Fletcher looked at me. His green eyes were as bright as the leaves on the spring trees, while his walnut-colored hair blended in with the rest of the landscape, despite the silver threads that glinted here and there in his thick locks. He wore his usual blue work clothes, along with a pair of sturdy boots, and carried a backpack that was even bigger and heavier than mine.
“I told you. We’re looking for wild strawberries. Ain’t nothing better than wild strawberry preserves on a hot buttermilk biscuit. I’ll get Jo-Jo to teach you how to make them both.”
He swung the tin pail he’d brought along, as if to confirm his story. “Come on. It’s not too much farther now to the strawberry patch.”
He set off through the trees, and I fell in step behind him, taking care to watch where I was going so I wouldn’t trip on a rock or put my foot in a hole hidden by leaves.
I’d been living with Fletcher for several months now, and he often brought me into the forest to look for herbs, pick berries, or skin the bark off trees. Fletcher had lived in the mountains all his life, and he had a keen interest in natural folk remedies, like putting honey on burns or making natural teas and salves from barks and berries to fight colds and coughs. The last time we’d gone hiking, he’d shown me how to use a spiderweb to pack a wound and slow the bleeding in case I didn’t have anything else on hand to use as a bandage.
It was a neat idea, but one I doubted I’d ever use. Even though Fletcher was training me to be an assassin like he was, I didn’t think I’d ever be that desperate. Besides, most folks that Fletcher got paid to kill lived in big fancy mansions in Northtown, not out in the woods. Anyway, I was going to be a good assassin, just as good as Fletcher was as the Tin Man. I wasn’t ever going to be taken by surprise or put in a situation I couldn’t handle. It was a vow I’d made to myself after my family had been murdered. I was always going to be in control from now on, and Fletcher was going to teach me how. That was the whole reason I wanted to be an assassin in the first place—so that no one would ever be able to hurt me again.
We kept walking, winding our way up the mountain. Eventually, we came to a fork in the trail. Fletcher pointed to the path that veered off to the right.
“The strawberry patch is about a mile up that way. You can’t miss it. Why don’t you go on ahead? This old man has to answer the call of mother nature. Too much coffee this morning.” Fletcher gave me a sheepish grin. “I’ll catch up to you in a few minutes.”
“Okay.”
Fletcher moved off into the trees, and I turned and started walking up the trail, enjoying the shades of green, brown, and gray that streaked the landscape. Still, despite the peace and quiet, something about our hike was bothering me, some nagging little thing that I couldn’t put my finger on. I kept thinking about the dented tin pail swinging from Fletcher’s brown, speckled hand. It took me ten minutes of walking, but eventually I realized what was wrong.
“But it’s too early for strawberries,” I said to the trees around me. “It’s only April. Strawberries aren’t really in season until the summer, May at the very earliest, especially the ones out here in the wild.”
I frowned, wondering why Fletcher would bring me up here to pick strawberries that weren’t even ripe yet. Then I realized something else—I hadn’t heard a whisper of movement behind me. No branches cracking, no twigs snapping, no leaves crunching underfoot. I hadn’t been walking all that fast, and Fletcher should have caught up to me by now. So where was he? Could he have gotten into some sort of trouble? Maybe stumbled and twisted his ankle? But if he’d done that, then why wasn’t he calling out for me? For help. Why did it seem like I was here on the mountain by myself now?
Panic filled me then, and I turned and ran back down the trail the way I’d come.
“Fletcher!” I yelled in between breaths. “Fletcher!”
He didn’t answer me.
I made it all the way back down to the fork where we’d split up, but there was no sign of him, his tin pail, or his backpack. It was like he’d never even been here to start with. My head whipped left, then right, then left again—and that’s when I saw the note.
A white piece of paper had been tacked to one of the trees right by the trail, with the name GIN written on it in big black block letters. The panic pulsing through my body slowly turned to fear, and a sick, sick feeling filled my stomach. Somehow, I knew what the note was going to say even before I yanked it off the tree and opened it with trembling hands.
“I’m sorry,” the note said in Fletcher’s distinctive handwriting. “This isn’t working out. I can’t have you hanging around anymore. You’re on your own now. Fletcher.”
That was it. There was nothing else. Just a few simple sentences to explain the fact that Fletcher had dumped me out here in the middle of nowhere. I felt like a puppy someone had left in a cardboard box by the side of the road—alone, abandoned, unwanted. But mostly, I didn’t understand why. Why bring me all the way out here when just kicking me out of the house and telling me to stay away from the Pork Pit would have been so much simpler?
I couldn’t help but wonder what I’d done that was so wrong. What had been so horrible about having me around that the old man had gone to such extreme lengths to get rid of me?
“Fletcher?” I whispered, panic filling me once again. “Fletcher! Where are you? Come back! Please!”
But he didn’t answer me. He was already gone, leaving me alone on the mountain, all alone—
The sharp shriek of magic snapped me out of my dream. It took me half a second to realize what the sound was—the spiral protection runes in the stone of the outer wall of the suite surging to life and warning me that someone was trying to get inside.
I glanced at the clock by the bed: 11:33. They’d shown up sooner than I’d expected them to. I would have waited until much closer to dawn myself. Harder for people to rouse themselves from sleep then.
I pulled a silverstone knife from under my pillow, got up off the bed, and nestled it against the small of my back. Then I grabbed two more weapons off the nightstand, enjoying the cold, comforting feel of the blades in my hands before sliding one of the knives up my sleeve. I’d been wearing a long robe when I’d been out on the patio, talking to Bria; but after my sister had gone to bed, I’d changed into my usual ensemble of black jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. I’d gone to sleep with my boots on, with my final two knives resting in the side of either shoe.
I’d wanted to be prepared in case Dekes decided to send me a message for roughing up his two goons, and it looked like the vampire’s men were knocking on my door. The poor bastards should have walked away when they’d had the chance—because I wasn’t giving them a second one.
8
I eased out of my bedroom and tiptoed across the dark suite, using the mental map that I’d made earlier to skirt around the couches, tables, and other furniture. I stepped up to the door, careful to keep away from the glass peephole so that whoever was lurking around outside wouldn’t realize I was awake and already waiting for them.