me for something even more important and my eyes were opened.