Cameo the Assassin (8 page)

“My dear?”

She flinched at the sight of a man’s face over hers, then as she focused, she realized she knew him.

“You said you weren’t badly wounded.”

“I lied,” she rasped.

“Yes.” He studied her face, gazing intently on her mouth. Biting his own lip, he put her hand over what was left of her shattered breast. “I’m going back to get our things.”

Cameo just remained there on the ground, nearly dead. She remembered being like this before, a number of times. Opal was probably more worried than he needed to be, and she wasn’t certain how she was going to explain this one away in a few hours, when she no longer had an open wound.

“All right,” he pulled one of his shirts from his bag and turned it into some sort of haphazard bandage. “Well, let’s see, we’re quite close to Lockenwood now, we could keep going north and walk right out of here just as we planned.” Opal got up, with both his shoulder-pack and hers over his shoulders. He lifted her to her feet.

She took a couple half-hearted steps while leaning against him, “I can’t do this. Just let me lie down; it will be fine.”

Opal looked around with her limp, bloody body pressed against his; it was daylight, and they were still in the middle of the cemetery.

“Afraid I can’t do that my dear. I hope you’ll forgive me,” he said as he lifted her into his arms.

She felt herself pulled close to his sweet-smelling body, exhausted.

“Why did I wear these boots?”

“You’re much stronger than I assumed you were….”

“Ah.”

Her body went limp and suddenly became much heavier.

“Yes... well then...” Opal struggled with her unconscious form.

Chapter Four

I
T WAS DUSK WHEN OPAL
stumbled out of the graveyard. He rearranged Cameo’s body again and again as he moved forward at a labored pace.

The cemetery spilled out into a wooded thicket; it was quite misty as the sun was setting, and cold. Suddenly the thicket opened up, and there was mowed grass and a rather small, white marble temple. The stained-glass windows were glittering in the sun’s fading light. It was the type of temple used to hold funeral services in and only used on the occasion of someone’s demise; therefore, Opal assumed this was probably an empty building. He stood stunned for a moment, then, staring at the place, took several staggered steps forward, and thumped the door loudly.

To his utter amazement, the door opened and within it was golden. A glow of candlelight nearly blinded him, and when he could see more clearly he realized there was a young man standing before him. His hair was pulled back tight, and he was looking at Opal with such blue eyes it took his breath from him.

“Hello, welcome to the Temple of the Moon at Yetta Graveyard.”

“My friend is badly injured. May we come in?”

“Yes, come in.” The lad stepped to one side, his white robes billowing around him.

Inside there was a fairly small main room that had some piles of chairs in the corners, an altar, a table pushed to the back, and several candles in the sconces lining the walls.

Black Opal took several steps into the hall.

“Can we be of assistance?” asked an old man appeared from a doorway at the side of the hall. He appraised the dandy and his friend, both covered in blood and black powder.

“Sir, my friend is badly injured. Do you have a doctor here?”

“No doctors.” He took several brisk steps forward to meet them. “You can call me Cyrus.”

Cyrus looked down at the woman in the rogue’s arms. Her eyes were cloudy and fixed, yet when he felt for a pulse, she still had one. He lifted his eyes, “She’s still alive. Bring her to the meditation room. What happened?”

“Someone was shooting at us.”

“Hmm....” Cyrus muttered.

“Sir—Cyrus, is there a local doctor nearby?” Opal said.

“Kyrian is a healer. He can heal your friend.”

“Healer ....” Opal bit his lip uncertainly as he had just laid Cameo’s body down on the marble floor beside an empty altar. “That sort of thing isn’t a very proven science, is it?”

Cyrus smiled at him as he maneuvered Opal out the door. “It will be all right. Kyrian will lay hands, then we will bring you some dinner. Go and sit down at the table and rest yourself. You look weary.”

* * * * *

Once Opal had been locked out, Cyrus turned back toward the woman lying there, bleeding on the floor of the sanctuary.

Kyrian moved forward, but Cyrus waved away his efforts.

“But, she is very ill. I should at least try—”

“Go prepare that man some food and get him a towel. I will see to her.”

Kyrian hesitated but turned and exited as the priest wished.

Cyrus gazed down into the gray, sightless orbs, fixed and dead. He pulled back the dressing Opal had prepared for her wound, and that was when he made the discovery that he had suspected. Although still very bloody, her flesh was actually knitting itself back together.

* * * * *

Bellamy’s long, brown hair cascaded onto the desktop. A candle warmed his face in a golden glow as his quill scribbled away at the paper. The fire in the hearth had long gone out, and Charlotte was asleep in the bed nearby.

‘Round and ‘round the Maypole

twist and turn a fable—

He ran his ink-stained fingers through his hair. He said the words aloud, “a fable ….”

There was the sound, loud as a cannon downstairs, then a scream.

Bellamy and Charlotte startled out of their dreamy states.

“What was that!” Charlotte said.

Bel grabbed his pistol and his coat.

“What was that?” Charlotte repeated as she forced her dress over her head.

There another blast from beneath them in the tavern, then heavy footsteps on the stairs.

“C’mon Charlotte, out the window.” Bel tried to push open the window, but it was stuck shut.

There were footsteps on the stairs, someone was nearing their room.

“I can hear him,” she hissed.

Bel picked up the desk and smashed through the window with it.

The door moved as someone pulled on the latch—

Charlotte’s eyes widened in terror.

Bel took her upper arm firmly and pushed her toward the window.

The door shuddered as someone tried the latch repeatedly.

Charlotte climbed out the window and onto the sloped roof, and Bellamy followed her out.

The sound of the black-powder pistol rang out just behind them. The highwayman could not mistake that sound. He steadied Charlotte with one hand, and in his other, held his pistol.

“You’re no poet, Bellamy!” A man called from the broken window.

Bel turned.
How did this madcap know him?

In the moonlight he could make out only a toothy grin before Bel took his shot at him. It blew a chunk of wood off the windowpane, but missed whomever was chasing him.

Bel half ran, half slid down the roof and helped Charlotte down.

“Who was that?”

“I have no idea. Keep running—I think he’s after me!”

Behind them at the tavern they heard a man calling out for help, and then the sound of the man’s blood-curdling death cry.

“Oh my lord, Bel, what kind of trouble have you gotten yourself mixed up in?”

Bellamy had no quick answer for this one as they ran out of the only little town in Yetta, in the cold...without his belongings...his money. “Damn.”

The dirt road was slick with frost; it glittered here and there whenever the moon came out from behind the clouds.

A shot rang out from behind them.

“That wasn’t that far away!” Charlotte gasped.

“I know.” He glanced down at her bare feet and started to wonder if there might be a house to hide in. “Let’s get off the road.”

They ran blind in the darkness, through the tall, wet grass.

* * * * *

Cameo’s eyes focused on a face above her: a pair of the bluest eyes she had ever beheld were looking into hers. The room seemed very white around this boy; his auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he wore a look of concern.

“She’s awake,” he said to someone else in the room, then turned back and said reassuringly, “Don’t worry. You’re going to be all right.”

An older man’s face replaced the other’s. He motioned Kyrian out of the room.

Cameo reached for her shattered chest.

“You seem fine...now.”

She glanced over at a nasty scar that now covered the spot where only hours ago a messy wound had plagued her then lifted her unimpressed eyes to look at this new individual.

“How did I get here?”

He flinched at the raspy sound of her voice. “Your...friend carried you.”

Astonishment flashed across her face, followed by a fleeting smile. “And where am I?”

“The temple at Yetta graveyard.”

“A temple?” She sat up and turned away from the old man.

“That’s right. And my young acolyte healed your grievous injury.”

She smirked, and looked about absently for her shoulder pack, hoping for a swig of whiskey. “Oh, did he? Well he certainly deserves my thanks and a hearty handshake for that.”

“That is what, I presume, you would like us to tell your friend.”

“What do you mean?” She stopped searching for her pack.

His blue eyes twinkled a bit as she met his gaze. “I mean, you wouldn’t want him to find out your body just healed itself in a matter of hours now, would you? He may think you are...possibly not human.”

She glanced over at the door, then back at this old man. “Would he?”

“From the look of the skin on your torso, you’ve been wounded several times before...the number of scars, and notches, and words carved into your body.... I guess you’ve been lucky not to have a wound on your face. You can still pass for something alive .... Not many zombies are so lucky.”

“You are lucky I was unconscious.”

He chuckled.

“And what do you want for your silence?”

He rubbed his chin with a hand, “Ever work as a bodyguard?”

“No.”

“No, you’re a killer, aren’t you?” he said.

Her eyes lingered on the altar. “I’m a survivor.”

“Yes, of course you are. Well, I want you to be Kyrian’s bodyguard.”

“You want me, a killer, to be a bodyguard?”

He moved about the room, “You are strong. You could use your abilities for that sort of thing. I’m sure you would find it agreeable to do a good deed.”

Her face was emotionless. “I don’t usually do my good deeds with a gun to my back, but if that’s what you want, I’ll do it.”

“See that you take him safely to Kings Basin. Take him to the Temple of the Sun there.”

“That’s it?”

He smiled a gentle smile, “Yes, that’s all there is to it.”

“Fine then.” Cameo jumped off the slab. She needed a bath, a change of clothes, and her flask. She reached for the door, thinking of everything that had just transpired—
zombie
was such an ugly term.

“Can I get a basin for you, lady?” Kyrian approached her.

His voice was so young. It had been so long since she had heard a sound like it.

“Yes, thank you.”

“And dinner? Would you like me to bring you some dinner as well before you leave?” Kyrian asked.

Apparently Cyrus hadn’t informed him that he would be leaving as well.

She met his eyes with the moldy eyes that still peered out of her head. There was not a mark on his face. She stared at him for a moment longer than she probably realized, but he was like some piece of her history she no longer associated with. He reminded her of when she was younger, and she had no idea that’s how she had looked and sounded. How naive, how attractive. She smiled a little and shook herself from that memory.

“Yes, thank you.”

She threw the door open and walked out into the hall where Opal had been waiting around for hours.

He jumped up from the table, shocked.

She could only guess at how she appeared ...dirty, blood encrusted...maybe a little pungent as well. Cameo slung her pack from her shoulder onto a nearby chair.

Kyrian set a plate of something that resembled stew in front of her.

“You’re alive....” Opal breathed.

“More or less.”

“The lad truly is a healer! I, I can’t believe it.”

Cameo looked down at the blood on her chest, in her hair....

Opal was entirely cleaned up: new shirt, freshly combed locks, makeup.

She caught Kyrian by an arm, “Where was that basin?”

“You should eat and regain your strength,” Opal pulled her toward the table.

She sat down uneasily.

The dandy’s eye went from the ripped leather shirt, where a wound had been laid open only a few hours earlier, up to her eyes in near disbelief. He sat down across from her.

Cameo tried to take a bite of stew meat, feeling quite conscious of his gaze on her.

“I can’t believe you’re alive,” he said.

She smiled a little.

“Kyrian, lad, you’re a gem! A true hero!”

Kyrian met Cameo’s eyes, knowing he had nothing to do with her recovery. “Yeah, yeah, um, you’re most welcome.”

“What can I do for you? I don’t think I really have enough cash to give you any sort of decent donation—”

Cyrus walked up behind Kyrian. “You’ll have plenty of time for that on the way to Kings Basin.”

“Beg your pardon?” Opal said.

Cyrus’ eyes twinkled a bit. He put one protective hand on Kyrian’s shoulder.

Cameo spoke up, as if prodded by Cyrus’s sudden presence in the room. “Yes, Opal, he’ll be traveling with us for few miles. I agreed to protect little Kyrian in his journey to the Temple of the Sun.”

“Oh?”

“He did save my life,” she said.

“Yes, yes, of course....” Opal assessed Kyrian with one long, lingering look before he returned to his place opposite Cameo. “Fresh-faced lad....” he muttered.

The assassin glanced over at the acolyte, then back at Opal.

“Kyrian, you should probably get your things if you’re going with...if you’re going to Kings Basin tonight.”

The lad turned and walked off while Cyrus strode over to the table. “What were your names again? I don’t think you ever mentioned.”