The man in the burgundy suit slipped out of the apartment complex and into the crowded Boston street. He walked away at a brisk pace, emulating the flow of sidewalk traffic, all trying to get to some meeting or another. He found his way to the car he had parked a few blocks away, a silver 2005 Toyota Corolla. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and put his keys into the ignition. The engine started with a low roar, and he began to drum his fingers nervously on the wheel as he drove away.
“Shit…” he muttered. The car was silent, but for the rumble of the engine. The demon blood was still surging through him. They’d have thought he was long gone by now, run off on foot with the extra strength and speed that the substance had given him. Now, he was just jittery…jittery and pissed. With a grumble, he drove into the suburbs of the city, eventually stopping outside his residence.
Obviously, his assassination attempt had more than failed. Now the Reaper’s angelic underling was completely aware that something was amiss in Boston. Even if he could pass it all off as a simple assassination attempt from a Mundane human, it was plain that Mammon was not the only threat to Kole and the Council. Assassins were assassins. This was supposed to be his moment, his redemption. Now, it had all gone horribly wrong. As soon as he had heard that the Reaper was weak, his plan was set in motion. He knew for certain that he’d never be able to take on the Reaper at full power, not even with the dark Shadowrend blade he had stolen from his superior specifically to do the job. After seeing the ad for a vacancy in the newspaper, he thought he would have a solid alibi. Now Kole would be back on his feet soon enough, and he’d just lost his window of opportunity. He thought that he’d imagined every possible scenario, from the Reaper being up and moving to him not even being strong enough to get up from his bed. Clearly, he’d been wrong. In the face of an unplanned option, he’d panicked. His words had become stammered, and his actions were risky.
“I could have just said, ‘Oh, no, I’ll not bother him at work,’ or something like that. I mean, really. Stupid… God, Damian, you just spoiled everything. The plan is ruined. You are ruined.”
He had wanted this operation to be secret; if for some reason the rest of his fellows were questioned about it, they’d have plausible deniability. He was prepared in case he had to die for the cause of the assassination. He was in possession of a suicide pill – a small, thin-walled glass capsule filled with concentrated potassium cyanide and covered with a protective layer of rubber. It sat idly in the compartment of a ring on his right index finger, easy to access if need be.
He stopped in his driveway and parked and locked his car before heading inside. He dropped his keys in the ceramic bowl by the door and sighed, grumbling to himself. The demon blood was slowly wearing off, and he could feel himself being completely drained.
“What a waste…” He slumped into his favorite easy chair to rest. He closed his eyes, and did not hear the gentle footsteps behind him.
“Funny, that’s just what I was going to say, Damian.”
He whirled around in his chair with what little strength he still had and nearly screamed in surprise. Standing casually behind him, silk-gloved arms resting on the chair back, was a stunning woman in a red cloak, hood pulled up to conceal her face. Despite this fact, Damian knew from the red cloak and the sound of her voice exactly who she was.
“Forgive me…to what do I owe this special visit, mistress?” Damian stuttered, not knowing whether to be pleased or terrified.
“I think you know why I am here, Damian. What you have done today was valiant, yes, but it was risky. It was careless. You remember what happened to Reggie, do you not?”
Damian thought back to what had occurred in the past few weeks. Reginald was killed by the woman before him for “making a careless mistake” and potentially leading the Council of Draelin straight to their operation. Heart thumping, his blood barely contained within his veins, Damian nodded. “I remember.”
“Good. Now, you know what happens when someone threatens our safety and secrecy, don’t you?” She walked slowly around the chair and put her hands on the arms, leaning over and trapping him. “We will not be discovered, Damian Moore, and will not let anyone jeopardize us.” Damian began to shake; slender though the woman in red was, she was strong and frightening, and Damian didn’t dare try anything foolish again, particularly while the after-effects of the demon blood were still present.
She glared, eyes shining through the shadow caused by her cloak. From the folds of her cloak she drew a small capsule. With one gloved hand, she grasped Damian’s throat and forced his mouth open, and with the other she took the capsule and crushed it against his molars. Damian had no choice but to swallow, shaking in fear. His death was upon him, he could see that.
“As brave and valiant as that attempt was, Damian Moore, you were careless. And now you’ve made the Council suspicious, yet again.” She watched him writhe as the poison took hold. His skin grew red, and his shaking only grew worse. “We only just got them off of our backs with Reggie’s blunder, and here you are, arousing suspicion again. It was a careless mistake, Damian, and Deus Ignegena cannot tolerate careless mistakes.”
Unable to move out of weakness, Damian sat helpless, shaking in his chair as the potassium cyanide stopped his body’s oxygen flow. The woman in red stepped casually away from the chair, carefully removing her gloves as she walked out the front door. She put them into a plastic bag and stowed them within the folds of her cloak. Nobody would find the traces of potassium cyanide on the glove, or the fingerprints from the inner glove fingers, as she would burn them in an alley with the hobos’ firewood. Nobody would assume anything but suicide; after finding the other capsule hidden within the ring, authorities would assume that he had killed himself. And with that, the only trace of the assassination attempt blinked out of existence.
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